“However,” he continued more harshly, “you are unaware of one event which has occurred in your absence.”
His manner claimed Linden’s full attention. Studying him, she saw predatory approval-although behind it lay a degree of apprehension.
“The siege,” she breathed.
Mahrtiir nodded. “It is gone.”
She stared. “How?” She could not believe that the Masters had defeated their enemies. The Demondim had too much power-
“Understand, Ringthane,” he replied, “that the battle to preserve Revelstone raged furiously, and for many days the eventual defeat of the Masters appeared certain. But then, ere sunset on the day before your return, a lone figure in the semblance of a man arrived on the plain. None beheld his approach. He merely appeared, just as you later appeared with the Mahdoubt. Alone, he advanced against the horde.”
Now Linden understood his desire to speak of the older woman earlier.
“The Demondim turned upon him in rage,” Mahrtiir went on, “and their power was extreme. Yet he defeated them to the last of their numbers. In the space of five score heartbeats, or perhaps ten, all of the Render’s Teeth ceased to exist.”
Linden made no effort to conceal her astonishment. Again she asked. “How?”
For a moment, no one responded. Then Liand cleared his throat. “Linden,” he said uncomfortably. “to our sight, it appeared that he devoured them.”
In that instant, the chill of the night air overtook the warmth of the fire. A shiver of hope or foreboding ran down Linden’s spine, and her limbs ached suddenly as though she had fallen back into the cruel winter where she had been betrayed.
Chapter Four: Old Conflicts
Linden tightened her grip on the Staff. -devoured them. All of those monsters: the entire horde. Hardly aware of what she did, she drew a subtle current of Earthpower from among the runes to counteract the cold touch of dread and desire. A man who could do that-Then she forced herself to look around at her friends.
It was plain that Liand understood what he had told her no better than she did.
Stave and the Ramen met her gaze. Anele had turned his head away; shifted sideways in his chair so that he could lean his cheek against the wall as if for comfort. His only reaction was a fractured muttering.
“Who is he?” Linden asked.
With a shake of his head, Mahrtiir deferred to Stave.
“None have inquired of him,” Stave replied stolidly. “The Masters permit no one to pass Revelstone’s gates.”
His response surprised Linden further. However, she held the obvious question in abeyance. But he’s still there’?”
“Aye, Chosen,” answered Stave. He remains at no great distance, warming his hands by a small fire which he does not replenish, yet which continues to burn. He appears to neither eat nor sleep. Rather it would seem that he merely waits.”
Linden caught her breath; held it briefly. She had seen a fire that did not need to be fed, and beside it a figure patiently motionless. Her mind raced as ideas reeled into new alignments. The Earth was vast, and inhabited by beings and powers which she had never encountered. The Land’s present as well as its past held mysteries. She could not be sure that she knew what a waiting figure beside a steady fire signified.
“Why haven’t the Masters talked to him? Why won’t they let anyone go out there?”
Stave lifted his shoulders in a Haruchai shrug. “They are uncertain. His puissance is manifest. They question the wisdom of accosting him. In addition”- he hesitated slightly- “there are other matters which I would prefer to name when more is known.”
Other matters, Linden thought. Like the Mahdoubt. Stave and the Masters knew something which they did not wish to reveal.
She wanted to pursue her instinctive assumptions immediately. She had slept for a long time. She had eaten well. And the unexpected doom of the Demondim distracted her from loss and rage. She was eager to act on her decisions.
But her companions had preparations to make. In addition, she had promised the Humbled that they would be told whatever they needed to know. She could not justify concealing the truth about Roger Covenant and the croyel from Stave’s kinsmen.
“All right,” she said while her thoughts ran in several directions at once. “We’ll let that go for now.” She had to resist an impulse to pace as she said, “We should start getting ready. Manethrall, I hope you’ll take care of that for me, you and your Cords. And Liand.”
