Herat turned to Endest Silann. The man was gaunt, aged, harried. Herat suspected that he had not come here of his own will. The priest’s hands were tightly bound in strips of linen, stained red in blooms and edged in pallid gold. He wore coarse wool to fend off the cold, but his head was bare. ‘Endest Silann, do you bring Mother Dark’s blessing to this newfound magic of Cedorpul’s?’

‘It has the flavour of darkness,’ the man replied, not meeting the historian’s eyes.

‘Bestowed by her, then?’

After a moment, he shook his head.

‘Myriad are her aspects,’ Cedorpul said, his round cheeks fiery red, his face that of a glutted child. ‘Many forces lie beneath or beyond her notice. I have drawn from such, ensuring not to stir her equanimity.’

Endest glanced across at Cedorpul, as if unimpressed with this explanation, but voiced no opinion.

Lanear cleared her throat, something she did often of late, and then said, ‘Your journey was wasted, alas, and has proved trying for Endest Silann. Your gestures are riddled with haste, Cedorpul, leaving me concerned. One would think eagerness anathema to the control of magic—’

‘One would if speaking from a place of utter ignorance!’

‘Mind your manners, sir!’ said Herat.

Cedorpul turned on him with a sneer. ‘And you comprehend even less, historian. Your pondering ways are in for a shock. Indeed, the entire world is due its rude awakening.’

‘Then do ring the discordant bell, priest,’ replied Herat wearily, ‘and delight in our fleeing its clamour.’

Teeth bared, Cedorpul pulled his mount around and kicked savagely at its flanks. The startled beast leapt forward, hoofs biting at the frozen road.

‘Pray it throws him,’ muttered Endest Silann as they watched Cedorpul ride away. ‘Swift be night’s sudden setting, to defy his newfound dawn. Pray his neck breaks, to leave lolling his interrupted ambition. Pray his limp body rolls beneath indifferent hoofs, to give lie to nature’s horror at what he contemplates.’

‘A potent curse,’ Rise Herat said, chilled by the dry venom of the man’s tone.

Endest Silann shrugged. ‘Nothing potent resides in my words, historian. Like yours, my breath sings useless warnings, bestirring a fistful of air, all too quickly swept away. What we have to say wins us less perturbation than a sparrow’s leap from a twig.’

Rise Herat could find little with which to disagree in that assessment.

But Emral Lanear spoke, ‘You may be surprised, then, priest. Words alone have ushered in civil war, after all, and our fates now reside in the words soon to be spoken, either here or in the Citadel.’

Offering up a second shrug, Endest Silann said nothing. Then he nudged his horse to the crest, and once there he halted the beast and let drop the reins. He began unfolding the strips of cloth binding his hands.

‘What are you doing?’ Lanear demanded.