Tanaros nodded. “As his Lordship intended. But you will not use it today, Dreamspinner.” He turned to Cerelinde. “Take the right-hand door. It leads in a direct path to the quarters of Vorax of Staccia, who died this day, as did so many others. No one will look for you there.” He paused, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his left hand. “If you are fortunate,” he said roughly, “you may live.”

Her eyes were luminous and grey, glistening with tears. “Will you not come with me, Tanaros?”

“No.” If his heart had not been breaking at his Lordship’s death, at the death of all who had fallen this day, it might have broken at her beauty. “Lady, I cannot.”

“You can!” she breathed. “You can still—”

“Cerelinde.” Reaching out with his free hand, Tanaros touched her cheek. Her skin was cool and smooth beneath his fingertips, damp with tears. A Man could spend an eternity loving her, and it would not be long enough. But she had slain his Lordship. Arahila the Fair might forgive her for it, but Tanaros could not. “No.”

She gazed at him. “What will you do?”

“What do you think?” He smiled wearily. “I will die, Cerelinde. I will die with whatever honor is left to me.” He moved away, pointing toward the right-hand door with the tip of his sword. “Now go.”

“Tanaros.” She took a step toward him. “Please …”

“Go!” he shouted. “Before I change my mind!”

The Lady of the Ellylon bowed her head. “So be it.”

USHAHIN WATCHED HER LEAVE.

As much as he despised her, the Chamber was darker for her absence. It had been a place of power, once. For a thousand years, it had been no less. Now it was only a room, an empty room with a scorched hole in the floor and an echo of loss haunting its corners, a faint reek of coppery-sweet blood in the air.

“What now, cousin?” he asked Tanaros.

Tanaros gazed at his hands, still gripping his sword; strong and capable, stained with ichor. “It was his Lordship’s will,” he murmured. “He entrusted me with his honor.”

“So you say.” Ushahin thrust Godslayer into his belt and stooped to retrieve the case that held the sundered Helm of Shadows. “Of a surety, he entrusted me with the future, and I would fain see his will done.”

“Aye.” Tanaros gathered himself. “Haomane’s Allies are at the Gate?”

Ushahin nodded. “They are. I bid the Havenguard to hold it.”

“Good.” The General touched a pouch that hung from his swordbelt. His haunted gaze focused on Ushahin. “Dream-spinner. You can pass between places, hidden from the eyes of mortal Men. I know, I have ridden with you. Can you use such arts to yet escape from Haomane’s Allies?”

“Perhaps.” Ushahin hesitated. “It will not be easy. Not with the Host of the Rivenlost at our Gate, the Soumanië at work, and Malthus the Counselor among them.”