Tightening her grasp on the Staff, Linden forced herself to look away again. “Stave,” she said over her shoulder. “the Woodhelvennin need to keep moving. They have to get out of here.”
Kastenessen had touched Anele. He knew where to send the skurj.
Stave glanced toward the approaching riders, then met her gaze. Through the tumult of hooves, he replied. “The Masters comprehend this. They will not neglect their care for the folk of the Land. The villagers will be urged away. If any remain living when this peril has passed, they will be escorted to Revelstone.”
The ur-viles and Waynhim continued their rasping growls and coughs, cautioning Linden or threatening Esmer and the Harrow in a tongue as indecipherable to her as the language of crows.
“All right.” Slowly Linden faced Esmer and the Harrow once more. With both hands, she gripped the Staff, anchoring herself on Law and Earthpower, blackness and runes. “You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn. You both want something from me, but you aren’t going to get it this way.
“No,” she said to the Insequent. “I don’t accept your companionship. But you don’t care about that. If you did, you wouldn’t have led Esmer here,” where so many innocent and helpless people might have lost their lives—and might yet die if she did not find a way to defuse the danger. “In a minute, you can justify yourself by telling me why Esmer wants you dead.” As if she were fearless, she glared into the dark tunnels of his eyes. “Right now, you can keep your mouth shut.
“As for you,” she flung at Esmer. “if you think that you absolutely need to destroy the Harrow, you could have found some other way to do it. You didn’t have to drive him straight toward those poor Woodhelvennin. I don’t care how much he scares you. This is just another betrayal.”
Esmer’s face held a torrent of protests and indignation. But when she said the word, “betrayal,” he flinched visibly, and his anger collapsed into consternation, as if she had touched a hidden vulnerability; a concealed self-abhorrence.
“So tell me—” Linden was about to say, Tell me about this service that he claims he can perform. But then she changed her mind. Esmer feared the Harrow’s intentions; therefore he would refuse to explain them. Instead she finished, “Tell me what the ur-viles and Waynhim are saying.”
Amid a clatter of hooves, the Humbled and the Ramen drew near. Immediately Mahrtiir rode to her side, and Bhapa joined her opposite the Manethrall. Mahrtiir’s gaze was fierce, eager to repay First Woodhelven’s ruin, but the plight of the villagers lined Bhapa’s visage.
In a flash of brown limbs and grace, Pahni jumped down to help Liand and Stave boost Anele onto Hrama’s back. Then the three of them remounted their Ranyhyn; and Stave brought Hynyn forward to guard Linden with Mahrtiir and Bhapa.
The ur-viles and Waynhim may have been asking Linden what she wanted them to do.
“I am able to interpret their speech as well as the mere-son,” said the Harrow with a suggestion of smugness. “Though they recognize that you do not comprehend them, they strive to inform you that I possess the knowledge to unmake them. Also they fear my purpose, just as they fear my attacker’s. In the name of their Weird, however, they will give of their utmost to preserve you, ignoring the certainty of failure and doom.”
Linden stared at him. “Wait a minute. You understand them?”
She had made a promise to the Waynhim and the ur-viles. If the Harrow could kill them all—
“Lady,” he replied. “I repeat that I have made a considerable study of such beings. I have pored over the Demondim, as you know, but also over both their makers and their makings. These spawn are corporeal. Therefore they are not as readily unbound as the Demondim. Yet they may be erased from life by one who has gleaned the secrets of their creation.
“Behold.”
With one hand, the Harrow performed a florid gesture as if he were drawing mystic symbols in the air. With the other, he stroked the umber beads of his doublet.
Suddenly one of the ur-viles at the edge of the wedge near him slumped. As he gestured, the creature appeared to sag into itself as if it were being corroded by its own acrid blood. In moments, it had become a frothing puddle of blackness in the plowed dirt and shale.
From Esmer came a sound like the sighing of water over jagged rocks. A blast seemed to gather around him as if he were mustering seas.
“They will wield dark theurgies against me,” said the Harrow like a shrug. “However, I am not troubled. I have expended much to garner difficult knowledge. It will suffice to ward me.”
What I seek, lady, is to possess your instruments of power.
