Kindwind descended the stairs almost on Grueburn’s heels. Ahead of Linden, Latebirth was halfway to the egress from the palace. Behind Kindwind, Branl, and Clyme, Giants and ur-viles ran downward in a clamor of heavy feet and a scatter of lighter bodies. Lit by braziers of water and flame, Halewhole Bluntfist bore Bhapa between the curtains. They appeared to be the last—

The Ironhand, Jeremiah, and Galt had dropped so far back that Linden could barely descry them.

“Wait,” she panted to Grueburn. “Wait. We’re too far ahead. I can’t protect them.”

If Galt and Coldspray lost their way, the croyel might break free. The krill’s force was not Earthpower: it would not anchor the senses of the Master and the Ironhand. The croyel was strong enough to kill them both if Galt’s threat slipped.

In response, a few ur-viles turned back, yelling as they raced up the stairs.

“Be reassured, Wildwielder.” Esmer visibly loathed the contradiction which required him to translate for the Demondim-spawn. “The ur-viles will ward the Haruchai and your son, and also the Giant. The croyel will not elude the krill.”

“Let them take care of it, Linden,” urged Covenant. “We’ll all be safer when we get past this place. You won’t have to work so hard to keep us from drifting.”

Linden had said that she trusted the ur-viles—Surely those creatures knew how to counter the theurgies of their makers’ makers? Surely they retained enough of that imponderable lore? Biting her lip, she forced herself to leave Jeremiah’s fate in the hands of the Demondim-spawn.

Grueburn and Kindwind ran after the Ardent, Latebirth, and Stonemage as if they were still pursuing Longwrath.

They seemed to cross the rich floor in an undifferentiated swirl of glances and imagery. Lights and jewels wheeled like a catastrophe of stars. The palace had appeared vast when Linden had wandered among its amazements earlier; but the speed of the Swordmainnir made it as transient as a mirage. Half obscured by the Ardent’s apparel, Latebirth and Onyx Stonemage disappeared into the corridor ahead. Bluntfist pounded down the last stairs to the beat of the bane’s hunger. Gradually Linden lost her awareness of Jeremiah altogether. She could not discern the ur-viles that had hastened to preserve him.

A moment later, Grueburn carried her into the next passage. Marble and mosaics disappeared suddenly, completely, as if they had been cut out of existence with a knife.

A storm of incipient hysteria pressed against Linden’s self-command; her concentration on Earthpower. She was leaving her son behind—She did not trust anyone or anything enough to relieve her instinctive alarm.

Ahead of her, the Manethrall sat, watchful and ready, on Latebirth’s arms as the Swordmain followed the Waynhim. Energized by the vitality of the Staff, Liand grew palpably stronger, shedding the aftereffects of his wounds while Stonemage ran. The Ardent deployed his ribbands in a frenzy like the fever of his timorous heart. Covenant seemed to be failing. Bit by bit, the hurt of his burns gnawed at his self-command. Nevertheless he clung grimly to his present.