Two were plainly of greater power and authority. The male who had contorted Nth into this shape was Penthos, and it was his mind that had granted an understanding of human speech and the human world. At first he had seemed the very acme and exemplar of what it was to be human—a God-Man perfect in every line and motion. Nth had been in awe of him to start with, but as soon as he had begun to follow the speech of his captors he had realized that this worship was not in any way universal. Indeed, the expressions of the other Men when gazing upon Penthos could be read as annoyance and exasperation rather than adulation. With that realization, something had fallen from Nth, and he had understood that the awe he himself had felt was an artificial construct, something given to him by Penthos along with everything else. It was a trick played by creator upon creation. However resistant Nth might be to understanding the world of Man, it was that revelation—of the fallibility of even powerful Men—that made him realize how important it was that he make the effort to comprehend.

The other Man of Power was the female, their Mother. She was Dion, he understood, and her power was far more terrifying: that light inimical to his very nature, so that every look she cast his way could bring with it pain and unmaking if she chose. It was her task that had resulted in Nth being subjugated like this, he knew, and he was entirely certain that, when he had done what she needed him to do, she would have him destroyed. Despite the relative balance of power between them, she seemed to view him as some threat that must be wiped out the moment expedience allowed her to do so.

Of the other pair, they were of the same hatred, but of lesser ability to put it into practice. They were a male and a female, a distinction that Nth had no wish to make among Men, as it seemed inappropriate and somehow obscene, and yet it was obviously important enough to Penthos that it had carried over into his reworking. Cyrene was the female Man, and she simply regarded him with loathing and disgust, which for Nth was entirely mutual. Harathes was the other, and his hatred was more active, so that he was constantly finding excuses to shove or trip Nth on the road, when the Men of Power were not looking. That, at least, was honesty in him. Nth could almost appreciate the lack of masks. Almost.

Then the small Man, Lief, was back, his expression betokening great satisfaction.

“Am I not the most resourceful of all thieves?” he declared, then appeared to regret it because Dion had turned a stern gaze on him.

“I gave you money.”

Nth tried to follow the exchange, grasping for concepts that Penthos had gifted him with only loosely.