When she felt the Stonedownor’s protest, she faced him squarely. “Pahni will explain some things while you’re finding supplies. Tomorrow I’ll answer your questions.” With her eyes, she added mutely, If they aren’t about me. “In the meantime, please take Anele with you. I need a chance to think.”
Then she said to Stave, “You should talk to the Humbled. Tell them”- she opened her free hand in a small gesture of surrender- “everything.” More sharply, she went on. “But when you’re done with that, I want to see you again. You can tell me how they take the news.”
That was only a portion of what she had in mind. However, she felt sure that Stave understood the rest.
She saw in the concentration of Mahrtiir’s mien that he understood as well, or guessed it. Yet he made no objection. He was a Raman, bred from childhood to unquestioning service. Without hesitation, he turned to the door, drawing Bhapa and Pahni in the wake of his authority.
For a moment, Liand continued to study Linden with a perplexed frown. But he was capable of dignity. And he had shown repeatedly that he could set his own desires and confusion aside whenever she asked that of him. Drawing himself up, he inclined his head in acquiescence. Then he approached Anele, urged the old man gently to his feet, and led him after the Ramen.
Stave bowed before he withdrew. Linden could only guess what sharing her story with Galt and Clyme might cost him; but he did not flinch from it.
As soon as he closed the door behind him, she began to stride back and forth in front of the hearth, stamping the Staff of Law lightly on the floor with each step. She had told the truth: she needed to think. But she was also restless for action. She had let too much time pass. Surely her foes had already formed new plans and started to carry them out? Roger and the croyel had escaped the convulsion under Melenkurion Skyweir. Moksha Jehannum’s role remained hidden. If they and the skurj and Kastenessen and Esmer and Kevin’s Dirt and Joan’s caesures did not suffice to achieve Lord Foul’s desires, he would devise new threats. The stranger outside Revelstone’s gates might be one such peril. Or he might be an ally as unexpected as the Mahdoubt.
Yet Linden could not leave her rooms without Stave. She did not know her way through Lord’s Keep. And she needed him for other reasons as well. Therefore she had to wait.
While she paced, she tried to imagine what she would have done if she had been free to exact answers from the Theomach.
Slowly the flames in the hearth dwindled, allowing a chill to fill Linden’s rooms. But she did not close the shutters, or put more wood on the fire. The darkness outside Revelstone would be colder.
When she heard a knock at her door, she called out immediately. “Come in!”
As the door opened to admit Stave, she saw all three of the Humbled behind him. But they did not follow him inside, or prevent him from closing the door. Apparently they were content to ensure that she could not leave her quarters without their consent.
“Chosen.” Perhaps to reassure her, Stave bowed yet again. “I have fulfilled your word. All that you have elected to relate, I have conveyed to the Masters.”
Poised and impatient on the verge of attempting to take charge of her fate, Linden found that her mouth and throat had gone dry. She could feel her heart’s labour in her chest. Her voice was unnaturally husky as she asked. “How did they react?”
He gave a small shrug. They are the Masters of the Land.”
She tried to grin, but succeeded only at grimacing. “In other words, they didn’t react at all.”
Sta
ve faced her with his one eye and his flat countenance. “They chafe at my ability to silence my thoughts. For that reason, they seek to mute their own. But they cannot. Their communion precludes them from acquiring my skill.
“They conclude that you propose to confront the stranger who has brought an end to the Demondim. This they conceive in part because it is your way to leave no obstacle unchallenged, and in part because you have declined to speak of the Mahdoubt.”
And that’s why,” muttered Linden harshly. “there are now three of them outside my door.” Then she forced herself to soften her tone. “But do they believe me’?”
“That you have spoken sooth,” he replied without inflection. “is plain to me. Therefore I have made it plain to them.”
“Good.” A small relief lessened her tension briefly. “Thank you.”
While she could still bear to remain passive, she drank the last of Glimmermere’s water. Anele had not touched it, presumably for the same reason that he refused to bathe in the lake, or suffer the touch of hurtloam.
“Tell me,” she said, striving to sound conversational; undemanding. “Why don’t you want to talk about that stranger? Or about the Mahdoubt?”
