From the hillside above them, she saw Covenant and Stave, Jeremiah and Galt, Liand and Anele, the Giants and Manethrall Mahrtiir and Bhapa. A glance was enough to assure her that they had rested and drunk their fill. Temporarily, at least, most of them had recovered a portion of their natural toughness. Now they sat waiting in the shade among the boulders close to the stream.

On nearby ridges, Clyme and Branl stood watch. This far from the Land’s foes, Linden could not imagine that the company faced any immediate danger except hunger. Nevertheless she was glad for the wariness of the Humbled.

She also could not imagine why the Ardent had brought her companions here, where they could do nothing. Nor did she understand why the Insequent had abandoned them.

Liand greeted her and Pahni with a glad shout. Wasting his scant stamina, he sprang to his feet and hurried up the hillside to meet them. With a warm smile for Pahni, he wrapped his arms around Linden.

His hug was brief, a momentary taste of the deeper embraces for which she was starving. Nevertheless it steadied her. It reminded her sore nerves and her hidden wounds that she was not alone, in spite of Covenant’s rejection. She still had friends who were strong and faithful, friends who had earned every bit of her esteem. If Covenant refused to lead the company, perhaps someone else would do so.

The salutations of the Swordmainnir were less impulsive, but they all rose from their resting places and spoke Linden’s name with evident relief, pleased to see for themselves that she had escaped her nightmares.

Anele sat in Galesend’s armor without acknowledging Linden. In contrast, Mahrtiir gave her a bow of approval; and Bhapa waved, grinning crookedly. But Jeremiah did not react, and the croyel ignored her. For reasons of its own, the creature’s gaze followed Liand. As usual, the Humbled revealed nothing.

Depending on the Staff and Liand for balance, Linden made her way down the slope. As she descended, she studied Covenant’s twisted effort to smile for her. Protecting herself, she tried to think, Go to hell. But she could not look at him and feel that way. At least for the time being, he was present. In spite of his rejection, she prayed that his absences would grow less frequent as his long past leaked away.

Like her, he was becoming less than he had once been. To that extent, at least, she understood his desire to distance himself.

She would have preferred to avoid looking at Jeremiah. She did not want to be reminded that nothing had changed. But even a brief glance at his slack stance and muddied gaze, the droop of his mouth, and the stubble like grime on his cheeks confirmed that he was still the croyel’s prisoner. And the monster’s possessive malice was unabated. Despite the eldritch keenness of the krill’s edge only a breath from its neck, its eyes glared with unspecified threats, and its jaws champed steadily, avid to sink its fangs into Jeremiah’s throat once more.