The clatter of hooves on ice came faintly through the dark, growing louder. Linden counted two riders approaching cautiously. And they were alone. Presumably the man who had run to warn them had continued on toward the camp.
“Horses,” she answered, brusque with the effort of sustaining her haste. “Food. Warm clothes. I want to get as far away from here as possible.
“That’s a lot to ask, I know,” she added. “But first I’m going to earn it.”
If the stubborn hostility of men and women who had seen too much war did not prevent her-
“Wisdom indeed,” the Theomach remarked to the forlorn multitude of the stars. Then he told Linden. You have been well chosen, lady.”
“Hell and blood,” Covenant muttered at her back. “How did the two of you become such buddies? I’m the one who’s trying to save the damn world.”
“There is your error,” replied the Theomach over his shoulder. “You aim too high. The Earth is too wide and rife with mystery to be saved or damned by such as you.”
Peering ahead, Linden studied the approach of the riders. Long ago, Covenant had told her of prophecies which the Council of Lords had preserved concerning the white gold wielder.
And with the one word of truth or treachery,
he will save or damn the Earth
because he is mad and sane,
cold and passionate,
lost and found.
She did not know what she would do if the outriders blocked her path. She needed to reach Berek’s camp while she still had enough stamina to be of some use. But she was reluctant to call on Jeremiah’s aid again. She did not understand his power, and feared its consequences.
With a muffled clash of tack and an uneasy skitter of hooves, two mounted horses condensed from the dark. Involuntarily she slowed to a stop; leaned on the Staff while she strove to steady her breathing. The riders were both women. When they had halted, one of them asked gruffly. “What transpires, Basila? All darkness is fraught with peril, and the coming of these strangers does not rest lightly upon us.”
Basila’s manner conveyed a shrug. “Krenwill conceives that the woman speaks sooth.”
That she means no harm?” insisted the rider. That she is a healer, and intends healing? That she seeks aid of the Lord?”
“Aye,” Basila replied. And Krenwill said. “If there is falsehood here, or peril, she has no knowledge of it.”
“And the theurgy which compelled you to let them pass?” the rider continued. “Does it ward them still?”
Basila extended her arm toward Linden; moved closer until she was almost near enough to touch Linden. Then she let her arm drop. “It does not.” As if she wished to be fair, she added, “And we received no hurt from it. We were merely” — she shrugged again- “repelled.”
“Then we will not tarry,” the rider announced. She radiated a desire for haste that had nothing to do with Linden’s urgency. Rather she seemed to feel exposed on the open plain; eager for light-and for the support of Berek’s army. “Warhaft Inbull will adjudge the matter. A healer we would welcome gladly. But that the woman speaks sooth promises little for her companions.
“Resume your watch,” she told the scouts. “This seems a night for hazards. If four strangers approach from the west, eight may follow, or a score, or-” She left the thought unfinished. “Epemin and I will continue your escort.”
Relieved, Linden started forward again with her companions. At once, the two riders separated, turning their weary horses to take the positions that Basila and Krenwill had occupied; and the scouts drifted back into the night.
Linden forgot the scouts as soon as they were gone. Her percipience was focused on the growing emanations of Berek’s camp. Her face felt frozen, and all of her skin ached with cold. Nonetheless her nerves were certain.
She was nearing a large body of men and women-and a much smaller number of horses. She sensed the turmoil and determination among the warriors; the prolonged strain of overexertion and blood loss and insufficient food; the instances of agony and anguish. As well as she could, she watched the east for the glow of campfires. But her eyes themselves felt frozen, and ordinary sight was of little use to her. Unable to sustain herself with Earthpower while Covenant and Jeremiah were nearby, she had nothing to rely on except her health-sense.
In her concentration, she was slow to realise that the nearer rider, the woman who had spoken earlier, was speaking again. “I am Yellinin,” the woman said, “third after Warhaft Inbull in the tenth Eoman of the second Eoward. He will require your names. And if indeed you come as friends, I would wish to speak of you courteously. How shall I introduce you to the Warhaft?”
