|Chapter 3: Plight|
But an instant later he crushed his fear as if he were stamping on the neck of a viper. Defying his own weakness, he strode toward the door.
It opened before he reached it. A lone man stepped uninvited out of the dark. Linden could see him clearly. he wore burlap wound around him like cerements. Ash had been rubbed unevenly into his hair, smeared thickly over his cheeks. It emphasized the deadness of his eye, so that he looked like a ghoul in masque.
"Covenant?" Like his mien, his voice was ashen, dead.
Covenant faced the man. He seemed suddenly taller, as if he were elevated by his own hard grasp on life. "Yes."
The writer nodded impatiently. "What do you want?"
"The hour of judgement is at hand." The man stared into the room as if he were blind. "The Master calls for your soul. Will you come?"
Covenant's mouth twisted into a snarl. "Your master knows what I can do to him."