‘Back? To what? You were made a hostage. You’re not yet of the proper age to be released.’

‘Haut’s going with Hood, whatever that means. He’s been looking to hand me off to some other master, or tutor, or whatever title fits. But I won’t go. I’m not interested in listening to old men or, even worse, old women, and all their tired, worn-out ideas.’

‘You’re quick to reject the wisdom of your elders, Korya.’

‘And you waste your life away scribbling useless confessions from a suicidal Jaghut too weak-kneed to actually go through with it. In case you haven’t been paying attention, sorcery is now among us, wild currents of magic. All you need to do is reach for it.’

‘And have you?’

She frowned. ‘Haut tells me my aspect awaits elsewhere. It’s why he made me a Mahybe.’

‘Oh? And what is your, uh, aspect?’

‘Kurald Galain. Darkness. The sorcery of Mother Dark herself.’

Ahead, seemingly standing alone, oddly distinct from all the hovels surrounding it, was a stone house with a peaked roof and a squat corner tower. A low wall marked the yard and a gaping gateway the entrance on to the path. ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ said Arathan. ‘She doesn’t grant anyone the gift of sorcery.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll just take what I need. It’s important. Haut explained everything. Blood has been spilled. Hood’s wife slain by an Azathanai, corrupting all the sorcery K’rul unleashed. That needs answering, by a purifying form of sorcery, what Haut calls elemental. And the magic of Dark is elemental.’

‘And Light?’

‘The same.’

‘So Urusander and his legion have a right to the power they seek. A just cause for this civil war.’ When she said nothing, he gestured towards the stone house. ‘There it is. An Azath House.’

‘Doesn’t matter if the cause is just, if the way of achieving it is a crime.’

Arathan grunted. ‘Gothos would agree with you. In fact, something of that sentiment is at the core of his argument against civilization. The crimes of progress, of every self-serving rationale for destroying something in the name of creating something new, presumably better. He says a culture’s value system is in fact a shell game. It changes in the name of convenience. The stone is under one of the shells, meaning all the others are hollow, and therein lies the hypocrisy of a civilization’s pronounced set of values. Even the weight of those values – those stones – changes depending on the whims of the one running the game.’ After a moment of silence following his words, he glanced at Korya, to find her staring back intently. ‘What?’

‘It’s easy to find flaws. It’s much harder to find solutions.’