Far too late, Linden shouted. “Stop that! God damn you, I promised them!” The liquid remains of the ur-vile bubbled and steamed, denaturing quickly. Soon it had evaporated. “Do it again, and I’ll make a caesure for Esmer to use against you!”
She was bluffing: she could not draw on Covenant’s ring while Esmer stood nearby. Cail’s son knew it. She gambled that the Insequent did not.
In response, he laughed. “A dire threat, lady, but empty. You are known to me. Your desire for the service which I am able to perform will outweigh other avowals.”
“Then,” Linden snapped hotly. “you had better explain yourself. And make it fast. If you know me even half as well as you think, you know that I’m sick of being manipulated. I am not going to put up with it.”
He had already cost her the Mahdoubt. He had put the villagers in danger to obtain her aid against the Fall; to coerce her. Now he had slain an ur-vile. And by summoning the Demondim, Esmer had caused the deaths of dozens of Masters, ur-viles, and Waynhim. He had helped Roger and the croyel snatch her out of her proper time. Clearly he had been willing to cause the deaths of the Woodhelvennin in order to snare the Harrow.
Moving slowly, Liand brought Rhohm to Mahrtiir’s side. In his hand, he still cupped the orcrest. The Sunstone shone again: it burned like a clean star in his palm, brilliant and ineffable. Its white light seemed to exalt him, limning both his youth and his resolve.
“Perhaps a test of truth, Linden?” he suggested. His voice shook, but his hand held steady.
Behind Linden, Pahni radiated apprehension. Yet she stayed with Anele, watching over the old man while he slept on Hrama’s back.
“No!” Esmer shouted in a voice that resounded as though it echoed back to him from tall cliffs. “Uncaring Insequent, your purpose is an abomination!” Energy accumulated around him, imminent and potent. If he released it, it would hit like a cyclone. “You will not speak.”
The Harrow cocked a scornful eyebrow. “How will I be prevented? Your power is great, mere-son. You have inherited much. Doubtless I might be slain, were I unable to step aside. Yet here there is no caesure to constrain me. Undisturbed by such forces, I may pass where and how I will. Strike as you choose. I will not remain to receive your blow.”
“Flee if you dare,” countered Esmer. “I am the descendant of Elohim. I will harry you to the outermost verge of the Earth.”
“You will not,” the Harrow snorted. “You are bound to the lady. Also you are no true Elohim. Your mortal blood cannot withstand her Staff. She will defend me because she must. She greatly desires my service. And when her fire is raised against you, it will scour you to the marrow of your bones. If you do not perish, you will be made helpless, for good or ill.”
Esmer’s and the Harrow’s threats were loud. Linden spoke softly. “A test of truth. I like it.” I wish I could spare you. Hell, I wish any of us could spare you. The thought that she might be risking Liand’s life made her heart quail, but she betrayed no hesitation. “Does one of you want to volunteer? Should I choose for you?”
She had no idea what would happen. As far as she knew, both Liand and the orcrest would crumble. But she needed to counter the animosity between Esmer and the Harrow. She had to understand their fear or loathing toward each other. And she wanted at least one of them to give her an honest explanation.
She thought that she saw a flicker of uncertainty in the shrouded e
merald of Esmer’s gaze. His incipient storm wavered. And the Harrow seemed troubled by her proposal.
Or by something else—
Unexpectedly Galt announced. “It is needless to hazard the Stonedownor, or the orcrest.” He and the other Humbled had joined Linden’s defenders. He spoke to her, although his gaze was fixed on the Harrow. “This Insequent has defeated us once. But he has forgotten that Brinn of the Haruchai surpassed ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol in single combat. Knowing the Harrow, we will not again fail against him.”
Linden expected Esmer and the Harrow to react with scorn; but she was wrong. Suddenly vindicated or alarmed, Esmer took a few steps backward. Ignoring Galt, the Harrow turned the caves of his eyes to the east, past Linden and her companions.
With an air of insouciance, the Insequent informed the empty air, “This is a petty chicane. You are indeed reduced without the aid and knowledge of the croyel. I concede that your glamour is potent, extending as it does to conceal so many. But such ploys do not become you. If you claim the stature to stand among this company, more valor will be required of you.”
