The Wounded Land t2cotc-1

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Yet he took the time for one more inquiry. “How is she?”

  Ceer shrugged fractionally. “She has gazed upon the face of Corruption. Yet she speaks clearly to the Stonedownors.” He paused, then said, “She is your companion. You have redeemed us from abomination. While we live, she and all your companions will suffer no further hurt.” He looked toward Brinn. “But she has warned us of a Raver. Ur-Lord, surely we must flee.”

  A Raver, thought Covenant. Gibbon. Yes.

  What did he do to her? The nightmare on her face was still vivid to him. What did that bastard do to her?

  Without a word, he locked himself erect, and started stiffly down the tunnel into Revelstone.

  The way was long; but metheglin and darkness sustained him. Vain's grin sustained him. The Demondim-spawn had awakened her? Had knelt to her? The ur-viles must have lied to Foamfollower. Hamako's rhysh must have been mistaken or misled. Did Vain bow in acknowledgment of Gibbon's effect on her?

  What did that bastard do to her?

  If Covenant had doubted his purpose before, or had doubted himself, he was sure now. No Clave or distance or impossibility was going to stand in his way.

  Down through the city he went, like a tight curse. Down past Haruchai who scouted the city and watched the Riders. Down to the gates, and the passage under the watchtower. He had already killed twenty-one people; he felt that for himself he had nothing left to fear. His fear was for his companions; and his curse was for the Despiser. His purpose was clear.

  As he moved through the tunnel, a score of Haruchai gathered 'around him like an honour-guard. They bore supplies which they had scoured from Revelstone for the flight of the prisoners.

  With them, he passed the broken outer gates into the night.

  Below him on the rocky slope of the foothill burned a large bonfire. Stark against the massed jungle beyond it, it flamed with a loud crepitation, fighting the rain-drenched green wood which the Haruchai fed to it. Its yellow light enclosed all the prisoners, defending them from darkness.

  He could see a group of Stonedownors and Woodhelvennin huddling uncertainly near the fire. Haruchai moved around the area, preparing supplies, wresting more firewood from the jungle, standing watch. Vain stood motionless among them. Sunder, Hollian, and Linden sat close together as if to comfort each other.

  He had eyes only for Linden. Her back was to him. He hardly noticed that all Brinn's people had turned toward him and dropped to one knee, as if he had been announced by silent trumpets. With the dark citadel rising behind him, he went woodenly toward Linden's back as if he meant to fall at her feet.

  Sunder saw him, spoke quickly to Linden and Hollian. The Stonedownors jumped upright and faced Covenant as if he came bearing life and death. More slowly, Linden, too, climbed erect. He could read nothing but pain in the smudged outlines of her mien. But her eyes recognized him. A quiver like urgency ran through her. He could not stop himself. He surged to her, wrapped his arms around her, hid his face in her hair.

  Around him, the Haruchai went back to their tasks.

  For a moment, she returned his embrace as if she were grateful for it. Then, suddenly, she stiffened. Her slim, abused body became nausea in his arms. He tried to speak, but could not, could not sever the knots in his chest. When she tried to pull away from him, he let her go; and still he could not speak. She did not meet his stare. Her gaze wandered his frame to the old cut in the centre of his shirt. “You're sick.”

  Sick? Momentarily, he failed to understand her. “Linden-?”

  “Sick.” Her voice trailed like blood between her lips. “Sick.” Moving as if she were stunned by abhorrence or grief, she turned her back on him. She sank to the ground, covered her face with her hands, began to rock back and forth. Faintly, he heard her murmuring, “Sick. Sick.”

  His leprosy.

  The sight almost tore away his last strength. If he could have found his voice, he would have wailed, What did that bastard do to you? But he had come too far and had too many responsibilities. The pressure of the krill upheld him. Clenching himself as if he, too, could not be touched, he looked at Sunder and Hollian.

  They seemed abashed by Linden's reaction. “Ur-Lord,” Sunder began tentatively, then faltered into silence. The weal around his neck appeared painful; but he ignored it. Old frown-marks bifurcated his forehead as if he were caught between rage and fear, comradeship and awe, and wanted Covenant to clarify them for him. His jaws chewed words he did not know how to utter.

