God help me. Be merciful to me, for I have sinned.

Moments before the Ranyhyn came near enough to take his burden from him, Thomas Covenant gave Joan the only gift that he had left. Nearly falling, he slid his blade into the center of her chest.

With High Lord Loric’s krill, he accepted her guilt and set her free. Then he plunged to his knees.

As she died, he heard Mhornym and Naybahn cry lamentation into the night.

Later Covenant realized that Branl and Clyme were still with him. Wild magic and Joan’s death had removed them from the caesure before the Arch healed itself, locking them out of their proper time forever.

And the Ranyhyn were still with him. Killing Joan, he had spared them the necessity of striking down a woman who loved them. Because he was capable of such things, they feared him—and would remain faithful to the end.

Turiya Herem was gone. Covenant did not imagine that he had slain the Raver. Doubtless the krill could have killed Lord Foul’s servant, if turiya had continued to possess Joan. However, the Raver had not done so. He had discarded her like a useless husk, seeking some new being or creature to inhabit.

But Covenant did not think about turiya, or about the Ranyhyn, or about the improbable survival of the Humbled. He hardly thought at all. Stunned in the aftermath of delivering death, he was not aware that he had dropped the krill; or that Branl had retrieved it; or that the dagger’s gem was dark, deprived of wild magic and light. Covenant was only grateful that he was not alone.

He had never been able to bear his crimes in isolation. Without friends and companions and love steadfast beyond his worth, he would have failed long ago.

When Clyme or Branl spoke, he did not hear. He had no room for words. Instead he crawled forward, seeping blood, until he reached Joan. Her arms were still outstretched; still waiting for horses. Her right fist still held her wedding band.

With as much gentleness as he could summon, he peeled back her fingers until he was able to claim her ring.

For a long moment, he peered at it as if it were a mere trinket; something to be tossed aside when it had served its purpose. But finally he accepted it as well. Looping the chain over his head, he hung her ring against his sternum: one of the few bones in his chest that did not feel cracked or broken.

Only then did he begin to listen.

“Ur-Lord,” Clyme or Branl was saying, “we must flee. The tsunami comes.” One of them added, “We cannot bear you to safety. We are not swift enough. You must consent to ride.”

After a while, Covenant found that he had room for one word.

“Never.”