Inspired by dread for Jeremiah, Linden adjusted her attack on Roger. Instead of opposing him squarely, she lowered her aim. In a flash of black puissance, she incinerated the Cavewight carrying Covenant’s son; reduced the creature to instantaneous ash. And as Roger fell, cursing, in a flurry of limbs, she turned her fire like a scourge against the Cavewights around him. Before he could flounder to his feet, she set ablaze every creature that might have shielded him. When she resumed flailing at him again, he stood alone on his hilltop, an eyot of absolute ferocity above the tide of Cavewights and the carnage.

Cabledarm fell to one knee, an axe embedded in her thigh, with her longsword thrust through the throat of her attacker. Before other creatures could inundate her, Stave wrenched loose the axe and spun among them, delivering hacked limbs and gashed necks on all sides. Snarling in pain, Cabledarm cleared her sword; hobbled to follow Stave with Frostheart Grueburn at her shoulder. Together the two Swordmainnir and the former Master cleared a space at the gore-streaked edge of the ridge.

Into that space climbed Branl with Mahrtiir hanging on his back. The Humbled wore blood as thick as a cloak: cuts covered the Manethrall like fretwork. But they were still alive.

With a word, Coldspray sent Onyx Stonemage to join the fighting beyond the cairn. The Ironhand seemed to wade through blows and bodies, whirling her glaive in a fierce blur, as she labored to support Grueburn and Cabledarm.

In another moment, or perhaps two, they would all be hacked down. Every Giant. Every Haruchai except Galt. Manethrall Mahrtiir. There would be no one left to defend the Cords and Covenant, or Galt and Jeremiah, or Anele, except Linden herself.

Seeing what was about to happen, Bhapa and Pahni began to drag Covenant down the far side of the ridge.

They would not get far.

Surely Galt was ready to slice open the croyel’s throat so that he could carry Loric’s krill into the fight? He would need it. Linden could hardly believe that he had waited so long.

No! she yelled to herself, harsh as vitriol, bitter as the dirt of Gallows Howe. No! I will not allow it!

Screaming the Seven Words, she redoubled her pitch-dark assault on Covenant’s son. Flame as black as the core of an eclipsed sun struck at him from both shod heels of her Staff. Between the iron bands, Caerroil Wildwood’s script flared with unconstrained possibilities. If she could stop Roger, kill him, his Cavewights might falter. Galt might refrain from causing Jeremiah’s death.

But she was the one who faltered. Caught by surprise, her concentration broke when she sensed Anele’s descent from the cairn. In one fist, he held the orcrest blazing as if it were a remedy for possession. His moonstone eyes shone like sunlight, articulating his inheritance of Earthpower.

Anele, don’t!