Liand put his hand on Linden’s arm, but did not ask for her attention. Rather he seemed to touch her to remind himself that he and she, at least, remained solid; that they had not wandered inadvertently into the illimitable possibilities of dreams—

“Here is a wonder indeed,” exclaimed Rime Coldspray softly. “Had we any prospect of continued life, we would hear such tales gladly wheresoever we sailed—aye, and count ourselves fortunate to do so.”

“Enough!” demanded the Harrow darkly. “Name your desires and depart, fatuous one. You cannot be madman enough to intend interference. Therefore your presence serves no purpose, and your words waste the hearing of them.”

The Ardent did not deign to reply. Instead he flapped his upraised hand, and at once a long streamer extended itself from his habiliments toward the Harrow. The ribband had a niveous color as it fluttered away from the Ardent, but wafting it modulated to match the Harrow’s dun-and-loam hues. Although it remained anchored among the rest of the Ardent’s coverings, it lengthened quickly. And when it reached the Harrow, it began to wind around his head, floating nearer and nearer until it looked like it would soon cover and seal his face; his eyes or his mouth.

Reflexively Linden held her breath. Was it possible? Could the Ardent suffocate the Harrow? With a strip of cloth?

They were both men, as human as she was. Only their arcane studies gave them theurgy.

Liand’s fingers dug into her arm. The Giants watched open-mouthed, as if they were torn between amusement and alarm.

For a moment, the Harrow slapped at the ribband furiously. But it evaded him, as illusive as a swarm of gnats. Abruptly he stopped swatting, dropped his hands to his doublet. His fingers began forming strange shapes on the ornaments of his garment.

“Paugh!” the Ardent snorted in plump disdain. “Rub not your beads at me. You deem yourself worthy to determine the fate of the Earth. Very well. I will speak to you while the lady strives to gather her wits.”

Briefly his ribband twisted itself into a shape that mocked the Harrow. Then it withdrew to resume swaddling its wearer.

Assuming an air of lugubrious portent, the Ardent explained, “The Insequent are cognizant of your purpose. Also we perceive that the destruction of all things gathers against us. Indeed, some among us foretell that much depends upon the worth of your oath and the outcome of your desires. And many centuries of study have taught us that it is the nature of avarice to mislead. One who is driven by greed—as I acknowledge that I am—may speak sooth to disguise sooth. If you are permitted to do so, you may abide by your oath and yet betray the lady, for she cannot comprehend the omissions concealed within your words.

“Therefore I am come, bearing in my person the conjoined resolve of our kind. This in itself is of vast import, as I am. Heretofore no cause or exigency has lured the Insequent as a race from the solitary study and hunger which alone enables our multifarious accomplishments. Yet we crave life, as life itself craves continuance, and the utter termination of every desire and appetite has now been made imminent. If the Earth falls, no Insequent will remain to mourn its passing. For this reason, as we would for no lesser cause, we have set aside our solitude, that we may unite our intent in my person. I embody all that has made of our kind who we are.