Linden bit down on her numb lip. She had no time, and less strength, for questions. And she had caught her first glimpse of firelight. It dimmed the stars, diminished the depth of the night-and limned a long, low rise ahead of her, the last obstacle between her and the encampment. The sight increased her feeling of urgency. Nevertheless she tried to contain her impatience.
“I’m Linden Avery. The man beside me is the Theomach. Thomas Covenant and my son, Jeremiah, are behind us.” Then, because she was desperate in her own way, she asked, “Can’t we just skip arguing with your Warhaft? I don’t mean to be rude myself. But you have an appalling number of wounded. I can feel them from here. It would be better for all of us if you took me straight to your field hospital”- she grimaced at the awkwardness of using a term which might not be familiar to Yellinin- “or wherever you care for your wounded.
“Let me prove myself,” she urged the rider as they began to ascend the rise, and the light of uncounted campfires grew brighter. “Then your Warhaft-or Lord Berek-can decide what he thinks of me.” Suddenly an idea came to her. “In the meantime, you can take my companions to your Warhaft. Let him ask them as many questions as he wants.” Linden wished him joy of the experience. Together, Covenant, Jeremiah, and the Theomach were probably cryptic enough to confound tree trunks or plinths of basalt. But if Berek’s cutters and herbalists had no other resources, she would need to draw on the Staff of Law-and for that she required as much distance from Covenant and Jeremiah as possible. “Think of them as hostages to ensure my good faith.”
“Mom,” Jeremiah objected: he sounded frightened. And Covenant muttered, “Bloody hell, Linden. Just when I think you’ve run out of terrible ideas.”
Her son’s alarm tugged at her as Covenant’s vexation did not. But she kept her back to them; hardened her heart. Her attention was fixed on the injuries of Berek’s people, and her gaze focused her appeal on Yellinin. If she had not been so tightly clenched to her purpose, she might have said, Please. I beg of you.
“Wisdom, as I have proclaimed,” the Theomach announced. “Lady, I am both pleased and gratified.”
The mounted woman leaned down from her saddle, trying to study Linden’s face in the dim glow of the camp. “You ask much, Linden Avery,” she replied severely. “If I judge wrongly-or if Krenwill’s hearing has misled him-you may cause great woe.”
“And if I’m telling the truth,” Linden countered. “you’ll save lives.” She did not slow her strides to accommodate Yellinin’s uncertainty.
After a moment, the outrider said slowly, feeling her way. “It was the one whom you name Jeremiah-was it not? — who wielded theurgy against Basila and her comrades? If you are parted from him, he will be unable to ward you.”
Her tone added, And in your absence, he will be free to wreak any harm which he may desire.
“Yes,” Linden answered at once. “it was. But I don’t need his protection.” If she had been a different woman, she could have challenged Berek’s foes for him; perhaps routed them. “He won’t use his power again unless Covenant tells him to-and Covenant won’t do that.” Covenant had accepted the path which the Theomach had laid out for him. Linden was confident that he would not risk Berek’s enmity: not in the Theomach’s presence. “I can’t promise that your Warhaft will like their answers. But they won’t fight him.
”
“Assuredly I will not,” the Theomach offered lightly. “And I will watch over your companions.”
“Linden.” Covenant’s voice was harsh with warnings or threats. “You know what can go wrong here.”
“Sure,” she replied over her shoulder. Disturbances in the integrity of Time, lethal discontinuities. And she had been warned that Berek held enough Earthpower to erase Covenant and Jeremiah- “But you know what we have to gain. You’ll be all right without me for a while.”
Abruptly Yellinin dismounted. Leaving her horse, she came to Linden. In spite of her obscured features, her sword and cuirass, and her warrior’s bearing, she radiated concern rather than suspicion as she grasped Linden’s arm and pulled her away from her companions.
Softly, tensely, Yellinin said, “Linden Avery, if you choose to part from your comrades, I must inform you that Warhaft Inbull is not known for gentleness. Lord Berek endeavours to restrain him, but he has suffered much in this war-lost much, endured much-and has become cruel. Upon occasion, he has refused Krenwill’s aid because he desires to discover truth with pain.
