Branl looked at the blinded man; raised an eyebrow in inquiry. After a moment, he said, “We do not comprehend. How is it that any mere place can diminish a Manethrall of the Ramen? You are who and what you are, unlessened in strength, forethought, or valor by the loss of ordinary sight. Nor have you been diminished by impenetrable stone or ancient banes. To think otherwise is to heed the blandishments of Corruption.”

In a motion too fluid for Covenant to follow, Mahrtiir’s fighting garrote appeared in his hands. Through his teeth, he asked, “Do you accuse me, sleepless one? Do you deem that my perception of myself betrays this company, or the Ringthane, or the Land?”

Anticipating a provocative rejoinder from Branl, Covenant groaned.

However, Branl answered flatly, “I have not said so. Nor was that my meaning. You are a Manethrall of the Ramen. For their devotion to the Ranyhyn, the Manethralls have been esteemed by every Haruchai since the time of the Bloodguard. Though you revile our Mastery, you cannot question my word. If any accusation stands between us, it arises from within you, not from any judgment of the Humbled, or of the Masters.”

In spite of his numbness, Covenant continued stroking Linden’s hair. “He’s telling the truth, Mahrtiir. You know that. He’s Haruchai. He doesn’t lie.

“I understand feeling useless. But I’ve been weaker than you are. When I first came to the Land, I clung to the idea I was helpless. I counted on it. I didn’t want to carry the load that comes with being able to stand for something. It took me a long time to get over needing to believe I’m weak.”

He had learned that only the damned can be saved.

“Of course,” he conceded, “I had help. A lot of help.” Atiaran. Mhoram. Bannor. Saltheart Foamfollower. Triock. Even Lena, whom he had raped and abandoned. “But so do you. And you still have a long way to go.” Covenant had said that once before, although he no longer remembered why. “You still have to come back.”

The muscles of Mahrtiir’s jaw knotted. Cords of tension defined his neck. As if he were delivering or receiving a blow, he rasped, “Master, I find that I must cry your pardon also. If joy is in the ears that hear, as the Giants avow, not in the mouth that speaks, then blame and rue must likewise be found in the ears that hear. Condemning the Masters for their judgments, I have vaunted myself worthy to judge them. The fault is mine.”

Branl considered the Manethrall briefly. His mien revealed nothing as he acknowledged Mahrtiir’s apology with a bow.

Mahrtiir faced Covenant again. “If I am granted an occasion to heed your counsel, Timewarden, I will do so.”

Then he walked away as if he hoped to conceal his self-recrimination by turning his back.