Linden stared at Stave in blank shock. The mourning of the cliffs still gripped her: slain trees thronged in her mind. She could not grasp-
Your scent-?
“Have you forgotten your peril?” he demanded. “Alone, I cannot withstand them. Yet I will slay as many as I may. They will be hindered somewhat. Perhaps they will be daunted. Or perhaps you may gain some covert before they assail you”
“Linden!” Liand cried out to her. “Run! Do not delay for me!” Feverishly he threw bundles onto the pinto’s back. “I will follow!”
“Stave?” she breathed dumbly. “What-?”
“Linden Avery, you are hunted by kresh.”
In his flat tone, the words sounded as deadly as Ravers.
Chapter Nine: Scion of Stone
Had she heard of kresh in huge packs possessed by Ravers? Did she imagine the memory? Aboard Starfare’s Gem she had seen a black swarm of rats driven by a Raver’s malice. In a terrible storm, burning eels had come near to crippling the Search for the One Tree. But kresh-?
Had she ever heard of those great yellow wolves before Liand had mentioned them?
The Stonedownor yelled, “Linden!”
Stave insisted inflexibly, “Linden Avery.”
Her son needed her, and she had come to this.
The twilight of deep shade filled the cleft. Overhead the sun had passed into midafternoon, but the ragged cliffs rose too high to admit direct sunshine. Beyond them, the sky held an illimitable blue tinged to the verge of gloaming with purple and majesty. Its lambency was all that lit the rift.
Liand fumbled to secure Somo’s burdens. “Stave!” he shouted. “How far?”
“Half a league,” Stave answered as if Linden had asked the question, “no more.” His hands touched her shoulders. “If you do not flee, you will perish here. They will tear you asunder.”
“Flee?” she countered. “What for?” Disoriented by images of ruin, she could hardly concentrate on the Master. “I mean, seriously. I can’t outrun them. I can hardly walk. It’s been too long-”
She lifted Covenant’s ring out of her shirt and closed it in her fist. “You can’t protect us. You said so. Maybe I can.” She had no idea how. “If I can’t-” She shrugged. “We weren’t going to survive anyway.”
But Stave immediately wrapped one hand over her fist. “Do not,” he urged her. His hard eyes and the scar high on his left cheek seemed to call out to her through the gloom. “Linden Avery, I forbid you. Old evils inhabit these mountains. You will rout them, or draw them down upon us. Better the threat of fangs and claws than some darker peril.”
Finally Liand finished with Somo’s packs. At once, he hauled the pinto into motion, half-dragging the beast up the slope.
Linden stared back at Stave, floundering within herself. Old evils-? She could not imagine what he meant; but he was Haruchai and commanded belief.
And she did not know how to summon wild magic. It arose according to laws or logic she had not yet learned to understand. Without percipience to guide her-
“Linden, come!” Liand cried as he laboured upward. “You do not know the ferocity of these kresh! They will devour us flesh and bone. We must find some shelter which we are able to defend.”
“Then it’s up to you.” She faced Stave as squarely as she could. “I’m too weak.”
For a brief moment, no more than a heartbeat, Stave appeared to hesitate. He may have realised that there was more at stake between them than simple frailty and flight. His people remembered her as the Chosen, the Sun-Sage; worthy of service. But he could not simultaneously aid her and recapture Anele. Every step upward would carry him farther away from the driving convictions of his people.
An instant later, however, he surged at Linden, swept her into his arms, and began to spring easily up the rocks.
His feet were bare, yet he crossed the sharp edges and splinters of the rubble as though mere stone had no power to hurt him. In a dozen strides, he caught up with Liand and Somo; passed them. When Linden glanced up the rift, she saw that he was gaining on Anele, in spite of the old man’s frenetic haste.
An inestimable distance above Anele, the glow of the sky lit the place where the fallen rock met the rims of the cliffs. Those slopes might or might not provide a route onto the higher mountainsides: Linden was too far away to see them clearly.
Too far away to reach them at all.
