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gasping as though his vehemence had snatched the air from her lungs. Her power fell from her, and instant darkness burst over her head like a thunderclap.
    Oh, God—
    Just be wary of me . Remember that I’m dead .
    If she could have found her voice, or drawn sufficient breath, she might have cried out at the Despiser, You bastard ! What have you done ?
    A hand closed on her arm. She hardly heard Stave as he urged her softly, “A moment, Chosen. Handir and others approach, bearing torches among them. You need only constrain yourself for a moment.”
    He could still hear the mental speech of the Masters, although they now refused to address or answer him in that fashion.
    At once, she rounded on Stave. Behind him, Liand and the Ramen were whispering, perhaps asking her questions, but she had no attention to spare for them. Gripping Stave as he gripped her, she demanded, “Your senses are better than mine.” Like their preternatural strength, the vision of the Haruchai had always exceeded hers. “Can you see them?” See into them? “Are they all right?”
    In the absence of the Staff’s flame, she knew only blackness and consternation.
    â€œThey appear whole,” the former Master answered quietly. “The ur-Lord has ever been closed to the Haruchai . Even the Bloodguard could not discern his heart. And his companion”—Stave paused as if to confirm his perceptions—“is likewise hidden.”
    â€œYou can’t see anything ?” insisted Linden. Even Kevin’s Dirt could not blind the Masters—
    Stave may have shrugged. “I perceive his presence, and that of his companion. Nothing more.
    â€œChosen,” he asked almost immediately, “is the ur-Lord’s companion known to you?”
    Linden could not answer. She had no room for any questions but her own. Instead she started to say, Take me to them. She needed to be led. Covenant’s shout had shattered her concentration: she might as well have been blind.
    But then the torches that Stave had promised appeared. Their unsteady light wavered toward her from the same passage which had admitted her and her companions to the forehall.
    A few heartbeats later, the Voice of the Masters, Handir, entered the hall. A coterie of Haruchai accompanied him, some bearing fiery brands. As they moved out into the dark, the ruddy light of the flames spread along the stone toward the gates. It seemed to congeal like blood in the vast gloom.
    Now Linden could see the faces of her companions, confused by erratic shadows. None of them had the knowledge or experience to recognize Covenant and Jeremiah. Perhaps as a reproach to Linden, Handir had called the newcomers “strangers.” Nevertheless Mahrtiir and his Cords may have been able to guess at Covenant’s identity. The Ramen had preserved ancient tales of the first Ringthane. But Liand had only his open bafflement to offer Linden’s quick glance.
    Apparently none of the Masters had done her friends the courtesy of mentioning Covenant’s name aloud. And of course even the Masters could only speculate about Jeremiah.
    Then the light reached the cluster of horses and their riders within the gates; and Linden forgot everything except the faces that she loved more dearly than any others she had ever known.
    Unconscious that she was moving again, she hurried toward them, chasing the limits of the ambiguous illumination.
    The inadequacy of the torches blurred their features. Nevertheless she could not be mistaken about them. Every flensed line of Covenant’s form was familiar to her. Even his clothes—his old jeans and boots, and the T-shirt that had seen too much wear and pain—were as she remembered them. When he held up his hands, she could see that the right lacked its last two fingers. His strict gaze caught and held the light redly, as if he were afire with purpose and desire.
    And Jeremiah was imprinted on her heart. She