Liand stared with open wonder. Stave watched warily. The Ramen held themselves ready, taut with innominate expectations. Gradually Linden understood that the attention of the Dead was not directed toward her. Though they spoke to each other, their emanations were concentrated, not on her, but on Kevin Landwaster, who stood appalled and ghastly in the east as if he had witnessed the fruition of his worst fears—and now expected to be punished for Linden’s crimes as well as his own.

That recognition plucked at her; intruded on her dismay. Like her, Kevin had accomplished only evil by evil means. His anguish touched her when she had lost her ability to respond to anything else.

“Indeed, it is so,” Damelon added. Like Berek, he addressed Loric. The tranquility of his earlier smile had become sadness and affection. “Though you are the son of my heart, and entirely beloved, do you not believe that I question your deeds and courage, as you do? Do you not suffer gall, judging that you have not matched the standard which I have set for you? And if I avow that you merit my pride in each and all of your endeavors, will you hear me? Will you not believe that my words are inspired by love rather than by worth?”

With an air of reluctance, High Lord Loric nodded.

“Thus it falls to me to speak,” proclaimed Berek.

His steps did not mark the rich grass as he came slowly forward. “Kevin son of Loric, hear and give heed,” he demanded in a tone that was both stern and gentle. “We share no bond apart from the heritage of lore and High Lordship. The inheritance of blood is too distant to constrain me. Thus I am able to state freely that your sires are grieved by the harm which you have wrought, but they are not shamed.”

As he moved, he appeared to approach Linden and the krill and Covenant’s fallen form. If he had so much as glanced at her, she would have flinched again. But his gaze was fixed solely on the Landwaster: his strides would take him past her to Loric’s son.

At the same time, Damelon and Loric also moved, walking carefully toward Kevin as though they wished him to comprehend that he was not threatened.

Kevin stared wildly. A kind of terror poured from him, contradicting the benison of Andelain. He may have imagined that the words and attitudes of his ancestors were false; intended to exacerbate his torment. Or he may have feared that they would trivialize his sufferings, implying that his despair was devoid of significance to anyone but himself.

In his place, Linden would have felt those dreads.

Nevertheless Loric’s son did not withdraw. Perhaps he could not: perhaps the same commandment which had brought him here precluded any word or deed that might have eased his pain.

In spite of her own plight, or because of it, Linden mourned for him.

At once stentorian and kindly, Berek continued, “Only the great of heart may despair greatly.” His voice seemed to echo back from the lost stars. “You are loved and treasured, not for the outcome of your extremity, but rather for the open passion by which you were swayed to Desecration. That same quality warranted the Vow of the Haruchai. It was not false.”