“You don’t like your own son?”

“He’s not what I wanted.”

Liath smiled sharply, wishing she could intimidate others with clever words and the stiffening of her shoulders, as Sanglant could. “He’s what he is, no more and no less than that. If you don’t like it, you missed your chance to make him something else, didn’t you? He is Henry’s son, not yours.”

“Born of humankind,” said Kansi with a sneer.

“Look!” cried Falcon Mask from the wall. She had braced herself with one hand on the highest course of stone as she rose, balancing precariously with drops before and behind. She pointed at the heavens.

The two men released each other, stepping back from the embrace to stare as one at the cloudy sky. How strange it was to see a man both old and young, the same man, as if time had split him into two parts and in its circular discursion finally caught up with itself. There was a wink of light against the clouds as quickly gone.

“We saw two griffins,” said the young man. “But our arrows scared them off.”

Hope leaped in Liath’s heart, but she said nothing.

Eldest Uncle rested a hand on the other one’s shoulder, taking strength there, and gazed at the procession waiting on the White Road. “Who are these? Where have you all come from?”

“We were caught between the worlds in ancient days. Now you have returned, and we are released from the shadows.”

“There are more of you?”

“I was with one group, but we met up with many others. There are more, still, coming this way.”

‘All those sent to the frontier before the end,” said Eldest Uncle.

“What do you mean?” asked Sanglant’s mother and Buzzard Mask at the same time.

“I must sit down,” he said apologetically, but it was the young one who helped him up to the tower most solicitously, who sat beside him, staring intently at his face as though to memorize every wrinkle and crease.

“I never thought to see you again,” said the young one. “I thought you were lost to me.”

“I, too. I despaired, but then I lived.” They had an easy way of touching, a hand placed carelessly on the other’s knee or shoulder.

It was as though there was a misunderstanding between them and they had forgotten that normally there is an infinitesimal space between one body and the next, that which separates each solitary soul from another.

“You are old.”

“I am eldest.”

“Not bad looking, for an old man! Not like that warty, flabby old priest of a Serpent Skirt.”

They laughed together, almost giggling, suddenly younger than their years, boys again. Brothers. Twins.

“Don’t you see what this means?” demanded Sanglant’s mother with fists on hips, looking disgusted as she watched them slap each other’s arms. “More will come from the north! Cat Mask’s army will grow. We need not fear our enemies any longer, not with such a force.”

“Cat Mask’s army?” asked the young one, turning away from his brother. “Who is Cat Mask? What has he to do with me?”