“He yet lives,” Tanaros said roughly. “He bid me draw the dagger and end it.”

Ushahin laughed, a terrible, mirthless sound. It held all the bitterness of his mad, useless knowledge, of the ending he had failed to prevent. “Are you not sworn to obey him in all things, cousin? Are you not Tanaros Blacksword, his loyal General?”

“Aye,” Tanaros said. “But I think this task is yours, Dreamspinner.”

They exchanged a long glance. For a moment, they might have been alone in the Chamber. The Shaper’s words lay unspoken between them. They were of the Three, and some things did not need to be spoken aloud. “And her?” Ushahin asked at length, jerking his head toward Cerelinde. “Whose task is she?”

Tanaros raised his black sword. “Mine.”

“So be it.” Ushahin bowed his head briefly, then sheathed his blade and descended the stair. He crossed the crooked flagstones, dropping to his knees beside the Shaper’s form, laying the leather case containing the broken Helm gently beside him.

“I am here, my Lord,” he murmured. “I am here.”

Sword in hand, Tanaros watched.

In the dusky light, the Shaper’s body seemed wrought of darkness made manifest. Ushahin felt small and fragile beside him, his ill-formed figure a sorry mockery of the Shaper’s fallen splendor; all save his right arm, so beautifully and cruelly remade.

It fell to him, this hardest of tasks. Somehow it seemed he had always known it would. When all was said and done, in some ways his lot had always been the hardest. He had seen the pattern closing upon them. He had spoken with Calanthrag the Eldest. It was fitting. Kneeling on the flagstones, Ushahin leaned close, the ends of his moon-pale hair trailing in pools of black ichor.

“What is your will, my Lord?” he asked.

The Shaper’s lips parted. A terrible clarity was in his eyes, dark and sane, filled with knowledge and compassion. “Take it,” he breathed in reply, his words almost inaudible. “And make an end. The beginning falls to you, Dreamspinner. I give you my blessing.”

Ushahin’s shoulders shook. “Are you certain?”

The Shaper’s eyes closed. “Seek the Delta. You know the way.”

With a curse, Ushahin raised his right hand. It had been Shaped for this task. It was strong and steady. He placed it on the Shard’s crude knob of a hilt. Red light pulsed, shining between his fingers, illuminating his flesh.

It held the power to Shape the world anew, and he did not want it.

Even so, it was his.

“Farewell, my Lord,” Ushahin whispered, and withdrew Godslayer.