‘Now. The Azathanai. Even that name is in error, as it implies a culture, a unity of form if not purpose. But the Azathanai do not wear flesh as we do, trapped as we are within what was given us and what we can make of it. No, they can choose any form they wish.’

‘Master, you describe gods, or demons, or spirits.’

Haut nodded. ‘All of your descriptions are apt.’

‘Can they be killed?’

‘I do not know. Some are known to have disappeared, but that is all that can be said of that.’

‘Go on, master. I am intrigued in spite of myself.’

‘Yes, the hint of power is always seductive. So. Among the Azathanai there was one who now names himself K’rul.’

‘Now? By what name was he known before?’

‘Keruli. The transformation lies at the heart of this tale. Among the Dog-Runners, the name of Keruli is understood to be living, of the present, as it were. But in passing, in turning about and striding into the past, Keruli must become K’rul.’

‘Keruli died and so became K’rul? Then the Azathanai can die after all.’

‘No. Rather, yes. This is difficult enough without your questions! I’d rather you threw some more wood on the fire.’

‘What for?’

‘Yes, I am aware that it is not burning. But fire marks the passage of time in that it demonstrably offers us the transition of one thing into another. It is like the music that accompanies a bard’s voice. Without the damned flames between us it seems the tale must stall, like a word half uttered, a breath half drawn.’

‘You were telling me about an Azathanai named K’rul.’

‘Not even his fellow Azathanai understand what he did, or even why. Perhaps he but tests his own immortality. Or perhaps ennui drove him to it. Here we skirt the chasm of intentions. He gives no answer to entreaty.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He bled, and from the wounds he opened upon himself, in the blood itself, he gave birth to mysterious power. Sorcery. Magic in many currents and flavours. They are young still, vague in aspect, only barely sensed. Those who do sense them might choose to flee, or venture closer. In exploration, these currents find definition.’

‘It is said,’ Korya ventured, ‘that the Jaghut possess their own sorcery. As do the Dog-Runners, and the Thel Akai, and even the Forulkan.’

‘And the Tiste?’ Haut asked.

She shrugged. ‘So Varandas said, but I have never seen anything of that.’

‘You were very young when you left Kurald Galain.’

‘I know. I admit, master, that I am sceptical of Tiste magic.’

‘And what of Mother Dark?’

‘I don’t know, master. Anything can be worshipped and made into a god, or goddess. It just takes collective fear – the desperate kind, the helpless kind, the kind that comes from having no answers to anything.’

‘Then is the absence of belief the same as ignorance?’

‘As much as the presence of belief can be ignorant.’