Grizzin Farl joined her, standing close upon her left, a presence more felt than seen. ‘He has taken this too far,’ the Azathanai said in a low rumble. ‘Gates possess two sides. By presence alone they divide worlds. The Terondai, High Priestess, issues into this place.’

‘And what place is this?’ Rise Herat asked from directly behind Emral.

‘Eternal Night, historian. Elemental Night. Name it as you will, but know that it is pure. It is essence.’

Emral could hear something like wind soughing through trees in the distance, but she felt no breath upon her chilled face. A moment later the Azathanai’s huge hand closed about her upper arm, and Grizzin whispered, ‘With me, then. I sense a presence ahead.’

They began walking, with Rise close behind them – he might have been gripping the Azathanai by belt or clothing. ‘How far?’ Emral asked.

‘Uncertain.’

‘Where sits Mother Dark’s throne?’ the historian demanded, his voice taut. ‘Have we lost her utterly now?’

‘Such questions will have to await answers,’ Grizzin Farl replied. ‘This realm sets itself against me. I do not belong, and now, more than ever before, I feel unwelcome.’

‘Can we return?’ Emral asked the Azathanai.

‘Unknown,’ came his disturbing response.

The feel of the earth beneath her was unchanging. There was not a single stone or pebble, nor a plant or any other protuberance rising from the level clay. Yet the redolence was cloying and thick, as if they walked a rain-drenched forest.

‘We have made an error,’ said Rise Herat, ‘entering this place. High Priestess, forgive me.’

Still they could see nothing, not even the ground upon which they walked. Yet, when the heavy sound of footsteps approached from directly ahead, it was but moments before Emral Lanear could distinguish the figure in growing detail.

It was monstrous, hunched and towering over even Grizzin Farl. Its hands hung down past its knees, the arms massive in their musculature. Its head was disproportionately small, the pate hairless, the eyes sunken deep.

Striding closer, and closer still. Moments before reaching them, it said, ‘Food.’

One heavy hand swung up, struck Grizzin Farl in the chest. The Azathanai was flung back, spinning in the air.

Another hand then reached out for Emral Lanear.

But Rise Herat was quicker, dragging her back by the cloak she wore, out beyond the demon’s grasping fingers.

She stumbled as the historian continued pulling her, tugging until she was turned round, and then they were running, blind, lost.

Behind them, the demon gave chase, each step a thump of thunder upon the ground. Distinctly, it said again, ‘Food.’