‘Purity,’ Henarald continued, uttering the word in the tones of a lament. ‘We are not ready for it. Perhaps we never will be. Lord Anomander, be sure in your reply to this – is Mother Dark pure in this darkness she has spun about herself? Is the darkness pure? Do doubts die where they are sown? For ever starved of light, with no soil to take their roots? Tell me, will her blessing be as that of a child?’

Slowly, Anomander shook his head. ‘Lord Hust, I cannot answer these questions. You must ask them of her.’

‘Are you not the First Son?’

Anomander’s shrug bespoke frustration. ‘What do children know of their parents?’

Andarist started at that, enough to make his chair creak. And then he rose. ‘Brothers, I must make ready. We are late as it is. I would come to her upon her second day in waiting, with the sun high and every shadow in retreat. Anomander, either take the sword or deny it. Be as simple as a child, even as Lord Hust said, and decide upon the cut.’

‘Every child wants, first and foremost,’ replied Anomander, and now at last Kellaras could see his master’s doubt. ‘But not all wants should find answer.’

‘I give you the blade,’ Henarald said. ‘The commission was accepted, as Kellaras is my witness. I bring it to you now. We are all honed well on promises, First Son, are we not?’

‘Then I would not dull your virtue, Lord Hust,’ said Anomander, and he reached down and closed his hand about the weapon’s leather-wrapped grip.

Silchas pushed away from the wall and clapped Andarist on one shoulder. ‘See? We are done as promised, O impatient groom, and so you can be off. But I must catch you up. Captain Scara Bandaris has petitioned my presence in the matter of a score of mongrels in the keeper’s yard.’

Anomander withdrew his hand from the sword. ‘Lord Hust, I will lead you now into the presence of Mother Dark, and by Darkness she will bless this weapon.’

‘I will find you at the gate,’ Andarist said to him.

His brother nodded. ‘Prazek and Dathenar await you below. I would have Kellaras with me.’

‘And I, Galar Baras,’ said Henarald, ‘who attends us without.’ Andarist followed Silchas out of the chamber.

These were fraught days and nights, ever since the mysterious meeting between the Azathanai woman and Mother Dark. The silts left by the flooding river still stained the foundations of the city’s buildings, truly the soiled hand of an ancient god. A dozen citizens had drowned, trapped in cellars or swept from their feet by withdrawing currents and then battered by stone and wood. The fisherfolk who plied Dorssan Ryl had all departed – not a boat remained in Kharkanas, and it was said that the forest now seethed with Deniers on the march – to where, none knew.