Is it truly your wish that your son should be delivered to the Warhaft?”
For the first time since she had become aware that she was needed, Linden faltered. Instinctively she looked at the pleading on Jeremiah’s face. He, Covenant, and the Theomach had stopped: they stood watching her; waiting for her. She could not read Covenant or her son; but the meaning of Covenant’s scowl was obvious, and Jeremiah’s open chagrin seemed as poignant as a cry.
— has become cruel.
He’s full of Earthpower. If he so much as touches us, this whole ordeal will be wasted.
But the call of the wounded was too strong. She was a physician, and could not refuse it.
Like Covenant and the Theomach, Jeremiah had resources which surpassed her ability to measure them.
Deliberately Linden turned back to Yellinin. “My companions don’t mean any harm.” She made no effort to conceal the pressure rising in her. “They won’t cause any trouble. I keep saying that. But they can protect themselves if they have to. Right now, people are dying. Your people.” She could feel them: they were as vivid to her as the ravages of the Sunbane. “The sooner I get to work, the more of them I can help.”
The outrider remained caught in indecision for a moment longer. Then she shook it off. She was a fighter, uncomfortable with doubt and hesitation.
“Accept my mount, Linden Avery,” she said as if she were sure. Her hand released Linden’s arm. “If you are indeed able to feel the wounded and dying, you will have no difficulty discovering where they lie. Should any seek to thwart you, reply that you act by Yellinin’s command. Epemin and I will escort your comrades to the Warhaft. If I have erred, I will bear his wrath, and Lord Berek’s.”
“I don’t believe it,” Covenant growled under his breath. “Here she is, completely lost, with no idea what’s at stake-and total strangers still do what she wants.”
“That’s my Mom,” Jeremiah sighed glumly. He sounded like a boy who had resigned himself to an unjust punishment.
But Linden ignored them now. As soon as Yellinin let her go, she strode to the woman’s mount; grabbed at the reins.
When she had found the stirrup, she heaved herself into the saddle.
“Thank you,” she said to the outrider. “You’re not going to regret this.” Then she called, “Jeremiah! I’m counting on you!” She did not trust Covenant. “Don’t make these people sorry that they helped me.”
No one responded-and she did not wait. Digging her heels inexpertly into the horse’s sides, she headed for the top of the rise as swiftly as her shambling mount could carry her.
God, she loathed war.
Chapter Eight: The Stuff of Legends
Her mount was no Ranyhyn, and the beast was frail. It stumbled under her whenever a hoof skidded on the glazed ice. She could feel its heart strain against its gaunt ribs. But as soon as she was thirty or forty paces beyond her companions, Linden began to draw Earthpower from the Staff, using its vitality to nurture her horse as well as to warm her numb skin, her cold-stiff limbs. Surely she would not endanger Covenant and Jeremiah now, when her mount increased the distance between them with every stride?
Gradually the horse grew stronger. Its gait increased toward a gallop as she fed it with the substance of life.
Then she crossed the crest of the rise, and Berek’s camp appeared like a tapestry woven of fires and tents and wagons; picket lines and latrines; gritted pain, exhaustion, and graves.
The encampment seemed huge, although she knew that it was not. The surrounding dark dwarfed it. Nevertheless it was all that the night contained. The larger host of Berek’s foes lay beyond the reach of her senses. Even the stars were lessened by the human multitude of the camp’s fires.
As she crossed the ridge, she was already near enough to see individual figures; dim tottering shapes that moved among the tents and campfires. Most of the tents were small, hardly big enough for two or three warriors to share their meagre warmth. But a few were larger: mess tents, perhaps, or command posts. One of these occupied the centre of the encampment. Linden guessed that it was Berek’s. However, three of the tents were the size of pavilions, and their burden of suffering drew her toward them immediately. Enclosed by thick clusters of wagons, they had been erected along the northern edge of the encampment, as far as possible from any attack; and they called out to every dimension of her health-sense, beseeching her for succour. There the most grievously wounded of Berek’s army carried on their faint and fading struggle for life.
