“He won’t,” Linden groaned urgently. “He promised. He’s going to take us to Jeremiah. And bring us back. If he doesn’t, he’ll destroy himself.”

Her voice created an eyot of sanity in Covenant’s reeling mind. Uncounted millennia ago, he had been familiar with vertigo. Occasionally he had been able to manage it. And Linden was right, of course she was. In addition, the Harrow—Like another piece of sanity, Covenant remembered that the Harrow had never opened the portal. Perhaps he did not know how.

Or how to use the Staff of Law.

He did not care about Linden’s pain.

The bridge was a way in; but it was also a snare. A defense. Protected. If the Harrow erred, he would shatter the span.

“Now,” insisted Rime Coldspray. “We will consider other choices when we have attained more trustworthy rock.”

Without waiting for the assent of the Humbled, she began to descend the bridge, stepping as gently as her size permitted.

At once, Frostheart Grueburn followed with Linden.

“Bring Covenant!” Linden ordered; pleaded. She must have been speaking to the Humbled. The rest of the Swordmainnir had already shifted their feet, readying themselves to obey Coldspray one at a time.

Chunks of stone still crumbled and fell from the rims of the span; but now Covenant understood that he was imagining them.

“Faugh!” spat the Harrow. “The Ardent’s alarm does not surprise me. Selecting him, the Insequent have betrayed themselves. But I did not foresee cowardice in those who name themselves the lady’s friends. I will summon you when I have secured the safety of your passage.”

Muttering again, he crossed the crest of the span like a man who had come too far to remember fear.

Past the edges of the stone, the abyss called to Covenant; sang to him like the siren lure of the merewives. But Galt did not release him. Branl and Clyme stood on either side as if to prevent him from breaking away; as if he had ever been strong enough to resist the Haruchai.

He continued to resist the whirl in his head. Arduously he gathered scraps of sanity from the inadequate air, accreting them like shards of iron to a magnet. Liand’s blazing Sunstone cleansed the atmosphere to some extent, dispelling increments of depletion and staleness; but it was not enough. Covenant’s dizziness was old and obdurate—and he had not re-learned the limitations of his carnal life. He had to fight for every shred of self-mastery.

His plight recalled the descent from Kevin’s Watch. Foamfollower had carried him once; but twice he had accomplished that feat by force of will. And the Harrow had never opened the portal to the Lost Deep. Wild magic would betray him there. He would need the Staff of Law. And cunning. And subtlety. Even though he had not had time to learn the Staff’s uses.