With his lone eye and his impassive mien, Stave regarded Covenant as though the Unbeliever had made his point for him.

It is ever thus. Obliquely Linden remembered Mahrtiir’s advice before she and her friends had left the wreckage of First Woodhelven. Attempts must be made, even when there can be no hope. The alternative is despair. And betimes some wonder is wrought to redeem us.

Apparently Stave shared the Manethrall’s conviction.

There are always surprises. And sometimes they help.

Linden still had one last attempt to make. And Stave would support her. The Ramen would do the same. As would Liand.

She was less sure of the Giants; but she suspected that their love of children would sway them. As for the Humbled—They would argue against her, of course. But Covenant had already commanded them to choose her.

If she could, she meant to spare all of them the risk of her final gamble.

“In that case,” she said, pleading for Covenant’s permission; for a confirmation of his approval, “I should go finish talking to the Harrow.”

She had more questions for Covenant; many more. But she lacked the courage to ask them. If she had simply allowed herself to think them in words—Do you really believe that I’m still capable of something good? or, Do you still love me?—she might have fallen to her knees. Any answer, any answer at all, would have been more than she could bear.

Before Covenant could respond, however—before she could turn away with or without his reassurance—Galt intervened.

“Unbeliever, you must not permit this.” His voice was a blade sharpened by uncharacteristic passion. “To rouse the Worm was Desecration. To go now in search of her son, trusting to the word of this Insequent, is rank madness.”

Covenant’s emanations were vivid to Linden’s percipience: he stood on the verge of another drop. An abyss yawned at the feet of his mind. She held her breath, expecting him to fall. But something in Galt’s tone, or in Covenant’s own determination, kept him from stumbling over the edge.

“It makes more sense than you think.” His asperity dulled the edge of Galt’s demand. “We aren’t strong enough. I’m not all here. Kevin’s Dirt limits what she can do with her Staff. And she doesn’t really know how to use that ring. I wanted her to have it, but still—She isn’t its rightful wielder.

“As matters stand, we don’t have enough power.” His halfhand displayed its emptiness. “Or the right kind of power. We can’t stop the Worm. While we’re trying to figure out how to save the Earth—if that’s even possible—we might as well do something useful.”

“Unbeliever,” Galt protested. “Ur-Lord. Ringthane. You must hear me. Linden Avery’s purpose is intolerable. She will surrender all hope and receive only her son—and that only if the word of this Insequent is worthy of trust. We have learned an unwonted esteem for the Mahdoubt, but the Insequent as a race are as contemptuous and cruel as the Elohim. They serve only themselves. And when the Harrow has gained white gold and the Staff of Law, he will possess less efficacy against the Worm than Linden Avery now holds, for he is the rightful wielder of neither.