With that, the Azathanai drew off his sheepskin cloak, letting it fall behind him, revealing the thick, scarred leather of his jerkin, the broad belt with its iron rings awaiting a stone-cutter’s tools, and set out towards the wagon. Glaring at the foreigner’s broad back, Sparo chewed on those last words, and found them displeasing to the palate. This Azathanai might well be a master of the shaping of stone, and in his blood the wild and raw sorcery of the earth, but such talents were no excuse for veiled insults.

Should he tell Lord Andarist of this exchange, however, it would no doubt be seen as trite, his own anger revealed as dishonest, little more than a reflection of his jealousy. It was one thing to be counted as among the finest masons when in the company of naught but his fellow Tiste, but these intrusions by the Azathanai arrived like salt to open wounds.

A febrile charge filled the air, rising like a breath from the ground. Muttering, the dozen or so workers backed further away, crowding against the heaps of rubble and wooden scaffolding on the other side of the main track. Fighting his own unease, Sparo watched the hearthstone lift from the wagon-bed. The oxen had already been unhitched and led away, to keep the beasts from panicking at the awakening of the Azathanai’s power. As the enormous block of basalt slid clear of the bed, the High Mason began walking towards the house, and the stone drifted into his wake like a faithful hound. Where it passed, however, the earth sank down as if still buckling to its massive weight. Small rocks spun away as if snapped by the passing of a huge wheel, while others crumbled to dust. The crackling energy filling the air began radiating heat, shrivelling the nearby tufts of grass, and smoke threaded along the path as the Azathanai guided the hearthstone towards its destination.

Sparo heard the thump of horse hoofs from the tree-lined track that led to the road, and he turned in time to see Lord Andarist and his brothers ride out from the shade of the nearest trees. The riders drew up sharply upon taking in the scene before them. Ignoring them, the Azathanai continued on, the hearthstone gliding along behind him – across the semicircular clearing fronting the house, and then on to the broad ramp that marked the approach to the gap still awaiting stone framing. Beneath the floating stone the ramp buckled, fissures spreading out through the packed soil.

Andarist had dismounted and now approached Sparo, who bowed and said, ‘My lord, I begged the Azathanai to await your arrival, but he is without patience.’

‘No matter, Sparo,’ Andarist replied, eyes fixed on the hearthstone as it slid over the threshold. The walls were not yet high enough to obscure their view as the High Mason guided his creation on to the earthen floor of what would be the Great Hall. The hearthstone left a depressed track as it approached the shallow pit awaiting it.