Manethrall Mahrtiir interrupted Coldspray. “Attend, Swordmainnir. The Ringthane’s exertion of the Staff renews health-sense. Now I discern the vileness which rules yon vacant boy, who is surely Linden Avery’s son. And I perceive the krill in the hand of a Master. Why has that”—outrage mounted in his voice—“that horror not been slain? Do you not descry that the youth is in torment?”

His own uselessness seemed to infuriate Mahrtiir. Twisting in Latebirth’s arms, he demanded, “Grant the krill to me. I will act where your resolve falters.”

While Latebirth hesitated, Covenant panted hoarsely, “No. Mahrtiir, listen to me. You can’t kill the croyel that way.” Pain throbbed in every word. “I mean, you can, but you’ll kill Jeremiah at the same time. Even the Elohim don’t know how to kill one of the croyel without killing its host. It’s too deep inside him. We can’t cut it out.

“He’s important. We can’t risk him. As long as we can control the croyel, that’s enough.”

“And what is the boy’s import?” countered Mahrtiir. “I inquire with respect, ur-Lord.” The Manethrall did not sound respectful. “Do you speak of his worth to the Ringthane, or to the fate of the Earth? How may he be redeemed, if his life and this monster’s are one?”

“Be eased, Manethrall,” Latebirth put in to spare Covenant. “Your discernment returns. Therefore gaze closely. Behold the creature’s terror. In all sooth, its vileness surpasses description. Yet it recognizes—” The Giant spoke to Mahrtiir, but she appeared to be cautioning the croyel. “It perceives that any struggle to free itself, or to strike against us, may result in the cutting of its throat. The mere-son asserts that we hasten our own deaths. We need not also speed the death of Linden Giantfriend’s son.”

Mahrtiir wrestled with his frustration, snarled Ramen obscenities under his breath. But he did not argue, or insist that Latebirth release him.

Linden ignored them. Liand’s straits were too extreme. The human body was so fragile—Fragile and precious. One blow could stop its life as easily as snuffing a candle. The Stonedownor required the intervention of Earthpower. He required it now. Only his youth and strength had kept him alive this long.

Briefly she glanced up at the severity of Stonemage’s mien, the hard glitter of her eyes, the embattled lines of her countenance. Then Linden Avery the Chosen tried to remember that she had once been a healer.

Keeping Liand wrapped in gentle fire, she began at his mouth and followed his bleeding inward because that was her easiest path. Blood would lead her to the center of his hurts. There she would be able to identify their ramifications.