  “Ur-Lord,” Hollian said for him, “she has been sorely hurt in some way. I know not how, for Gibbon na-Mhoram said to her, 'You I must not harm.' Yet an anguish torments her,” Her pale features asked Covenant to forgive Linden.

  Dumbly, he wondered where the eh-Brand found her courage. She was hardly more than a girl, and her perils often seemed to terrify her. Yet she had resources-She was a paradox of fright and valour; and she spoke when Sunder could not.

  “You have bought back our lives from the na-Mhoram,” she went on, “at what cost to yourself I cannot know. I know not how to behold such power as you wield. But I have tasted the coercion of the Riders, and the imprisonment of the Clave. I thank you from my heart. I pray I may be given opportunity to serve you.”

  Serve-? Covenant groaned. How can I let you serve me? You don't know what I'm going to do. Yet he could not refuse her. Somewhere in his own inchoate struggle of need and conviction, he had already accepted the service of the Haruchai, though their claim on his forbearance was almost forty centuries older than hers. Gripping himself rigid because he knew that if he bent he would break, he asked the only question he could articulate in the poverty of his courage. “Are you all right?”

  She glanced at Sunder, at his neck. When he nodded, she replied, “It is nothing. A little hunger and fear. We are acquainted with such things. And,” she continued more strongly, “we have been blessed with more than our lives. The Haruchai are capable of wonders.” With a gesture, she indicated three of Brinn's people who stood nearby. “Ur-Lord, here are Cail, Stell, and Harn.” The three sketched bows toward Covenant.

  “When we were guided from the hold, I was content with my life. But the Haruchai were not content.” Reaching into her robe, she brought out her dirk and Iianar. “They sought throughout Revelstone and recovered these for me. Likewise they recovered Sunder's Sunstone and blade.” Sunder agreed. Covenant wondered vaguely at the new intimacy which allowed Hollian to speak for Sunder. How much had they been through together? “How does it come to pass,” Hollian concluded, “that the Land has so forgotten the Haruchai?”

  “You know nothing of us,” the one named Harn responded. “We know nothing of you. We would not have known to seek your belongings, had not Memla na-Mhoram-in revealed that they had been taken from you.”

  Memla, Covenant thought. Yes. Another piece of his purpose became momentarily lucid. “Brinn.” The night seemed to be gathering around him. Sunder and Hollian had drifted out of focus. “Find her. Tell her what we need.”

  “Her?” Brinn asked distantly. “What is it that we need?”

  Until he understood the question, Covenant did not perceive that he was losing consciousness. He had lost too much blood. The darkness on all sides was creeping toward vertigo. Though he yearned to let himself collapse, he lashed out with curses until he had brought his head up again, reopened his eyes.

  “Memla,” he said thickly. “Tell her we need Coursers.”

  “Yes, ur-Lord.” Brinn did not move. But two or three Haruchai left the fire and loped easily up toward the watchtower.

  Someone placed a bowl of metheglin in Covenant's hands. He drank it, tried to squeeze a semblance of clarity into his vision, and found himself staring at Vain.

  The Demondim-spawn stood with his arms slightly bent, as if he were ready to commit acts which could not be foreseen. His black eyes stared at nothing; the ghoul grin was gone from his black lips. But he still wore the heels of the Staff of Law, one on his right wrist, the other on his le
ft ankle. The burns he had received two nights ago were almost healed.

  As a man caught in the coercion — Was that it? Was the Clave responsible for Vain? Ur-viles serving the Clave? How far did the na-Mhoram's mendacity extend? Vain's blackness echoed the night. How had he roused Linden? And why? Covenant wanted to rage at the Demondim-spawn. But he himself had killed-without control or even reluctance. He lacked the rectitude to unravel Vain's intent. There was too much blood on his head.

  And not enough in his veins. He was failing. The illumination cast by the bonfire seemed to shrink around him. He had so little time left-Listen, he started to say. This is what we're going to do. But his voice made no sound.

  His hand groped for Brinn's shoulder. Help me. I've got to hold on. A little longer.

  “Covenant.”

  Linden's voice tugged him back into focus. She stood before him. Somehow, she had pulled herself out of her inner rout. Her eyes searched him. “I thought I saw-” She regarded the wild tangle of his beard as if it had prevented her from identifying him earlier. Then her gaze found the thick red scars on his wrists. A sharp gasp winced through her teeth.

