Against All Things Ending
Page 11
His hands were bare: they grappled with the reins of his mount as if he had never ridden before. And his face also was exposed, revealing eyes wide with perpetual astonishment, a nose like a luxuriant toadstool, and lips too plump for any explanation except gluttony. Wrapped in waving layers, several chins may have wobbled below his jaw, shaken by the lurching gait of his mount; but his garb muffled such details.
A cacophony of ribbands and colors, he approached the group around Linden and the Harrow until he was near enough to be struck down by one of the Swordmainnir. Then he hauled his recalcitrant horse to a halt.
“You,” spat the Harrow in obvious recognition. “Was the Mahdoubt’s doom insufficient to warn away your folly? Do you covet the decline of your beloved flesh to carrion?”
The newcomer ignored the Harrow. Facing Linden past Stave and two of the Giants, he twirled his arms and ribbands, apparently bowing. “Lady,” he announced in a tone like his fat, “by good chance I am timely arrived.” His lisp detracted from his attempt at dignity. “There are matters which must be considered ere your bargain with the Harrow is sealed.”
While she stared at him, he continued, “With your gracious consent, I will make myself known to you.” Holding up one finger as if to test the direction of a breeze which she could not feel—or perhaps to warn the Harrow against speaking—he said, “I am the Ardent. As you have doubtless surmised, I am of the Insequent. Indeed, I share some slight kinship with the Harrow. Unlike him, however, I am an acolyte—if such as the Insequent may be said to have acolytes—of the Mahdoubt. I lack both her kindliness and her arduous knowledge of Time. Also I lay no claim to her manifest valor. Yet I esteem her example highly. So great is my esteem, indeed, that I follow her as I would a guide, though even the most casual glance at my person will discern that I require no guidance.”
His otiose self-confidence made him sound ludicrous.
“That, at least,” grumbled the Harrow, “is a form of sooth. Prepare a feast within a hundred leagues of the Ardent, and you will find him at table ere the first course is presented.”
In response, the Ardent waggled his finger, now clearly cautioning the Harrow to silence—and clearly expecting the Harrow to comply.
“Lady,” he added, “you may regard me as a friend.” Each word was a dollop of cream. “Doubtless there are those who deem that the Insequent know nothing of friendship. And doubtless they have cause for their conviction. You, however, will think otherwise. You have known the discretion and regard of the Theomach, he whom the Harrow seeks to displace as the greatest of our kind. Also you have been served as both friend and ally by the Mahdoubt. You will grant me leave to demonstrate that my nature is as benignant as hers, though her wisdom and fortitude elude me.”
Liand put his hand on Linden’s arm, but did not ask for her attention. Rather he seemed to touch her to remind himself that he and she, at least, remained solid; that they had not wandered inadvertently into the illimitable possibilities of dreams—
“Here is a wonder indeed,” exclaimed Rime Coldspray softly. “Had we any prospect of continued life, we would hear such tales gladly wheresoever we sailed—aye, and count ourselves fortunate to do so.”
“Enough!” demanded the Harrow darkly. “Name your desires and depart, fatuous one. You cannot be madman enough to intend interference. Therefore your presence serves no purpose, and your words waste the hearing of them.”
The Ardent did not deign to reply. Instead he flapped his upraised hand, and at once a long streamer extended itself from his habiliments toward the Harrow. The ribband had a niveous color as it fluttered away from the Ardent, but wafting it modulated to match the Harrow’s dun-and-loam hues. Although it remained anchored among the rest of the Ardent’s coverings, it lengthened quickly. And when it reached the Harrow, it began to wind around his head, floating nearer and nearer until it looked like it would soon cover and seal his face; his eyes or his mouth.
Reflexively Linden held her breath. Was it possible? Could the Ardent suffocate the Harrow? With a strip of cloth?
They were both men, as human as she was. Only their arcane studies gave them theurgy.
Liand’s fingers dug into her arm. The Giants watched open-mouthed, as if they were torn between amusement and alarm.
