and one of the Chosen stand in your shadow, yet you kneel for judgment.’
Mihn opened his mouth to reply, but the words would not come. He forced himself to swallow and breathe, ignoring the cold taste of ashes in the air. With an effort he managed to raise his head and look at the cowled darkness that hid Death’s face, but it was only when he reminded himself of his mission that he found the courage to speak.
‘Lord Death, I do not seek your judgment, not yet. Instead I beg a boon.’
‘Are you so certain? Etched in your face I see a life lived only reluctantly. Come, receive my judgment - embrace the peace you crave.’
Mihn felt his hand begin to tremble and his vision swam. Death’s words spoke to the very core of him, their deep tones reverberating through his soul and shaking the strongest of defences.
‘I ... I cannot,’ he gasped even as he felt tears spill down his cheeks.
‘No mortal is denied my judgment,’ Death replied. ‘No obligation you bear will hold you from it. You learned the tales of the Harlequins; you know it is both the wicked and the good who receive judgment. It is a blessing for as many as it is punishment.’
‘This I know,’ choked Mihn, unable to stop shaking as part of him cried out to receive the oblivion it would bring, ‘but as long as I have a choice I must keep to my word — ’
‘Do not decide in haste,’ Death commanded before Mihn could fully finish. ‘No God can see the future, but immortals do not sense time as you do. History is not a map to be read, nor a path to be followed. It is a landscape of contours and textures, of colours and sounds. What lies ahead of you is duty beyond the call of most mortals - that much I can see. The burden is great. Too great, even.’
‘This I know,’ Mihn repeated in a small voice.
He remembered what the witch of Llehden had said the night she burned Xeliath’s rune into his chest, the third favour he had asked of her. ‘It is said that to ask of a witch a third time is to give away a piece of your soul . . . That claim I offer to another; to the grave, to the wild wind, to the called storm.’
For his sins - for his failures - Mihn had agreed, but even then the full import of his words had sickened him to his core. He had not felt the weight of the obligation as heavily as when Lord Death spoke to him now.
His voice fell to a whisper. ‘Whatever is asked shall be done. Whatever cannot be asked of another will be done. Whatever should not be asked of another, it will be done.’
The God regarded him for a long, unbearable time. At last Death inclined His head slightly. ‘As you wish.’
Silence reigned once more. Even the circling, spiralling bats were hushed. Mihn found his head bowed again. A movement in the corner of his eye prompted him to glance to the right and there, instead of the Herald he saw the faint grey face of a woman peering down at him from the edge of the black square.
Too astonished to react, too drained and awed to fear the presence of a ghost, Mihn simply stared back. He couldn’t make out much; it was like a darker, fogged version of when Seliasei, one of the spirits inhabiting Morghien, stepped out of the aged wanderer’s body. The spirit’s jaw was moving and it took Mihn a moment to realise it was trying to speak to him. What chilled him, and made him look away, was the pity in the ghost’s eyes.
Pitied by the dead. Oh Gods, what have I done?
‘Mihn ab Netren ab Felith,’ Death declared in a voice that rattled Mihn’s teeth, ‘speak the boon you crave.’
‘I — Your blessing,’ Mihn said hesitantly, rather more hurriedly adding, ‘Lord Death, my duty leads me beyond your doors. I beg permission to leave this room without receiving your judgment, to ascend the slopes of Ghain and pass through the ivory gates of Ghenna.’
‘Such permission is not mine to give,’ Death replied in an emotionless voice. ‘The slopes of Ghain are mine to rule and all may walk them as they wish, but beyond the River Maram the rule is only of chaos.’
‘I understand. I ask only permission to leave this hall and reenter