“You’ll have to discuss that with Danny,” said Wad. “I’ve never been possessed by Set, I’ve only seen the effect on others. They all became completely despicable and dangerous, so it seemed to me that Set was toxic. Incorrigible. He’s not a person. He was never a child, he didn’t grow up with human connections. He doesn’t have any maternal or paternal feelings, no sense of brotherhood or belonging, none of the impulses built into our minds and bodies that help us live together in peace. It isn’t in his nature to do anything that would help somebody else at his own expense. But maybe Danny thinks that Set is learning virtue.”

Hermia studied Wad. “No, you don’t believe that,” she finally said. “In fact, I think you’re afraid that Danny might think that, but you’re so sure he’s wrong that … are you planning to kill Danny North?”

Wad shook his head. “I’m not planning anything. This is out of my control.”

“Really? Then why did you show up in Y, deciding in your infinite wisdom whether Gerd and I should be allowed to bring dragons into Westil?”

“Because Gerd is a typical Mittlegard mage—the Families think they’re entitled to do anything.”

“But I’m not,” said Hermia.

“You’re as much a product of a Family as she is,” said Wad. “You show it in everything you say and everything you do.”

“And you’re not?”

“Drowthers need protection from people like you,” said Wad.

“So you would never make an arbitrary decision that damages everybody in the world, without consulting with anybody else?” asked Hermia.

“Damages a few people,” said Wad. “Damages them slightly, and saves far more people from invasion by these invisible monsters. And also from having the Families run roughshod over them.”

“The hero of the drowthers. Robin Hood. The champion of the people.”

“You say it scornfully,” said Wad, “because you’re so arrogant you think that you have the right to be a god.”

“I’m not the one who set up a flaming sword to keep Adam and Eve out of the garden,” said Hermia.

“I’m trying to keep the serpent confined to the place where he already is,” said Wad.

“To the place where, if you’re right, he and the Sutahites have already brought suffering and death to hundreds of millions of people, in order to protect your little village-sized world.”

“This?” asked Wad, indicating the tavern, the city, the world of Westil. “This isn’t my world. I wasn’t born here, I didn’t grow up here.”

Apparently that had never crossed Hermia’s mind.

“I grew up among the Norse. Before the Sutahites prompted them to rage through the world, burning and ravaging and ravishing. I grew up among farmers and fishermen of Mittlegard.”

“And played tricks on them,” said Hermia.

“Mercilessly,” said Wad. “I am a gatemage.”