For a moment, the Harrow slapped at the ribband furiously. But it evaded him, as illusive as a swarm of gnats. Abruptly he stopped swatting, dropped his hands to his doublet. His fingers began forming strange shapes on the ornaments of his garment.
“Paugh!” the Ardent snorted in plump disdain. “Rub not your beads at me. You deem yourself worthy to determine the fate of the Earth. Very well. I will speak to you while the lady strives to gather her wits.”
Briefly his ribband twisted itself into a shape that mocked the Harrow. Then it withdrew to resume swaddling its wearer.
Assuming an air of lugubrious portent, the Ardent explained, “The Insequent are cognizant of your purpose. Also we perceive that the destruction of all things gathers against us. Indeed, some among us foretell that much depends upon the worth of your oath and the outcome of your desires. And many centuries of study have taught us that it is the nature of avarice to mislead. One who is driven by greed—as I acknowledge that I am—may speak sooth to disguise sooth. If you are permitted to do so, you may abide by your oath and yet betray the lady, for she cannot comprehend the omissions concealed within your words.
“Therefore I am come, bearing in my person the conjoined resolve of our kind. This in itself is of vast import, as I am. Heretofore no cause or exigency has lured the Insequent as a race from the solitary study and hunger which alone enables our multifarious accomplishments. Yet we crave life, as life itself craves continuance, and the utter termination of every desire and appetite has now been made imminent. If the Earth falls, no Insequent will remain to mourn its passing. For this reason, as we would for no lesser cause, we have set aside our solitude, that we may unite our intent in my person. I embody all that has made of our kind who we are.
“As sigil and emblem that I am the authorized emissary of the Insequent, I proffer this hint of my powers.”
Around his head, ribbands twined and waved as if of their own volition, seeming to grow first longer and then shorter as they fluttered like the language of an obscure ritual. Limned in argence, they performed a florid masque. Then, before Linden—or the Harrow, apparently—could guess what this display might mean, the Harrow’s destrier vanished between his legs.
Deprived of his mount, he fell heavily to the greensward; landed with an involuntary grunt and a bitter obscenity.
The laughter of the Giants stoked his anger as he sprang to his feet. Linden expected him to summon a counterattack of some kind. Instead of striking out, however, he merely adjusted his doublet, restored his chlamys to its insouciant angle across his shoulders. Although his aura fumed hotly, he seemed to see something in the Ardent’s magicks that was invisible to Linden; something that compelled restraint.
Smiling down at his fellow Insequent, the Ardent stated, “We will in no way intrude upon your bargain with the lady, or upon your purposes thereafter. Indeed, I am instructed to assist them. The long strictures of our kind we will honor. Nevertheless I am come to impose this condition, that the lady herself must be the sole arbiter of the terms of your oath.”
For an instant, the Harrow looked shocked. Then outrage darkened his features. He appeared to be mustering a curse as the Ardent insisted, “She alone will determine what is encompassed by your oath and what is not. Nor will we deem your oath fulfilled until she declares that she is content.
“Also,” he proclaimed ostentatiously, “I will accompany you in the name of all those Insequent whom you have invoked. Doubtless you contemplate some escape from your oath, which I will prevent. And it may chance that you will require my aid.”
Contradicting his florid manner, a haunted look darkened his gaze when he spoke of aid. But it was brief; gone almost as soon as Linden noticed it.
Abruptly Mahrtiir growled, “Have done, Insequent. The Ringthane has friends enough. Your pretense of concern conveys naught. Speak plainly or desist. Name the betrayal contemplated by the Harrow, that we may gauge the worth of your intent.”
The Ardent inclined his head to acknowledge Mahrtiir. Unexpectedly grave, he replied, “Manethrall, I cannot. Think no ill of me when I observe that any effort to shape or guide the lady’s deeds and choices will be seen—and seen rightly—as dire interference. My mission is to ensure the terms and fulfillment of the Harrow’s oath, not to instruct the lady in their interpretation.
