“Timewarden?” Liand’s query was an accusation. “To our sight, the recovery of his mind by orcrest causes acute suffering. If the Dead do not bring us to destruction by naming the bane, what can they offer to justify his hurt?”

“Peace, Stonedownor.” Wrapped in his ribbands, the Ardent was barely audible. “It is a worthy attempt. I deem that the Dead possess no fatal knowledge of this evil.”

Covenant held up his truncated halfhand. Wait. He did not glance away from Anele. Just wait.

Above him, She Who Must Not Be Named held Herself in abeyance, anticipating revelation.

Then Bhapa gave a wordless shout. Covenant spun away from Anele as the spectres of Sunder and Hollian took shape on either side of the Despiser’s first victim.

Dim against the burning of the waters, the fiery vehemence of the bane, and the writhen stalactites, the Dead were limned in silvery evanescence: the Graveler and the eh-Brand. Amid the forces rampant in the cavern, they looked incomplete, as if they lacked the strength to manifest themselves fully. Nonetheless they were like their son, rife with Earthpower. Though they were little more than silhouettes, they withstood the flames, endured the thunder of torrents.

Briefly they gazed at Anele with aching regret. Before he or Covenant could speak, they turned to each other and nodded as if they had reached an agreement.

We have no value here. Covenant heard them in his mind. Perhaps everyone heard them. We serve only to confirm Her woe and wrath. Yet your need is plain. We will insist upon other aid.

As suddenly as they had come, they vanished—

Wait! Covenant shouted voicelessly, not to Sunder and Hollian, but to his companions.

Frantically Anele thrust the orcrest at Liand. As soon as Liand accepted it, the old man crumpled to the lurching stone.

An instant later, Stormpast Galesend swept him into her arms.

—and High Lord Elena appeared directly in front of She Who Must Not Be Named.

When Elena saw the bane, she began to shriek like every damned woman who had ever been consumed.

As if in surprise or recognition, the bane replied with Her own cries. Elena was brighter than Sunder and Hollian: a cynosure of pain wracked by the harm that she had done, and by the use which Lord Foul had made of her. Together the bane’s howling and hers scaled higher, louder. They were a firestorm of screams. The tortures of the doomed scourged the air; lashed Covenant’s hearing. Liand and the Ramen covered their ears. Several of the Giants flinched. Blood spread from the corners of Esmer’s eyes.

Covenant understood. Oh, he understood—Sunder and Hollian had made the right choice. Elena had loved, and been betrayed, and suffered. And she was Covenant’s daughter, excruciated by self-abhorrence for millennia: the bane’s perfect food. The perfect bait. The bane could not ignore such ripe anguish.