‘Would you have Mother Dark address you in person? She speaks through her High Priestess. No other interpretation is possible.’

‘Truly? None? And do you speak for me? Or is it Hunn Raal who claims that right? How many voices shall I possess? How many faces in my visage can this precious Light behold?’

‘Hunn Raal is indeed an archmage,’ Syntara snapped, making the title one of derision. ‘He makes mockery of the sorcery he now explores. Even so, it is born of Light. The power we now possess cannot be denied, milord.’

‘I argued against our irrelevance,’ Urusander retorted. ‘That and nothing more.’ Now there was anger visible in the commander, reverberating through his entire body. ‘An utterance of bitterness, a plea for something like a just reward for all that we sacrificed for our realm. I voiced it to the highborn, seeking the release of land as recompense, and was rebuffed. This, High Priestess, was the seed of my complaint. And now, as you and countless others ride the back of my dismay, we find ourselves charging into death and destruction. Where, in all of this, is my justice?’

Renarr had to credit Syntara’s self-possession, in that she neither stepped back nor flinched from Urusander’s anger. ‘You will find it meted out, milord, by your hand, from a position of equality – from the Throne of Light, which will stand beside the Throne of Dark. This is why the highborn will gather against you. It is why they will fight your ascension. But you, Urusander, and Mother Dark – only the two of you, bound together, can stop this. From that throne, you will force from the highborn every concession you desire—’

‘It is not for me that I desire anything!’

‘For your soldiers, then. Your loyal soldiers who, as you have said, deserve to be rewarded.’

A few moments passed, in which no one spoke or moved. Then Urusander waved dismissively. ‘Bring to me this note from High Priestess Emral Lanear. I will read it for myself.’

‘Milord, I can recount it for you word for word—’

‘My reading skills will suffice, Syntara, unless you also desire the title of my secretary?’

Renarr snorted.

‘Very well, then,’ Syntara said. ‘As you wish, milord.’

Their departure was marked by the hollow thumps of the historian’s crutches. As the doors closed, Renarr said, ‘You’ll never see it, you know.’

He shot her a searching look.

‘It will have been transcribed,’ Renarr went on. ‘There will be a notation from Syntara attached, explaining that the original was in High Script, or some arcane temple code. They are not done with playing you, Father. But now, after today, there will be a new diligence to their scheming.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it seems that you have awakened to this moment, and your place in it.’

He sighed. ‘I miss Sharenas Ankhadu.’

‘The one who set about murdering your captains?’