He did not look away. “Like the Masters, I am uncertain. Therefore I prefer to await the resolution of my doubts.”
Linden scrutinised him. “Uncertain?”
“The Mahdoubt and the stranger are entwined in my thoughts. I speculate concerning them, but my imaginings are unconfirmed. If I am mistaken, I do not wish to compound my error by speaking prematurely.”
She nodded. “I understand. I don’t know why the Mahdoubt disappeared when she did, but she’s my friend. She saved my life. That’s why I didn’t say anything. As far as I’m concerned, she should be allowed to keep her secrets.” Then Linden added, “But I don’t feel that way about our stranger. He’s a bit too fortuitous for my taste.” His defeat of the horde resembled Roger’s and the croyel’s arrival in glamour. “I think that we should go relieve some of our ignorance.”
Stave appeared to hesitate. “Do you conceive that the Masters will permit it’?”
Linden tightened her grip on the Staff. “Oh, they’ll permit it, all right. You told them my story. Right now, they need answers as badly as we do.
“I’m sure that they still don’t trust me. And the fact that they were so wrong about Roger and my son might make them even more suspicious. Now they really don’t know who to trust.
“But you told them about the Theomach. And they know that the Mahdoubt isn’t just a servant of Revelstone. If they want to go on calling themselves the Masters of the Land, they need to know who that stranger is. They need to know how he disposed of the Demondim.” And why. “If I’m willing to risk talking to him, I don’t see how they can object.”
After a slight pause, Stave nodded. “As you say, Chosen. If they reason otherwise, they will reconsider.”
Then he turned to open the door.
In the hall outside, the Humbled stood arrayed like a blockade; and for an instant, Linden’s steps faltered. But Branl, Clyme, and Galt parted smoothly, permitting Stave to walk between them. At the former Master’s back, she left her rooms unopposed. As she followed Stave, the Humbled formed an escort behind her.
So far, at least, they tolerated her actions.
Her boots struck echoes from the smooth stone, but the Haruchai moved soundlessly. Obliquely she regretted that she had sent the rest of her friends away. Their company might have comforted her. You hold great powers. Yet if we determine that we must wrest them from you, do you truly doubt that we will prevail? She had heard too many forecasts of disaster. On some deep level, she feared herself in spite of her granite resolve; or because of it.
Nevertheless she kept pace with Stave as he guided her through the intricate passages of Lord’s Keep. She could acknowledge doubts and distrust, but they did not sway her.
Stairways descended at unexpected intervals. Corridors seemed to branch randomly, running in all directions. At every juncture, however, the way had been prepared. Lamps and torches illumined Stave’s route. And he walked ahead of her with unerring confidence. Apparently the Masters condoned her intentions.
The passages seemed long to her. Yet eventually Stave led her down a short hall that ended in the high cavern inside Revelstone’s inner gates. There, too, lamps and torches had been set out for her; and when she looked past Stave’s shoulder, she saw that the Keep’s heavy interlocking doors stood slightly open.
That they remained poised to close swiftly did not trouble her. The Masters were understandably chary. One man, alone, had defeated the entire horde of the Demondim-had eaten them, according to Liand-in spite of their prodigious theurgies and their apparently limitless power to resurrect themselves. Naturally the defenders of Revelstone wanted to be ready for the possibility-the likelihood? — of calamity.
Now her steps no longer echoed. The vast forehall swallowed the clap of her boots, diminishing her until she seemed laughable in the face of the dangers which crowded the Land’s deep night. Still she followed Stave. Occasionally she touched the cold circle of Covenant’s ring. If at intervals she wished for Liand’s presence, or for Mahrtiir’s, she did not show it.
As she trod the length of the forehall, she hoped that Galt, Clyme, and Branl would remain in Revelstone. She did not want to hold herself responsible for either their actions or their safety. And she was in no mood to argue with them if they disapproved of her choices. But when they accompanied her through the narrow gap between the gates into the walled courtyard that separated the main Keep from the watchtower, she shrugged off her wish to be free of them. She could not pretend, even to herself, that she might not need defenders.
