He lost it immediately. Eager to understand, he tripped into another fissure. Instead of standing in Andelain, he wandered uselessly through the rich twilight beneath the canopy of the One Forest. He remembered the lazy hum of insects, the mellifluous evensong of birds; the fecund scents of loam and moss and ferns, natural decay, ripe growth.

But he did not lose everything.

Joan had her wedding band. She was using wild magic against the Land. It could be used against her.

Without warning, Clyme struck Covenant, an open-handed blow that snapped his head to the side, sent shocks down his spine.

Around him, the One Forest seemed to ripple as though every tree and leaf and breeze had become water. Monarchs which had held their ground for hundreds of years shimmered like mirages.

The Feroce may have been winning. They appeared to outnumber the skest.

Turiya could send more. No doubt he had already done so.

With an effort like a rush of vertigo, Covenant moaned, “Again.”

Clyme did not hesitate. A second jolt caught Covenant’s head from the opposite side. Repercussions rattled his vertebrae.

It was too late. Covenant could not fight the skest. He could not touch the krill. Not yet.

He had to try something else.

“Hit me again.”

This time, Clyme punched the cut in the center of Covenant’s forehead.

Hellfire! That one hurt!

While new blood streamed into Covenant’s eyes, he found his way back to himself.

Scrubbing at his face with both hands, he panted, “That’s enough. I can’t take any more. Next time, try the krill.”

It might sever him from the past.

But he did not pause to thank the Humbled. As soon as he could see, he yelled at the Feroce, “A path! We need a path!”

If the clifftop could still hold anything heavier than the turmoil of small creatures—

The lurker’s servants must have heard him. Mute as martyrs in the apotheosis of their devotion, they adjusted their approach. Instead of pressing themselves and dying against all of the skest at once, they shifted to form a wedge.

Arranged like ur-viles or Waynhim, they began to kill and perish their way into the mass of acid-creatures.

“Now!” Covenant told Clyme and Branl. “I have an idea!”

He was closed to the senses of the Haruchai. They could not hear his thoughts; could hardly recognize his emotions. Nevertheless Branl responded as though he understood. Quick as intuition, he dropped from the slate; landed between Naybahn and Mhornym, where the stone was still solid. A heartbeat later, Clyme lifted Covenant, tossed him into Branl’s arms. While Branl set Covenant on his feet, Clyme jumped down to join them.

Already most of the Feroce were gone, consumed in fire and vitriol. Many of the skest had fallen, reeking as their spent lives dissolved stone, ate chunks out of the clifftop. Wherever they died, they left deep pits and gouges.