“We have Jeremiah now. He’s right here. And it’s obvious that he’s important. I’m going to start with him.”

Did the Staff of Law wield the wrong kind of power to extinguish the croyel without killing her son? Fine. She still had her health-sense, unfettered now by Kevin’s Dirt. And if it did not suffice, it might nonetheless enable her to make some use of Covenant’s ring.

Kasreyn of the Gyre had believed of white gold that Its imperfection is the very paradox of which the Earth is made, and with it a master may form perfect works and fear nothing. She had no reason to think that he was wrong.

“First,” she murmured, “I’m going to get more sleep. Then I’m going to do everything I can think for Jeremiah.” Knowing that the croyel could hear her, she added more sharply, “If I’m strong enough to rouse the Worm of the World’s End, I ought to be able to at least scare that damn monster.”

“There!” Covenant’s tone seemed to express satisfaction and alarm simultaneously. “One of us has a plan. First things first. That makes sense to me. The Ironhand is right. It’s time for some trust.

“You heard the Ardent. Somehow she’s changed everything. Even Lord almighty Foul doesn’t know what’s going to happen now. And maybe she actually can save Jeremiah. Maybe he’s the only one of us who has to be saved.

“In any case—” He spread his hands. “She’s the only one who could have brought us this far.”

Because she had friends—

Linden recognized an undercurrent in his voice; a hint of complex intentions or desires. An ulterior motive? A specific hope or need which he kept to himself? She did not know—or other implications had more significance for her.

He had given her his approval. Again. Nevertheless she bit into her lip as if he had just pronounced sentence on her.

Chapter 3. - —Whatever the Cost

3.

—Whatever the Cost

After a while, the Giants stirred from the circle. Rime Coldspray was the first to rise; but Grueburn, Cabledarm, and the others soon followed her example. Their frustration was obvious. Nevertheless they conveyed a clear unwillingness to demand more from Linden—or from Covenant. Instead, at a word from the Ironhand, they drew apart. When they had walked a short way up the shallow canyon, they seated themselves again, facing each other. In low voices, little more than a susurrus carried by the twilight breeze, they spoke together, holding their own less condensed Giantclave.

Linden could not make out what they were saying, and did not try. They were Giants: she trusted their hearts more than she trusted her own.