“Misliking the Harrow as I do, I would find no small joy in thwarting him. Have I not admitted that I, too, am prone to greed? But here I personify the united will of the Insequent. Any deviation from that resolve will breach the sacred prohibition which enables the Insequent to endure and prosper. Answering you, I will bring down my own destruction and accomplish only sorrow.”
Linden had heard such reasoning before. Both the Theomach and the Mahdoubt, in their distinct fashions, had presented similar arguments.
When she understood that the Ardent was trying to walk a path as straight and strict as theirs—that his ambiguities were necessary to the singular ethics of the Insequent—she at last found her voice. Hardly knowing what she meant to say, she suggested unsteadily, “In that case, let’s play fair. If the Harrow can’t ride, you shouldn’t sit there looking down on him.”
Or on her.
The Harrow flashed her a glance that she could not read. The emptiness of his eyes swallowed the character of his reaction.
The Ardent surprised her again by emitting a loud guffaw. “Well said, lady. Doubtless you merit the Mahdoubt’s regard, ill-considered though your many extravagances may appear to be. I am neither mightier nor less flawed than the Harrow. I have merely been elected to enact the will of the Insequent.”
Laughing again, he sent out streamers of chartreuse and fuligin on all sides, bands interwoven with crimson and cerulean. They seemed to float independent of him, as though they might tug free at any moment. But he did not loose them—or they did not loose themselves. Instead, by some means that baffled Linden’s senses, they caused his mount to disappear.
Unlike the Harrow, however, he did not fall. Cradled in ribbands, he drifted gently to the grass as if his bulk were as light as air.
Delighted by his display, the Giants laughed with him. Obviously pleased, the Ardent gazed up at them with the open wonder of a child. Flapping his arms, he caused his apparel to unfurl and cavort in a glad gambol.
Their momentary mirth did not touch Linden. But it gave her a chance to gather herself and think. While the Harrow ground his teeth, waiting in vexation for the laughter to subside, she tried to guess where the potential for betrayal might lie in his vow.
Peripherally she was aware of Covenant and his escort. Ignoring or avoiding her and the Insequent, he had walked the Humbled and their accompaniment of Giants and Ramen to the rim of the hollow. There, however, he turned and began to move slowly back toward the dead stump and Loric’s krill. His manner still seemed disjointed, torn between understanding and bewilderment. He had not yet found his way back to the present.
Grasping at allusions, Linden asked Stave quietly, “What are they talking about?” With a nod, she indicated Covenant and the Masters. “Has Covenant explained the Theomach? Or the Insequent?”
Stave could still hear the mental communion of the Haruchai, although he had learned to close his own thoughts against them. In a low voice, he answered, “The ur-Lord does not speak of the Theomach. His offer to do so he appeared to forget when it had been uttered.” He may have meant, When it had accomplished its purpose by distracting the Humbled. “Rather he rambles forward and back through the most ancient history of the Haruchai, relating tales which none have forgotten. The Giants appear gladdened to hear of unfamiliar events. Saying nothing, the Cords remain wary of the Humbled.”
“Will they attack the Ardent?” asked Linden. “Galt and the others?”
Long days ago, they had assailed the Harrow without warning.
“Not while the Unbeliever holds their allegiance. They see no future for the Land which does not rest with Thomas Covenant.”
Linden sighed to herself. She also saw no future—But that was not her concern. She had other needs to meet.
Once again, she faced the challenge of the Harrow.
—it is the nature of avarice to mislead. She could not guess what secret intentions might lie hidden beneath the surface of his oath. Nevertheless she was sure of one question that he had not answered.
“All right,” she murmured when silence had fallen around her. Staring into the Harrow’s blackness, she said, “I know what I’ve offered you. I know what you’ve sworn to do if I keep my end of the bargain. But I don’t know why you still care. The Worm of the World’s End is coming.” How had he known that she would rouse the Worm? “What can you possibly gain with my Staff and Covenant’s ring?” He had conceived his desires before the silence of Covenant’s spectre had provoked her determination to attempt Covenant’s resurrection. “You aren’t crazy enough to think they can protect you when the Arch collapses. But you’ve avoided telling me what you think you can accomplish.