Below her the wolves had not yet appeared. If they had gained the scree, or even the rift, they were still hidden by the rise behind which she had rested. How far was half a league? A stone’s throw? For a Giant? More? She should have known: she had travelled leagues by the hundreds during her earlier time in the Land. But she could not remember.
Anele’s pace appeared too headlong and frantic to be sustained; but she did not fear for him. He has no friend but stone. He had endured for decades in and around these mountains. Even now he might well outlast her.
When she glanced down at Stave’s feet, their swift certainty frightened her. If he tripped he would fall to the jagged stones atop her. To ease the strain of his task, she honked her arm over his neck. Then she watched behind her for the first glimpse of the kresh.
In his arms, she mounted the slope as if she were moving backward through time. With every step, Stave’s feet touched memories which only Anele could perceive. The Haruchai carried her up over broken pieces of song, fragments of lamentation.
No wonder Anele was mad. Such music might have fractured anyone’s mind.
Covenant’s ring bounced on its chain outside her shirt. It seemed to reproach her with its mystery and power. Its true owner would have known how to use it; save his comrades. She had seen him in the apotheosis of the Banefire, mastering the source and fuel of the Sunbane even though his veins were full of Lord Foul’s venom. In spite of his self-doubt, he had found within himself the passion and control to quench long generations of bloodshed.
But afterward he had foresworn power. He had refused to defend himself against Lord Foul.
In her dreams, he had told Linden to trust herself-and yet she did not believe that she could raise enough flame to hold back a pack of wolves. When minutes had passed, and the kresh did not appear, she caught Covenant’s ring in her free hand and put it back under her shirt. He had left it to her, but she could not claim it as her own.
Liand tried to match Stave’s pace, but could not. Somo slowed him. The beast was a mustang, bred to mountains; but the scree demanded great care.
Jostled in the cradle of the Haruchai’s arms, Linden panted, “Wait for Liand. We have to stick together.” With kresh on her scent, she would not have left even a Master behind.
She did not expect Stave to heed her. So far he had shown little regard for her wishes. Yet he slowed his strides for Liand’s sake. Apparently he and his people took their guardianship of the Land seriously.
When Liand and Somo had drawn level with him, Stave suited his pace to theirs. Ahead of them, Anele was able to maintain his lead. In that formation, they climbed as if they were ascending into recollections of the One Forest. To Linden, it seemed that the old man’s tale drew them upward.
She peered back at the horizon of the rubble below her. Stave had carried her perhaps a quarter of the way up the rift; possibly less. Still she saw no sign of any wolves. However, she did not doubt that the kresh would soon surge past the rise.
Liand may have felt otherwise. Breathing easily in spite of his exertions, he guided Somo closer to Stave and Linden. “I am disturbed, Master,” he said tensely. “You name yourselves the guardians of the Land. And you have recognised Linden Avery from had forgotten past.” His distrust reached through the dim light to Linden’s nerves. He had left his diffidence toward the Haruchai behind. “Yet you have come alone to her aid.
“You conceal many truths. Will you reveal one here, in the Chosen’s presence? Why have you come alone to ward her?”
Stave made a sound like a snort. Linden felt his strength flow; and for a moment he surged ahead of L
iand. Irredeemable crimes passed beneath his feet. But then he seemed to reconsider. “Do not presume to challenge us, Stonedownor,” he retorted flatly. “You do not suffice. Inquire of the Chosen whether the word and the honour of the Haruchai have worth.”
Together humankind and Ravers had decimated a vast and marvellous intelligence. With the Sunbane Lord Foul had completed their cruel work.
Stave paused, apparently waiting for Linden to speak. When she did not, however, he added, “Yet I will acknowledge that we were unprepared for her flight.” His tone conveyed a two-edged disdain: for Liand’s disapproval as for Linden’s escape. “The Linden Avery who is remembered among us would not have done so. Rather she would have borne the white ring to the Stonedown’s defence. Therefore we were taken unaware.”
His words stung her. In his dry tone, she heard a criticism with which she was intimately familiar. Often in the past, the Haruchai had made no attempt to conceal their scorn for her doubts and hesitations.
