“Linden,” Liand insisted. “Linden, hear me. This place is indeed perilous, though I cannot name our jeopardy.” He was a Stonedownor: he should have felt as enthralled as the Giants. “I know only that foreboding fills my heart. We must heed the Harrow or fail.”

Oh, my son.

Deliberately Linden remembered the croyel clinging like a malnourished infant on Jeremiah’s back; the claws and toes gouged into his flesh; the fangs chewing on the side of his neck to drink his blood. Then she was moving again. Liand and Stave held her arms while the Harrow strode ahead of her.

As if he were fearless, the man led her straight into the heart of the outlined keep.

Somewhere behind her, the Ardent murmured, “Fear nothing. Here the Harrow’s knowledge is sure.” Anxiety filled his voice with hues like moaning. “No wards threaten us while we abide his guidance. Doubtless I will revel in memories of this demesne’s manifold wonders when—” He faltered and fell silent.

For a moment, Linden feared that only she, Stave, and Liand trailed after the Harrow. Glancing over her shoulder, however, she saw the Humbled behind her, escorting Covenant among them. Covenant’s attention was everywhere at once, as though he strove to encompass every ageless memory implied by the castle and the cavern; but he took no notice of Linden.

Briefly she caught a whiff of Mahrtiir’s voice. “Have our companions departed? Why do you not guard the Ringthane?” The words smelled querulous; vexed by helplessness.

Straining her neck, Linden finally felt the Giants shake off their enchantment and start forward. Latebirth still carried the Manethrall: Galesend cradled Anele. At the rear, Cirrus Kindwind herded the Cords ahead of her.

The Harrow passed through the central keep as though it did not exist; but Linden was loath to leave it. Here in some metaphysical fashion, Jeremiah had found an image of his secret heart. She wanted to pore over every line of the castle until she understood what had been hidden from her; until she knew how to reach past Jeremiah’s torment and lift him free. An impossible hope. Like the stains on her jeans, the text of the castle was indecipherable. She might examine it for years, and it would tell her nothing.

She did not have years. The time left to her could be measured in days at most.

Grimly she tried to quicken her pace.

Now that they were in motion, the Giants caught up with her easily, drawing the Ardent after them. With her companions, she passed among the outer turrets toward the far wall of the chamber.