She shook her head. ‘Even Aphrael was tempted by Bhelliom when she was carrying it up out of that abyss to bring it to us.’

‘Why didn’t she just keep it for herself then?’

‘Love. My Goddess loves us all, and she gave up Bhelliom willingly out of that love. Bhelliom can’t begin to understand love. In the end, that may be our only defence against it.’

Sparhawk’s sleep was troubled that night, and he tossed restlessly on his blankets. Kurik was on watch near the edge of the circle of firelight, and so Sparhawk was left to wrestle with his nightmares alone. He seemed to see the Sapphire Rose hanging in mid-air before his eyes, its deep blue glow seductive. Out of the centre of that glow there came a sound – a song that pulled at his very being. Hovering around him, so close as to almost touch his shoulders, were shadows – more than one, certainly, but less than ten, or so it seemed. The shadows were not seductive. They seemed to be filled with a hatred born from some towering frustration. Beyond the glowing Bhelliom stood the obscenely grotesque mud idol of Azash, the idol he had smashed at Ghasek, the idol which had claimed Bellina’s soul. The idol’s face was moving, twisting hideously into expressions of the most elemental passions – lust and greed and hatred and a towering contempt that seemed born of its certainty of its own absolute power.

Sparhawk struggled in his dream, dragged first this way and then that. Bhelliom pulled at him; Azash pulled at him; and the hateful shadows pulled as well. The power of each was irresistible, and his mind and body seemed almost torn apart by those titanic conflicting forces.

He tried to scream. And then he awoke. He sat up and realized that he was sweating profusely. He swore. He was exhausted, but a sleep filled with nightmares was no cure for that bone-deep weariness. Grimly he lay back down, hoping for an oblivion without dreams.

It began again, however. Once again he wrestled in his sleep with Bhelliom and with Azash and with the hateful shadows lurking behind him.

‘Sparhawk,’ a small, familiar voice said in his ear, ‘don’t let them frighten you. They can’t hurt you, you know. All they can do is try to frighten you.’

‘Why are they doing it?’

‘Because they’re afraid of you.’

‘That doesn’t make sense, Aphrael. I’m only a man.’

Her laughter was like the peal of a small, silver bell. ‘You’re so innocent sometimes, father. You’re not like any other man who’s ever lived. In a rather peculiar way, you’re more powerful than the Gods themselves. Go to sleep now. I won’t let them hurt you.’