He may have been right. Perhaps she should have remained to fight for the Stonedown. But Covenant had told her, Do something they don’t expect. And Stave knew nothing of Jeremiah.
If she had stayed behind, she would not have heard Anele’s tale.
The Master continued to answer Liand. “Nor could we estimate the direction of her flight. The Chosen has repudiated our knowledge of her. For that reason, we separated when the storm had passed, so that we might search more widely.
“We could conceive of no purpose which would impel her here, but we feared that she might attempt these mountains in ignorance, thinking them a sanctuary. Thus it fell to me to ride southward, while Jass and Bornin hastened to consider more likely paths.
“I found no sign to guide me. Almost I turned aside. But then I saw kresh gather among the hills beyond the Mithil. I saw the direction of their hunt, and was concerned that the Chosen had become their prey. Therefore I made haste to place myself ahead of the pack. At the Methyl’s Plunge, I left my mount so that it might not fall to the kresh, and continued on foot.”
Stave looked into Linden’s face as if she rather than Liand had questioned him. “Linden Avery, are you answered?”
He might have asked, Will you trust me now?
Because he distrusted her, she replied, “I thought Lord Foul sent that storm. I Wanted to draw it off.”
In his arms, she was entirely vulnerable to him. No doubt he could have broken her neck with one hand. Nevertheless she had enough faith in him to add, “And no, I don’t trust you. What you Masters are doing appalls me. The Haruchai I knew weren’t that arrogant.”
She could not bring herself to tell him about Jeremiah.
By rough increments, the rift narrowed, its walls leaning toward each other as though they yearned to seal away the ancient pain of the stones. As the gloom grew deeper, it brought with it a cold that seemed to congeal against Linden’s skin. Above her on the slope, Anele had begun to falter. Apparently he had exhausted his desperation. In spite of Somo’s difficulties with the ascent, Stave and even Liand diminished the old man’s lead.
“The Haruchai whom you knew,” Stave told Linden stiffly, “had not yet experienced the meaning of Brinn’s victory over ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol. We had seen the Staff of Law lost and regained. We had seen it un-made and then made anew. When it was lost yet again, we could not continue as we were.
“Brinn has proven himself equal to the guardianship of the One Tree. Will you tell us that we may not prove equal to other guardianships as well?”
“Of course not,” Linden murmured through the soft whisper of Stave’s breathing and the harder rhythm of Liand’s. “But I’ve seen your people die. It’s your definition of guardianship that frightens me. You’re asking too much of yourselves.”
He responded with a slight shrug. “What would you have us do?”
Still grieving for the trees, she turned her gaze downward, and her heart lurched as she saw a moiling line seethe past the rim of the rise. A darkness heavier than shade poured up the scree like a viscid spill flowing in reverse, running backward in time into the storehouse of the mountains’ memories. If she had not lost most of her health-sense, she might have felt ferocity and fangs pelting over the rocks after her scent.
In moments, the upward-cresting tide of kresh had filled the cleft from wall to wall. And still it crashed higher, and gathered to crest again: God, hundreds of them, more wolves than she could have imagined in one pack.
“Hurry,” she panted to Stave as if that were her only reply. Alarm clogged her throat. “They’re coming.”
One Master and an untried Stonedownor would never hold back that tide.
Liand flung a look over his shoulder, cursed under his breath, and began to haul on Somo’s reins, trying to hasten the pinto with his own strength.
But Stave did not quicken his pace, or glance behind him. “They will outrun us,” he said stolidly. “That cannot be altered. Over these rocks the mount travels poorly” He had told Liand to abandon the supplies-and Somo. “Haste will only exhaust your companions to no purpose.”
Then how-? she wanted to ask; demand. How do you expect us to survive? An instant later, however, she realised that Stave had no such expectation. Her flight into the rift had created this plight. He had merely pursued her so that he could fight on her behalf.
While she could, she rested in his arms and tried to focus her remaining percipience inward, searching for the link or passage which might connect her to the limitless power of Covenant’s ring.
