Linden wanted to ask Covenant what would happen to Andelain and the Wraiths when the mystic force of Loric’s krill was taken elsewhere. But she could guess well enough. Roger and his Cavewights had neither the desire nor the sheer numbers to expend their energies against Andelain. And she still believed that Kastenessen’s pain-driven fury was too single-minded to encompass the Hills. His rage was directed primarily at his fellow Elohim: he did not care about mere grass and trees and health and loveliness. The skurj, on the other hand—Their voracity might be drawn to the wealth of Earthpower here. And even if Kastenessen sent his monsters elsewhere for some purpose which Linden could not imagine, the Sandgorgons might come. Through Stave, she had offered them distractions enough to occupy them until they were overtaken by the world’s end. But among them they retained remnants, scraps, of samadhi Sheol’s malign spirit; and the Raver’s loathing of trees was as enduring and insatiable as the Ravers themselves. Like Salva Gildenbourne, Andelain might present a feast which the Sandgorgons could not ignore.

Linden agreed with the Humbled: she had given up too much when she had accepted the Harrow’s terms. The fact that she could not have made any other choice did not console her.

Waiting for the Cords, she confirmed that Jeremiah’s crumpled racecar remained deep in one of her pockets. The ruined toy was all that she retained of her son. If her friends and Covenant could not rid Jeremiah of the croyel, the one thing that he had taken from his former life might be all that she would ever have.

After a moment, Liand said carefully, “Linden.” He stood to the side so that his orcrest lit both Linden and Covenant. “One question remains. What must be done to preserve Anele? We know nothing of where we will be conveyed, and we have lost all that we bore from Revelstone. Only the armor of the Giants remains to ward him, and I fear that they will have need of it.”

Anele, Linden thought. Ah, God. When your deeds have come to doom, as they must, remember that he is the hope of the Land. To her, the old man appeared to be both the most and the least helpless of her companions. He may also have been the most or the least necessary.

But on the day of Jeremiah’s abduction by Roger, her son had devised two astonishing constructs in her living room. Out of bright plastic bits like tiny bricks, he had formed large structures which she could not fail to recognize: one of Revelstone; the other of Mount Thunder, ancient Gravin Threndor. Among the Wightwarrens deep in the chest of the mountain ten years and several millennia ago, she and Covenant had gone to the chamber of Kiril Threndor to confront Lord Foul.