“We would prefer,” concluded Coldspray, “to expend the remainder of this season—or of this year—reveling in tales. Nonetheless we are able to recognize an exigency when it tweaks our noses, though we are Giants indeed, and by nature foolish. While the last crisis of the Earth looms, we will endeavor to emulate your concision. When we are fed once more, we will attempt a Giantclave scant enough to appease your impatience.”

With that, the Ironhand bowed flamboyantly, seconded by loud applause from her fellow Swordmainnir.

Linden regarded them, bemused. Strange, she thought, that she had forgotten what Giants were like in high good humor. And stranger still that they were able to laugh and clap so soon after their ordeals. But Covenant advised her in a feigned whisper, “Don’t worry. They’ll calm down. Sometimes they just need to get speeches like that out of their systems.”

To a chorus of laughter and a few whistles, as if he had delivered a particularly telling riposte, he sat down near one of the cloth trays.

Feeling suddenly estranged, like a ghost at a banquet, full of sorrows and fears that no one else recognized, Linden hesitated. Covenant knew Giants better than she did: he seemed to belong with them. And she was unable to match him. She had never been his equal.

For a moment, she considered taking some food and standing apart with Jeremiah. Her son’s emptiness and the croyel’s malevolence and Galt’s distrust suited her mood. But then Liand made the decision for her by taking her arm and pulling her down to sit between him and Covenant.

Sighing, she accepted a cloth tray from Grueburn.

Before long, Pahni and Bhapa came down a hillside into the dusk. Pahni dropped to the sand at Liand’s side and gave him a quick hug while Bhapa informed Mahrtiir that the Cords had failed to find enough wood to sustain even a small fire during the night. Bhapa’s posture suggested that he expected a reprimand; but the Manethrall replied mildly, “Have no concern, Cord. This region is too barren. A fire would have comforted our counsels, but its lack will not sadden us.” He indicated the ready meal with a nod. “Eat and rest while you may.”

Then his manner sharpened. With a familiar edge in his voice, he added, “Remember that you will be Manethrall when I have passed away. You will be denied the proper ceremonies and homage, but you must bear my duties nonetheless. You are better suited to do so than you believe.”

As he spoke, an involuntary shiver ran down Linden’s back. She understood Mahrtiir. He had been told, You’ll have to go a long way to find your heart’s desire. Just be sure you come back. The Manethrall was trying to prepare Bhapa.

Like Pahni, Mahrtiir burned to know what Covenant’s prophecies meant.

The Land needs you.