Rime Coldspray replied with a nod as grave as a bow. Then she said to everyone, “Now we must further simplify our course. To my mind, the choice has become one of urgency. Which of the three perils that we have selected poses the most severe or immediate threat?”

Involuntarily Linden shook her head. She did not mean to interfere with Coldspray’s leadership, or with Mahrtiir’s; but she answered without thinking.

“Urgency isn’t the problem. They’re all urgent,” Jeremiah more than anything else. “The problem is finding them. I can’t even guess where Joan is. But Esmer and the Ardent told us that Roger is in Mount Thunder.” Somewhere among the Wightwarrens. “And Kastenessen has to be there, too, since he’s drawing on the bane to power Kevin’s Dirt. Locating them sounds impossible, but it probably isn’t. If we get close enough, we won’t have to find either of them. They’ll find us.”

Abruptly she stopped. This was not what she wanted. She had good reason to avoid more responsibility. And she doubted that the Humbled would respect any choices except their own.

In dismay, she argued against herself. “At least we know where Jeremiah is.”

We need to help him somehow. Please.

After a quick consultation with her comrades, the Ironhand mused, “The distance is not insurmountable. The remaining portion of the Ardent’s largesse may be stretched to sustain a trek of several days. Yet qualms disturb me. I fear the suddenness with which Covenant Timewarden’s former mate is able to strike. And within the Wightwarrens of Mount Thunder, of which we have heard tales, we will traverse passages and confusions unknown to us, yet intimately familiar to the Cavewights. Doubtless the Timewarden’s son and his forces will offer battle at a time and place where every circumstance is unfavorable to us.”

Linden said nothing.

“Also,” continued the Ironhand, “I am reluctant to turn my back upon the intent of the Ardent. Aye, he did not name his purpose. Yet the great cost of his service has won my regard. I cannot conclude that our presence here is without value.”

“By your reasoning, then, Ironhand,” Mahrtiir concluded harshly, “we are returned to our starting place. We cannot choose a path toward any point of our compass. In my heart remains the belief that what has transpired here”—he pointed at Liand’s cairn—“must serve as our lodestone. Yet its import eludes me.” In frustration, he muttered a Ramen curse. “Therefore I can offer no further counsel.”

Abruptly Bhapa took a step forward. “Perhaps—” he began, then stopped, staring as though his own thoughts shocked him.

“Speak, Cord,” the Manethrall commanded at once.

Please, Linden repeated, if only to herself. Somebody think of something.