He did not wait for her to find a response. When he released her, her surroundings-the tent and the smoke, the pallets of the wounded, the conflicted outrage facing Berek sprang back into clarity; and she heard Covenant snarl. “-fire, Berek, this is intolerable. We don’t deserve it.”
“You do not.” Berek’s voice held its cutting edge. “Warhaft Inbull has harmed you, and will answer for his deeds. I demand only the name of the power which has burned my hand.”
Freed from the Theomach’s theurgy, Linden would have rushed to Jeremiah’s side. She might have forgotten that he had forbidden her to touch him. But the Insequent arrived ahead of her. Without apparent transition or movement, he stood between Berek and Linden’s companions. Yet Berek was not startled. None of the observers reacted to the Theomach’s suddenness. He had cast a glamour on their senses-or on Linden’s.
“My lord Berek,” he said smoothly, “permit me to intercede. I am the Theomach. The fault of this contention is mine. This man and this boy are companions of the lady. She names them Covenant and Jeremiah, her son, as she names herself Linden. They have come by my guidance. I drew them hither because I deemed her aid a treasure beyond estimation, and because I desire to aid you also. Surely her companions may be forgiven much, despite their unruly puissance, for the sake of what she has wrought.”
At last, Linden was able to move normally. With a few quick strides, she skidded to her knees beside Jeremiah, almost within reach of his battered head. “Jeremiah, honey,” she panted. “are you all right? How badly did he hurt you?”
Her furious desire to lash out at Inbull, she suppressed. The Theomach had warned her. And she judged Berek to be a man who would not let the Warhaft’s mendacity pass.
Inbull may have hurt Berek’s own son as well.
Reflexively Linden stretched out her hand to Jeremiah.
“Don’t, Mom,” he gasped. His face was full of alarm. “Don’t touch me. Don’t heal me. Or Covenant. We’ll be all right. The Staff-” Blood spread down his cheek, catching in his nascent stubble until the left side of his face seemed webbed with pain; snared in deceit and cruelty. “Even hurtloam will erase us. You don’t understand how hard this is.”
Oh, Jeremiah. Linden stopped herself. Her upper arms throbbed where the Theomach had gripped her. Swallowing a rush of grief, she asked, “Can you heal yourself? That looks pretty bad. He must have cracked some of the bones.”
She could not determine how gravely he had been injured. He remained closed to her; unnaturally impenetrable, as Krenwill had claimed.
“Covenant will take care of it.” Jeremiah pulled himself up from his hands, kneeling beyond her reach. His attention shifted back to Covenant and Berek; dismissed Linden.
Berek continued to confront the Theomach. Doubt rasped in his voice as he asked, “What aid do you offer, stranger?”
The Insequent tapped his bound chest with his fist twice, imitating Damelon’s earlier salute. “My lord, if it is your will, I will teach you the meaning of your new strengths.”
Berek raised his eyebrows. “And whence comes this un-looked-for wish to aid me?”
“That, my lord,” the Theomach replied, unruffled, “I may not bespeak openly. The lore which I offer is for you alone.”
Berek returned an unconvinced snort. But he did not press the Theomach. Instead he looked at Linden. His eyes seemed to probe her soul as he said, “My lady Linden, you have performed such service here that no honour or guerdon can suffice to repay it. Yet the task entrusted to me exceeds these wounded. It requires also the defeat of the Queen’s foes. Ultimately it demands the nurturance of the Land. Therefore I must remain wary while my heart swells with thankfulness.
“Will you claim my sufferance on behalf of your companions?”
Abruptly wary herself, and abashed in Berek’s presence, Linden rose to her feet. Hugging the Staff to her chest, she met his gaze, although his penetration daunted her.
“Jeremiah is my son,” she began awkwardly. “Covenant is-”
For a moment, she faltered. She did not need the Theomach’s warnings to convince her that any reply might prove dangerous. Like Joan, if in her own way, she bore the burden of too much time. The wrong word might ripple outward for millennia.
