Linden gnawed her lip and tried to guess what conclusion the Giants and the Ramen would reach.
“Thus,” Coldspray said again. “The Timewarden’s former mate. Their son. Kastenessen.” She looked around at her comrades once more. “Upon another occasion, I will require your condolences for such concision. For the present—” Then she faced the two Haruchai. “Master. Stave. You have not spoken. Do you consent to the nature of our counsels? Is there aught which we must add or discard ere we continue?”
A glance like a knife passed between the Humbled and the former Master, although their miens were impassive; and a spatter of tension ran down Linden’s spine. She could not see beneath the surface of either man, but she felt—
As if to the air rather than to Coldspray or Stave, Galt said, “I will speak when your deliberations are done.”
“And I will answer you,” promised Stave.
Without explanation, he shifted his gaze to the Ironhand.
“I would urge,” he told her, “that some forewarning must be conveyed to the Masters in Revelstone. Yet I cannot conceive how my desire may be accomplished. If the word of an Elohim is to be believed, scant days remain to us, and even a rider Ranyhyn-mounted must have more than a few to gain Lord’s Keep.”
He shrugged delicately. “Thus my wishes for my kindred come to naught.” With an air of formality, he concluded, “Ironhand of the Swordmainnir, I am content with your counsels.”
Rime Coldspray replied with a nod as grave as a bow. Then she said to everyone, “Now we must further simplify our course. To my mind, the choice has become one of urgency. Which of the three perils that we have selected poses the most severe or immediate threat?”
Involuntarily Linden shook her head. She did not mean to interfere with Coldspray’s leadership, or with Mahrtiir’s; but she answered without thinking.
“Urgency isn’t the problem. They’re all urgent,” Jeremiah more than anything else. “The problem is finding them. I can’t even guess where Joan is. But Esmer and the Ardent told us that Roger is in Mount Thunder.” Somewhere among the Wightwarrens. “And Kastenessen has to be there, too, since he’s drawing on the bane to power Kevin’s Dirt. Locating them sounds impossible, but it probably isn’t. If we get close enough, we won’t have to find either of them. They’ll find us.”
Abruptly she stopped. This was not what she wanted. She had good reason to avoid more responsibility. And she doubted that the Humbled would respect any choices except their own.
In dismay, she argued against herself. “At least we know where Jeremiah is.”
We need to help him somehow. Please.
After a quick consultation with her comrades, the Ironhand mused, “The distance is not insurmountable. The remaining portion of the Ardent’s largesse may be stretched to sustain a trek of several days. Yet qualms disturb me. I fear the suddenness with which Covenant Timewarden’s former mate is able to strike. And within the Wightwarrens of Mount Thunder, of which we have heard tales, we will traverse passages and confusions unknown to us, yet intimately familiar to the Cavewights. Doubtless the Timewarden’s son and his forces will offer battle at a time and place where every circumstance is unfavorable to us.”
Linden said nothing.
“Also,” continued the Ironhand, “I am reluctant to turn my back upon the intent of the Ardent. Aye, he did not name his purpose. Yet the great cost of his service has won my regard. I cannot conclude that our presence here is without value.”
“By your reasoning, then, Ironhand,” Mahrtiir concluded harshly, “we are returned to our starting place. We cannot choose a path toward any point of our compass. In my heart remains the belief that what has transpired here”—he pointed at Liand’s cairn—“must serve as our lodestone. Yet its import eludes me.” In frustration, he muttered a Ramen curse. “Therefore I can offer no further counsel.”
Abruptly Bhapa took a step forward. “Perhaps—” he began, then stopped, staring as though his own thoughts shocked him.
“Speak, Cord,” the Manethrall commanded at once.
Please, Linden repeated, if only to herself. Somebody think of something.
Bhapa appeared to fumble for words. “Earlier.” He swallowed hard. “When Cord Pahni returned to us.” He glanced, flinching, at Linden, then forced himself to meet Mahrtiir’s eyeless scrutiny. “The Ringthane asked why we did not summon the Ranyhyn to ease Pahni’s sorrow. I replied”—again he swallowed—“with disrespect, hearing no esteem for the Ranyhyn in her. Yet now—”
Once more, he faltered.
