“I can only promise two things. I’ll respect the alliance. Everybody who stands with me will respect it. None of us will turn against your High God. And we’ll do our best to save the Land. All of it. If that can be done with the krill and wild magic and the Staff of Law,” by Giants and Haruchai and Ranyhyn; by anything as simple and enduring as mortal stubbornness, “we’ll do it.

“If your High God dies,” he finished as though he had taken an oath, “I probably won’t be far behind. Unless I get myself killed first.”

Hearing him, the Feroce did more than cower and flinch. They retreated, trembling, until they stood at the cave’s entrance. Their voice or voices became a gibbering noise like a host of whimpers. In a small circle, they faced each other and joined hands; clasped their fires together until argent was banished from the air between them, leaving only emerald fire that stank and throbbed like an old bane resurrected from the abysm of lost Time. Even to the failing nerves of Covenant’s cheeks, the bitterness of the creatures’ theurgy stung like a slap.

But it also smelled like terror. It felt like supplication.

While the Feroce huddled together, Branl moved around them to stand over the krill between them and Covenant, readying himself to snatch up the dagger. But they did not move to menace him or Covenant. Their flames remained contained within their circle.

In the absence of any explicit threat, Branl did not touch the knife.

At last, the Feroce spoke again. “Our High God knows desperation. He is acquainted with agony.” None of them looked at Covenant or Branl or the krill. “Your offer is accepted. While our High God lives, he and all who serve him will honor the alliance.”

Then they fled the chamber. In a moment, every hint of green and flame was gone, swallowed by darkness. For a while, the reek of malice lingered, an augur of calamity and woe. But soon the moiling winds from the sea and the precipice swept the scent away.

Finally Covenant let his shoulders slump. He felt vaguely nauseated, sick at heart, as if he committed a crime against the peculiar innocence of the lurker’s servants. But he did not know what else he could have done.

Help against the skest. Protection for Linden from further attacks. Such things were necessary. But he had procured them by pretending to be something that he was not.

Long ago, in a different life, he had once written that guilt and power were synonymous. Effective people were guilty because the use of power was guilt. Therefore only guilty people could be effective. Effective for good or evil, boon or bane. Only the damned could be saved.

By that reasoning, life itself was a form of guilt.