But Covenant, Jeremiah, the Theomach, and Berek Halfhand were all studying her. With an effort, she forced herself to continue. “Where I come from,” she said carefully, “Covenant is a great hero. There are things about both of them that I don’t understand. But they’re with me, and I need them.”
Then she squared her shoulders. “I made the decision to come here. If it was a mistake, it’s my doing, not theirs.” Unsteadily she finished. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”
Berek scrutinised her for a moment longer. Then he nodded decisively. “My lady, we will speak with less constraint in my tent, you and your companions”- he glanced at the shrouded figure of the Insequent- “not excluding the Theomach.
“Hand DameIon?”
Berek’s son stepped forward. “My lord?” He was flushed with the effects of lnbull’s blow; but Linden saw that he had not been seriously hurt. Not like Jeremiah-The breastplate of his cuirass had absorbed much of the impact.
“Has Warhaft Inbull dared to harm one of my Hands?” asked Berek. His self-command did not waver. Nonetheless Linden heard the throb of cold fury in the background of his voice.
“He has dared, my lord,” Damelon replied stiffly, “but he has not succeeded. His affront does not merit your concern.”
Berek flashed his son a quick glance of concern and approbation. However, his tone did not relent. “I command here. The affront is mine to gauge, and to repay.” Then he told Damelon. “While I do so, escort the lady Linden and her companions to my tent. See that they are provided with warmth and viands, and with water for the cleansing of wounds. If their hurts require any healing that we may supply, command it in my name. I will attend upon them shortly.”
Hand Damelon saluted again. “At once, my lord.” Like his father, he kept his anger to himself.
Turning to Linden, he gestured toward the opening behind Inbull. “My lady, will you accompany me?”
“We will, Hand,” the Theomach answered for her. His manner suggested a smile of satisfaction. “Accepting your courtesy, we hope to honour you in return.”
Linden let the Insequent take charge of the situation. He understood its implications better than she did. But she did not allow him to hurry her. Stooping to Jeremiah, she asked. “Can you stand, honey? Are you able to walk?”
“Hell, Linden,” Covenant growled under his breath. “Of course he can. This is important.”
“He’s right, Mom.” Jeremiah did not look at her. “It already hurts less.” With a teenager’s graceless ease, he surged to his feet. “I’ll be fine.”
Linden nodded, too baffled to question him further. According to Covenant, Berek’s touch would banish both of them. Yet they remained. She felt that she had been given hints or portents, glimpses of revelation, which she could not interpret. What did Covenant dread, if Berek’s inchoate strength posed no threat? Why had she been forbidden to hug or care for her son?
Wearily she trailed behind Jeremiah as he followed Covenant, the Theomach, and Damelon out of the tent; away from needs that she could comprehend toward an unfathomable encounter with the dangers of time.
While she and her companions passed between Berek and Inbull, the Warhaft glared hatred at them. If he feared Berek’s wrath, he did not show it. Either he was too stupid to recognise his own peril, or he knew Berek better than she did.
As she had earlier, Linden walked along aisles of warriors who had gathered to catch sight of the strangers. They all had their own wounds, their own ailments, their own yearning for restoration. But they kept their wonder and pain to themselves while she and her companions were led and warded by Damelon.
Berek’s tent was a frayed and soiled stretch of canvas supported by a single central pole. When Damelon ushered his charges
inward, Linden found herself in a space large enough to hold twenty or thirty warriors standing.
In every respect, Berek’s quarters were as rudimentary as the tents of the wounded. His pallet and blankets resembled the bedding of the fallen. Apart from a low table on which rested an old longsword in a plain scabbard and a wooden chest that-she could only guess-might hold maps, the tent had no other furnishings. Two small oil lamps hanging from the tent pole cast a dim yellow illumination that seemed to shed no light, reveal nothing: the whole space was full of uncertainty like implied shadows. And scraps of ice still glazed the dirt floor. Her breath plumed as she looked around. She did not know how long she had laboured at healing; but midnight had surely passed, and winter had sunk its teeth into every vulnerable instance of warmth.
