“The Timewarden is diminished,” Infelice told Linden. Her voice sounded raw, almost flayed. “Before he became less than he was, he conceived that you might discover some less fatal means to span the gulf between the living and the Dead. He dreamed that you might earn or coerce his vast awareness from him without dooming this Creation.”

You would not be driven by mistaken love to bring about the end of all things!

Infelice may have been right. Or not. Covenant had lost those memories as well.

A short distance beyond the krill, two of the Haruchai—the Humbled—had released Stave. Covenant almost knew their names. Striding ahead of Stave, they joined their hand-maimed comrade among the Ramen and the Ranyhyn. But it was Stave who announced, “Then the burden falls to you, Elohim. Your knowledge is also vast. Where is the Chosen’s son? How may Corruption and his servants be opposed? How may the Worm be returned to slumber?”

Adrift in his dismembered mind, Covenant finally identified Mahrtiir: the Manethrall. The man had been terribly wounded in the battle of First Woodhelven. And the girl and the man with him were—They were—Covenant clung to Linden’s face with his grieving gaze. The Ramen with the Manethrall were his Cords. Pahni and Bhapa.

“Have I not spoken of this?” retorted Infelice. “Like the Wildwielder herself, her son—and the Timewarden’s also, as well as his mate—are a shadow upon our hearts. Her son has been hidden from us. And the Worm cannot be returned to slumber. By the measure of mountains, it is a small thing, no more than a range of hills. An earthquake might swallow it. Yet its power surpasses comprehension. No upheaval or convulsion will hinder it. Against any obstruction, it will feed and grow mighty until it consumes the essence of the Earth. Then all life and Time will cease. Naught remains for us except extinction.”

“All the more reason for vengeance,” growled Kevin’s shade. “Her crimes must be answered, as mine have been. The Humbled serve the Land falsely if they continue to permit her life.”

Elena moaned as though she shared the Landwaster’s ire—and loathed herself for doing so. Caer-Caveral regarded her with a bitter scowl, but said nothing.

“Have done, son of Loric,” High Lord Berek ordered. “I will not caution you again. Your crimes have not yet been truly answered. Your fathers will speak of you ere this night is done. Until you have heard what is in our hearts, you will withhold your denunciations of the Chosen.”

The Humbled appeared to heed Kevin rather than Berek. They bowed to the last of the Lord-Fatherer’s line as if to acknowledge his despair; to honor his counsel. But they did not strike at Linden again. Instead they arrayed themselves between Covenant and the bedizened form of Infelice.

One of them said, “We require certainty, Elohim.” Galt, that was his name. Beneath its inflectionless surface, his voice thrummed with intensity. “Do you avow that it is indeed Thomas Covenant, ur-Lord and Unbeliever, white gold wielder, who now stands before us, returned from death to flesh and life?”