Fatal Revenant t3cotc-2
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Like Galt, Clyme clutched at Stave as he fell. Clasping Stave’s arm, the Humbled attempted to yank Stave from his feet. But Stave responded by crouching quickly, using Clyme’s hold to drive the Humbled downward.
Clyme landed hard. His shoulder blades could have been cracked. Certainly the breath should have been knocked from his lungs. But he was Haruchai: he did not react to the impact. Instead he let go of Stave’s arm, acknowledging defeat.
Again Stave stood upright. While Clyme rose and walked away to join his kinsmen, Stave waited for the last of the Humbled.
“My God,” Linden breathed to Liand and Mahrtiir. “They can’t hear his thoughts, but he still hears theirs. He knows exactly what they’re going to do.”
Even if he had lost both eyes, he might have been able to defend himself against his own people. Over the millennia, the Haruchai had become dependent on their mental communion. Linked to each other, they could not adjust their tactics to accommodate his unfamiliar blend of isolation and awareness.
But Branl appeared to understand the reasons for Stave’s success. The pace of his approach-or perhaps merely its tone-implied caution. And Handir studied the Humbled in a way that seemed to suggest inward counsel. All of the Masters may have been reminding Branl to fight as though Stave were not Haruchai.
Instead of striking, Branl circled Stave slowly. He may have wanted Stave to make the first move; to commit himself.
Yet even then Stave had the advantage. He had heard Handir’s advice-and Branl’s response. He understood Branl’s preparations. When Stave jabbed suddenly at Branl’s head, the blow was a feint.
The Humbled replied with a block which flowed seamlessly into a wheeling kick powerful enough to crumple Stave. But Stave had already stepped inside the kick and slapped down the block. While Branl snatched back his leg, Stave clipped him across the forehead with one elbow.
To Linden’s slower perceptions, the touch of Stave’s elbow looked harmless: a glancing blow, nothing more. The collision of bone with bone sounded too soft to have any force. Yet the Humbled sprawled backward.
In the fraction of a heartbeat remaining to him, Branl endeavoured to execute a flip which would land him on his feet. But he did not have enough time. His knees and then his hands hit the floor.
When he stood again, he gave Stave a small bow and withdrew to join the rest of the Masters.
For a moment or two, a silence as gravid as an aftershock held the forehall. Linden imagined that she could hear the preconceptions of Stave’s kinsmen crumbling. Then Liand crowed. “Stave!” and pumped jubilation into the air with both fists. “Heaven and Earth, Stave!”
Grinning fiercely, Mahrtiir growled, “Well done, Haruchai. Well done in all sooth. Here is a tale to gladden the hearts of the Ramen. At last blows have been struck which may humble the sleepless ones. And we have witnessed it, a Manethrall and his Cords. No longer may these Masters feign that their worth exceeds yours.”
Linden felt suddenly weak; drained by relief. She wanted to sit down. Stave had already suffered too many hurts in her name. Now he was safe-at least for the moment. But she clung to her resolve and hid her frailty. Holding herself upright, she gave thanks with her eyes.
Impassively Stave turned to Mahrtiir. “Manethrall, it was not done to demonstrate my worth. In their place, I would conduct myself as the Masters do. Rather it was done in the Chosen’s service-and to teach my people that they also may exceed themselves, if they elect to make the attempt.”
Mahrtiir replied with a deep Ramen bow as if he were accepting a reprimand; but his whetted grin remained.
“Worth is not at issue,” Handir said sternly. “One fall does not define merit or prowess. Yet we honour Stave’s wish to cause no harm, as we must. And we acknowledge the outcome of his trial.
“Behold.”
He nodded toward the gates; and as he did so, the massive stone began to open, turning soundlessly on its Giantish pivots or hinges. The savour of the air, chilled to crispness, and redolent with springtime, told Linden that the sun was rising. Its light was blocked by the bulk of the watchtower; but a grey illumination washed inward, softening the flames of the lamps and torches.
