Reave the Just and Other Tales
Page 45
After some consideration, I concluded that I would be content to rest on kind granite until my life reached its end.
Thereafter time passed in a fashion I could not fathom. Certain moments came to me clearly. Others evaded my notice. Tep Longeur spoke my name, his voice fraught with concern—so much was plain. The stranger seemed to stroke my arms, applying some balm or theurgy which comforted my suffering. He and Tep Longeur attended to Sher Abener’s servants, left unconscious by the shock of their master’s death. Deprived of fuel, the blaze which had consumed the necromancer receded into its pit. By degrees, the thick heat succumbed as well.
Other details eluded me, however. Presumably, Tep Longeur and the stranger spoke to each other—or to me. They must have made decisions. Yet I took no part in those interactions. Perhaps I simply forgot them when they were done.
Later, I found myself on my feet outside the manor’s gates in the first light of a new day. How I had regained the strength to stand, I did not know. Nevertheless I was now able to hold up my head and breathe deeply. The dawn caressed my features with its cleanliness. And the distress of my burns had declined to bearable proportions. When I looked at my arms, I saw whole flesh beneath a covering of clear unguent. Where the stranger had obtained this ointment I could not guess—and did not ask. I did not wish to contemplate anything which threatened to amaze me.
Tep Longeur and my rescuer stood with me to ensure that I did not fall again. The overseer appeared haggard in the early light, haunted by harsh recollections. From time to time, however, he smiled—wanly, perhaps, but without coercion.
The stranger’s shirt hung in strips from his shoulders, revealing the aftermath of Sher Abener’s bloody work. But his wounds had been treated with the same balm which eased my hurts, and had already begun to heal. I suspected that before this day ended his chest would show new scars rather than recent cuts. If his power could grant me such a swift recovery from my burns, it could surely relieve him of the necromancer’s malign weaving.
Despite the damage he had endured, his gaze as he greeted the dawn suggested eagerness.
No one moved upon the avenue. The day lay before us, rich with untouched possibilities.
My rescuer raised his features to the sun and seemed to scent the air. Then he informed us, “The Thal has indeed fled. Apparently his fears were too strong for him, as the necromancer suggested.”
How he gained this knowledge was another amazement into which I did not inquire.
After a glance in my direction, he continued, “His departure opens the way for a new master. I do not doubt that the man who defeated Sher Abener will be able to assume the rule of Benedic without opposition.”
I nodded as though I understood. “You mean yourself, of course.” It might be pleasant to have a Thal who deserved respect.
But the stranger laughed. “I do not.” He turned more fully toward me, so that I had some difficulty avoiding the vividness of his gaze. “I mean you. You need something to do, my friend. You waste yourself on ease.
“In any event”—again he laughed—“Tep Longeur is a far better merchant than you will ever be. The Thal’s palace would be more suitable for you, I think. You have the makings of a ruler much superior to the last one.”
I considered this notion foolish in the extreme. Perhaps for that reason, I did not scorn it.
Without awaiting a reply, the stranger announced, “Farewell. I have repaid my debt.”
At once, he left my side and walked away. As he strode off into the dawn, a spring lifted his steps, and his arms seemed to swing him along as though his veins were full of anticipation.
When he had passed beyond sight along the avenue, Tep Longeur asked gruffly, “Did that make any sense to you at all, Sher Urmeny?”
“Not a whit,” I admitted. Then I shrugged. “But no matter. Sense, I find, is too highly regarded.”
Certainly I valued the memory of my own madness. And I enjoyed the sound of my own name.
“Come, Sher Longeur,” I proceeded. Despite my lingering hurts, I was overtaken by an immense contentment. Had I felt less weary, I might have burst into song. “If you consent to accept ownership of my merchantry and villa, you have much to do.”
Before he could protest, I explained, “Thal Urmeny of Benedic will have no time for such concerns.” I lacked the strength for outright laughter, but I managed an easy chuckle. “And doubtless he will demand compliance for his desires.”
My former overseer frowned until he saw that I jested. Then he relaxed. “Oh, very well, my lord,” he muttered in feigned vexation. “If you insist.”
Supporting me companionably upon his shoulder, he helped me find my way homeward.
Photo by Petra Hegger
Stephen R. Donaldson is the author of the six volumes of The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, a landmark in modern fantasy. Every volume, beginning with Lord Foul’s Bane in 1977, has been an international bestseller. Donaldson returned to the series with The Runes of the Earth in 2004. He lives in New Mexico. Visit his website at stephenrdonaldson.com.
Table of Contents
Praise for Stephen R. Donaldson
Books by Stephen R. Donaldson
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Introduction
Reave the Just
The Djinn Who Watches Over the Accursed
The Killing Stroke
The Kings of Tarshish Shall Bring Gifts
Penance
The Woman Who Loved Pigs
What Makes Us Human
By Any Other Name
About the Author