However, he did not try to drag the blade straight from the floor. Wiser now, he attempted instead to work the dagger back and forth until it came free.

The krill cut stone with eldritch ease. After only a moment, he was able to pull the weapon loose.

“Well, hell,” he muttered. “I didn’t expect that.”

Briefly he studied the radiant gem as though he sought to see Joan through it; to discern her particular torment. But he could discern only the rare jewel’s light and heat, its participation in wild magic. Shrugging, he flipped fabric around the krill until the whole dagger was covered, shielded, its illumination hidden. Then he tucked the bundle into the waist of his jeans.

In darkness softened only by the distant approach of the sun, he let Branl and Clyme lead him out of his covert.

Certain as stone, the Humbled guided him up the crevice, guarded him from vertigo along the ledge, and watched over him as he clambered up the split to the grassland above the cliff.

There the horses waited. Mhornym and Naybahn greeted their riders with nickering eagerness and trepidation. The destrier rolled its eyes and champed its bit as if only the authority of the Ranyhyn prevented it from charging at Covenant, pounding him into the turf.

Even with his blunt senses, Covenant could see that the Feroce had told the truth. His mount was still weak, worn down by overexertion: the lurker’s creatures had not given it strength. Nevertheless it had recovered its cantankerous spirit.

—caused it to remember what it is. While it lives—

Covenant prayed that the beast would live long enough.

Angrily the horse allowed Covenant to mount. Groaning to himself, he settled his sore muscles into the saddle, took the reins in his maimed fingers. With one hand, he wedged the krill into a more comfortable position. Then he nodded to the Humbled.

“Let’s go. I don’t know how we’re going to do this. But the sooner we get it done, the better.”

The Worm was coming. On some intuitive level, he felt it drawing nearer. Or perhaps what he felt was plain dread. The making of worlds is not accomplished in an instant. It cannot be instantly undone. Sure, he thought sourly. Fine. But what did that mean? How many more days would the Worm spend feeding on the Elohim, devouring them to nourish its search for the EarthBlood?

He wished urgently that he could remember—

As Branl and Clyme turned their Ranyhyn and headed south along the soft slope below the cliffedge, Covenant resisted an impulse to prod his mount into a gallop. By one measure or another, he had lived for something like seven millennia; and now he had no time.