“Then I will concede, lady,” he whispered softly, fiercely, “that in all sooth I require your assistance. The secret of unmaking the Demondim does not avail here. For that reason, I craved the wordless knowledge within the blackness of your heart. Your encounter with the ancient theurgy of Garroting Deep—the theurgy which scripted these runes—unveiled a mystery to you, though its meaning is beyond your comprehension. I would have known its use, but the Mahdoubt precluded me from acquiring it. Therefore the task is yours. Lady, we will perish here one and all if you do not immerse yourself in your darkest and most insatiable rage. You must become hate and vengeance or die.”

Linden glared back as though all of her darkest passions were directed at him.

“This bane is unknown to the Haruchai,” Stave observed, “and too distant for true discernment. Yet we perceive that it slumbers still. Mayhap there is no imminent need for haste.”

The former Master was wrong. Linden had to get away from the cavern and the Hazard before the proximity of so much malevolence shredded her nerves.

She would never reach Jeremiah if she did not find and cut exactly the right strand of magic. The tendrils of the Viles did not only extend along the span: they also reached inward. Havoc would be wrought in the Lost Deep if she made any mistake. The damage might isolate Jeremiah permanently. It might kill him.

“Then give me my Staff,” she demanded in a voice as low and grim as the Harrow’s. “Let it go. I’ll return it when I’ve found the way in. If I don’t keep my promises, you don’t have to keep yours. I’m not likely to forget that. But I can’t face you and those wards while that monstrosity might wake up.”

The Insequent bared his teeth in a feral grimace, wild and threatened. For a moment, Linden thought that he would refuse; that he might take the fatal risk of trying to open the portal himself. His greed—

But behind his mask of superiority, his fear was as strong as hers, and growing stronger. He needed her as badly as she needed her Staff. After a moment, he made an effort to swallow his pride. Without a word, he relinquished the written wood.

“Chosen,” Stave said like an affirmation. “Linden.”

At once, Linden accepted the Staff of Law, her Staff, and moved closer to the black seethe of magicks which blocked her from Jeremiah.