After ushering Berek’s guests into the tent, Damelon ducked past the flaps to call for braziers, honeyed wine, cured meat, dried fruit. When he returned, he said, “My lady, I crave your pardon. Our rude comforts are no true measure of our gratitude. The day will come when we stand again within the walls of Doriendor Corishev. Mayhap then you will permit us to celebrate your benisons in a more seemly manner.”
He may have been taught to speak so, with confidence and conviction, by his father’s knowledge of despair.
Linden sighed. “Don’t worry about it, please.” Barred from using the Staff, she had no defence against the cold except her cloak. And she was so tired-Already she had begun to shiver again. “We can only imagine what you’ve suffered. If you can give us heat and food, we’ll be all right.”
‘”All right, — Covenant muttered sourly. “Sure. Why not?”
The Theomach turned to him as if in warning; but Damelon ignored both of them. Instead he studied Linden like a man who wanted to imprint her on his thoughts. “You are gracious, my lady. I will not question you. That is my lord Berek’s task. But warmth and viands you will have.” More softly, he said. “Soon you will be able to rest.”
Perhaps his own percipience had begun to awaken.
Moments later, the tent flaps were pushed aside, and a pair of warriors entered, bearing a blackened metal brazier between them. It was full of coals and fire, so hot that it had to be carried on the shafts of spears. More warriors followed until the tent held four flaming pans. Then Berek’s people brought ironwood stands to support the braziers. By the time the men and women left, heat began to bless the air.
Then other warriors brought hard clay urns of warmed wine, its acidulous aroma softened with honey. A tray laden with meat and fruit arrived. Linden, Covenant, and Jeremiah were given flagons: wine was poured for them. But the Theomach refused with a bow. Nor did he touch the food. Apparently he lived on some form of nourishment entirely his own.
For a long moment, Linden held the Staff in the crook of her arm and simply cupped her flagon with both hands, savouring its heat and its sweet scent. Then she sipped gently. She had felt frozen for so long, in spite of her own efforts and Covenant’s to fend off the cold. If he and Jeremiah had not been somehow more than human, they would have suffered from frostbite.
Questions swirled around her, but she was too tired to sift them into any kind of order. What did the Theomach want with Berek? Why had Covenant lied about his vulnerability to Berek? How had Berek failed to discern lnbull’s betrayal? And how could she and her companions hope to reach Melenkurion Skyweir? She had seen for herself that Berek would be able to offer them nothing except starving horses, tattered blankets, and a little food.
How much power did Jeremiah have? And how in God’s name could Linden try to learn the truth-any truth-when she had to guard against the possibility that some action or inaction of hers might threaten the integrity of the Arch?
Ripples-As far as she knew, she had not altered the essential nature of Berek’s struggle, or the outcome of his war. Not yet. Otherwise the Theomach would have intervened. But even her trivial knowledge of the Land’s history could be fatal. With a word, she might affect Berek’s actions, or Damelon’s, altering the flow of cause and effect for generations.
The Theomach was right: she had to let him speak for her as much as she could-and to pray that Covenant would do the same in spite of his resentment.
She was not conscious of hunger; but she forced herself to chew a little tough meat and dried fruit, washing them down with honey and acid. She had to be able to think clearly, and could not imagine doing so.
Lost in questions, she ignored Damelon’s departure. But then he returned, bearing a bowl of hot water and some relatively clean scraps of cloth. These he offered to Linden, suggesting that she tend to Jeremiah’s injury.
“I can’t,” she muttered before she could catch herself. “He doesn’t want me to touch him.”
The Hand gave her a perplexed frown. While he hesitated, however, the Theomach stepped forward. “Nonetheless, my lord Damelon,” he said smoothly. “the cleansing of her son’s wound will comfort the lady.” Turning to Jeremiah, he inquired, “Will you permit me?”
“I don’t need-” Jeremiah began, but a fierce glare from Covenant stopped him. “You’re right,” he told the Theomach with a shrug. “It’ll make Mom feel better.”
Covenant kept his right hand grimly in his pocket.
Saluting as he had to Berek, the Theomach accepted the bowl and rags from Damelon’s mystified hands. His manner suggested pity as he moistened a cloth, then reached out carefully to stroke drying blood away from Jeremiah’s cheek and eye.
