‘But I am not a Loremaster! I am only a scribe!’ He shook his head, both angry and fearful. ‘They must have known! The King and his Loremasters must have known from the very beginning what would happen should the Book and its final illustration be completed. Folly! I was allowed to work on the thing only because I had the ability, and yet was utterly blind to the danger.’
Mraan stared in fear, his eyes wide. ‘Can’t you destroy it?’
Haloch passed a long, weathered and trembling hand across his brow. ‘To destroy the Book now would be utter ruin! The invocation is complete. You must understand . . . the Lore is needed to call it back . . . but the Power required to do so . . . I fear that it is unattainable.’
‘The invo- but this is only an illustration! Did you- ?’
‘It has always been suspected,’ his father said in a tight voice, ‘that the Lore itself might some day become unresponsive to our attempts to control it; that it would work its way free from its constraints like water from a dam that has simply become worn out through long use.’ He heaved a shuddering sigh. ‘My mind tells me that it may simply run its course, like a boulder rolling down a hill until it comes to rest. But my heart . . .’