‘Tanno sorcery is ... elliptical. The song must be like a serpent eating its tail. Kimloc’s Song of the Bridgeburners is at the moment without an end. But it has been sung, and so lives.’ L’oric shrugged. ‘It’s like a spell that remains active, awaiting resolution.’

‘Tell me of the giant of jade.’

The High Mage nodded. He poured out the tea and set the cup down in front of Heboric. ‘The first one was found deep in the otataral mines—’

‘The first one!’

‘Aye. And the contact proved, for those miners who ventured too close, fatal. Or, rather, they disappeared. Leaving no trace. Sections of two others have been discovered – all three veins are now sealed. The giants are ... intruders to our world. From some other realm.’

‘Arriving,’ Heboric muttered, ‘only to be wrapped in chains of otataral.’

‘Ah, you are not without your own knowledge, then. Indeed, it seems their arrival has, each time, been anticipated. Someone, or something, is ensuring that the threat these giants impose is negated—’

But Heboric shook his head at that and said, ‘No, I think you are wrong, L’oric. It is the very passage – the portal through which each giant comes – that creates the otataral.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Of course not. There are too many mysteries surrounding the nature of otataral to be certain of anything. There was a scholar – I forget her name – who once suggested that otataral is created by the annihilation of all that is necessary for sorcery to operate. Like slag with all the ore burned out. She called it the absolute draining of energy – the energy that rightfully exists in all things, whether animate or otherwise.’

‘And had she a theory as to how that could occur?’

‘Perhaps the magnitude of the sorcery unleashed – a spell that is all-devouring of the energy it feeds on.’

‘But not even the gods could wield such magic.’

‘True, but I think it is nevertheless possible ... through ritual, such as a cadre – or army – of mortal sorcerers could achieve.’

‘In the manner of the Ritual of Tellann,’ L’oric nodded. ‘Aye.’

‘Or,’ Heboric said softly as he reached for the cup, ‘the calling down of the Crippled God...’

L’oric was motionless, staring fixedly at the tattooed ex-priest. He said nothing for a long time, whilst Heboric sipped the hen’bara tea. He finally spoke. ‘Very well, there is one last piece of information I will tell you – I see now the need, the very great need to do so, though it shall... reveal much of myself.’

Heboric sat and listened, and as L’oric continued speaking, the confines of his squalid hut dimmed to insignificance, the heat of the hearth no longer reaching him, until the only sensation left came from his ghostly hands. Together, there at the ends of his wrists, they became the weight of the world.