He has come this far, all the way to this clearing in western Zuhle, this clearing bare and blackened but for one tree.
The tree stands in the middle of the clearing, and it is bone-white and dead, its branches naught but skeletal arms and fingers pointing up accusingly at the cloud-draped night sky, a great hollow in its trunk gaping like a mouth mid-scream.
The night sky is draped in clouds, but there has been no rain in this land in years, and there may be none for years yet to come. All here is dry and dead, even on this side of the barrier.
Caladar hesitates for long minutes, pacing back and forth before the dead tree as his few remaining killers wait in silence but for the occasional scuffing of a boot in the dry and dead leaves.
At long last Caladar sighs, and his head drops to his chest, and he approaches the tree, puts his hands inside the screaming-mouth hollow in its trunk, and pulls out a bundle wrapped in cloth.
Foolish one
Pretending and dissimulating one
Your regrettings and desirings do you think you hide
Think you hide well your hesitating intentions
Your fruitless regrettings they are nothing you did choose
Choose your destiny yes choice without choice
Did you not turn your back upon the dead lands and turn your face to the desert of Kording
The desert of Kording where my word was once law
And shall be again and did you not spill your blood upon the stone
The stone like any other but for the markings
And was the way not revealed
The way on to Firbalt the city once fallen to darkness
The city of Firbalt city of the men who slicked their hair with oil
Slicked their hair with oil and sold their souls and bodies to the daimon kiss
The city of Firbalt birthplace of so many things great and terrible
And did you not enter its black heart
The black heart of the city of Firbalt where it spirals inward
Spirals inward and downward down into itself
Down into itself and down into darkness
And did you not enter the Black Temple of Zraath
You made your choice killer the path is now yours to walk
Not the path of the dead ones they feel not you know this
I was there when he called them the Old Dark One-Eyed One
There when he called them the dead ones that walk and kill
What need have you for experimentations they feel not
Walking upon unfeeling feet killing with unfeeling tooth and claw
That is not your path little killer
You will feel everything
And there will be much killing
