The Manethrall’s assertion appeared to satisfy the Ardent—or his people. “That is well,” he or they observed. “The Haruchai would not refuse the Timewarden. Nevertheless he has another purpose. He must not step aside from it.”

Then the geas left the frail man. As if he were crumpling, he folded to the sand. Propped on his hands and knees, no longer able to call on his apparel for support, he gasped small bursts of broken laughter.

The Cords? Linden thought. The Cords? Oh, God!

Covenant had foreseen this—

He scowled at the dying man as though he wanted to hear more.—another purpose. But the Giants turned to regard Manethrall Mahrtiir. Studying his bandaged visage, Rime Coldspray said uncertainly, “It is much to ask. Surely Stave or one of the Humbled—?”

Without a flicker of hesitation, Stave stated, “My kinsmen will not harken to me. And the Humbled will not part from the Unbeliever. It is bootless to inquire of them.”

“Then a Giant?” asked the Ironhand. “The Masters have made their unwelcome plain for many centuries. Nonetheless I will believe that they have not forgotten their ancient esteem, first for the Unhomed and later for the comrades of the Search.”

“No.” The Manethrall spoke as if his word were Law. “My Cords will bear this burden. It was foretold for them. They will not refuse it.”

—you two have the hardest job. You’ll have to survive. And you’ll have to make them listen to you.

For the same reason, Mahrtiir could not accompany them. Covenant had counseled him to take a different path.

You’ll have to go a long way to find your heart’s desire. Just be sure you come back.

Shaken, Bhapa cried softly, “Manethrall, no. I implore you!”

Instinctively Linden wanted to add her voice to the Cord’s. She feared Covenant’s prophecies. They all seemed to mean death.

She’s already given them too many reasons to feel ashamed of themselves.

But Pahni swept forward as if she were pouncing. “Yes!” The eagerness of a hawk shone in her soft eyes. “I will lay Liand’s death at the feet of the Masters and compel an answer. They deem themselves the descendants of the Bloodguard. I will require of them a comparable service.

“Come, Bhapa,” she commanded. Passionate and peremptory, she extended her hand to the older Cord. “No Cord may refuse when the Manethrall speaks and the Land’s need is clear.”

The Ardent made aimless sounds in the back of his throat. He was too weak to chuckle.