Ahead of the monsters, the crevice burst open in a blast of incandescent hunger. Some brute instinct caused the skurj to shy away as She Who Must Not Be Named tore Her way into the cavern.

A mass of terrible energies with dozens or hundreds of faces surged forward. The bane’s savagery shattered stalactites and stalagmites, pelting the surface of the pool to chaos, bludgeoning the skurj with blows which they did not appear to feel. Dripping water hissed instantly into steam as it struck the hides of the beasts. But no rain could touch She Who Must Not Be Named.

Through the confusion of her affliction and floundering, Linden received the impression that the bane and the skurj paid no heed to each other. In their dissimilar fashions, they were ruled by hungers that defied distraction. After their initial flinch, the skurj squirmed swiftly after their prey, twisting past plinths and fallen stone undeterred by the bane’s greater might and malice. And when the bane quickened Her advance, expanding as She moved, She did so simply to satisfy Her feral craving.

Led upward by Waynhim and ur-viles, the companions ran as well as they could. The Giants managed a shambling plod that almost matched the strides of the Ramen and Anele, the best pace that the Haruchai and Liand could demand from Covenant and Linden. Jagged spires threw shadows that jumped and flared in the garish radiance of fangs and malevolence, the shining of the krill and the Sunstone, Linden’s guttering flames. Everywhere water dripped delicate streaks of reflection. Stalagmites loomed and were passed while evils yowled in Linden’s ears. She wanted to stop breathing the sickened air, yearned to smother her infested flesh in conflagration, and could not.

Struggling, the company ran and ran, to no avail. The bane and the skurj gained ground slowly, a few appalling strides at a time; but the outcome was inevitable. The cavern and the ascent seemed endless—and the Swordmainnir were already exhausted. Linden herself was too weary to run without support. Liand had not had enough time to recover from his wounds. Eventually even the Haruchai would weaken.

Maggots fed on Linden’s eyes. Spiders filled her ears. Centipedes crawled between her legs while beetles enjoyed her breasts. She did not—she could not—notice that the Demondim-spawn were pulling ahead; or that they led the company closer to the near wall of the cavern. She did not hear Mahrtiir’s ragged shout, or Rime Coldspray’s gasped answer. Her grasp on Earthpower was failing; and she was aware of nothing except agonies, real and unreal, until Liand shook her frantically, crying, “Linden! The Waynhim! The ur-viles!”

Through a haze of distress and gangrene and hate, she made a dying effort to peer ahead.