Before the Manethrall or the Stonedownor could respond, Covenant strode around the dead stump toward Linden. But he did not advance on her. As soon as he stood between her and the shining dagger, he stopped.

She, too, stopped—helplessly, as if he had commanded a distance between them. With Stave at her shoulder and the troubled bulk of the Giants at her back, she waited to hear what he would say. She did not know how to speak first; to ask for his succor. Her needs were a crowding throng, so many that she could hardly name them.

The light of the krill cast his features into shadow. She could not distinguish his expression. The scar on his forehead was a pale crease across his thoughts.

“Linden.” Limned in argent, he spoke as if her name twisted his heart. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.” His tone accused himself. “If I could have held on to my mind.”

There he appeared to slip, distracted by some errant recollection. “I did practically the same thing myself once. The Land needed me, and I turned my back. We’ve talked about that. I meant to remind you.” His manner suggested that he was trying to say too many different things at once. Linden felt his struggle to organize his thoughts. “Mhoram urged me not to worry about it. He wanted me to know there are some motives that simply can’t serve Lord Foul. No matter how the Despiser squirms, he can’t twist them to give him what he wants.”

Mistaken though it may be, no act of love and horror—or indeed of self-repudiation—is potent to grant the Despiser his desires. He may be freed only by one who is compelled by rage, and contemptuous of consequence.

Then Linden saw Covenant gather his resolve. Awkwardness made him brusque.

“But that’s not what I want to say. I’m going to take the krill.”

At once, everything around him intensified. Several of the Giants caught their breath. Rime Coldspray hissed a wordless objurgation. Anele stirred restlessly in his sleep, as if he had been disturbed by the sound of distant thunder. Liand’s protests were stilled by Mahrtiir’s sudden grasp on his arm. In fright, Pahni moved to stand with the Stonedownor. Bhapa stared, wide-eyed, at the Unbeliever. Linden half expected the Wraiths to return in refusal.

At the same time, the Humbled seemed to take on substance and clarity as if they had been vindicated; as if their faith in the ur-Lord had been confirmed.

“I know,” Covenant muttered. “That’ll leave Andelain unprotected—which personally makes me want to puke. Without it, the Wraiths won’t have the right kind of strength to guard the borders. They won’t be able to prevent—