Abruptly Jeremiah squirmed against Coldspray’s grasp; attempted to twist free. “You bastard!” The fear and fury of the croyel burned in his gaze. “You sonofabitch! If you aren’t going to at least fight, just kill me! Mom would beg you, if she knew what you’re doing. If she wasn’t so pitiful. If she ever figured out the real reason you surrendered to Foul all those centuries ago is, you’re afraid to put up a struggle.”

Muttering to herself, Rime Coldspray shifted her grip to prick the creature’s throat with the point of Loric’s krill.

Quick fright glared in the croyel’s eyes. The creature let Jeremiah subside.

Manethrall Mahrtiir cleared his throat. “Pay no heed to the croyel, Covenant Timewarden.” In spite of his blindness—or perhaps because of it—he appeared to have shrugged off the massive intimidation of Mount Thunder’s gutrock. “We comprehend your rejection of combat. I cannot speak for the Masters. Doubtless the Swordmainnir will speak for themselves. But we who have been the Ringthane’s first companions and friends in this time are content to abide the outcome of your efforts.”

“As ever,” growled the Ironhand, “the Manethrall is well-spoken. It is a cause for wonder that one so combative of heart is possessed of such courtesy.”

“I appreciate that,” Covenant replied through his teeth. “But right now, I don’t need you. I need Anele.”

Pahni stared in alarm, clearly frightened for the old man. As if to himself, Liand asked, “Anele?”

“He’s part Earthpower,” Covenant explained. “It’s inherent in him,” the legacy of his transubstantiated parents. “He can do things even Berek and the other High Lords couldn’t.”

Fearing that at any moment the bane’s hunger might overcome Her desire to hear Her true name, Covenant faced the old man.

The Humbled watched him as if they were trying to gauge the likelihood of Desecration. If Her name is restored to Her—Esmer regarded Covenant with bafflement and nausea.—the result will be a cataclysm—

“Anele,” Covenant said more harshly than he intended. “You’re on rock. You’re so full of its memories, you hardly know what’s going on. But I think there are still some things you understand.

“I want you to ask for Liand’s orcrest. I need to talk to you sane.”

Anele’s moonstone eyes glistened. They flicked toward Covenant and away as if Covenant were as fearsome as She Who Must Not Be Named. His head jerked roughly from side to side. His wrinkled hands seemed to pluck pleading from the air.

“I hear.” His voice quavered. “I do not comprehend. This stone knows too much of evil. It remembers horror. Its supplication fills my ears.”

Abruptly he slapped himself hard, first with his right hand, then with his left, as though he sought to silence the confusion of his thoughts. Then he extended one scrawny arm, rigid as a demand, toward Liand.