Linden was an unskilled horsewoman, but she knew enough to turn her mount’s head so that the beast directed its lengthening strides toward the pavilions. At the same time, she urged more power from the Staff to protect the horse from slipping on the treacherous slope. In that way, she gathered her own strength as well as her mount’s, so that she would be able to bear what lay ahead of her.
Her haste attracted attention at several points along the edge of the camp. And as she approached the light, her open cloak, red shirt, and stained jeans marked her as a stranger; a likely threat. Shouts rose against her. At least half a dozen warriors ran for their horses, plainly intending to intercept her.
In response, she summoned fire like a shout from the end of the Staff and kicked awkwardly at her mount’s sides, trying to compel more speed.
Her display made the men and women racing for their mounts hesitate. More shouts scattered through the camp, dragging warriors urgently away from their chores and cookfires. Doubtless Berek’s forces were acquainted with theurgy. The King whom they had opposed had been counselled by a Raver. They had felt black malevolence from the east, and knew their Lord’s unforeseen might. A few of them had witnessed the salvific rampage of the FireLions. Nonetheless it was likely that none of them had ever seen Earthpower in thetic fire. And apparently most of them had not yet felt the first stirrings of health-sense. They could not look at Linden’s emblazoned rush and recognise that she wielded the same Law which had brought the FireLions to Berek’s aid.
Commanders yelled orders. A few warriors flung themselves onto their mounts, followed by others-and by still others. As Linden reached level ground and sped toward the tents of the wounded, holding aloft her pennon of power, a thickening barricade of riders surged into formation across her path.
She could not fight them. Nor could she bear to be stopped. In her ears, the need of Berek’s wounded and dying was as loud as a wail, and as compulsory as blood. Even the men and women who rode out to refuse her were rife with injuries.
Mustering fire, she called in a voice of flame, “By Yellinin’s command! I’m a healer! Let me pass!”
Again Berek’s warriors hesitated. Some began to rein in their mounts: others veered aside. But an older veteran, hardened and glaring, yelled back, “Yellinin’s command does not suffice! Halt and answer!”
Linden swore to herself. If she could elude the riders, she
suspected that her mount would be able to outdistance them. Its energy was the Staffs. But they were mere heartbeats away. And the prospect of delays and argument was intolerable.
Shouting, “In Lord Berek’s name!” she mentally stamped one heel of her Staff against the frozen ground. With Earthpower and Law, she sent a concussion like the tremor of an earthquake rolling under the hooves of the advancing horses.
Covenant and Jeremiah had withstood worse when she had closed the caesure of the Demondim. The Theomach might not protect them; but they had risked too much: they would not allow themselves to be banished now.
Instinctive animal terror cleared her passage. Some of the beasts stumbled, pitching their riders. Others shied; reared; wheeled away. Their panic forced the riders behind them to struggle for control.
Through the momentary turmoil, Linden’s mount raced like Hyn, pounding the ice and dirt toward the tents of the wounded. Followed by shouts of rage and alarm, she ran for her destination.
She was now little more than a hundred paces from the edge of the encampment. When she dismounted, she would be within twenty or thirty steps of the nearest pavilion. But during her dash at the camp, Berek’s commanders had readied a wall of swords and spears to resist her. Warriors stood clenched against their fear. Damn it: this was the cost of her haste. She had left behind anyone who might have spoken for her. Now she seemed to have no choice except to fight or fail.
But she had seen too much death and could not do otherwise than she had done.
She began to pull on her mount’s reins, slowing the beast so that the warriors ahead of her would see that she did not mean to hurl herself onto their weapons. While riders swept toward her, she eased the horse to a canter; to a walk. Then she slipped down from the beast’s back and left it.
A heartbeat later, horses clattered to a halt behind her. But she did not turn toward them. Striding directly at the wall of warriors, she let the Staffs fire die away. She wanted Berek’s people to recognise that she had no wish to harm them. Then she said as calmly as she could, knowing that she was close enough to be heard, “By Yellinin’s command, and in Lord Berek’s name, let me pass. Please. I would beg you, but I don’t have time. Your friends are dying in those tents.”
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