Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant 02 - Fatal Revenant

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  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 traveled 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 day’s 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 center 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 flavors of rainfall and blizzards, new warmth and older ice. In summer, the watercourse would be 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 we’re 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.”

  Once again, she encouraged him to violate the prohibitions of the Masters—and to do so in their presence. However, she doubted that the Humbled would object. Having committed themselves to this endeavor, they could not very well claim that she and her friends had no need of their knowledge.

  Stave’s manner remained stiff, but he did not hesitate. “The distance from Revelstone to the northwestmost verge of the Andelainian Hills is ninety leagues. Riding as we have, without urging the Ranyhyn excessively, thirty now lie behind us.”

  “So four more days,” murmured Linden.

  The Haruchai shook his head. “Chosen, your count presupposes that we will encounter neither delay nor opposition. Opposition I am unable to foretell, though we have been warned of the skurj, and the chance of Falls must not be forgotten. But some delays may be desirable, while others cannot be avoided.

  “On the morrow, we will pass nigh unto First Woodhelven, so named because it was the first, and indeed the most viable, of the attempts by Sunder Graveler and Hollian eh-Brand to create anew the tree-dwellings which were among the Land’s wonders during the ages of the Lords. You may wish to pause there, for the Haruchai remember that you have never beheld a true Woodhelven. Also it would perhaps be wise to refresh our supplies, if the Humbled will permit it.”

  Linden felt sure that the Humbled would reject any meeting with the villagers. But if they reacted to Stave’s suggestions, they did so in silence, and he did not share what he heard.

  She tightened her grip on herself. Roger Covenant in his father’s guise had told her that Kastenessen now occupied Andelain, that he commanded the skurj, and that he could send those devouring monsters to meet her because he was able to locate her through Anele. But Roger
had lied about so many things—She was not convinced that Kastenessen could detect the old man unless Anele touched bare dirt.

  Also she considered the idea that the enraged Elohim occupied Andelain implausible. Surely such a being would shun the quintessential health and beauty of the Land? He might well loathe the austere strictures of the Dead. And an attack on Andelain would only waste his strength: it would not threaten his people, and so it would not relieve his fury.

  No, on this subject she believed none of Roger’s assertions except that Kastenessen ruled the skurj—and that the Land’s enemies would try to thwart her purpose. If Kastenessen sought to acquire Loric’s krill for himself—if the krill were not inherently inimical to him—she suspected that he would do so indirectly.

  “Go on,” she urged Stave softly. “What else can you tell us?”

  His expression remained stubbornly neutral. But if the Humbled urged him to say no more, he did not heed them.

  “Of the many wounds inflicted by the Clave and the Sunbane, the most grievous was the loss of the great forests. On the Upper Land, they were three. Dark Grimmerdhore lay to the east of Revelstone, but it extended southward toward Andelain. Our path lies across a portion of the region where Grimmerdhore once flourished, and where it perished.

  “Southeast of Andelain between the Black River and the Roamsedge stood brooding Morinmoss. There the Unbeliever was once retrieved from death by an Unfettered healer. And southwest of the Center Plains and the Last Hills rose Garroting Deep, mighty and bitter.

  “But there was also a fourth forest, Giant Woods, which survived the Sunbane, and which still remains, lying as it does on the Lower Land north of the fouled waters of Sarangrave Flat.”

  The Sarangrave Linden remembered. There she and Covenant, with Sunder, Hollian, and a small band of Haruchai, had nearly fallen to the lurker, and to the lurker’s corrosive minions, the skest. And there they had encountered the Giants of the Search, who had made possible the Despiser’s defeat and the Land’s healing. But she did not let memories of friends whom she had loved and lost interrupt Stave.

  “Some measure,” he said. “of what transpired after Corruption’s overthrow and the Sunbane’s unmaking was first told to the Haruchai by the Giants of the Search, though the tale was later repeated by Sunder Graveler and Hollian eh-Brand.

  “For a time, Sunder and Hollian were confined to Andelain. She was newly reborn, he had expended much of himself to restore her, and the Sunbane’s ill lingered in the Land. The First of the Search and Pitchwife had given the Staff of Law into their care, but they had not yet learned its uses. They required Andelain’s wealth of Earthpower. Therefore they remained among the Hills, and studied the Staff, and grew stronger.”

  Linden leaned forward, listening closely as Stave’s flat voice defined the darkness around the small campfire. Like Anele’s tale of the One Forest, her encounter with Caerroil Wildwood had left her hungry to know more about forests. And she treasured the Haruchai’s recollections of her friends. Her last deed before she was dismissed from the Land had been to reach out to Sunder and Hollian. She had wished them to know that they were loved—and had reason for hope.

  Liand and the Ramen also listened, rapt, to Stave’s explanation. Millennia ago, the Ramen had led the Ranyhyn away from the Plains of Ra to escape the Sunbane. And none of them had returned, except to scout along the Land’s borders at long intervals, until Hyn and Hynyn had declared their devotion to Linden. As a result, Mahrtiir and his Cords knew little of events in the Land during their people’s self-imposed exile.

  “However,” Stave continued, “Sunder and Hollian remembered well the majesty of Giant Woods. And she was an eh-Brand, born to the love of wood. Among the great and vital tasks which they had accepted with their acceptance of the Staff, they desired first to begin the restoration of forests to the Land.

  “Yet they had no knowledge of Grimmerdhore, or of Morinmoss, or of Garroting Deep. Nor did the Giants of the Search. And no Haruchai sought for Sunder and Hollian. Until the Giants returned to Revelstone, the Haruchai did not know that Sunder and Hollian remained living. Thus the Graveler and the eh-Brand were not guided by the history of forests in the Land.

