Fatal Revenant t3cotc-2

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Grimly Linden contained herself: she felt sure that Handir was not done. But Mahrtiir did not emulate her restraint.

  “Then you are indeed fools,” he snapped. “From the first, the distinction between the Ringthane and the seeming Unbeliever has been vivid to the Ramen. Her spirit is open to both love and injury. In all things, his purposes were concealed.

  “And if our judgment may be questioned, that of the Ranyhyn may not. She has partaken of the horserite.” The Manethrall’s voice throbbed with anger. “The Ranyhyn have bowed their heads to her-aye, and to Stave as well. If you assert that she is false, you have forgotten the faith of the Bloodguard, and are unworthy to name yourselves their descendants.”

  Linden saw Masters on both sides of Handir clench their fists. Both Branl and Clyme stepped forward; and Galt left the rear of Linden’s small group to stand with the other Humbled.

  “Protect,” urged Anele, whispering as if he feared to speak more loudly. “Protect Anele. He is the Land’s hope. They will doom him.”

  If Handir took umbrage, however, he did not show it. His countenance revealed nothing as he gazed past Linden at Mahrtiir.

  “I do not say, Manethrall, that Linden Avery is false,” he answered flatly. “I say only that we must consider it.”

  Then he faced her again. “Yet the state in which you have returned to us is beyond question. You now resemble the transformed Staff of Law. Darkness fills your heart. Indeed, you are as tinder, awaiting only a spark to achieve destruction. According to your tale, this alteration has been wrought by the Blood of the Earth and your son’s plight. Mayhap you have spoken truly. Yet the threat remains, regardless of its cause.

  More than any of your companions, you may not safely roam the Land. You have become an avatar of woe and ire, and all of your deeds will conduce to evil.”

  Gritting her teeth, Linden swallowed an impulse to say, If any of that is true, you might want to ask yourself why I’m not threatening you. When she had first entered Revelstone, Handir had assured her that the Masters could wrest her powers from her. She had believed him then: now she was not convinced. But she did not mean to respond with defiance. She simply wanted Handir to understand that she was not afraid. She had become a kind of Haruchai herself: like them, she could not be swayed.

  Stiffly she asked. “Is there more?”

  “There is,” he acknowledged. “A man who has shown himself greater than the Demondim is now among us. He is of the Insequent, as you have found to your cost. Yet in the spanning memory of the Haruchai, no Insequent has intruded upon the Land. In this, they resemble the Elohim. Heretofore both Elohim and Insequent have held themselves apart, except at the birth of Berek Halfhand’s High Lordship, and during the slow decline of the One Forest.

  “Linden Avery, these are bleak auguries. And we have seen that the Harrow’s prowess exceeds you. If your own desires do not breed ruin, his craving for white gold and the Staff of Law will surely do so. To permit your departure will be to invoke calamity.”

  There the Voice of the Masters stopped. He had said enough: Linden did not need to hear more in order to grasp the uncertainty of Stave’s kindred.

  She felt surprise and confusion among Liand and the Ramen. They had not yet been told of her meeting with the Harrow, or of Stave’s tale, or of the Mahdoubt’s passing. Nevertheless Handir compelled her full attention. Because she needed some outlet for her bitterness, she asked, “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the fact that Stave defied you by telling me about the Vizard and the Theomach?”

  Handir regarded her without expression. “Stave has been adjudged. No further repudiation is seemly.”

  After a moment, Linden nodded. In some ways, the worst part of Stave’s punishment was that the Masters no longer considered his actions to be of any consequence.

  She was tempted to turn her back on them and their support. Let them continue to serve Lord Foul, in effect if not in intent, by clinging to their doubts in isolation. She would find some other way to leave the Keep. For the Land’s sake, however, more than for Jeremiah’s, she tried one last argument. She did not doubt that the Masters would be needed-

  “All right,” she said harshly. “I think I understand why you don’t trust me. But there’s one thing that you haven’t explained.

  “You weren’t able to beat the Demondim. If I hadn’t closed their caesure, you wouldn’t have been able to hold Revelstone. So what changed while I was away? What makes you think that now you can handle Esmer and Kastenessen and the skurj and Kevin’s Dirt and Falls and Roger Covenant and the Insequent, never mind Ravers and the Elohim and Joan’s ring and Corruption himself?

