‘Else he could not permit his own death—his removal from the stage. More than just ending Mother Dark’s obstreperous pique, he now forces our hands—we are all stirred awake, Elders and children both, mortal and immortal.’

‘To what end?’ she demanded. ‘More blood? A damned ocean’s worth?’

‘Not if there’s a way around it,’ Mael replied. ‘To what end, you ask. This, I think: he wants us to deal with the Crippled God.’

‘That pathetic creature? You cannot be serious, Mael.’

‘The wound ever festers, the poison spreads. That alien god’s power is anathema. We need to fix it—before we seek anything else. Before we lose K’rul’s gift for ever.’

‘Errastas had other ideas.’

‘So do you and Setch. So does Olar Ethil. And Ardata.’

‘And Draconus too, I would think.’

‘We cannot know if Anomander Rake and Draconus spoke—was a bargain reached between them within Dragnipur? “I will free you, Draconus, if . . .”’

‘They could not have spoken,’ said Kilmandaros. ‘For Rake was killed by Vengeance. You said so yourself.’

Mael walked over to sit down on one of the blocks of the altar stone. ‘Ah, well. There is more to say on that. Among other things. Tell me, Kilmandaros, what Hold did Errastas choose?’

She blinked. ‘Why, the obvious one. Death.’

‘Then I will begin with this curious detail—for I wish to know your thoughts on the, uh, implications.’ He looked up and something glinted in his eyes. ‘Before Rake met Dessembrae, he met Hood. Met him, and killed him. With Dragnipur.’

She stared.

Mael continued: ‘Two gods were in attendance, that I know of.’

‘Who?’ the word came out in a dry rasp.

‘Shadowthrone and Cotillion.’

Oh, how she wished for a tall, imposing standing stone—within her reach—a proud pinnacle of conceit—just there, at the very end of her fist as it swung out its path of ferocious destruction.

‘Them!’

Mael watched her flail and stamp about, watched as she descended on one toppled menhir after another, pounding each one into rubble. He scratched at the bristles on his chin.

Oh, you are indeed clever, Kilmandaros. It all falls home, doesn’t it?

It all falls home.

He’d wanted her to consider the implications. So much for being subtle.

Suffering could be borne. When the blood was pure, purged of injustices. Brayderal was not like the others, not the same as Rutt, or pernicious Badalle with Saddic ever at her side. She alone possessed the legacy of the Inquisitors, shining bright beneath her almost translucent skin. And among all the others, only Badalle suspected the truth. I am a child of the Quitters. I am here to complete their work.

She had finally seen her kin on their trail, and now wondered why they did not simply stride into the midst of the Chal Managal, to take up the last of these pathetic lives.