The Manethrall waited. Carefully Rime Coldspray prompted, “Yet now—”
A flush spread like shame across the Cord’s face. In a rush, he said, “If we summon the Ranyhyn, and entrust ourselves to their wisdom, perhaps they will consent to select our path.
“They are the Ranyhyn,” he insisted as if his companions had objected. “Though they have ever allowed both the Ramen and their riders to choose their roads, they share insights which surpass us. Perhaps they can discern the whereabouts of the Timewarden’s former mate. Or they may recognize the Ardent’s purpose. They may elect to resume the journey which he was unable to complete.
“Surely any destination deemed condign by the Ranyhyn is preferable to our present bafflement.”
There Mahrtiir silenced Bhapa. “Enough, Cord,” the Manethrall said, unexpectedly mild in spite of his palpable excitement. “This is unforeseen counsel. I now comprehend your hesitation in speaking of it. Ramen do not presume to such thoughts. Before the Ringthane’s coming, however, no Raman had presumed to ride the Ranyhyn. Yet when that occasion presented itself, they made plain their approval. I do not doubt that they will approve once more.”
His eagerness stirred the company. The Giants lifted their heads as though they had caught the scent of hope.
Hyn! Linden thought. Hynyn. Naharahn and Bhanoryl and Mhornym and the others. In their sparse horserite, Hyn and Hynyn had found a way to share their concerns without manipulating her choices. And they were responsible for persuading Stave to alter his allegiance despite the combined indignation of the Masters. Her many mistakes had taught her to trust them.
Suddenly she missed Hyn with all her heart: the mare’s proud carriage and fleet-ness, the affection in her soft eyes, the certainty of every step. Hyn would know—
With a clarion note in his voice, Mahrtiir asked, “What say you, Ironhand of the Swordmainnir? Lacking other wisdom, we are baffled. And I conceive that Liand’s steadfastness came as near as any human may to the fidelity of the Ranyhyn. If we determine to abide by their guidance, his openness and valor will indeed be made our lodestone.”
Again Rime Coldspray spoke quietly with her comrades. When she was ready to answer, her eyes shone.
“The Swordmainnir,” she announced, “are content in all sooth. Our knowledge of the Ranyhyn is scant. Yet we have witnessed their glory and service. To our sight, they resemble the wonder and mystery of Andelain made flesh. And we have seen the reverence in which they are held by all whose experience of them exceeds our own. When Galt has revealed the will of the Humbled, we will gladly hear the call which summons such horses—aye, and gladly be led by them.”
As she spoke, Bhapa squared his shoulders. His shame was transformed: it became a glow of pride that Linden had never seen in him before. And Pahni’s expressionless stare lost some of its dullness. The prospect of seeing the Ranyhyn again seemed to ameliorate her deep exhaustion and grief.
But Linden’s own anticipation faded almost immediately. She had forgotten Galt’s promise to speak—and she feared what he might say.
Brusquely Stave told Galt, “The time has come. Your silence is both unjust and hurtful. You demean companions who have entrusted their lives to your honor and service.”
His tone doused the rising spirits of the Ramen. A frown gathered on Coldspray’s brow, and Halewhole Bluntfist looked like a woman about to take umbrage. Latebirth betrayed a small wince of surprise.
To
Stave, Galt nodded. “I will do so.” Then he turned his head to address the company.
“In the Unbeliever’s absence from himself,” he said as if his words were without portent, “we approve your wish to rely upon the Ranyhyn. Knowing them of old through our memories of the Bloodguard, we do not doubt that they will guide us well.”
Nothing in his tone betrayed the nature of his intentions as he added, “When they have come, and have given their consent to your desires, I will slay the croyel.”
At once, a jolt like the touch of a caesure struck the company. Bhapa cried out in protest, and Mahrtiir’s garrote seemed to leap of its own accord into his hands. “Stone and Sea!” roared Coldspray. “Are you mad, Haruchai?” Two other Giants reached for their swords, but did not draw them.
Stillness clogged the air, making it difficult to breathe. Instinctively Linden sprang toward Jeremiah, drawing obsidian like panic from the Staff of Law. Flame gusted into the sky, as stark and black as the Staff itself: a blare of darkness against the heavens. But she did not see it. She saw only Galt’s impassive mien, and the fraught gnashing of the croyel’s fangs, and the ferocity in its acid eyes.
