'What will happen if the wagon stops, Draconus?'

The man who forged his own prison was silent for a long time. 'Project your vision, mortal, onto our trail. See for yourself, what pursues us.'

Pursues! He closed his eyes, yet the scene did not vanish — the wagon lumbered on, there in his mind, the multitudes passing by him like ghosts. Then the massive contrivance was past, its groans fading behind him. The ruts of its wheels flanked him, each one as wide as an imperial road. The earth was sodden with blood, bile and sweat, a foul mud that drew his boots down, swallowed them up to his ankles.

His gaze followed those tracks, back, to the horizon.

Where chaos raged. Filling the sky, a storm such as he had never seen before. Rapacious hunger poured from it. Frenzied anticipation.

Lost memories.

Power born from rendered souls.

Malice and desire, a presence almost self-aware, with hundreds of thousands of eyes all fixed on the wagon behind Paran.

So … so eager to feed …

He recoiled.

With a gasp, Paran found himself stumbling once more alongside Draconus. The residue of what he had witnessed clung to him, making his heart drum savagely in his chest. Another thirty steps passed before he was able to raise his head, to speak. 'Draconus,' he grated, 'you have made a very unpleasant sword.'

'Darkness has ever warred against Chaos, mortal. Ever retreated. And each time that Mother Dark relented — to the Coming of Light, to the Birth of Shadow — her power has diminished, the imbalance growing more profound. Such was the state of the realms around me in those early times. A growing imbalance. Until Chaos approached the very Gate to Kurald Galain itself. A defence needed to be fashioned. Souls were … required …'

'Wait, please. I need to think-'

'Chaos hungers for the power in those souls — for what Dragnipur has claimed. To feed on such power will make it stronger — tenfold. A hundredfold. Sufficient to breach the Gate. Look to your mortal realm, Ganoes Paran. Devastating, civilization-destroying wars, civil wars, pogroms, wounded and dying gods — you and your kind progress at a perilous pace on the path forged by Chaos. Blinded by rage, lusting for vengeance, those darkest of desires-'

'Wait-'

'Where history means nothing. Lessons are forgotten. Memories — of humanity, of all that is humane — are lost. Without balance, Ganoes Paran-'

'But you want me to shatter Dragnipur!'

'Ah, now I understand your resistance to all that I say. Mortal, I have had time to think. To recognize the grave error I have made. I had believed, Ganoes Paran, in those early times, that only in Darkness could the power that is order be manifested. I sought to help Mother Dark — for it seemed she was incapable of helping herself. She would not answer, she would not even acknowledge her children. She had withdrawn, deep into her own realm, far from all of us, so far that we could not find her.'

'Draconus-'

'Hear me, please. Before the Houses, there were Holds. Before Holds, there was wandering. Your own words, yes? But you were both right and wrong. Not wandering, but migration. A seasonal round — predictable, cyclical. What seemed aimless, random, was in truth fixed, bound to its own laws. A truth — a power — I failed to recognize.'

'So the shattering of Dragnipur will release the Gate once more — to its migration.'

'To what gave it its own strength to resist Chaos, yes. Dragnipur has bound the Gate of Darkness to flight, for eternity — but should the souls chained to it diminish-'

'The flight slows down-'

'Fatally.'

'So, either Rake begins killing — taking souls — or Dragnipur must be destroyed.'

'The former is necessary — to buy us time — until the latter occurs. The sword must be shattered. The purpose of its very existence was misguided. Besides which, there is another truth I have but stumbled on — far too late for it to make any difference. At least to me.'

'And that is?'

'Just as Chaos possesses the capacity to act in its own defence, to indeed alter its own nature to its own advantage in its eternal war, so too can Order. It is not solely bound to Darkness. It understands, if you will, the value of balance.'

Paran felt an intuitive flash. 'The Houses of the Azath. The Deck of Dragons.'

The hooded head shifted slightly and Paran felt cold, unhuman eyes fixing upon him. 'Aye, Ganoes Paran.'

'The Houses take souls …'

'And bind them in place. Beyond the grasp of Chaos.'