The howling of the pack echoed up the rift; and the sound seemed to sharpen the chill on Linden’s skin. In it she heard more than ordinary animal ferocity. As they raced upwards, the kresh gave tongue to a more personal and fervid hunger; a desire not merely for food and blood, but for destruction. Redoubled by the cliffs, their howls suggested Lord Foul’s eager malice.
The Despiser had guided her to hurtloam. He had taunted her with Jeremiah’s suffering, the Land’s pain. And now he sent wolves to feast on her flesh?
No. She did not believe it. Lord Foul did not desire her death. Not yet.
He had sent the wolves to prevent her.
Prevent her from what? She could not imagine. Nevertheless she was abruptly certain that the true threat of the kresh surpassed mere fangs and rending.
When Lord Foul had aided her earlier, he may have expected her to flee in the opposite direction, toward the Land she knew. And he had not touched Anele again, however briefly, until after she and her companions had passed the Mithil’s Plunge.
If she gained the mountains, she might thereby foil some aspect of the Despiser’s machinations.
Even here, her foe had something to fear from her.
Ahead of her, Anele had stopped climbing. He had mounted no more than halfway up the cleft. A harsh ascent remained between him and the possibilities of the mountains. Yet he knelt among the rocks as if he had come to the end of his stamina-or his heart.
Peering through the shadows in alarm, Linden saw that he had halted at the lower edge of a rising plane of unbroken stone. There the fall of rubble had exposed a stretch of native granite which reached from cliff to cliff and perhaps a dozen strides upward.
The rough surface offered a few moments of easier flight. Yet the old man had faltered below it-
“Anele!” she called up to him. “Keep going! We have to keep going!”
With a twist of his shoulders, he looked back at her in Stave’s embrace; at Liand and Somo, and the rising wave of wolves. A faint cry reached her among the howls and echoes as he floundered to his feet and staggered onto the exposed gutrock.
He managed three steps, or four. Then he fell on his face and lay still.
“Hurry!” Linden panted to Stave. “God, Anele.”
This time the Haruchai heeded her. Springing into a run, he sped forward.
Behind them, Liand laboured over the rocks as swiftly as his mount could climb. Scant heartbeats later, Stave reached the plane of stone; strode
to Anele’s prone form There he set her on her feet.
At Once, she dropped to her knees and found the old man gasping as if in terror. What’s wrong?”
Her health-sense had declined too far: she could not discern the source of his distress. She only knew that he had not exhausted his strange strength. But when she touched his arm, she realised that he was indeed terrified; that he was wracked, nearly undone by remorse and sanity.
Behind the Plunge, he had radiated similar emanations. Yet the character of his aura here had substantial differences. There he had writhed in self-recrimination, scourged by the consequences of his supposed crimes. I lost the Staff! He had blamed himself for impossible faults; mistakes which he could not have made. Here his dismay was more intimate. His fears seemed to come from the foundation of his being, the bedrock upon which his commitments and beliefs had once stood.
Although he did not move, he seemed to rise to meet her as if her touch had evoked him in some way; called him up from an abyss to speak to her.
“How was it possible?” he panted as if he were answering her. “I was not blind. Not deaf.” Echoes of hunger chased his words away. “I felt the wrongness of it. A thing which severed Law from Law. Yet I-
“Why am I not slain? I do not merit life. How is it that I am permitted to continue, when I have imperilled all the Land?”
Abruptly Somo’s hooves clattered on the plain stone. Tugged forward by Liand, the pinto came to Stave’s side and halted, blowing froth and trepidation from its nostrils. Its eyes rolled wildly. If Liand had not gripped the mustang’s reins, held them hard, Somo might have wheeled and fled into the jaws of the wolves.
“Anele.” Urgently Linden grasped the old man’s shoulders, rolled him over so that he lay on his back. If he had truly become sane at last- “Go on. Keep talking. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
Distant howls beat about her head, resounding from the cliffs to harry her. The wolves had already swarmed halfway to her position. Any hope, however irrational, that she and her companions might outrace the pack was gone.
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