“Aye,” Mahrtiir put in: a muffled growl. “And along the leagues of Landsdrop which demark the Plains of Ra are many ascents. There the armies of Fangthane breached the Upper Land in an age long past, bringing their savagery first to the Ranyhyn and their Ramen.”

Stave nodded. “Beyond the Sarangrave, the Spoiled Plains fill the Lower Land both eastward to the Sunbirth Sea and southward beyond the ken of the Haruchai. There the purpose of the Ranyhyn may diverge from the ur-Lord’s, if they do not first turn to essay Landsdrop. Our path and his will no longer be constrained by the perils of the Flat, and of the lurker.

“From the Colossus,” he continued, “the shattered site of Foul’s Creche lies somewhat south of east, torn from a promontory of cliffs which front the Sunbirth Sea. Between the Colossus and that rent habitation are arrayed the Spoiled Plains, still rife with the effects of Corruption’s malice, then the Shattered Hills, a maze and snare for the unwary, and last the long-cooled floes of lava which were once Hotash Slay. In the time of the Unbeliever’s first triumph over Corruption, Hotash Slay formed the final defense of Foul’s Creche, ancient Ridjeck Thome. After the destruction wrought by the ur-Lord’s victory, however, the lava spilled into the Sea until its sources were drained.

“The Masters seldom journey there, seeing no purpose in the visitation of sites where memories of Corruption’s cruelest evils linger. But upon occasion they have confirmed the lifelessness of his former abode.”

For a moment, Linden no longer heard what Stave was saying. He had triggered a memory that stopped her ears; that almost stopped her heart.

Joan.

A wasteland of shattered stone, the rubble of a riven cliff.

The unmistakable tumble and flow of surf crashing forever on rocks.

And turiya Herem.

Oh, Covenant! He was going—He was going there.

Then the abrupt glare and seethe of a caesure snatched at her. Instinctively her heart clenched: she scrambled for Earthpower.

An instant later, however, her senses snapped into focus, and she realized that the Fall was too far away to harm the company. If it came closer—

It did not. For a few heartbeats, it writhed eastward, increasing the distance. Then it vanished with the suddenness of a thunderclap.

Linden took a deep breath, loosened her grip on the Staff; tried to calm her hammering pulse.

God in Heaven! Covenant—

The storm brewed by so many temporal disruptions was growing stronger. But that threat was easier to ignore.

She had to force words between the mallet-strokes of her heart. “That’s where Covenant is going.”

Stave seemed to understand her. “Mayhap,” he said with a shrug. “Or mayhap his goal lies more to the south. Or—”

Linden cut him off. “He’s going to Foul’s Creche.”

“Are you certain, Ringthane?” Mahrtiir asked tensely. And Rime Coldspray added, “How have you derived this knowledge?”