Hear me, mortal! There is a place – I can lead you! You must carry all we give you – not far, not long – carry us, mortal! There is a place! Fading … Mortal! For the Grey Swords – you must do this! Hold on – succeed – and you will gift them. I can lead you! For the Grey Swords … Itkovian reached out— —and a hand, solid, warm, clasped his forearm—