Mahrtiir and the Ironhand called Linden’s name simultaneously. A stunned turmoil gripped the rest of the company. Galt’s fist tightened on the krill. He gripped Jeremiah’s shoulder harder; studied Linden like a man who never blinked. But Stave reached past her power to set his hand like a barrier between her and Galt.
“Withhold, Chosen,” he said sharply. “I will implore you if I must. He is Haruchai, a Master, one of the Humbled. If he chooses death, your power cannot stop his hand.”
“Must,” Anele echoed almost inaudibly. “Cannot.”
Spreading midnight fire like sheet-lightning over the ridgecrest, Linden whirled to confront Covenant.
“Stop him!” she cried in a voice as dark as her flame. “You’ve told them and told them! You’ve supported me ever since I brought you back!” And Esmer had healed Jeremiah’s crumpled toy. Surely that implied some possibility of salvation for her son? “Don’t let him do this!”
Covenant stood unsteadily between Bhapa and Pahni. He did not so much as glance at Linden. Lost in memories, he looked as forlorn as a disturbed grave. The muscles of his jaw knotted and released, knotted and released, like the struggle of his mute heart.
“Linden Avery.” Stave was almost shouting. “Quench your fire. The Unbeliever cannot reply. Were he able to do so, I do not doubt that he would forbid the Humbled. But he cannot. And such stained Earthpower is surely a beacon to every lorewise being who seeks our harm.
“I have said that I will answer Galt. I will do so. But you must end this dire display.”
At last, Linden’s mind seemed to catch up with her actions; her desperation. In spite of the fury pounding in her ears—fury or despair—she understood Stave. Covenant could not respond: not as he was. And she had never meant to oppose any Haruchai with Earthpower or wild magic. Stave’s people were the Land’s friends, if they were not hers.
—your power cannot stop his hand.
Trembling as if she were feverish or freezing, Linden panted, “All right. All right. Answer him. Do it now.”
Every sinew in her body shuddered as she forced herself to swallow her frenzy and her Staff’s fire.
Momentary relief spattered among the Giants, the Ramen. Then it was gone. Even Anele’s blind gaze seemed to follow her as she faced Galt again. Only Jeremiah showed no sign that he was aware of his peril: only Jeremiah and Covenant.
“Speak, Galt,” Stave demanded. “Account for your intent so that your companions may comprehend it. Then hear my reply.”
“I will do so,” Galt repeated. “Betimes others have concealed their purposes. But we are the Humbled, and Masters, and Haruchai. We scorn such conduct.”
To Linden, his every word sounded as heavy as the beat of a dirge.
“Our reasons are many,” he began. “Least among them is that I will not bear this monstrous being upon the back of Bhanoryl, or upon that of any Ranyhyn. All Haruchai honor the Ranyhyn. I will not impose the evil of the croyel upon them.”
Immediately Mahrtiir retorted, “You impose nothing, Master.” His scorn was as harsh as Galt’s. His garrote he held taut between his fists. “The Ranyhyn will bear you and the boy and the monster, or they will not. Their choices are not yours to make.”
Galt ignored the Manethrall. More to the Giants than to Stave, the Ramen, or Linden, he said, “A weightier reason is that my present task fetters me. Against the assault which slew the Stonedownor, I could not act without risking the croyel’s release. I will not again suffer this waste of my strength when every strength is needed.”
As steady as a boulder, Stave replied, “If your impatience surpasses your flawed restraint, cede the krill to me. I will bear the burden in your stead.”
Stave also Galt ignored. “A still greater argument,” he continued like the thud of funereal drums, “is that the boy’s plight cannot be redeemed. That has been demonstrated beyond question. It has been amply witnessed.”
No, Linden insisted. No. But the Humbled did not heed her silent protest.
“Linden Avery’s mad quest for her son has met its irreparable doom. Lacking any good cause, we have endured many bitter hazards in her name, and have gained naught but an increase of sorrow. Now our need for the croyel’s death exceeds the value of the boy’s life. The Unbeliever has commanded us to honor Linden Avery’s wishes. In his present state, we cannot. We must serve according to our avowed Mastery.”