“Linden Avery,” the Voice of the Masters announced, “you may summon the Ranyhyn.”
His words seemed to dismiss some of the trepidation from the forehall.
She resisted an impulse to head immediately for the walled courtyard. The taste of the air, and the prospect of leaving Revelstone, restored her eagerness. She was confident now. She had shared a horserite with Hyn and Hynyn: she knew that they would answer.
But she had other concerns-
First she faced Handir and bowed, although he had never bowed to her. “Even when I believe that you’re wrong,” she said quietly, “I don’t question your integrity. If I’ve ever said anything to make you think otherwise, I regret it. I hope that someday we’ll be allies again,” as they had been in the time of the Sunbane. “But for now, I just hope that you’ll try to withhold judgment.”
She did not expect a reply, and Handir did not proffer one. She felt a tinge of sadness like an echo of his as she gestured for her friends to gather around her.
“The Ranyhyn won’t fail us,” she told them. “You all know that. And Handir is going to let us leave.” She had sensed it in his hidden sorrow. “He doesn’t like the fact that Roger and the croyel tricked him. None of the Masters do. And were a constant reminder that they can make mistakes. Once were gone, they can debate their definition of service in peace.”
If any peace remained to the Land-
Stave nodded his confirmation.
“But when we go,” Linden continued. “we have to remember that Anele is vulnerable when he stands on anything except stone.” Beyond the watchtower lay bare dirt. “Kastenessen can reach him. Lord Foul can reach him. Even Esmer can interfere with him. And there’s Covenant,” the real one. “who seems to suffer in the process as much as Anele does.
“Whenever he isn’t riding, we have to be sure that he’s on stone. If we can’t find stone, maybe we can convince him to climb a tree. And if there aren’t any trees, a bedroll might be enough to protect him.
“Or-” She held Liand’s gaze steadily. “If we don’t have any other options, you’ll have to let him hold your orcrest. I know that he hates being sane. But anything is better than allowing Kastenessen or Lord Foul to hurt him again.”
Certainly the mad Elohim or the Despiser would be able to locate Linden if they were allowed to enter Anele. They would know where to send their forces.
“As you say, Ringthane,” Mahrtiir promised. “The Ramen will not neglect the old man’s straits.”
Liand ducked his head. When he looked at Linden again, she saw shadows and pain in his eyes. Carefully he said, “I cannot unremember the fire of violence and rage which has twice claimed Anele. His anguish as he holds the orcrest is fearsome. Yet in my sight it is a lesser torment than that which is inflicted upon him by possession. I will do what must be done to ward him.”
Pahni gripped the Stonedownor’s hand as he spoke; and Stave nodded again.
“Good.” At last, Linden unfolded her arms from the Staff. Taking it in her right hand, she stamped one heel on the stone. With her left, she reminded herself that Covenant’s ring still hung under her shirt; that one of her pockets held Jeremiah’s twisted toy. Then she turned toward the courtyard. “In that case, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do this.”
Flanked by her companions, she strode through the inner gates to the open air between the watchtower and the main Keep. Behind her walked Handir and his phalanx of Masters as if they had become spectators at an event which no longer held their interest.
In the centre of the courtyard, she stopped. Here, she told herself. Now. But she had never summoned the Ranyhyn: Stave had done so for her. And she did not know how to whistle as he did, shrilly, and as poignant as keening.
In a low voice, she asked Stave. “Would you mind?”
Then Stave whistled again, and the echoes multiplied until they beat like wings around the courtyard. When he whistled a third time, Linden seemed to hear the pinions of an imminent and ominous bird: a great raven, perhaps, just out of sight beyond the tower, and poised for augury.
Slowly the echoes died away, emptying the sky. The heavy stone of the outer gates hampered her percipience. But she was not afraid. At that moment, she feared nothing except that her foes might prevent her from reaching Andelain.
Instead of holding her breath or fretting, she counted her heartbeats until she heard the Voice of the Masters say her name. Then she met his flat gaze like a woman who had already departed, leaving her doubts and even her capacity for uncertainty with him.
