The sensation grew, spreading to the far corners of his body – toes, fingers, into his head, behind his eyes, swirling, intoxicating, better than the finest usque his da had ever let him sip. He heard laughing, realized it was him, and then he felt grass on his cheek. The cup rolled out of his fingers, into the grass.

Waves of pleasure pulsed through him, continued to grow, becoming uncomfortable in their intensity, too wonderful, an itch behind his eyeballs, feeling as if his heart was swelling in his chest. He groaned again, but not from pleasure this time. From fear, pleasure turning to pain. He curled his legs up to his chest, writhed and groaned and squirmed, the dogs sniffing and whining around him, ears back, licking his face.

Then he screamed, his whole body going rigid, sweating, every muscle in his body locked in an endless spasm. He tasted blood, realized he’d bitten his tongue. Darkness swooped down upon him, his vision blurring, the world around him fading, and then he knew no more.

CHAPTER NINETY

CORBAN

Corban marched along the dank tunnel, torches lodged high in sconces punctuating the darkness, the thud of his boots and whisper of Storm’s footsteps echoing ahead of him.

He felt as if he was going insane.

The enormity of what Meical had just told him kept hitting him, rolling over him like endless waves upon a beach.

His first thoughts had been for his friends, of telling them. Of telling Gar.

He has lived his whole life devoted to the prophecy, and to me because of it. His father died because of it. It will destroy him.

How can I tell everyone else? So many who have lost so much for this strategy, as Meical called it.

What will they think?

What will they do?

Will they all leave Drassil? Go back to their homes? Give up?

And then, hitting him like a hammer.

What will I do?

The truth was that right now he did not know. All he knew was that he needed to be away from Meical. His rage had scared him in the great hall, knowing that he was only heartbeats away from drawing his blade on the Ben-Elim. And, despite everything, he did not want to see Meical dead. Or even try to kill him. There had been something raw and honest in Meical’s confession, and as he’d listened to the Ben-Elim Corban had even felt an edge of sympathy for him – completely overwhelmed by all-out rage right now, but he knew it was there nevertheless.

He looked at Storm beside him, rested a hand upon her back and carried on walking.