“Talk’s cheap, asshole,” retorted Roger.
Twenty or thirty paces in the direction of the Harrow’s gaze, Covenant’s son appeared as if he had stepped through an imperceptible portal.
“Run while you can,” he continued. As he unveiled himself to her senses, Linden felt the seething rage of his right hand, Kastenessen’s hand; magma and fury free of dross, distilled down to their essential savagery. “If you don’t, I’m going to fry your bones. Then I think we’ll all eat that silly horse of yours.”
He did not have Jeremiah with him. Still Linden’s heart ached as if she had been spurned.
“Indeed?” The Harrow’s tone was a snarl of mockery. “The lady will not permit it. And I will aid her against you, as will these many Demondim-spawn.”
“I know,” Roger spat. “That’s why I didn’t come alone.”
With a gesture that left a reeking wail across Linden’s sight, he unwrapped his glamour from an army of Cavewights.
Instinctively she cried out for power; and the Staff answered with a clarion spout of flame.
She had seen such creatures before, in the Wightwarrens under Mount Thunder. They were formed for delving, with huge spatulate hands like mattocks and heads that resembled battering rams; disproportionately long scrawny limbs; hunched torsos and protruding ribs. Standing erect, they were nearly as tall as Giants. Because their arms and legs were so thin, she might have expected them to be weak; but she already knew their strength. Although they could crawl in improbable spaces, they were mighty diggers, able to gouge and crush rocks in their fingers. Their heavy jaws may have been capable of chewing stone. The ruddy heat of the Earth’s depths filled their eyes like molten granite.
Roger Covenant had brought at least two hundred Cavewights with him, ready for battle. They wore crude armor fashioned from thick plates of stone lashed together. And they were all armed. Some bore spears and bludgeons: others hefted hacking broadswords as brutal as claymores.
Linden had expected the skurj, not Roger and Cavewights. But she had told him that she planned to head for Andelain. He could assume that she would essay the most direct route from Revelstone. Certainly he had had plenty of time to position his forces. And Kastenessen had touched Anele: the Elohim knew precisely where she was.
Like Esmer, Roger meant to block the Harrow’s intentions. If Covenant’s son—and therefore Kastenessen—had wished only to prevent her from reaching Andelain, he would not have come when other powers might defend her.
The skurj might not be far behind—
Linden’s flame rose higher, leaping into the heavens.
As if on command, Hrama and Naharahn brought Anele and Pahni close to Linden. Liand was pushed toward her as Stave and the Humbled quickly formed a cordon around the most vulnerable members of their company. At the same time, Mahrtiir and Bhapa charged at Roger and the Cavewights, two against two hundred—
In the distance, the Woodhelvennin watched the onset of battle. The Masters among them may have urged them to flee. If so, they paid no heed.
Desperately Linden prepared a scourge of fire. But she could not choose a target: she was torn between her rage at Roger and her frantic desire to protect the Ramen.
Narunal and Whrany pounded toward the army. The Cavewights responded with a cacophonous shriek. From Roger’s right hand came a spew of hot theurgy like a bolt of fluid stone. It would have slain the two Ranyhyn and their riders instantly; should have slain them. Yet Narunal and Whrany veered aside, supernally swift, as if they had foreseen Roger’s attack. His blast hit the ground, sending an eruption of flint and shale into the air, charring the dirt as if the soil were leaves and twigs. It did not touch flesh.
A heartbeat later, the Manethrall and his Cord sprang from their mounts with their garrotes ready. They leapt past two of the leading Cavewights; wrapped their weapons around the Cavewights’ necks as they passed. Their momentum jerked the cords taut. Then they stood on the backs of the creatures, using the strength of their legs to strangle the Cavewights.
Mahrtiir’s opponent reached up with both hands to snatch the Manethrall from its back. But before the long fingers found Mahrtiir, Narunal reared, slamming his hooves into the creature’s chest. As the Cavewight toppled backward, its neck snapped. Mahrtiir dropped to the ground, unscathed amid an enraged throng of creatures.
