‘Anfen is gone.’ He said it like the statement held some meaning Eric would take straight away – as if it decided something final. Perhaps, you have come for me, but it is futile. The Arch surely could no longer be called human. Eric looked at the creature’s half-melted face, his head burdened by thick horns. It was hard to believe, though he saw it plainly: here was an architect of pain and misery on a worldly scale. A starver of cities, creator of wars, enslaver and torturer of innumerable people, and all of it no more to him than moves in a game. Beside the Arch, seven grey-robed servants waited. About them was the faintest hint of sullenness, even nervousness. The Arch said, ‘Do you hear me, Pilgrim? Anfen your warrior is gone. Someone led him away. I know not who she was, but I doubt he will return alive. I trust your plans did not require him? I thank you for returning Aziel to me unharmed. It has been a troubling time for me, waiting. A test I have passed.’ He turned to Aziel.
