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and me get through because”—Covenant shrugged stiffly—“well, I suppose you could say I put a crimp in their reality. Just a little one. I’m already stretched pretty thin. I can’t do too many things at once. So I made us look like bait . Like we were leading them into an ambush. Like there’s a kind of power here they don’t understand. That’s why they just chased us instead of attacking. They want to contain us until they figure out what’s going on. And maybe they like the idea of trapping all their enemies in one place.”
    Again he smiled at Linden, although his eyes continued to glare. “Are you satisfied? At least for now? Can I talk to Handir for a minute? Jeremiah and I need rest. You have no idea of the strain—”
    He sighed heavily. “And we have to get ready before those Demondim realize I made fools out of them. Once that happens, they’re going to unleash the Illearth Stone. Then hellfire and bloody damnation won’t be something we just talk about. They’ll be real , and they’ll be here .”
    Apparently he wanted Linden to believe that he was tired. Yet to her ordinary eyes he looked potent enough to defeat the horde unaided.
    And her son seemed to belong with him.
    She could not identify them with her health-sense. Jeremiah and Covenant were as blank, as isolated from her, as they would have been in her natural world. Yet there she would have been able to at least touch them. Here, in the unrevealing light of the torches, and fraught with shadows, Jeremiah seemed as distant and irreparable as the Unbeliever, in spite of his obvious alert sentience.
    If Covenant could do all of this, why had he told her to find him?
    Bowing her head, Linden forced herself to take a step backward, and another, into the cluster of her friends. She ached for the comfort of their support. She could discern them clearly enough: Liand’s open amazement, his concern on her behalf; Mahrtiir’s rapt eagerness and wonder and suspicion; Anele’s distracted mental wandering. Even Stave’s impassivity and his ruined eye and his new hurts felt more familiar to her than Covenant and Jeremiah, her loved ones. Yet the complex devotion of those who stood with her gave no anodyne for what she had gained and lost.
    Linden, find me .
    Be cautious of love .
    She needed the balm of touching Covenant; of hugging and hugging Jeremiah, running her fingers through his hair, stroking his cheeks—But she had been refused. Even the warm clean fire of the Staff of Law had been forbidden to her.
    Covenant nodded with an air of satisfaction. Then both he and Jeremiah turned to the Voice of the Masters.
    â€œSorry about that. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” For a moment, Covenant’s voice held an unwonted note of unction, although he suppressed it quickly. “You know Linden. When she has questions, she insists on answers.” He grinned as if he were sharing a joke with Handir. “You have to respect that.”
    Then he swallowed his smile. “You said we’re well come. You have no idea how well come we are.
    â€œYou speak for the Masters?”
    Abruptly Linden swung away from them. She could no longer bear the sight of her son’s eagerness and denial. She wished that she could close her ears to the sound of Covenant’s voice.
    In the light of the torches, her friends studied her. Liand’s curiosity and puzzlement had become alarm, and Mahrtiir glowered. Stave’s single eye regarded her with characteristic stoicism. Anele’s moonstone blindness shifted uncertainly around the great hall as though he were trying to recapture an elusive glimpse of significance.
    Because her nerves burned for human contact—for any touch which might reassure her—she hooked her arms around Liand’s and Mahrtiir’s shoulders. At once, Liand gave her a hug like a promise that she could rely on him, whatever