Just for an instant, he looked so stricken that she thought he might cry out. But then the lines of his face resumed their familiar strictures. Masking the reflections in his eyes, he said gruffly, “I’m broken, Linden. I told you. I don’t know what I’m becoming, and I don’t know what I’ll have to do about it. I trust you. It’s me I’m worried about.”

With one truncated finger, he pointed at Jeremiah. “Try everything you can think of. We need him.”

Then he withdrew into himself. He had not fallen into his memories: that was plain. Nevertheless he had erected a barrier against her.

For a moment longer, she glared at him, striving by force of will and need to make him meet her gaze. God, she wanted—! But there was nothing that she could say. And she had no right to rail at him. Not after doing him so much harm.

Aching, she turned toward Jeremiah, Galt, and the croyel.

Briefly she paused to rally her resolve. Then she said to Galt, “Come on. We should let the others sleep as long as they can. Let’s climb out of this canyon.”

From an open ridge or hilltop, she might find some form of guidance among the stars.

The hairless skull of the croyel cast Galt’s face into shadow: she felt rather than saw him nod. At once, he drew Jeremiah away from the sleepers toward one of the easier slopes on the northern side of the canyon. As he walked, the krill’s gem cast shifting gleams like omens across the bare dirt and shale of the hillsides.

Linden followed, bracing herself on the Staff. Stave fell into step at her side. Together Coldspray and Grueburn rose to accompany her, leaving Stonemage to watch over the others. With the nerves of her skin, Linden tasted Mahrtiir’s indecision; knew the moment when he made up his mind. Leaving the stream, he went to Covenant and stood there until Covenant muttered a familiar curse and heaved himself to his feet. The two men trailed after Coldspray and Grueburn.

As Galt started upward, picking a careful path in the darkness, Stave said quietly, “Chosen, there remains one matter of which you have not been apprised.” Then he paused.

Concentrating on the uncertainties of the slope, Linden asked, “Yes?” to prompt him.

“While you were absent within yourself,” he replied, “the Unbeliever sought aid for you from the Ardent. He desired your return, as did all who accompany you. But the Ardent professed himself unable to succor you.”

Again Stave paused. When he resumed, Linden heard hints of anger and apprehension in his tone.

“Here I must be exact, for I cannot interpret his words. To the Unbeliever, the Ardent answered, ‘The lady has gone beyond my ken. I perceive only that her need for death is great.’”

Instinctively Linden flinched.