The Ardent closed his eyes, apparently seeking to shut out distractions. He chanted more loudly. The strips of his apparel clenched and loosened to the rhythm of his spell. Other bands—garish garnet, stark fuligin, an azure as luminous as open skies—flurried around him as though he sought to silence the urgency of the ur-viles.

Esmer said nothing.

The Ardent’s voice rose. His chanting began to vacillate between commanding tones and febrile supplications. Fresh sweat beaded on his forehead, his cheeks. He spat words like gibberish in a spray of saliva and imprecation.

“Here it comes,” Covenant rasped softly.

The subliminal thud of malice drew closer. It punctuated the Ardent’s rising desperation.

Then his eyes burst open. An expression of utter chagrin stretched his countenance. “You!” he gasped at Esmer.

Cail’s son lifted his shoulders: a shrug of disdain. “The conjoined powers of the Insequent have made you mighty, but they have not altered the nature of your knowledge. The theurgies by which you bypass distances are a wan mimicry of wild magic.” His scorn sounded like despair. “They are impotent in my presence.”

He had promised more betrayals. They will be revealed when they are needed.

Roger had said of him, He changes his mind too often. There’s always a flaw somewhere . This time, there was none.

Because of him, Linden’s company was caught in the Lost Deep.

Chapter 11. - Private Carrion

11.

Private Carrion

Here it comes.

Stupefied by shock, Linden gaped at Covenant. They are impotent in my presence. Her companions stared at Esmer in dismay. The consternation of the Giants was too great for protests or curses. Mahrtiir ground his teeth helplessly. Tears started in Pahni’s eyes as she clutched Liand’s urgent hand. In the nacre glow of the walls, Bhapa looked pallid and stricken, as if he were about to faint. But the eyes of the Humbled held vindication. From the first, they had opposed the decisions which had brought the company here.

Despite the threat of the krill, the croyel grinned with all its teeth. Entirely possessed, Jeremiah looked as vacant as Covenant’s home on Haven Farm. His slackness seemed to imply bonfires; conflagrations.

She Who Must Not Be Named was rising from the abyss. Linden had sensed that dire evil. Against Her ire, only white gold may hope for efficacy. Nevertheless her attention was fixed on Covenant. She could not look away.

Here it comes—?

In the appalled silence, she asked, “Did you know about this?” Her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “Why didn’t you warn us?”

Covenant shook his head. “I guessed.” Residual excruciation sawed in his tone. His eyes searched the walls as though they were all that remained of his memories; as though he sought salvation in recollections which eluded him. “He promised more treachery. I assumed he was hiding something.”