  “Rather they devised their own purpose. When their comprehension of the Staff had grown sufficiently to heal the last of the Sunbane’s ravages within Andelain, they turned their attention outward. Around all of the boundaries of Andelain, from Landsdrop north of Mount Thunder westward, then into the southeast toward the Mithil River, thence across the Mithil east to the region where Morinmoss once endured, and finally northward along the Mithil to the southmost slopes of Gravin Threndor, Sunder and Hollian inspired and nurtured one encompassing forest which they named Salva Gildenbourne to honor the Gilden trees of Andelain.”

  Again Stave considered the Humbled, perhaps offering them an opportunity to advise him. But he did not query them aloud, and so they did not answer. After a moment, he gave a small shrug and went on.

  “Had they been able to do so, the Graveler and the eh-Brand would have extended the largesse of woodlands over all the war-ravaged earth between Andelain and Landsdrop. There, however, they were baffled. Their comprehension of the Staff—or perhaps the Staff itself, being incomplete—could not entirely overcome the harm wrought by Corruption’s ancient armies and battles.”

  Facing Linden directly, Stave concluded, “Salva Gildenbourne stands across our approach to Andelain. After its fashion, it is a wondrous region, precious to the Land. But it was formed without the benefit of lore, and has grown both vast and unruly. If we are not opposed or delayed, we will gain its marge in three days. However, Salva Gildenbourne itself hinders passage. And there the Ranyhyn cannot quicken our way. For that reason, I gauge that the forest must add two days and more to our journey.”

  Linden nodded to herself. Six days, then—and only if the Land’s foes did not strike. She wanted to travel with more haste; to ride harder and longer. She could not truly begin to search for Jeremiah until she accomplished her purpose in Andelain. But when she thought back, she could still hear the rabid howling of the kresh. An Elohim had warned the Land of Sandgorgons as well as croyel and skurj. She did not know what had become of moksha Jehannum, the Raver who had once possessed her. Doubtless he was at work somewhere, serving Lord Foul. And she had not forgotten turiya Herem’s possession of Joan. It was conceivable that turiya might be able to impose a degree of focus on Joan’s madness. If he did so, her blasts of wild magic might achieve a measure of direction and intent—

  Haste would almost certainly increase the danger to Linden and all of her companions. The Ramen and even the Ranyhyn would be more easily ambushed.

  Musing, Liand said, “I have never beheld a forest. Pahni urges me to imagine the trees of the upland plateau multiplied a thousand fold, or a thousand thousand. But it lies beyond my conception.”

  The Manethrall nodded sharply. “The Ramen love openness and long hills. Nevertheless our ancestors held the forests of the Land in reverence. Their many-splendored grandeur surpassed description. I am eager now to cast my gaze upon Salva Gildenbourne, and to pass among its uncounted majesties.

  “You are a Stonedownor,” he added to Liand, “born to rock and permanence. Yet I do not doubt that you also will be moved to worship by the glories of wood. And we have not yet spoken of Andelain, where the Land’s loveliness thrives in abundance.”

  The Ramen and Liand continued to talk while Anele snored fitfully beside the fire and the Humbled stood guard; but Linden hardly heard them. Isolated by her apprehensions, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders to ward off the chill of the spring night, and tried to think.

  According to Covenant’s son, Kastenessen had only summoned a few skurj to the Land. On that point, Roger may have been telling the truth. Surely a throng of those creatures could not have evaded the notice of the Masters? Nevertheless the monsters which Linden had seen during her translation to the Land were capable of tremendous devastation. Already she ha
d succeeded twice at extinguishing Falls—and she was stronger now. The Staff itself was stronger. But she could not guess whether Law and Earthpower would be enough to hold back the skurj. The Elohim might not have Appointed Kastenessen to his Durance if any other theurgy could contain those horrific creatures.

  Yet when she slept at last, her dreams were not haunted by the jaws of kraken, or by cruel yellow fangs, or by the excruciation of caesures. Instead she seemed to fall endlessly into the numb black abysm of the Harrow’s eyes, where there was no sound except her son’s anguished weeping.

  She awoke in a mood of fretful urgency. Over and over again, the pressures and dilemmas of her immediate circumstances pushed thoughts of Jeremiah into the background; but whenever the extremity of his plight reclaimed her, it did so with redoubled force. She still had a long way to go to reach Andelain, Loric’s krill, and the Dead. But those were only the first stages of her quest to find her son. Ultimately such things were necessary simply because she did not know how else to begin looking for Jeremiah.

  While she ate a tense breakfast with her friends, Liand observed gently. “You did not rest well, Linden.”

  She nodded; but she was not listening. Instead she harkened to the sound of whistling and formal salutations. At her request, Stave and Mahrtiir had joined the Humbled beyond the eastern rim of the arroyo to summon the Ranyhyn: she was waiting for Stave’s return. As soon as he dropped back down into the watercourse, she handed the remains of her meal to Bhapa and rose to her feet.

  “First Woodhelven?” she asked. “How far is it?”

  Stave cocked his eyebrow at her abrupt manner. “If our way is not contested, we will near the Woodhelven before midday.”

  Linden bit her lip. “Are you sure that we should stop there? Don’t we have enough supplies?”

  If the Woodhelvennin needed to be warned of impending hazards, one of the Humbled could perform that task without violating their commitment to preserve the villagers’ ignorance.