Somewhere in the distance, Rime Coldspray announced, “Now, Swordmainnir. Linden Giantfriend has secured our passage. In caution and haste, we must bear our companions singly over the Hazard. The Masters will do what they must with Covenant Timewarden. The Ardent we leave to fend for himself. But the others we will convey safely.”

“Be comforted, Chosen,” Stave urged quietly. “You have succeeded where the Harrow failed. You have gained admittance to your son’s imprisonment. Soon we will seek him out. And when you have reclaimed him, the Harrow will translate us hence. Then the cruelty of Kevin’s Dirt will ease, restoring you to yourself.”

“Assuredly,” the Harrow pronounced, “I do not desire to linger.” He sneered the words, but his scorn was hollow. Linden had humbled him. “Already the caution of your companions heightens our peril. Only my oath precludes me from hastening while your sycophants dally.”

As Linden tried to gather herself, she found that her physical distress was waning. The illumination from the portal counteracted both stagnation and cold. There remained a chill in the air; an ache in her lungs. But she could breathe without shivering—and without the sensation that she was about to suffocate. Somehow the residual theurgy of the Lost Deep restored life to the atmosphere surrounding the Hazard.

And her sensitivity to the evil in the depths of the abyss was gone: an ambiguous boon. Numb to the bane’s state, she feared reflexively that it had already begun to rise. But perceptions of its malice no longer eroded her resolve.

She had surrendered her Staff for a second time, and wanted to weep. But sorrow, like regret, was a luxury that she could not afford: not here. When she had accepted the burden of herself from Stave, she turned to watch her friends cross the span.

Coldspray had nearly reached the foot of the bridge, and Onyx Stonemage had already passed the top of the arc with Liand in her arms. Behind them came the three Humbled holding Covenant securely among them. At the far end of the Hazard, the other Giants waited to carry Manethrall Mahrtiir, Pahni, Bhapa, and Anele into the light.

Liand had quenched his Sunstone, returned the orcrest to its pouch at his waist. His posture leaning against Stonemage’s cataphract implied weariness. Covenant appeared to be explaining something earnestly to Branl, Clyme, and Galt; but now the condition of his mind was hidden. The magicks of the Lost Deep did nothing to diminish Kevin’s Dirt. The demeaning smog was too recent to be affected by the abandoned lore of the Viles.

When Coldspray reached Linden, Stave, and the Harrow, she bestowed a grin like a laugh of pride and pleasure on Linden. Then she studied the progress of the rest of the company.