  “Hasn’t it occurred to you yet that you need me? That you need all of us, and any other allies you can find?”

  The Voice of the Masters shook his head. His countenance revealed nothing. Nonetheless some subtle shift in the quality of his intransigence gave his reply a faint patina of sadness.

  “Still you do not comprehend our Mastery. We do not seek to prove ourselves equal to every peril which besets the Land. We seek only to forestall Desecration. Such evils may be performed only by those who wield power and love the Land and know despair.

  “The true Thomas Covenant, ur-Lord and Unbeliever, charged us to preserve Revelstone. We will willingly spend our lives in the attempt. But our larger purpose does not require us to redeem the Land. It requires us to ensure that a new Landwaster does not commit a second Ritual of Desecration.”

  In spite of her determination, Linden sagged. He was right: she had misapprehended the Masters. She had fixed her attention on the effects of what they had done; on their arrogance-As a result, she had missed the real point of Stave’s patient explanations. All of her attempts to persuade Handir and his kinsmen had been predicated on a misconception, an oblique error. She had faulted the application and results of their Mastery instead of addressing their fundamental concerns; and so her efforts to move them had failed.

  Now it was too late. She could not promise Handir that his concerns were groundless; that she would never become another Landwaster. Too many people had seen darkness in her: she had seen it herself. Too many people feared that her intentions would lead to ruin rather than hope.

  You have it within you to perform horrors.

  Within her she holds the devastation of the Earth-

  Doom awaits you in the company of the Dead.

  All right, she tried to tell herself. She had failed here. She needed an entirely different approach. But for a few moments, she was caught and held by her regret for what her inadequacies had cost her. Standing before Handir, she bowed her head like an admission of defeat.

  Her heart was stone: she was not beaten. But she needed a little time to recover her concentration.

  While she tried to think of an alternative, Stave stepped forward unexpectedly. “It boots nothing to bandy words,” he said to Handir. “I propose a test of truth.”

  A slight lift of Handir’s chin betrayed that Stave had surprised him.

  While Liand fumbled in consternation at his pouch, Stave explained. “I do not suggest the use of orcrest. A challenge by Earthpower will not suffice among Haruchai. Rather I offer a test of truth by combat.”

  “Stave, no,” Linden protested. She had not forgotten the blows which he had already received from his kinsmen.

  “I have no wish to cause harm,” he said, holding Handir’s gaze. “And it is certain that the Chosen does not, for she comprehends that the Land requires the Haruchai. Therefore I will confront any three of the Masters. Let each in turn assail me. If I drive each from his feet and do not fall, you will permit the Chosen to depart. If I am thrown and any of the three remains standing, she will withdraw to the plateau and seek her son’s salvation by some other means.”

  Before the Voice of the Masters could speak, Galt replied with unwonted eagerness, “The Humbled accept this contest.” Apparently he, Clyme, and Branl had seen a personal affront in Stave’s actions or attitud
e.

  “Damn it, Stave,” Linden muttered; but she knew of no argument that he would heed. His offer did not commit her to anything which would block her search for another egress. And after all that he had done for her, she could not say aloud that she believed he would fall.

  Liand began to object hotly; but Mahrtiir’s voice rode over his. Clarion as a trumpet, the Manethrall announced. “I also propose a test of truth.”

  Linden wheeled toward him as he proclaimed, “Permit the Ringthane to enter the courtyard beyond this dark stone. Enclosed by the outer gates, she will summon the Ranyhyn. Their approach will be witnessed by those Masters who watch from the tower.

  “Heretofore the Ranyhyn that have answered her need are seven, Hynyn, Hyn, Narunal, Hrama, Rhohm, Whrany, and Naharahn. If she is answered now by more than those seven, you will acknowledge that the great horses approve both her desires and your caution. They have determined that she must depart-and that some among you must accompany her. If she is answered by no more than seven, you will recognise that the Ranyhyn do not share your fear of Desecration. You will honour their wisdom. And if she is not answered, we will accept your refusal.”

