Behind them, the Ironhand still supported Jeremiah with one arm, holding the krill against the croyel’s throat. Despite the bane’s ferocity, Jeremiah’s muddy eyes gazed at nothing. Spittle slid from one corner of his mouth. But the croyel had lost its feral grin. Squirming its talons deeper into the boy’s flesh, the creature seemed to brace itself for one last ploy, some act of power or cunning that might save its life.

Without hesitation, Stave scooped Linden into his arms and carried her to the wall, leaving the Giants room to swing their swords. Glimpsed past lank, untended strands of hair, the slackness of her mouth and the unfocused glaze of her eyes told Covenant that she had become as unreactive as her son. She had endured too much—He could only pray in silence that something within her still lived and loved, and could be reached.

Clyme and Branl had already dragged him back from the edge of the shelf. Galt stood in front of him like Bannor or Brinn: a display of resolve as brave as that of the Giants, and as wasted. At the same time, the Cords had taken Liand and the Staff, their Manethrall, and Anele as far from the rim of the ledge as they could. There Anele squatted against the wall as if he sought to curl his emaciated frame into the stone. Whispering aimlessly, he slapped at his old cheeks.

Nearby the Ardent wrapped every shred of his marred raiment around himself as though he hoped irrationally to ward his plump flesh with cloth. Panic glistened among the reflected fires in his eyes.

Higher up on the ledge, the ur-viles and Waynhim barked feverishly, strident with imprecations or despair. Their baying and yells appeared to be directed at Esmer.

Clad in wounds and tatters, Esmer ignored the Demondim-spawn. Apparently his efforts to scorn the people whom he had betrayed had failed. Dismay twisted his visage as he regarded the bane.

Relishing its immanent feast, She Who Must Not Be Named glowered higher and howled like a call for vengeance. Soon She would loom over the company.

Abruptly the croyel croaked in Jeremiah’s voice, “Esmer. Get us out of here. Esmer.”

Coldspray tightened her grip threateningly; but the monster was too frightened to heed the pain of the krill.

“It wasn’t supposed to come to this,” the croyel gasped. “She wasn’t supposed to be able to stop the skurj. You have to save us.”

Only Jeremiah’s loose features and silted gaze confirmed that the boy was not pleading for himself.

“You won’t regret it. Kastenessen will forgive you. He’ll heal you. If he doesn’t, we’ll make him. But you have to get us out of here.”