“It is as the Manethrall proposed,” Handir announced. “This test of truth also has been satisfied. The Ranyhyn have answered. They await your will beyond the gates.”
For an instant, he appeared to hesitate. Then he admitted. “Their number is ten.”
Ten. Oh, God, ten. Seven for Linden and her friends: three for the Masters.
“Thus,” Handir continued, “the great horses acknowledge both your intent and your capacity for desecration.”
In effect, he had given his permission.
Linden meant to offer him a parting bow. In her relief, she might have thanked him. The Masters were Haruchai and deserved as much. But she could not stop herself: she was already running toward the tunnel under the watchtower as if the sheer force of her yearning would compel the gates at the end of the lightless passage to set her free.
Chapter Six: Sons
In sunrise, the Ramen and the Haruchai- the Humbled and their gathered kinsmen as well as Stave-gave homage to the Ranyhyn while Linden greeted Hyn gladly. Although she was impatient to be on her way, she did not chafe at the delay as Manethrall Mahrtiir named each of the great horses to the Masters: the seven who had borne Linden’s company as well as Mhornym, Bhanoryl, and Naybahn, who would be ridden by the Humbled. And she was not surprised that Handir had selected Branl, Galt, and Clyme to accompany her. Doubtless the Humbled had insisted on assuming that duty. They may have wanted another opportunity to prove themselves.
Still she mounted Hyn quickly when the Ramen and the Haruchai had completed their ceremonies of respect. As soon as Stave and Mahrtiir indicated that her companions were ready, she turned her back on Revelstone and rode away as if her path toward Andelain held fewer perils than the defended Keep.
Foes like Kastenessen and Roger, the Harrow and Lord Foul, merely wished to break her so that she might surrender or misuse her powers. The Masters believed that she could not be trusted.
Mahrtiir sent his Cords scouting ahead. The Manethrall and Stave rode on either side of Linden. Liand accompanied Anele behind her. The Humbled ranged around the company. In that formation, the Ranyhyn cantered easily into the southeast, angling across the light of the new sun.
From the vicinity of the fields that fed Lord’s Keep, the riders travelled down the bare plain which had been the battlefield for the Despiser’s final war against the Lords; his last attempt to achieve his ends through sheer force. But the swift gait of the Ranyhyn soon carried the company past the plain into a region of tumbled hills that stretched for leagues.
The hills permitted easy passage. Their slopes were gentle, worn down by ages of time and weather. Still they constricted the horizons on all sides. For safety’s sake, Mahrtiir joined his Cords searching the terrain while the Haruchai rode closely around Linden, Liand, and Anele. And the ground was clad in the tough, raw-edged grass that Linden feared for the old man’s sake. Throughout the first day of their journey, whenever the riders paused for food and water, or to scavenge a few treasure-berries, they remained on horseback.
As she rode, Linden watched for villages-for any habitations-but she saw none. Surely the Land’s people did not avoid living in the vicinity of Revelstone? She assumed, therefore, that the Ramen chose a path which would allow them to pass unseen. Perhaps Mahrtiir’s keenness to leave Lord’s Keep behind urged him to avoid encounters that might slow the company. Or perhaps he understood that the Humbled would oppose exposing villagers to the dangerous knowledge and magicks of Linden and her friends.
She also scanned the hillsides for some sign of the Harrow. But the Insequent did not appear. If he travelled somewhere nearby, neither the Ramen nor the Haruchai could discern him.
After Linden’s first rush of excitement, the day seemed to pass slowly. Yet Hyn’s comfortable strength supported her. And she was encouraged by the sensation that she had finally begun to take charge of her own fate; that she had wrested the initiative away from her enemies. For too long, she had simply reacted to their various gambits. Now they would be compelled to react to hers.
With luck and courage, and the inestimable aid of her friends, she might be able to surprise the Despiser’s allies.
