For a long moment, Linden gazed into the softness of Hyn’s eyes until she was sure that the mare’s abashment had faded. Then she looked up at Frostheart Grueburn.

“All right,” she said as firmly as she could. “Let’s go. I want a bath as much as you do.”

With a fond grin, Grueburn put her huge hands on Linden’s waist, lifted Linden lightly onto Hyn’s back.

At once, the Ranyhyn began to move, trotting at a pace that the Giants could match without running.

The horses had chosen to approach the next wall of hills at a westward angle, away from the Sarangrave; closer to Landsdrop. From Linden’s perspective, the barricade looked impassable, for the mounts if not for the Giants. But within half a league, the Ranyhyn came to a more gradual slope that allowed them to reach a notch like a bite taken out of the forbidding ridge. And as they passed between rocky crests gnarled with lichen and age, she saw that the south-facing hillsides provided an easy descent.

The hills ahead appeared to be the last obstruction plowed to defend the Spoiled Plains.

In the furrow between the ridges, Stave guided Hynyn to Hyn’s side opposite Frostheart Grueburn. Linden expected him to say something about her actions the previous night. But when he had taken his position, he remained silent. Apparently he desired nothing more than to resume his wonted role as her guardian.

She scanned the company; confirmed that Khelen bore Jeremiah easily, and that the Swordmainnir looked able to keep pace with the horses. Then she said to Stave sidelong, “You weren’t with us when Mahrtiir talked about Kelenbhrabanal. He did what he could to explain why the Ranyhyn are afraid of the lurker. But he didn’t say anything about why the Ranyhyn took us so close to the Sarangrave in the first place.”

The company’s present path demonstrated that the horses could have chosen a different route.

The former Master gazed at her steadily. “Chosen?”

“You probably don’t know any more about that than I do. But hearing about Kelenbhrabanal made me think about Kevin.” Both had sacrificed themselves, if by different means for dissimilar reasons. “I was wondering if you can tell me anything about him.”

Again Stave asked, “Chosen?”

Her query was too vague. But clarifying it would require her to reveal one of her deepest fears. Instinctively she wanted to keep the core of her emotional plight secret. Nevertheless the crisis induced by the Feroce had convinced her that she had to rely more on her friends. If she did not, she might never find a way to thwart Lord Foul’s intentions.

The next rise still looked insurmountable. Among steep slides of shale, sandstone, and gravel, massive knurls of granite and schist gripped each other like fists, too clenched and contorted for horses. Some of the slopes conveyed an impression of imminent collapse: any slight disturbance might unloose them. In places, slabs of sandstone leaned ominously outward, poised to topple. Yet the Ranyhyn approached the obstruction without slackening their pace, heading into the southwest as though they expected the hills to part for them.