“Ur-Lord, we are not,” Branl replied inflexibly. “Our passage lies there.” He pointed at the rockface behind Covenant.

Covenant twisted in his seat, looked where Branl pointed.

The Master was right. A dozen or so paces behind Clyme and Mhornym, a crack opened the wall of stone: a way into the maze of the Shattered Hills. The Ranyhyn knew it was there. And they could thread the maze: Covenant was sure of that. They could navigate time within caesures. Yet they had walked past it.

They must have done so deliberately.

Fearing the answer, he asked, “I don’t understand. Why aren’t we moving?”

His horse was done. But he could still walk.

“Ur-Lord,” Clyme answered without expression, “Mhornym and Naybahn choose to halt here. We are not Ramen. We do not discern the thoughts of Ranyhyn. But we speculate.

“It may be that we near our goal. It may be that we do not. We perceive neither your former mate, who is unknown to us, nor vile turiya Herem, with whom we are well familiar. They lie beyond the reach of our senses. However, we have no measure for the Raver’s awareness. Perhaps Corruption’s servant descries our approach. Perhaps your former mate does likewise.

“In addition”—Clyme appeared to hesitate momentarily—“we believe that we have felt the exertion of wild magic. Of this we are uncertain. The sensation is too distant for clarity. Nonetheless it suggests that we draw nigh to your former mate. For this reason, we conclude that turiya Herem and his victim are indeed aware of us”—the Humbled inclined his head toward Covenant—“or of High Lord Loric’s krill.

“Therefore, ur-Lord, we surmise that the Ranyhyn fear an ambush. Among the Shattered Hills, we will be exposed at every moment to an onset of skest.”

“But we’re trapped here,” protested Covenant. If skest came pouring from that cleft into the Hills, he and the Humbled and the horses would be caught against the slate barricade. They would have nowhere to run—and no room to defend themselves.

“Ur-Lord,” Clyme stated, “I repeat that we speculate. We are not Ramen. Yet we conceive that perhaps the Ranyhyn await the Feroce, the fulfillment of your alliance.”

His lack of inflection seemed to imply that he considered the word of the lurker’s creatures worthless.

“Hellfire!” Covenant made no effort to mask his frustration. “What’re we supposed to do in the meantime? Just stand here? My horse is going to collapse. I’m surprised it isn’t already dead.

“I’m useless against skest.”

Even with Loric’s dagger, he could only face one creature at a time. And if any drop or splash of acid touched him—

“You deemed the Feroce honest, ur-Lord,” remarked Branl. “You were not compelled to their alliance. You elected to grant your trust, disregarding the lurker’s enduring malevolence.”

I know that, Covenant thought. I knew it was a risk.