  At once, she grabbed his forearms, drew his wrists into the light. “I was right. You've lost blood. A lot of it.” Her physician's training rose up in her. She studied him, gauging his condition with her eyes and hands. “You need a transfusion.”

  The next moment, she perceived the newness of the scars. Her gaze jumped to his face. “What did they do to you?”

  At first, he could not respond. The soothtell was too exigent; he felt unable to bear the answer she needed.

  But she misunderstood his silence. Abomination stretched her visage. “Did you-?”

  Her apprehension broke him out of his paralysis. “No. Not that. They did it to me. I'll be all right.”

  A sag of relief softened her expression. But her eyes did not leave his face. She struggled for words as if the conflict of her emotions blocked her throat. Finally, she said hoarsely, "I heard you shout. We almost got free.“ Her stare drifted out of focus, turned inward. ”For a while, I would have given my soul to hear you shout again.“ But memories made her flee outward again. ”Tell me-“ she began, fighting for severity as if it were essential to her. ”Tell me what happened to you."

  He shook his head. “I'm all right.” What else could he say? “Gibbon wanted blood. I didn't have a chance to refuse.” He knew that he should explain, that all his companions needed to know what he had learned in the soothtell. But he had no strength.

  As if to spare Covenant the necessity of speech, Brinn said flatly, “The ur-Lord's life was forfeit in the soothtell. Yet with wild magic he healed himself.”

  At that, Linden's orbs darkened. Her lips echoed soundlessly, Healed? Her gaze dropped to the old scar behind the cut in his shirt. The recovery of determination which had drawn her out of herself seemed to crumple. Losses which he could not begin to understand overflowed from her eyes. She turned away from him, turned her face toward the night. “Then you don't need me.”

  Hollian reached out to her. Like a child, Linden put her arms around Hollian's neck and buried her face in the eh-Brand's shoulder.

  Covenant did not react. The pressure of his rage and grief was all that stood between him and darkness. He could not move without falling. What did that bastard do to you?

  “Ur-Lord,” Brinn said, “we must not delay. The na-Mhoram was not slain. Surely the Clave will soon strike against us.”

  “I know.” Covenant's heart was crying uselessly, Linden! and hot streaks of self-reproach ran from his eyes; but his voice was adamantine. “We'll go. As soon as Memla gets here.” He did not doubt that Memla would come. She had no choice; she had already betrayed the Clave for him. Too many people had already done too much for him.

  “That is well,” Brinn replied. “Where will we go?”

  Covenant did not falter. He was sure of what he had to do. His Dead had prepared him for this. “To find the One Tree. I'm going to make a new Staff of Law.”

  His auditors fell abruptly silent. Incomprehension clouded Hollian's face. Sunder frowned as if he wanted to speak but could not find the right words. The knot of Stonedownors and Woodhelvennin held themselves still. Vain betrayed no flicker of interest. But the eyes of the Haruchai shone.

  “The old tellers,” Brinn said slowly, “relate that the Lords, even at the time of Kevin, had a legend of the One Tree, from which the Staff of Law was made. Ur-Lord Covenant, you conceive a bold undertaking. You will be accompanied. But how will you seek the One Tree? We have no knowledge of it.”

  No knowledge, Covenant breathed wanly. He had guessed as much. South of the Land lay the lifeless Grey Desert. In the north, the long winter of the Northron Climbs was said to be impassable. And to the west, where the Haruchai lived, there was no knowledge of the One Tree. He accepted that. If Berek had gone west to find the One Tree, he would surely have encountered Brinn's people. With an effort, Covenant answered, “Neither do I. But we'll go east. To the Sea.” Where the Giants had come from. “To get away from the Clave. After that-I don't know.”

  Brinn nodded. “It is good. This the Haruchai will do. Cail, Stell, Ceer, Harn, Hergrom, and myself will share your quest, to ward you and your companions. Two score will return to our people, to give them the knowledge we have gained.” His voice sharpened slightly. “And to consider our reply to the depredations of this Clave. Those who remain will see these Stonedownors and Woodhelvennin to their homes-if such aid is desired.”

  The faces of the nine freed people of the Land expressed immediately their eagerness to accept Brinn's offer.

