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‘Then, you say, the blame is with Draconus.’
‘With the weakness in his heart, but is it right to blame such a thing? In the prelude to war, compassion is the first victim, slain like a child upon the threshold.’
‘Lord Draconus is my friend.’
‘Then sustain it.’
‘But … remaining at her side as he does, he disappoints me.’
‘You have set your expectation against the compassion you claim to possess, and now the child bleeds anew.’
‘Very well, I will seek to withhold judgement on Draconus.’
‘Then, I fear, you will stand alone in the war to come.’
‘The thought,’ the First Son said, ‘of a highborn victory tastes as sour as does the thought of Urusander’s ascension. I am of a mind to see them both humbled.’
‘Ascension is a curious word in this context.’
‘Why?’
‘Mother Dark … Father Light. The titles are not empty, and if you think the powers behind them are but illusions, then you are a fool.’
Wreneck heard a gasp, but it was a moment before he realized that it had come from him. He was back, in a place of warmth. He had crossed the icy river all unknowing. He opened his eyes.
A tall warrior stood above him, studying him with calm eyes. Off to one side, seated on a scorched stump, was a huge figure wearing silver fur upon his broad shoulders, with something bestial in his broad, flat face that made Wreneck shiver.
‘The chill remains deep in your bones,’ the First Son said to Wreneck. ‘But you have returned to us, and that is well.’
Wreneck glared across at Caladan Brood. ‘First Son, why do you not kill him?’ he asked.
‘For what reason would I do that, even if I could?’ Lord Anomander asked.
‘He called you a fool.’
The First Son smiled. ‘He but reminds me of the risk in careless words. Well now, we found you in a grave, yet here you are, resurrected. But this winter has been hard on you – when did you last eat?’
Unable to recall, Wreneck said nothing.
‘I will prepare some broth,’ said Caladan Brood, reaching across to his pack. ‘If you will make this child your conscience, best he know the bliss of a full stomach.’
The First Son grunted. ‘My conscience, Caladan? He just urged vengeance against you.’
‘After riding the back of our conversation, yes.’
‘I doubt he understood much of it.’
The Azathanai shrugged as he withdrew items from the pack.
‘Why,’ Anomander persisted, ‘would I make this foundling my conscience?’
‘Perhaps only to awaken it within you, First Son, given his impulsive bloodlust.’
Lord Anomander looked back down at Wreneck. ‘Are you a Denier orphan, then?’ he asked.
Wreneck shook his head. ‘I was a stabler for House Drukorlat. But she was murdered and everything was burned down. They tried to kill me and Jinia, too, but we lived, only she’s hurt inside. I remember their names. I am going to kill them. The ones who did that to Jinia. I have a spear …’
‘Yes,’ the First Son said, his expression grave, ‘we found that. The shaft seems sound, lovingly tended, I would judge. But it could do with a better-weighted blade. You have their names, you say. What else do you recall of these murderers?’
