“Indeed.”The Ellyl, whose name was Peldras, laced his hands around one knee. “Your Lord Vorax spoke of your efforts concerning a certain Well when he offered you into the keeping of the Wise Counselor.”

“You know it?” Speros repressed a memory of the General’s black sword cleaving the old Yarru man’s chest, the dull thud of the Gulnagels’ maces.

“I do.” Peldras regarded him. “You seem young and well-favored to have risen high in the Sunderer’s service, Speros of Haimhault.”

He shrugged again. “I’ve made myself useful.”

“So it seems.” Peldras raised his fair, graceful brows. “Although I fear you may have outlived your usefulness, or Vorax of Staccia would not have been so quick to surrender you. Did I stand in your shoes, young Midlander, I would find it a matter of some concern. The Sunderer’s minions are not known for their loyalty.”

Speros thought of Freg, carrying him in the desert; of the General himself, holding water to his parched lips. He laughed out loud. “Believe as you wish, Ellyl! I am not afraid.”

“You were not at Beshtanag,” Peldras murmured. “I witnessed the price the Sorceress of the East paid for her faith in Satoris Banewreaker, and the greater toll it took upon her people. Are you willing to pay as much?”

“That was different.” Speros shook his head. “I was in the Ways when your wizard Malthus closed them upon us. We would have aided her if we could.”

“The Sunderer could have reopened the Ways of the Marasoumië if he chose.” The Ellyl glanced westward toward the shadowy peaks of the Gorgantus Mountains. “With the might of Godslayer in his hands, not even Malthus the Counselor could have prevented it. He chose instead to destroy them.”

“Aye, in the hope of destroying Malthus with them!” Speros said, exasperated. “You forced this war; you and all of Haomane’s Allies! Will you deny his Lordship the right to choose his strategies?”

“No.” Peldras looked back at him. Under the stars, illuminated by the nearby campfire, his features held an ancient, inhuman beauty. “Ah, Speros of Haimhault! On another night, there is much I would say to you. But I fear sorrow lies heavy on my heart this night, and I cannot find it in me to speak of such matters when on the morrow, many who are dear to me will be lost.”

“Did I ask you to?” Speros muttered.

“You did not.” Rising, the Ellyl touched his shoulder. “Forgive me, young hostage. I pray that the dawn may bring a brighter day. Yet the world changes, and we change with it. It is in my heart that it is Men such as you, in the end, who will Shape the world to come. I can but pray you do it wisely.”

Speros eyed him uncertainly, trying to fathom what trickery lay in the words. “Me?”