“I do not ask on my own behalf.” Resonant power filled Malthus’ voice, making her lift her head to meet his eyes. “I ask it on behalf of the Lady Cerelinde, who suffers even as we speak. I ask it on behalf of the Rivenlost, who endure the pain of separation, dwindling year by year. I ask it on behalf of those noble Men who would atone for the misdeeds of their race. I ask it on behalf of all Urulat, that this vision we share might come to pass. And I ask it, yes, on behalf of those poor souls who have fallen into folly, through the lies of Satoris Banewreaker, that they might know redemption. The Soumanië that Aracus Altorus bears was Shaped by Haomane himself, carried into battle by Ardrath the Wise Counselor, who was like unto a brother to me. Lilias of Beshtanag, will you release your claim upon it?”

“No.” The word dropped like a stone from her lips. Despite the welling tears and the ache in her head, Lilias laughed. “It is a pleasant fiction, Counselor. But there is a problem with your story. You are Haomane’s Weapon, Shaped after the world was Sundered. How can you claim knowledge of the First Age of Urulat?”

At the head of the table, Ingolin stirred. With a frown creasing his brow, the Lord of the Rivenlost bent his gaze on Malthus. “How do you answer, old friend?”

Something deep shifted in Malthus’eyes, and it was as if a veil had been withdrawn, revealing ancient and terrible depths. “I am as the Lord-of-Thought Shaped me,” he said softly. “And I possess such knowledge as he willed. More than that, Sorceress, I cannot say, nor may I.”

Lilias nodded. “Can you tell me, then, why Haomane refused when Satoris offered his Gift to Haomane’s Children?”

“Because such a thing was not meant to be.” Malthus shook his head, and the semblance of age and weariness returned to his mien. “Thus was the will of Uru-Alat, which only the Haomane First-Born, the Lord-of-Thought, sprung from the very brow of the world, grasps in its fullness.”