“And you, Masters,” the Ardent continued. “Will you allow a Giant to bear the Timewarden?”

Branl and Clyme nodded. With their permission, Cirrus Kindwind claimed Covenant. Although she had lost a forearm and hand to the skurj, she did not need them to support him against the chest of her armor.

“Then gather about me,” the Insequent instructed. To Galt, he said, “Bring the lady’s son as nigh as you dare.”

Stolidly Galt used the krill and his hold on Jeremiah’s shoulder to press the boy closer to the Ardent.

Lifted from the floor, Linden settled into her familiar position sitting on Grueburn’s arms. Quickly she confirmed that she still had Covenant’s ring on its chain around her neck. Then she gripped her Staff hard in both hands.

At the same time, the Ardent unfurled wreaths and streamers of bright cloth and sent them wafting around the company. Soon a fluttering ribband had settled on Linden’s shoulder and Grueburn’s arm; on one shoulder or arm of each of her companions. Threatened by the krill, the croyel did not resist as a fulvous band rested on its deformed head. Within moments, the Ardent had placed his fabric touch on everyone except Esmer and the Demondim-spawn.

Abruptly the ur-viles and Waynhim resumed their barking. Their harsh clamor conveyed an urgency that Esmer did not deign to translate. The Waynhim scattered into the passage that led to the palace of enchanted water. The ur-viles made gestures that could have meant anything.

They offer guidance—

They may not have grasped the extent of the Ardent’s powers.

—but they cannot save you.

The pulse of the bane’s approach was growing stronger.

Across the small gap between Stonemage and Cabledarm, Liand and Pahni held hands. Squirming against Kindwind’s cataphract, Covenant tried to find a position that did not gall his burns. Then he gave up. With his teeth clenched, he hugged his hands against his chest.

“No,” Anele moaned, “no. Better the Worm. It merely feeds. It does not hate.” His broken mind was trapped among images that appalled him.

The Ardent adjusted his plump features into lines of resolve. “Farewell, mere-son,” he lisped to Esmer. “I wish you joy of your many betrayals. We will not abide to witness their outcome.”

Tightening the touch of his ribbands, he began to whisper incantations in a language as incomprehensible as the guttural speech of the Demondim-spawn.

The insistence of the ur-viles became a feral snarling.

Esmer did not move to intervene. Instead he gave the Insequent a look of such scorn that Linden winced.

Esmer knew something that the Ardent did not. The ur-viles and Waynhim knew it.