  Shaken, Linden strove to compose herself. Like Stave’s, Mahrtiir’s challenge did not undermine her. The Ranyhyn would answer: she was sure of that. Still the Manethrall’s audacity staggered her. Surely in their entire history no Ramen had ever suggested making commitments on behalf of the great horses?

  Yet Stave’s test was no less bold. He had been healed: the Humbled had not. But he had lost an eye. He was subtly crippled by the truncation of his sight.

  Nevertheless Linden could not refuse either Stave’s aid or Mahrtiir’s. She needed to leave Revelstone-and had no clear idea how to do so.

  Liand brimmed with protests; but Pahni drew him aside, whispering urgently. She appeared to be asking him to accept the Manethrall’s authority.

  When Handir responded, Linden faced him again.

  To Stave, the Voice of the Masters said. “It is Linden Avery who threatens Desecration. You do not. How will the success or failure of your strength measure the Land’s peril?’

  “It will not,” Stave replied stolidly. “It will measure your worthiness to adjudge her as you have adjudged me.”

  Linden groaned to herself. If Stave failed, he would validate the repudiation of his people.

  “The Humbled have spoken,” Galt put in sharply. “We will accept the contest.”

  “But I have not spoken,” Handir returned with a tinge of asperity. “By right of years and attainment, I am the Voice of the Masters. I must be heeded.”

  “As the Humbled also must be heeded,” Galt reminded him.

  For a long moment, the Humbled and Handir regarded each other. Then all four of them nodded; and the Voice of the Masters shifted his attention to Mahrtiir.

  “Manethrall, we have heard you. Though your ire is unseemly, you are a Manethrall of the Ramen, and we hear you with respect. But we do not perceive how the will of the Ranyhyn pertains to the nature of our service.”

  Keen as a raptor, Mahrtiir answered. “The Ranyhyn are inherent to the Land as the Haruchai and even the Ramen are not. The great horses partake of the Land’s essence and grandeur, for they are expressions of Earthpower, wholly and purely themselves, unflawed by either lore or aggrandisement. They stand high among the wonders which have caused you to choose the nature of your service. Also their foresight is both well known and inestimable.

  “Inform me, then, how any Master may disdain the choices of the Ranyhyn and yet claim that he serves the Land.”

  Although several of the other Masters emanated indignation, Handir did not appear offended. Instead he nodded as if to acknowledge that the Manethrall had made a valid point. Linden gnawed her lip while Handir remained silent, presumably communing with the Haruchai in the forehall.

  For no apparent reason, Anele stated. “Anele does not fear horses. He does not fear the dark ones. He fears them.”

  Then the Voice of the Masters spoke. “Linden Avery,” he said as if words uttered aloud had become awkward for him, “you have healed Stave. The Humbled remain hampered by injury.”

  He may have been asking her to disavow Stave’s test of truth.

  If so, he had misjudged her. Stave had sacrificed his bond with his own sons for her sake. In spite of her apprehension, she replied. “And he only has one eye. I call that even.”

  In any case, the hurts of the Humbled were superficial. And Stave had blows to repay-

  “Linden,” breathed Liand, warning her. You have it within you-

  For a few heartbeats, Handir resumed his silence. Then he shifted his stance to address everyone around him.

  “It is decided,” he said rigidly. “Both tests have merit. Neither suffices.

  “However, we do not desire Linden Avery’s enmity. Nor do we intend any slight to the Ramen, or to the majesty of the Ranyhyn. And the Humbled must be heeded. Therefore both tests will be essayed in turn. If Stave withstands each of the Humbled, Linden Avery will then summon the Ranyhyn, as the Manethrall has urged. If Stave falls, no summons will be countenanced.”

  After a brief pause, he continued, “It is in my heart, however, that such trials resolve naught.” Again his manner or his tone seemed to imply a veiled sorrow. “Conceding them, we accept only the hazard of greater uncertainty, for the strictures of our service will not be set aside. If Linden Avery’s release is won, we will be compelled to consider whether we have damned the Land. Yet if Stave or the Ranyhyn fail her, she will not thereby be persuaded to accept our Mastery. Rather the darkness within her will deepen. And Desecration may be wrought as readily in Revelstone as in Kiril Threndor. Thus will we again be compelled to consider whether we have damned the Land.

