They waited until he was able to stand without their support; until he took a couple of steps into the cleft and turned to face them. Then Clyme asked, “Ur-Lord, what is your intent? The skest await us. A Fall may strike at any moment. Your former mate remains beyond our discernment. We will be better able to serve you if we comprehend your purpose.”

Covenant cursed to himself. Summoning as much honesty as he could bear, he admitted, “I’m afraid to say it out loud. You told me you don’t know how far turiya’s senses reach. If he hears me—if he even guesses—” Involuntarily Covenant shuddered. He could be so easily foiled. “I’m going to do something almost as crazy as Joan. And I need you with me. You just saved my life, but you aren’t done.” In darkness, he spread his hands to show the Humbled that he was helpless. “If you don’t want to do it, that’s your right. I won’t blame you. But I need you with me.”

He had always needed companions. Friends. People who cared about him and loved the Land.

For a long moment, the Humbled did not move. They may have been arguing with each other; debating the exigencies of their chosen role. Then they appeared to nod: without light, Covenant could not be sure.

Clyme came forward. “I will lead while Branl wards your back. The Haruchai have no knowledge of this snare. Those Bloodguard who ventured here did not return, apart from Korik, Sill, and Doar, who revealed naught. But our perceptions exceed yours. We will search out a clearing or open place, according to your desires.”

Instead of thanking the Humbled again, Covenant rested his halfhand in acknowledgment on Clyme’s shoulder. After that, he simply followed.

Joan would try to kill him. She had no choice. Long ago, she had betrayed herself as well as him by turning her back. The same future could not hold them both.

The cleft seemed to wander aimlessly, as if it had lost its way. Night had settled over the Shattered Hills. In the dark, Covenant could barely discern Clyme’s shape ahead of him. He stumbled on the rough ground, caught the toes of his boots on loose rocks. But he had unforgiving surfaces to guide him on either side, the Humbled to shepherd him. And overhead the first dim hint of stars blinked in a narrow slit of sky like a path. When he missed his footing, he recovered his balance and went on.

At intervals, he passed black holes in the bases of the walls, gaps that may have been small caves leading to tunnels. Each opening increased his tension: he expected skest. But he felt no hint of the creatures; smelled nothing except age and emptiness, the stagnant musk of departed immiseration. For some reason, turiya Herem was holding back. The Raver had some other ambush in mind.