That night, however, she and her companions made their camp on a swath of rubble which had spilled down over centuries or millennia from a rugged escarpment among the hills. A bed of tumbled and weathered stones protected Anele, but granted her no more than a little fitful sleep. As the night wore on, her anticipation became a restless anxiety.
An attack was likely. Kastenessen and Roger would surely try to stop her. Other foes-less predictable ones-would do the same. She had been warned away from Andelain by friends as well as enemies. And while she lay awake, she felt the constant bale of Kevin’s Dirt etiolating her resolve. Beyond question the Falls are a great evil, Liand had once said to her. Yet I deem them a little wrong beside the deprivation imposed by Kevin’s Dirt. In darkness, the impending weight of imminent blindness had the power to erode her judgment and conviction as well as her senses.
Under the circumstances, she was both comforted and disturbed by the fact that the Haruchai did not appear to sleep. Perhaps Stave, Galt, Branl, and Clyme dozed with their eyes open while they rode, or snatched naps when they were certain that their companions were safe.
In addition, they appeared to eat little, although they did not refuse treasure-berries. It was instinctive with them, Linden supposed, to keep private anything that resembled ordinary mortal needs and vulnerabilities. Thousands of years after the Vow of the Bloodguard had been broken, Stave and the Masters continued to emulate the Haruchai who had once served the Lords.
She could rely on their stringent inflexibility. But it was also their gravest weakness.
Fortunately Liand had spent a considerable time during the days ride, and in the evening, poring over his orcrest. The next morning, he demonstrated that Sunstone could indeed counteract Kevin’s Dirt. With quiet exultation, he restored health-sense to the Ramen, Linden, and himself, sparing her the exertion of her Staff. After that, she felt less alone; reassured to know that hers were no longer the company’s only instruments of power.
During the day, she was soothed by Hyn’s steady gait, as secure as a throne. And the hills opened into a billowing grassland that seemed to expand the possibilities of the world. Like the relief provided by Liand’s orcrest, being able to see farther eased some of her trepidation.
Near sunset, the company stopped for the night in an arroyo with a brisk stream rushing down its centre and a bed composed primarily of broken shingle and slate: enough stone to protect Anele from possession, but free of the deep rock which would expose him to his worst memories. The water was runoff from seasonal showers and mountain snows. Among its liquid secrets, it carried the faint flavours of rainfall and blizzards, new warmth and older ice. In summer, the watercourse would b
e turbulent to its rims, a small river hastening generally southward. Now, however, the littered bottom of the arroyo was the safest place that the scouting Ramen had found for Anele to spend the night.
For herself, Linden planned to lay out her bedroll on the softer ground above the stream. Her companions could watch over her wherever she made her bed. And she did not doubt that the Ranyhyn also would guard the company. After the discomforts of the previous night, she wanted a chance for better rest.
But first she sat with her back against the dry wall of the gully while twilight deepened into evening overhead, and Liand and Pahni readied a meal over a cheery cookfire. There she was able to relax and think.
When the company had eaten-when the Ramen had returned from tending the Ranyhyn, and the Humbled had taken places above Linden and her friends along the edges of the watercourse-Stave finally broached the subject of the Harrow and the Mahdoubt. He described their eerie contest and its outcome. And he repeated what Linden had already heard about the Vizard and the Theomach, although he did not explain how the Haruchai knew of the Insequent. The ancient defeat of his people he kept to himself, perhaps to protect his own hidden emotions, or perhaps to appease the Humbled.
Watching Liand and the Cords, Linden saw that they had questions which they would have liked to ask. But Stave’s uninflected severity forbade inquiry. However, the sharpness of Mahrtiir’s concentration suggested that he would ask his questions in spite of Stave’s reticence. For the former Master’s sake, Linden forestalled the Manethrall.
“Stave,” she asked quietly, “what can you tell us about where we are and where were going? You and the Humbled know this area. We don’t.” When she and Covenant had begun their search for the One Tree long ago, she had been in no condition to attend to her surroundings. She remembered only that they had left Revelstone eastward against the lethal permutations of the Sunbane. “I want some idea of what we have ahead of us.”