For a while, Covenant peered at the krill and his bandaged hands as if he had forgotten what they meant; as if he had stumbled into another crevasse and lost his place. But then he seemed to shake himself free from the tug of the past. Frowning, he asked the Humbled for something that he could use to wrap Loric’s weapon. A little extra protection, he said, in case Joan renewed her attack unexpectedly.

Without hesitation, Galt tore off a hand’s width of cloth from the hem of his tunic. Although the material resembled vellum, as tough as canvas in spite of its softness, he ripped it with no sign of strain. Characteristically expressionless, he offered the fabric to Covenant.

Nodding his approval, Covenant folded the ochre cloth around the krill; shrouded the light of the gem. In sudden darkness relieved only by the glittering of the stars, he tucked the bundle into the waist of his jeans. However, he did not thank Galt: apparently his approval had limits. Instead he turned to the Ironhand of the Swordmainnir. Linden felt his continued struggle to remain present as he said abruptly, “Your ancestors weren’t exactly told the truth when they negotiated for your gift of tongues. The Elohim misused you, if they didn’t outright lie.”

In a distant age, our ancestors were misled—

Vaguely Linden wished for the elucidation of Wraiths; for some benevolent light to illumine courage and clear sight. But those instances of the Land’s essential mystery did not come.

—to accept a false bargain with the Elohim.

She did not know why Covenant spoke of such things now.

“Is this needful, Covenant Timewarden?” Night shrouded Coldspray’s voice as well as her face. “It alters naught.”

“Sure,” Covenant assented. “But it’ll help us understand what’s at stake. We’ll be better off in the long run—assuming there is a long run—if we know why Longwrath matters so much. I’m wondering why you didn’t take him to Elemesnedene and ask the Elohim to cure him. Did you know what was wrong with him all along? Did you know they wouldn’t help?” He paused, grappling for a handhold on the rim of an inner flaw. Then he added, “The more you explain, the less I need to remember.”

“The Staff of Law is yours,” the Ardent remarked to the Harrow, “for the nonce. Will you not summon its flame to light these troubled hearts?”

“Their burdens are not mine,” retorted the Harrow. “I desire only to depart.”

Coldspray gazed at Covenant with her fists braced on her hips. Her stance suggested anger, bitterness. But beneath the surface lay a darker emotion.

“What say you, Giants?” she asked as if she were grinding her teeth. “Must I speak of our ancient fault here, in precious Andelain, while the Earth’s last peril mounts against us?”