“All right.” Thoughts of Jeremiah compelled Linden. “Tell us what you need us to do.”

Immediately, vehement with eagerness, the Harrow commanded, “Stand near together. It will ease our passage if the Giants bear those who consent. The Ardent and I will combine our theurgies to preclude any misstep arising from your excess of companions.”

Linden glanced around at the Ramen and Liand. When she saw that they agreed, she looked to the Ironhand.

Mutely Coldspray gestured at her comrades. At once, Latebirth, Cabledarm, and Bluntfist lifted the Ramen into their arms. Stonemage picked up Liand and seated him on one of her massive forearms. While Galesend did the same for Anele, Frostheart Grueburn took Linden. Only Cirrus Kindwind, who had lost an arm against the skurj, and Coldspray herself were unencumbered as the Swordmainnir crowded into a cluster.

Stave stood beside Grueburn. The Humbled formed a knot around Covenant close to the Ironhand.

Linden felt wariness on all sides. In this formation, the Giants could not draw their weapons. Only the Haruchai would be able to react swiftly to a sudden threat. Nevertheless no one resisted the Harrow’s instructions.

He and the Ardent positioned themselves on opposite sides of the company. While the Harrow began to rub his beads in an elaborate pattern, muttering as his fingers skittered from place to place, the Ardent sent out bright streamers to enclose Linden and her companions. His ribbands spread far enough to touch the Harrow’s shoulders; but the Harrow ignored them.

Still muttering, he demanded, “Douse your magic, youth. It intrudes.”

Linden understood. The Sunstone was an instrument of Earthpower: it expressed Liand’s strength according to the strictures of Law. Clearly the Harrow intended to step outside such boundaries, as he did whenever he translated himself from one location to another.

For a moment, Liand considered the Harrow’s order. Then he shrugged and eased his grip on the orcrest, allowing its illumination to fade until the stone lay inert in his hand. But he did not return it to its pouch at his waist.

Lit only by the pinprick glittering of the stars, Linden and her companions waited, dark as shadows, for the Harrow to complete his preparations.

Linden held her breath. She was going to Jeremiah: she repeated that to herself again and again. Going to Jeremiah. After all this time: after so much struggle and inadequacy, so much bitter victory and expensive failure. Soon she would need to find the courage for what she would see, the croyel clinging to her son’s helpless back, chewing viciously on the side of his neck; filling her vacant boy with feral hate.

And she had to pray that at least one of her companions possessed the force necessary to make the monster let go—

Of its own will, the croyel would never allow her to hold Jeremiah in her arms. Never.