His fellow Necromancers, thirty-four in all, were gathered in what had once been the dining hall. Craven waited at the door, judging the pitch of a dozen conversations, and then he walked slowly into the room and waited for everyone else to stop talking. When there was silence, he cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and shook his head sadly. “It is with deepest sorrow,” he said, “that I tell you today that High Priest Auron Tenebrae has rejoined the stream of life.” Shocked mutterings reverberated through the assembled Necromancers, and Craven continued. “Lord Vile killed him before turning his sights on our saviour, the Death Bringer. She was strong enough to survive. The High Priest, unfortunately, was not.”

“Where’s the body?”

Craven frowned, seeking the one who had interrupted his solemnity. It was Wreath. Of course it was Wreath.

“We were unable to retrieve it, Cleric Wreath,” Craven said. “But I saw it happen myself. High Priest Tenebrae is no more. This is a day of great sadness.”

“It is indeed,” Wreath said, “because we didn’t just lose Tenebrae, did we? We lost over three dozen others.”

“A terrible tragedy.”

“Tragedy, you call it? Melancholia killed them. I call it murder.”

Craven looked shocked, and glanced back at Melancholia. She was sitting with her head down and her hood up. For a moment there seemed to be a slight smile on her face. Craven turned back to the crowd. “Murder? How can it be murder? This is the Death Bringer. She released our fellow Necromancers to the great stream because she needed their strength and their courage to defeat Lord Vile and those Sanctuary dogs. I assure you, every single one of them was prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, and I’m sure they did so gladly.”

“She didn’t exactly give them a choice,” Wreath said.

“I didn’t have time.” All eyes turned to Melancholia, who kept her head down. “I’m sorry I killed those people. I knew all of them. I’ll miss them, but I know I’ll see them soon, just as I know I’ll see the High Priest again. I have a… a responsibility, Cleric Wreath, to bring about the Passage. That’s the only thing that means anything any more. Surely you, of all people, know that we must do whatever we can to ensure that the world is saved.”

“And you think you’re really the one to do that?”

“I don’t know. In all honesty, I don’t know. I have doubts. Beneath this power I am still me, I am still Melancholia St Clair. I have my fears, Cleric. I’m afraid I’m not going to be strong enough, or brave enough, and I’m afraid I’m going to falter just when you need me the most. I don’t want to let you down, Cleric.”