Despair. Or perhaps, after this seeming eternity, only its ashes.

There is, all about us, ancient knowledge – that cannot be denied. Yet Kruppe wonders, are there memories? True memories? Of enlivened flesh and the wind’s caress, of the laughter of children? Memories of love?

When frozen between life and death, in the glacial in-between, what can exist of mortal feeling? Not even an echo. Only memories of ice, of ice and no more than that. Gods below . . . such sorrow . . .

Figures approached the slope before Silverfox. Weaponless, robed in furs from ancient, long-extinct beasts. Kruppe’s eyes focused on one in particular, a broad-shouldered Bonecaster, wearing an antlered skullcap and the stained fur of an arctic fox. With a shock the Daru realized that he knew this apparition.

Ah, we meet again, Pran Chole. Forgive me, but my heart breaks at the sight of you – at what you have become.

The antlered Bonecaster was the first to address Silverfox. ‘We are come,’ he said, ‘to the Second Gathering.’

‘You have come,’ Silverfox grated, ‘in answer to my summons.’

The Bonecaster slowly tilted his head. ‘What you are was created long ago, guided by the hand of an Elder God. Yet, at its heart, Imass. All that follows has run in your blood from the moment of your birth. The wait, Summoner, has been long. I am Pran Chole, of Kron T’lan Imass. I stood, with K’rul, to attend your birth.’

Silverfox’s answering smile was bitter. ‘Are you my father, then, Pran Chole? If so, this reunion has come far too late. For us both.’

Despair flooded Kruppe. This was old anger, held back overlong, now turning the air gelid and brittle. A dreadful exchange to mark the first words of the Second Gathering.

Pran Chole seemed to wilt at her words. His desiccated face dropped, as if the Bonecaster was overcome with shame.

No, Silverfox, how could you do this?

‘Where you then went, daughter,’ Pran Chole whispered, ‘I could not follow.’

‘True,’ she snapped. ‘After all, you had a vow awaiting you. A ritual. The ritual, the one that turned your hearts to ash. All for a war. But that is what war is all about, isn’t it? Leaving. Leaving home. Your loved ones – indeed, the very capacity of love itself. You chose to abandon it all. You abandoned everything! You abandoned—’ She cut her words off suddenly.

Kruppe closed his eyes for a brief moment, so that he might in his mind complete her sentence. You abandoned . . . me.

Pran Chole’s head remained bowed. Finally, he raised it slightly. ‘Summoner, what would you have us do?’

‘We will get to that soon enough.’