And then Lord Anomander was beside him, kneeling to draw an arm around him. When he spoke it seemed that it was not to the priest. ‘Why does she do this? How many wounds will she make us carry? I’ll not have it. Mother, if you would so share your guilt, look only to me. I will take it upon myself, and know it as familiar company. Instead, you make all your children carry the burden of your legacy.’ He barked a harsh laugh. ‘And what a wretched family we are.’

Then he was helping Endest to his feet. ‘Give me your weight, priest. We take these last steps together, then. Set hands upon the blank stones that mark her grave, and leave the stain of her blood. High Priestess she will be. Mother knows, she was used as one.’

The bitterness of those last words reached through to Endest, and perversely he took from it strength and renewed fortitude.

Together and on foot, lord and priest made their way up the track.

Through blurred eyes, Endest saw the half-ring of low mounds of freshly turned earth. He saw the front of the house, its doorway still bereft of a door. He saw the larger mound that marked the barrows of Lord Jaen and Cryl Durav. He had seen it all before, in his dreams. They drew closer, neither speaking.

Blood flowed anew from Endest’s hands, dripping steadily now as they came to the entrance to the house.

Lord Anomander paused. ‘Someone waits within.’

The stones of the floor just within the entrance were tilted, uneven now, and stained here and there with dirt, many of them in the patterns of handprints. Seeing this, Endest halted once more. ‘In my dreams,’ he said, ‘she is still dying.’

‘I fear the truth of that is in us all, priest,’ said Anomander. Then he moved past and stepped within. ‘Andarist? I come to set aside vengeance—’

But the figure that rose from its seat upon the hearthstone, in the heavy gloom of the unlit chamber, was not Andarist. This man was huge, with fur upon his shoulders.

Endest stood, watching, the blood from his hands dripping down on to the stones of Enesdia’s grave, and Lord Anomander strode forward to stand before the stranger.

‘The hearthstone?’ the First Son asked.

‘Beleaguered,’ the man replied in a deep voice. ‘Trust is strained, and the stains of blood cannot be washed from all that has befallen this place.’

Lord Anomander seemed at a loss. ‘Then … why have you come?’

‘We are bound, First Son. I have been awaiting you.’

‘Why?’

‘To defend my gift.’

‘Defend? From me? I will not breach this trust – for all that Andarist now denies me. I will find him. I will make this right.’

‘I fear you cannot, Anomander. But I know this: you will try.’