Meical put a hand to his face. ‘I never knew how hard this task would be. To live amongst you, to form bonds of friendship, to see your sacrifices, your deeds of love and valour. I think, out of all of my kin, that I am the only one who understands Elyon’s love for your race. And that is why I cannot deceive you any longer.’

He lowered his hand and faced Corban, his features racked with pain.

‘Forgive me, Corban.’ A single tear rolled from Meical’s eye.

Corban was confused. Felt the seed of fear in his gut grow.

‘Forgive you for what, exactly? Meical, you are scaring me now. You have set a trap, used us, which is a little underhand, I have to admit. But it does make sense . . .’

‘No, Corban, you do not understand. It is all a trap,’ Meical breathed. ‘Us here, the Treasures, the prophecy . . .’

‘The prophecy? How can that be a trap?’

‘It is not true.’

Corban thought he’d misheard.

‘What?’ he said.

‘The prophecy is not real. It is not of Elyon. I wrote it.’

Corban felt as if he’d been punched, the sick feeling he’d felt earlier spreading like an infection through his veins.

‘But that’s impossible.’

‘No. I know. I wrote it. I made it up. Elyon did not choose you, Corban – I did.’

‘No, it cannot be. There are things in it that you could not know . . .’ Corban’s mind was reeling; he felt dizzy, as if the ground were moving beneath his feet. He struggled to cling to something, to understand.

‘Aye, that is true,’ Meical said, his brow furrowing. ‘Which gives me hope. Perhaps Elyon is stirring at last. Is noticing. Is becoming involved . . .’ He shrugged. ‘What I do know is that I wrote it with my own hand. But not all of it. The core of it came from me, whispered to Halvor, the giant, voice of Skald, as he dream-walked the Otherworld. But it has grown, become many times what I planted in his mind. But that is common, is it not? A tale is told, it will travel a hundred holds and villages, and when you hear it next the hero who slew the giant has now slain a giant clan, and draigs as well.’ He shrugged. ‘It did not matter, as long as the core remained the same.’

‘But why? Why would you do this?’

‘Because Asroth is predictable in his evil and his scheming. We knew he would strike at you, attempt to destroy Elyon’s most beloved creation, an act of spite and malice against his Maker. But we did not know when; we did not know how. So we used the prophecy to lure him, but also to guide him. To control him. We gave him a path for his great malice to follow.’

‘I do not understand,’ Corban growled, rubbing his temples, anger beginning to boil within him. ‘Speak plainly.’