The Masters and the Humbled were still trying to prove themselves—and that was never going to work. Not against Lord Foul. It was the same mistake that Korik, Sill, and Doar had made: the same mistake disguised in different language. The same mistake that had caused the Haruchai to become the Bloodguard. Their fixation on humiliation revealed the truth.

So the whole world is going to die. Let it. Knowing that we’ve accepted the consequences of our actions is good enough for us. Nothing matters except how we feel about ourselves.

Lord Foul probably ate that kind of thinking for breakfast, and laughed his head off. No wonder he had told Linden that the Masters already served him.

But Covenant could not say such things to Clyme and Branl. Stave might understand him: the Humbled would not.

He let that one fallacy pass. For a few moments, he concentrated on trying to loosen his muscles so that his body would flex with the destrier’s movements. As he did so, however, the wrapped krill dug into his abdomen. With an exasperated wrench, he moved the dagger to the side of his waist. Then he set about contradicting the Humbled.

“You’re forgetting something. I’ve always had help. I never would have reached Foul’s Creche on my own. Foamfollower had to carry me.” If the jheherrin had not rescued him—if Foamfollower and Bannor had not distracted Elena—if a nameless woman in Morinmoss had not healed him—“And I still would have failed if Foamfollower hadn’t given me exactly what I needed,” if the last of the Unhomed had not revealed the courage, the sheer greatness of spirit, to laugh in the face of despair.

“Without Linden and the First and Pitchwife, I would never have made it to Kiril Threndor. Without Linden, I couldn’t have forced myself to hand over my ring. Without Vain and Findail, she couldn’t have created a new Staff. Without the First and Pitchwife, her Staff would have been lost.

“Sure,” Covenant rasped, “Lord Foul was defeated. Twice. But I didn’t do it. We did it. Foamfollower and I. Linden and I. The First and Pitchwife and Sunder and Hollian.

“So tell me again,” he demanded. “What’s so wrong about accepting gifts you haven’t earned?”

But he did not wait for an answer. “In any case,” he muttered, “dying is easy. Anybody can do it. Living is hard.”

And living was untenable without forgiveness.

In silence, Clyme and Branl conveyed the impression that they were consulting with each other. For a little while, Covenant allowed himself to hope that they had heard him; that for his sake they had lowered their defenses. But then Branl turned to him with an unmistakable glint of disapprobation in his gaze.

“Is it your belief, ur-Lord, that we must countenance humiliation? That we must subjugate ourselves to powers beyond our ken, and to choices which we have not affirmed?”