That task should have been Linden’s. For a moment, her grief became a kind of rage, and she trembled with the force of her desire to extract real answers from her companions. But she contained herself. There was too much at stake for anger. Her emotions would exact too much from those who needed her.
For a moment, the Theomach continued to wash Jeremiah’s wound assiduously. Jeremiah suffered the Insequent’s ministrations with glum resignation. And Covenant took long draughts of the harsh wine with an air of outrage, as if he were swallowing insults. Then Linden felt Berek approaching: his aura of Earthpower, compassion, and grimness preceded him like a standard-bearer.
Damelon seemed to become aware of his father’s nearness almost as soon as Linden did. Bowing to her, the Hand murmured. “My lady,” and left the tent.
When Berek entered, he came like a man wreathed in storms. Indignant lightnings flickered in the depths of his eyes, and his expression was a thunderhead. Linden might have flinched if she had believed, even for an instant, that his ire was directed at her; or at Jeremiah and Covenant. But she grasped instinctively that he would not have been so unguarded if any of his guests had angered him.
“What have you done about Inbull, my lord?’ she asked without thinking. “He’s betraying you. You must know that?”
The Theomach stiffened, but did not speak. Instead he dabbed at Jeremiah’s eye as if he had heard nothing to alarm him.
Berek took a moment to compose himself. He poured wine into a flagon, drank a bit of it, grimaced ruefully. When he faced Linden’s question, he had set aside his personal storm.
“The Warhaft has betrayed us. He betrays us still. Therefore he is of use.
“It is well that you did not accuse him in his presence. He believes himself unsuspected. Rather I have encouraged him to consider that he is secretly valued for his harshness. This night, I have strengthened his misapprehension.” The memory brought back Berek’s anger and disgust, although he did not unleash them. “He has contrived a means to communicate with the commander of our foes. Warmark Vettalor is a man with whom I am well familiar. We served together before my Queen broke with her King. I know his method of thought. Through Inbull, I am able to supply the Warmark with lies”- Berek snarled the words- “which he will credit. While the Warhaft’s falseness remains unexposed, I hold an advantage which Vettalor does not suspect.
“I loathe such deceit,” the first Halfhand admitted bitterly. “But my forces do not suffice to defeat Vettalor’s. And I have no source of supply apart from the bat
tlegrounds where I prevail, and the food which I scavenge from needy villages, while Vettalor retreats ever nearer to the wealth of Doriendor Corishev. It would be false service to my Queen, and to my warriors, and to my oath, if I declined the benefits of Inbull’s treachery.”
Which explained his ire and disgust, Linden mused. It explained why despair clung to him in spite of his salvation by the FireLions and his subsequent victories. By his severe standards, he bartered away his self-respect to purchase victory.
The Old Lords were all about despair. It gave them some of their greatest victories. To that extent, at least, Covenant had told her the truth. It’s what saved Berek.
With an effort, Linden said quietly, “I see the problem.” She wanted to cry out, He hit my son! But larger considerations-Berek’s as well as her own-restrained her.
Whatever the Theomach’s motives might be, he had given her good advice.
Nevertheless she pushed Berek further. “What did you tell Inbull about us?” She wanted some indication, however oblique, of where she and her companions stood with the future High Lord.
Drinking again, Berek replied, “Naught. His uncertainty concerning you will serve me well. I have merely”- his voice carried a sting of repugnance- “assured him privily that I find worth in his brutality.”
Flourishing his arm in an obvious attempt to attract Berek’s attention, the Insequent finished cleaning Jeremiah’s wound. With the blood and grime gone from her son’s face, Linden saw to her surprise that he had already begun to heal. Despite the swelling, he could slit open his left eye. To her ordinary senses, his eye itself appeared bloodshot, but essentially undamaged.
When Berek voiced his approval of the Theomach’s care, the wrapped man replied, “My lord, it suffices that I have been of service. If I may say so without disrespect, however, greater matters than this boys hurt or lnbull’s betrayal lie between us. We would do well to speak of them while we may.”
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