Whrany endeavored to give Bhapa similar aid, but the vicious thrust of another Cavewight’s spear forced the Ranyhyn to dance aside. Then Whrany whinnied sharply: a warning. As the creature that Bhapa was trying to throttle grabbed for him, the Cord released his grip and jumped toward his mount—and a bludgeon which would have crushed him struck the Cavewight’s skull instead.
Now Linden burned to defend the Ramen. Mahrtiir was about to be trampled: a spear would spit Bhapa if a swinging broadsword did not catch Whrany first. But Roger had already mustered another quarrel of magma. If she did not strike at him—
“Linden!” Liand yelled.
Instantly she was surrounded by flaring powers and combat.
Behind her, the ur-viles and Waynhim had rearranged themselves into three wedges. One hurled a lurid splash of vitriol at the Harrow. Another struck Esmer with concussions like the spasms of an earthquake. And from the third, a volley of blackness roared over Linden’s head to fall, howling, toward Roger. He was compelled to redirect his blast so that he would not be incinerated.
The Harrow seemed momentarily surprised by his danger. Wherever he was struck, his chlamys, doublet, and leggings caught fire. But with one hand he swept the flames away: with the other he rubbed his beads in an intricate pattern. Then he began to gesture urgently, muttering incantations.
No more acid touched him, although the loremaster’s wedge assailed him furiously, barking like maddened dogs. Instead the corrosive fluid evaporated before it could bite into him.
Behind the loremaster, ur-viles began to drop one by one, sagging into themselves as though they were being eaten alive by their own lore.
Esmer stood upright to meet the concussive assault, and his eyes gleamed like the glare of lightning on the waves of a bitter sea. He made no effort to defend himself. Rather he accepted each crash and detonation, although they shook him as if they struck his bones. In spite of his obvious pain, he ignored the wedge attacking him.
As he had in the Verge of Wandering, and again on Revelstone’s plateau, he caused the ground to erupt like water into spouts and squalls. Dirt and broken stone became little hurricanes which swirled upward as if they had been spewed forth by the earth. Waving his arms, he sent towering geysers, not against his assailants, but toward the Harrow.
The Harrow had said that he could step aside from Esmer’s power; yet he did not. He may have been snared by the force of the ur-viles—or by the imminent threat of Roger’s might.
Linden felt the Cavewights rushing at her. Instinctively she turned Earthpower on them, whirling
the Staff around her head to flail the creatures with flame. The Cavewights wielded no magic except their own strength and weapons: alone, they were no match for the ur-viles and Waynhim. But the Demondim-spawn were fighting three other antagonists at once. They had no theurgy to spare for the Cavewights.
In one place, the charge of the Cavewights was occluded by the Ramen and their Ranyhyn. From the ground, Mahrtiir dodged blows and kicks, avoided stamping feet. At the same time, he contrived to trip creatures with his garrote. In the confusion, Cavewights trying to slash or gut him often hit each other instead. And Narunal reared to his full height, lashing out powerfully with his hooves. Meanwhile Bhapa had urged Whrany among the creatures around Mahrtiir. Whrany delivered kicks with uncanny accuracy as Bhapa sprang away. The Raman wrapped his cord around a broadswordwielding Cavewight’s arm and used his own weight and the creature’s fury to redirect the blade so that it cut at other attackers.
The efforts of the Ramen and their mounts slowed one small section of the charge, leaving Linden free to fling fire and desperation at nearer foes. She could strike there without endangering her friends.
Yet a dissociated reluctance hampered her. Surely she was still a healer? Surely she still loathed war and killing? But she had found new aspects of herself on Gallows Howe; had become a woman whom she hardly knew: she yearned to repay with death the affront of her foes. Images of the croyel feasting on her son’s neck demanded recompense.
Her own eagerness for bloodshed dismayed her. Apart from their sheer numbers, the Cavewights had no defense against the power of her Staff. She could slaughter them too easily. In spite of her companions’ peril, she unleashed only a portion of her full strength. She ached to fling it at Roger rather than at the brute rampage of the creatures.
Nevertheless she fought. Mahrtiir and Bhapa might be slain in moments. Already the Ranyhyn bled from several wounds, and both Ramen had been hurt. They needed her; needed more violence from her than she knew how to countenance. She could not save the Ramen unless she overcame her chagrin.
Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant 02 - Fatal Revenant Page 63