  “I am Handir, by right of years and attainment the Voice of the Masters. I have spoken. But my words will bear no sweet fruit. Rather they will ripen to gall and rue.”

  When he was finished, he and the other Masters immediately withdrew, leaving only Galt, Clyme, and Branl between Linden’s company and the clenched gates. Clearly Handir intended the tests to begin at once.

  Hugging the Staff harder, Linden tried to breathe as if she were calm. She was not sure that she could bear to see Stave beaten again.

  While Stave advanced to confront the Humbled, Mahrtiir and Liand stood with Linden. “Gall and rue are the inescapable outcome of your Mastery,” the Manethrall said to Handir. “Do not complain of them here, where those who seek to preserve the Land wish only to do so without opposition.”

  Then he whispered privately to Linden. “I proposed a test of the Ranyhyn hoping to spare Stave. He has been harmed in both body and spirit, and I feared for him. It was not my intent to hamper you, Ringthane.”

  “I know,” she murmured tensely. “I’m scared, too. If they hurt him again, I don’t know how I’m going to forgive myself. But I just don’t have any better ideas.”

  “Ah, Stave,” sighed Liand. “Now I am truly shamed that I have thought and spoken ill of you.”

  As one, Stave and the Humbled bowed to each other with ritual formality. Then Branl and Clyme retreated to clear a space for Galt and Stave.

  Involuntarily Linden remembered another battle in this place. When Nom had broken the inner gates, she and Covenant had entered the forehall with Sunder and Hollian, a few Giants, and a small company of Haruchai. Here they had fought desperately against the Clave, Coursers, and the na-Mhoram’s Grim. Old frenzy, terror, and bloodshed seemed to harry her now, as bleak as Handir’s omens.

  So suddenly that she nearly gasped, Galt struck. Blood still crusted his hands and feet. Nonetheless he launched a blow swift and hard enough to crush the blinded side of Stave’s face.

  Stave had said that he did not wish to cause harm. Plainly Galt’s intentions were more extreme. He seemed to want to eradicate Stave from his sight.

  The lamps and torches provided light in abundance. Yet Linden could not distinguish the vicious blur of Galt’s
punch from the details of Stave’s response. She saw only that Stave remained poised in front of Galt’s fist-and then he stood behind the Humbled with his hands on Galt’s shoulders. With delicate precision, he kicked away one of Galt’s feet and jerked the Humbled backward.

  Galt fell: he could not prevent it. But as he fell, he twisted in the air; caught hold of Stave’s tunic; tried to wrench Stave down with him.

  Stave countered by letting himself drop so that his knees landed heavily on Galt’s ribs. With his arms braced against Galt’s grasp, Stave kept his balance so that no part of him except his feet touched the floor.

  A wince of shock or chagrin flashed over Galt’s features and vanished. For an instant, Linden feared that the Humbled would refuse to cede defeat; that he would attempt to roll Stave into a fall. Instead, however, Galt released Stave and relaxed. His Haruchai rectitude did not permit him to violate the conditions of the test.

  Nodding, Stave rose smoothly to his feet and turned toward Branl and Clyme.

  Handir and the observing Masters concealed whatever they may have felt. Linden found that Liand had placed his hand on her shoulder. He gripped her tightly to contain his suspense.

  Clyme was the next to approach Stave. While they gazed at each other, motionless, the concentration-or perhaps the firelight-in the Humbled’s eyes conveyed the impression that he was probing Stave’s defences.

  Linden knew that she would receive no forewarning; that even her health-sense could not anticipate the instant when either of the Haruchai would move. That in itself was a kind of presage. Nevertheless she was not ready. She flinched instinctively as Clyme attacked.

  Smooth as oil, and swift as light, the Humbled lashed a kick at Stave’s abdomen.

  Once again, Stave did not appear to react until he had already done so. Stepping aside, he swung an arm like a bar of iron across Clyme’s chest. Stave’s arm stopped Clyme’s momentum while Clyme’s kick carried him forward. Opposing forces swept the Humbled’s supporting leg out from under him.