Yet Covenant knew exactly where he was. Of course he did. From the perspective of the Arch, his spirit had visited this place too often to be mistaken. Scant hours ago, he had been painfully familiar with the Lost Deep—and with the fragile reach of stone which provided its only access to or from the outer world. Remembering it now, he remembered also that even the Harrow in his avarice had never passed beyond this span. The Insequent’s claim that he knew where to find Linden’s son was based, not on direct observation, but on other forms of knowledge.

By increments, a dull ache invaded Covenant’s chest. The sensation inspired a kind of panic. Perhaps the source of Kevin’s Dirt had already noticed the intrusion of the Staff of Law and white gold, of orcrest and Loric’s krill, if not the presence of Giants and Haruchai and ordinary humans. But he was human himself now. After a moment, he realized that what he felt was oxygen deprivation, not the dire approach of hate. The icy air was too old to sustain him: he was beginning to suffocate.

No one spoke. No one had spoken. The entire company seemed paralyzed, held motionless by shock or terror. By darkness or cold or anoxia. But then Anele began coughing—and the Giants shifted slightly, making room for the Humbled—and a far more immediate alarm seized Covenant.

“Don’t move!” he wheezed urgently. “Don’t anyone move.”

He wanted to say more. Hellfire! Don’t you know where we are? But a spasm of coughing closed his throat. Every effort to breathe filled his lungs with dust.

The span was narrow. Anyone who fell would plunge long enough to wish for death before the end.

Linden? he tried to call out; tried and could not. He had not coughed for millennia. Freed from the necessities of muscles and irritated tissues, he had forgotten how to manage them. Coughing wracked him until his mind spun as if he had been stricken with vertigo.

Then he heard Linden’s voice. “Liand,” she gasped: a severe effort. “Orcrest.”

For a time that felt interminable, nothing happened. Liand must have been overwhelmed by the suddenness with which he had lost his health-sense; or by simple darkness and alarm. And no one aided him. Blinded, they did not know how.

The Harrow should have taken action. This was his doing. But perhaps he was content to let his companions—his victims—fall. He had not vowed to defend them from the dangers of this journey. Under the circumstances, the prospect of being rid of Linden and her friends probably pleased him.

He had no experience with Linden’s Staff.

In that case, the Ardent—