‘Worship? Only a fool worships what is already inevitable. If I cared – if I thought it would prove efficacious, I would tell our kin this. Your obeisance is pointless. Your adoration kisses a skull, and where you kneel, there is only dust. Your faith is in a god with no face.’

Once again, K’rul passed a hand over his hidden visage. ‘Skillen Droe, you name me a fool, and rightly so.’

‘What inspired your gift, K’rul?’

‘Does it matter?’

Skillen shrugged his sharp, protruding shoulders. ‘I cannot yet say.’

Sighing, K’rul resumed walking, and a moment later they strode side by side again, skirting the endless crater. ‘I sought a breaking of the rules, Skillen. Oh, I know, what rules? Well, it seemed – seems – to me that they exist. More to the point, they do not answer to us. Look well on each of us. We Azathanai. On our habits, our proclivities and predilections, and how they serve our need to distinguish each of us from the others. But rules precede us, as cause precedes effect.

‘Some things we do share. For one, the habit that is our possessiveness, when it comes to our power. I admit, I found inspiration in the Suzerain of Night, when from love he gave a mortal woman so much of his own power. And, once it was done – well, he could not take it back.’

‘I was unaware of this. I am shocked by this news. I did not think Draconus so… careless. Tell me of his regrets.’

‘I do not know that he has any, Skillen. There is, I have found, something almost addictive in surrendering power. To become drunk on helplessness – well, it has ceased being so strange a notion. I heeded the Suzerain’s gift, and deemed it, in the end, too modest. That has since changed, as Draconus has gone yet further, but of that I will tell you later.’

‘I fear tragedy in that tale.’

‘Again, a modest one. If not for what I was driven to do. So, together now, Draconus and K’rul, we come to threaten the realm with devastation. By our gifts. By the helplessness we so coveted. Understand, it did not seem that way, not to begin with. The acts were… generous. Was this, in fact, our purpose? The mystery of our existence, solved by simple sacrifice? By yielding so much of ourselves?’

‘You have given to mortals the gift of sorcery. But it is not mortals who now threaten you, is it? You spoke of Errastas, and the flavour of influence he seeks to impose upon your gifts. You say that you cannot stop him. If that is true, what do you now hope to achieve?’

‘Ah. And this, old friend, is why I sought you out. I admit, I considered your remorse. The burden of regret you carry, so fierce as to drive you from our company.’

‘You would use me so?’