Damnation, it was cold. Covenant felt a kind of astonished fury at his inability to stop coughing; to open his throat and draw breath and speak. What was the good of his resurrection if he could not control his own body?

The Ardent feared the deep places of the Earth. With ample reason.

One or more of the Ramen retched for air. The Giants moved cautiously away from each other in spite of Covenant’s warning. They did not fear cold or darkness or old stone: they may have wanted a little space in which to clear their lungs. Or perhaps they sought room to protect the people they carried.

“Heed the Unbeliever,” Stave said as if mere suffocation and sightlessness and chill could not impinge upon him. “Stonedownor, heed the Chosen.”

The Giants stopped. Liand made a hoarse sound. Somewhere in the darkness, he struggled to regain his concentration.

Gradually light began to emerge from the young man’s right fist.

By slow degrees at first, the glow swelled. Benighted and heavy, the bulk of the Swordmainnir took shape. The Humbled appeared around Covenant as though they had condensed from the thinner substance of shadows. Linden leaned, panting, on Grueburn’s breastplate. Held by Galesend, Anele had covered his face with his hands in terror.

Then Liand grew stronger. The ramifications of exerted Earthpower purified the air around him, enabling him to breathe more easily.

In a rush, radiance burst out to contradict the dark.

A strangled cry came from Liand. The Ironhand barked, “Stone and Sea!” Her comrades hissed imprecations and oaths. “Oh, God,” Linden repeated like a wail, “oh, God,” but softly, softly, as if she feared the sound of her own voice.

Cold echoes mocked every word.

Like Liand, the rest of the company began to inhale better air. They grew stronger; strong enough to recognize the extremity of their situation.

Covenant and four Haruchai and eight Giants stood near the apex of the bridge, facing their destination. Ahead of them, the Harrow still muttered incantations or invocations. At the rear of the company, the Ardent gagged on protests that choked him. He had withdrawn his ribbands; wrapped them like a form of armor around his corpulence.

Beneath their feet, the smooth span of the bridge traced a shallow arc upward and then down toward the portal of the Lost Deep: a high, arched entryway with nothing beyond it except an impermeable black, a darkness which the Sunstone could not pierce. A host could have entered there, or issued forth; but here the stone was no more than two Giants’ paces wide. It looked too fragile to hold so much weight.

Across this stone, the Viles had left their elaborate demesne in order to measure their lore against the wider world; and so they had learned doubt and then loathing and then doom.