Apparently she was doomed to pursue her fate in the company of halfhands.
While she walked along the passage under the watchtower, the warded throat of Revelstone, she heard her boot heels echoing again. The sound seemed to measure her progress like a form of mockery, a rhythmic iteration of Lord Foul’s distant scorn. And the air became distinctly colder. Involuntarily she shivered. She felt Masters watching her, wary and unreadable, through slits in the ceiling of the tunnel; but she could not discern what they expected from her.
During her previous time in the Land, she had been able to rely on the Haruchai even when they distrusted her. For a moment, the fact that she could not do so now filled her with bitterness. But then she passed between the teeth of the outer gates, and had no more attention to spare for the intransigence of the Masters.
Night held the slowly sloping plain beyond the watchtower and the massive prow of Revelstone. High in the eastern sky, a gibbous moon cast its silver sheen over the ground where the Demondim had raged, seething with frustration and corrosive lore. The aftereffects of their ancient hatred lingered in the bare dirt. But overhead a profusion of stars filled the heavens, glittering gems in swaths and multitudes untouched by the small concerns of suffering and death. They formed no constellations that she knew, but she found solace in them nonetheless.
Following Stave through the darkness, she was glad to be reminded that her fears and powers were little things, too evanescent and human to impinge upon the immeasurable cycles of the stars. Her life depended on what she did. It was possible that Stave and the Humbled and all of Revelstone’s people were at risk. In ways which she could not yet imagine, Jeremiah’s survival-and perhaps that of the Land as well-might hang in the balance. Yet the stars took no notice: they would not. She was too small to determine their doom.
As was the man who had destroyed the Demondim. He might well surpass her. But while the heavens endured, she could afford to push her limits until they broke-or she did. Like her, the stranger lacked the power to decide the destinies of stars.
In faint silver, Stave led Linden forward; and when she lowered her gaze from the sky, she saw the flickering of a campfire. Its lively flames cast the stranger into shadow, but he appeared to be seated with his back to her and his head bo
wed. If he heard her steps, or sensed the advancing Haruchai, he gave no sign. His limned shape remained motionless.
Within a dozen paces of the stranger, Linden halted Stave with a touch on his shoulder. He glanced at her, a quick flash of reflected firelight in his eye. Drawing him with her, she began to circle around the campfire so that she could approach the stranger in plain sight, unthreateningly-and so that she could watch his reactions.
She expected the Humbled to accompany her, but they did not. Instead they stopped where she and Stave had paused, no more than a few running strides from the stranger’s back. Swearing to herself, she considered gesturing-or calling aloud-for them to join her. But she felt sure that they would ignore her.
Grateful for Stave’s presence at her side, she continued to circle toward the far side of the fire.
As she entered the stranger’s range of vision, he lifted his head slowly. But he did not react in any other way until she and Stave stood near the flames. Then, as lithe and easy as if he had not been sitting still for days, he rose to his feet.
“Lady,” he said in a voice as deep and rich as the loam of a river delta. “Haruchai. You are well come. I feared that I would be compelled to await you for seasons rather than mere days. Such is the obduracy of those who rule yon delved dwelling.”
Linden stared at him, unable to mask her surprise. She had heard that voice somewhere before-
He was clad all in leather, and all in subtle shades of brown. Nevertheless his garb was unexpectedly elaborate: if its hues had been less harmonious, it would have seemed foppish. Boots incused with arcane symbols extended up his calves almost to his knees, then folded down over themselves and ended in dangling tassels. Leggings that looked as supple as water clung to his thighs, emphasising their contours. Above them, he wore a frocked doublet ornately worked with umber beads, the sleeves deeply cuffed. It was snug at the waist, unbelted, and hemmed with a long, flowing fringe. From his shoulders hung a short dun chlamys secured by a bronze clasp: the only piece of metal in his costume. The clasp resembled a ploughshare.
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