Nevertheless she was already sure of the outcome. The Harrow would acquiesce. His hungers were as bottomless as his eyes. They ruled him.

Turning her back on both of the Insequent, she forced herself to face Covenant again. She wanted to find some way to say goodbye, if not to him then to the love that they had once shared.

Long ago, she had heard Pitchwife singing,

I know not how to say Farewell,
When Farewell is the word
That stays alone for me to say
Or will be heard.

She hoped that she would return to Andelain with Jeremiah. But she no longer had any power to impose her will on events: no power apart from the Ardent’s support. Anything might happen after the Harrow fulfilled his part of their bargain.

Covenant’s attention still wandered the maze of his memories, dissociated and lost. He might not hear her. Nevertheless she had to try. She could too easily imagine that this would be her last chance—

Hoarse with strain, she began, “Covenant”—oh, Covenant!—“I’m sorry. I’ve done everything wrong,” ever since the Mahdoubt had returned her to her proper time. “I should have trusted you.” She should have at least tried to understand the silence of the Dead. “Now it’s come to this.”

Her friends hovered around her. Behind them, the Harrow and the Ardent had fallen silent. Bitterly the Harrow chafed at this new delay. In his own fashion, he, too, had surrendered—But Linden had no attention to spare for anyone except Covenant.

“The only thing that doesn’t scare me is leaving you here. You’re struggling now, but you’ll find your way out of it.” She made a ragged effort to smile. “By the time I get back, you’ll probably know how to save the Land.” The Harrow’s plans she distrusted: intuitively she suspected that he would not be allowed to carry them out. The Land had too many powerful foes. “That wouldn’t surprise me. If you can’t do it, no one can.”

With a suddenness that startled her, nearly made her flinch, Covenant’s eyes sprang into focus. His chin came up, emphasizing the severity of his features, the exigency of his grey gaze. Before she could react, he answered like a growl, “Oh, hell, no.”

She seemed to hear gruff affection in his voice.

“After all the trouble of resurrecting me,” he announced, “the least you can do is take me with you. I may not look like much, but you need me. And God knows I need you. Right now, I’m not coherent enough to do anything on my own. You’re about the only power there is that can actually hold me together. For a few minutes, anyway. And we’ve got time—”

The response of the Masters was swift. Galt stepped between Linden and Covenant as if to deny her claim on the Unbeliever. One on each side, Branl and Clyme gripped Covenant’s arms.

“Ur-Lord, no.” An almost subliminal tremor of vehemence marred Galt’s inflexibility. “This we will not permit. We cannot. The Land’s plight precludes it.”