And he saw that part of the cost, if the Men could not be induced to go, would be a risk of harm to Mother herself, and he danced with fear and dread and beat out, Of course I will go. I know I will never return, but I will go, for you.

Then step forward from the Brood. Show yourself to the Men, and I shall give you what understanding I can.

He crept cautiously from among his siblings, seeing the knot of Men edge back a little. He braced his legs against their fire, expecting the worst. There was more of that maddeningly meaningless sound to wash over him; he waited, and waited.

Then came Mother’s gift, a great, clogging mass of images and thoughts and memories, her former haunts, her careful travels at the edges of the world of Men: battles, meals, curious bargains. He could not take it in. It sat within him, an indigestible lump, and only over time would it dissolve to piece out its secrets to him. It was enough, though. He was committed. He waited for the Men to go, knowing that he would have to follow in their wake.

I am sorry, came Mother’s comforting voice. You will suffer, but there is no better choice.

Then the blot of Men was retreating, and the Brood cleared a path for it, and Nth followed, reluctantly, fearfully, the caustic clot of Mother’s knowledge burning a hole in his innards.

The Dark promised power, Dion knew. When Armes had returned from the divine realms he had the message that mankind was meant for the Light, saved from oblivion to claim the world for the forces of good. There would always be those who would cast away that priceless gift, though. There would be those who would wilfully seek their own corruption and reach out for what the Dark could offer. Worse than spiders or ghoul-men or any of the things that sprang native from the Darkess were those who were born to inherit the Light, and betrayed their own kind.

Such a man was Darvezian.

In an ideal world Dion would simply have gathered together some heroes of the church, tracked down Darvezian, and destroyed him for the abominable traitor he was, all using the tools of righteousness. There was a simple reason, though, that she was forced to countenance such tools and methods as the prophecy spoke of. The Dark kept its promises. Darvezian had power enough to make good his claim to be halfway to godhood.

Since he came to power, the armies of his creatures, the slaves of the Dark, had spread and conquered, corrupted and suborned. Some kingdoms had fallen to his hordes, their gallant armies smashed. Others had bowed the knee, their rulers bought or tempted or threatened, or replaced by evil doppelgängers. The world that Dion had once known was fast being overturned, the lights extinguished, the temples of Armes sacked and despoiled.