“You said that Infelice is wrong about ‘the Earth’s ruin.’”—no doom is inevitable—“I want you to explain what you’re going to do once we’ve rescued Jeremiah.”
“I will not,” the Harrow retorted at once. “The Ardent’s assertions are specious. My purposes are my own. I will not speak of them to those whose aid I do not require.”
Before Linden could muster a response, the Ardent put in, “Doubtless you desire to say nothing of such matters. I must assure you, however, that you will not remain silent.” He sounded supremely confident—and secretly fearful. “You cannot be blind to the might with which I have been entrusted. The lady, and only the lady, will interpret the terms of your vow. That benison has been vouchsafed to her, in answer to your greed. You will satisfy her, or you will quell your hunger for her instruments of power.”
“If I do so,” the Harrow protested hotly, “the Earth entire must perish.”
“Perchance,” admitted the Ardent. He seemed untroubled by the prospect. “Or perchance you are mistaken. My concern—and the forces which I am able to invoke—pertain chiefly to the lady’s contentment in her dealings with you.”
“I will not—” the Harrow tried to insist.
The Ardent interrupted him. With a troubled smile, the beribboned Insequent asked, “Must I demonstrate the puissance invested in me?”
Linden sensed a struggle between the two men, although no aspect of their contest was visible to ordinary sight. The Ardent continued smiling while the Harrow scowled. If they tested each other, they did so in a way that resembled the Mahdoubt’s eerie battle with the Harrow. Linden half expected one or the other of them to flicker and fade—
Behind her, Covenant had reached the krill. Now he walked around it, studying it as he talked softly to the Humbled, the Swordmainnir, the Cords. As ever, Linden could not discern the emotions of the Haruchai; but she felt Bhapa’s growing bafflement, Pahni’s yearning to stand with Liand. The Giants listened with perplexed attention, as if Covenant spoke a foreign tongue.
Abruptly the Harrow shrugged. He betrayed no sign of strain as he shifted his attention from the Ardent to Linden.
Without preamble, he announced, “Infelice conceives that I crave your son’s supernal gifts for my own use. In this her sight is clear.”
In an instant, everything changed for Linden. Shock like a brush of flame burned her skin from head to foot:
realities seemed to reel and veer: the bottom fell out of her heart, into the Harrow’s eyes. Gasping for breath, she tried to cry out, You bastard, you son of a bitch! But she failed. You want to use him? After everything that he’s already suffered?
The Ardent beamed at her as though the outcome of his insistence pleased him.
“Linden!” protested Liand. “Your son? Is this Insequent as heartless as he names the Elohim?”
Oh, God. With an effort, Linden forced herself to breathe; fought for steadiness. She had not yet surrendered her powers: she could still make choices.
She alone will determine what is encompassed by your oath and what is not.
The Ardent had implied that he would prevent the Harrow from doing anything to Jeremiah without her consent. She could afford to hear the rest of the Harrow’s self-justification.
That thought or hope or blind wish enabled her to demand through her teeth, “Go on.”
“Yet Infelice is ignorant,” the Harrow explained, “of the precise use which I desire. She imagines—and dreads—that my intent resembles the Vizard’s. This is the ‘eternal loss’ which she abhors. She deems that I desire a prison for the Elohim—and that I am witless enough to believe that the Worm will withdraw from harm if it is deprived of its natural repast.
“But I am not such a fool. The Elohim are little more than Earthpower made sapient. If the Worm cannot feed upon them, it will devour other sustenance until it attains the culmination of its hunger. In this, it resembles any beast. To imprison the Elohim will gratify my pride. It will gain naught else.
“Lady—” The Harrow hesitated briefly; glanced at the Ardent. Then he shrugged again. “It is my intent to wield both Law and wild magic in your son’s service. With such forces at his command, he will possess might sufficient to devise a gaol into which the Worm must enter, and from which it will be unable to emerge. This you cannot accomplish in my stead. The reasons are many. I will cite two.