“She’s Joan,” Linden replied as if that were answer enough. “Where else would she be?” But then she compelled herself to explain. A promontory jutting into the sea. Torn apart when Covenant destroyed the Illearth Stone. “I saw her. I was there.

“You weren’t,” she told Mahrtiir. He had said so when they had spoken of this in Revelstone. “I’m talking about that first caesure. The one that took us to the Staff. The Ranyhyn and the ur-viles protected you.” She turned to Stave. “And you didn’t let yourself get sucked in. You recognized the Raver. You were strong enough to stay away.

“But I couldn’t do that. I was caught in Joan’s mind. I saw what she saw, heard what she heard. That was part of what made the whole thing so terrible.” In the spaces between her heartbeats, the memory was more vivid to her than any of her companions, more immediate than the coming storm, or the night’s unfathomable implications. “I saw the remains of a broken cliff. I heard waves.

“Covenant is going to Foul’s Creche.”

The Giants studied her closely. But they said nothing: they had not shared her experiences within Falls.

Stave considered Linden’s assertion, then nodded. “I cannot gainsay you. If the Unbeliever must confront his doom at Ridjeck Thome, it is fitting that he should do so. Yet this insight does not elucidate our own path.

“Chosen”—abruptly his manner intensified, although he did not raise his voice—“the Ardent spoke of a need for death. Recalling his words, I must observe that no region of the Land has endured more carnage than the Spoiled Plains. The ravages inflicted upon the Upper Land pale beside the multiplicity of blights and bloodshed which the Spoiled Plains have endured. Their condition is the unredeemed outcome of Corruption’s malice.

“Is it not therefore plausible that the answer to your purported need lies there?”

Linden ignored him. Another caesure glared and crackled in the west. A league away? Less? It extinguished itself quickly; but it made her flinch nonetheless. God, Joan was driving herself crazy—

She knew Covenant was coming.

A storm of her own gathered in Linden. “Damn it!” she cried. “We have to stop him.” Letting him go, she had made another hideous mistake. “We have to catch up with him and stop him!”

The Ironhand stared at her. “With our strength as it is, and the Ranyhyn content walking? How shall we accomplish such a feat? And did the Timewarden not forbid our presence?”

“He said it was too dangerous,” Linden retorted. An excuse for leaving her. “But he got it backward. It’s too dangerous for him. He’s gambling that Joan’s need to hurt him is going to break her before she can destroy him.” What else could he do? Loric’s krill could not ward him from wild magic. “But he isn’t just gambling with his own life. He’s gambling with everything.” She hardly noticed that she was shouting. “And he’s doing it without me! I’m the only one who can protect him, and he couldn’t wait to get away!”