“There your reasoning falters,” Stave pronounced. “You arrogate to yourselves a foresight which you do not possess. One failure does not foretell another. That the Chosen has not found some means to relieve her son does not ordain that she can not or will not. To claim otherwise is to assert certainty concerning events and deeds which have not yet occurred.”
Yes, Linden thought. Please. I’m going to try again. As soon as I think of a way to do it. I just need time.
But still Galt ignored Stave. Now he appeared to speak exclusively to the Giants as if he considered the rest of the company suspect; flawed by their loyalties.
“However, the greatest reason is this. When the time comes to confront our foes, the Unbeliever will require the krill. High Lord Loric invested this blade and this gem with a mighty theurgy. Like my own strength, that theurgy is wasted in its present use. It is wasted utterly, though it will be utterly needed.
“The Unbeliever did not wrest it from its place merely to capture and preserve the boy. He foresaw far graver exigencies, else he would not have surrendered all of Andelain to ravage and ruin. It cannot be his intent that Andelain should perish for the sake of Linden Avery’s irretrievable child.”
To this, the Swordmainnir responded with silence and glowering. Linden felt their anger rise. The set of Rime Coldspray’s jaw seemed to rebuff Galt at every point.
For centuries or millennia, the Masters had rebuffed the Giants—
But if Stave felt any frustration at Galt’s attitude, he did not show it. Instead he continued to answer. Now, however, he spoke so slowly that he seemed to drawl, emphasizing every assertion.
“Then, Humbled,” he said as if he had assumed Covenant’s authority, “you will stay your hand while you await the Unbeliever’s return to himself. Your other persuasions are chaff. They are mere impatience misnamed devotion. But the reason of the Unbeliever’s need has merit. It is incontestable. Yet his absence is also incontestable. He cannot require the krill while he remains as he is. And it is neither honest nor honorable to kill the boy when no purpose is served. It is murder.
“Have the Humbled come to this? Do they commit murder, when the Haruchai have always refused assent to such crimes?”
Now Galt met Stave’s single gaze. Briefly he flexed his fingers on the haft of the krill, eased the pressure of his grip on Jeremiah. When he replied, Linden thought that she heard a subtle discomfiture in his tone.
“It may c
hance that the touch of the krill will restore the Unbeliever to himself.”
Still slowly, Stave said, “Or it may chance that it will not. Then the son of Linden Avery the Chosen will have been slain, and you will have accomplished nothing, and your vaunted devoir will be made a mockery of itself.”
Linden hung on Stave’s response. Inwardly she burned to hear what Galt would say next.
But he did not reply.
Without warning, he and Stave both stiffened as if they were about to leap at each other’s throats. Then Stave grabbed her arm, snatched her away from Galt and Jeremiah—
—turned her in time to see Clyme launch himself off the crest where he had stood watch.
In his right hand, Clyme gripped a long spear by its shaft. Blood marked the point of the spear and the side of his left shoulder. His tunic there had been rent.
“Ware and ward!” Stave shouted. “We are assailed!”
As Clyme plunged downward, the hilltop of his vantage-point exploded in a blast of heat and fury like brimstone.
Oh, God—!
Around Linden, Giants wrenched their swords from their scabbards. Rime Coldspray gave them no commands: they were Swordmainnir and knew their tasks. Long strides swept them into a defensive arc to protect their smaller companions. Those Giants carrying supplies threw their bundles southward off the ridge. The Ironhand brandished her glaive, loosening her arms and wrists.
As the Giants readied themselves, Stave called, “The Unbeliever’s son brings Cavewights against us! Concealed by some glamour, they eluded Clyme’s senses. Only the spear in its flight forewarned him!”
Linden wanted to protest, They can’t be here. We’re too far from Mount Thunder. But she could not breathe, and had no voice.
Once again, Roger Covenant had caught the company by surprise. Cavewights charging closer should have raised a cloud of dust—unless the air was too still for dust, or the creatures ran entirely on stone. Or Roger’s glamour was so complete that it masked every sign of his coming.
Grimly Manethrall Mahrtiir ordered his Cords to protect Covenant. “Doubtless Branl will aid you! Entrust the Ringthane to Stave, and to me!”
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