  “The old tellers speak much of the Giants-of their fidelity and laughter, and of their dying,” Brinn concluded. “Gladly will we look upon their home and upon the Sea which they loved.”

  Now, Covenant said to himself. If ever he intended to refuse the Haruchai, escape his being dependent on and responsible for them again after four thousand years, now was the time. But he could not. He was no longer able to stand without Brinn's support. Isn't it bad enough, he groaned, that I'm the one who destroyed the Staff? Opened the door for the Sunbane? Do I have to carry this, too? But he needed the Haruchai and could not refuse.

  For a moment, the night reeled; but then he felt hands touch his chest, and saw Sunder standing before him. The Graveller held his chin up, exposing his damaged neck as if with that injury he had earned answers. His eyes reflected the firelight like the echoing of his torn mind.

  “Covenant,” he said in a clenched tone, using that name instead of the title ur-Lord, as if he sought to cut through awe and power and command to the man behind them. “I have journeyed far in your name, and will journey farther. But there is fear in me. The eh-Brand foretells a sun of pestilence-after but two days of rain. In freeing us, you have damaged the Clave. And now the Sunbane quickens. Perhaps you have done such harm that the Clave can no longer moderate the Sunbane. Perhaps you have wrought a great peril for the Land.”

  Covenant heard the personal urgency of Sunder's question; but for a time he lacked the fortitude to reply. Sunder's doubt pained him, weakened him. His veins were empty of life, and his muscles could no longer support him. Even the warmth of the krill under his belt had faded into his general inurement. But Sunder was his friend. The Graveller had already sacrificed too much for him. Fumbling among his frailties, he gave the first answer he found.

  “The na-Mhoram is a Raver. Like Marid.”

  But that did not satisfy Sunder. “So Linden Avery has said. Yet the Clave moderated the Sunbane for the sake of the Land, and now that moderation has been weakened.”

  “No,” Somewhere within him. Covenant discovered a moment of strength. “The Clave doesn't moderate the Sunbane. They've been using it to hurt the Land. Feeding it with blood. They've been serving Lord Foul for centuries.”

  Sunder stared; incredulity seemed to hurt his face. Covenant's asseveration violated everything he had ever believed. “Covenant.” Dismay scarr
ed his voice. His hands made imploring gestures. “How can it be true? It is too much. How can I know that it is true?”

  “Because I say it's true.” The moment passed, leaving Covenant as weary as death. “I paid for that soothtell with my blood. And I was here. Four thousand years ago. When the Land was healthy. What the Clave taught you is something they made up to justify all that bloodshed.” A distant part of him saw what he was doing, and protested. He was identifying himself with the truth, making himself responsible for it. Surely no man could keep such a promise. Hile Troy had tried-and had lost his soul to the Forestal of Garroting Deep as a consequence.

  “Then-” Sunder wrestled for comprehension. His features showed horror at the implications of what Covenant said-horror turning to rage, “Then why do you not fight? Destroy the Clave-end this ill? If they are such an abomination?”

  Covenant drooped against Brinn. “I'm too weak.” He hardly heard himself. “And I've already killed-” A spasm of grief twisted his face. Twenty-one people! “I swore I would never kill again.” But for Sunder's sake, he made one more effort to articulate what he believed. “I don't want to fight them until I stop hating them.”

  Slowly, the Graveller nodded. The bonfire became a roaring in Covenant's ears. For an instant of giddiness, he thought that Sunder was Nassic. Nassic with young, sane eyes. The Graveller, too, was capable of things which humbled Covenant.

  There was movement around him. People were readying themselves for departure. They saluted him; but his numbness prevented him from responding. Escorted by nearly a score of Haruchai, they left the foothills. He did not watch them go. He hung on the verges of unconsciousness and fought to remain alive.

  For a time, he drifted along the current of the bonfire. But then he felt himself turned in Brinn's arms, gently shaken erect. He pried his eyes wide, scraped his eyelids across the sabulous exhaustion in his gaze, and saw Memla.

  She stood grimly before him. Her chasuble was gone, and her robe had been singed in places. Her age-stained hair straggled about her shoulders. Fire blisters marred her right cheek; her blunt features were battered. But her eyes were angry, and she faced Covenant with her rukh held ready.