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 emerald 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 valour 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 armour 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 endeavoured 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 momentari
ly 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 broadsword-wielding 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 defence 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.
If Roger struck at her now-
Liand might be able to defend himself with the orcrest, perhaps by blinding a few assailants. Pahni might find some way to keep Anele alive briefly. But they would not survive for long.
“Stave!” Linden panted. “Stave.” But it was Branl and Galt who answered her.
Leaving their Ranyhyn behind to aid in the last defence, the two Humbled sprinted on foot toward the chaos clustered around Mahrtiir and Bhapa. They seemed as mighty as Giants as they hammered into the fray. With heavy punches and iron kicks and slashing elbows, they attacked the knees of the Cavewights. And when the creatures fell, squealing in pain, Galt and Branl battered their throats.
Igniting creatures until they burned like torches, Linden tried to see what happened to the Humbled and the Ramen. But the rest of Roger’s army continued to surge toward her, and she could not afford to let her concentration slip.
Roger ignored the damage to his army. Now he seemed to counter the roaring blackness of the Demondim-spawn with dismissive ease. The power blazing from his right fist increased moment by moment as if Kastenessen fed it; as if the Elohim channelled more and more of his scoria and anguish through Roger. And as Roger drove back the assault of the ur-viles and Waynhim, he also sent shafts of rage at the Harrow.
A spear arched through the air, plummeting toward Linden. Stave knocked it aside without apparent effort. Frantically she struggled against her consternation to pour more and still more passion into the Staffs yellow fire.
Embattled, the Harrow began to give ground. When she risked a glance behind her, however, Linden saw that the Insequent fought only Roger and Esmer. The acid of the ur-viles no longer reached him. He gestured furiously with one hand and shouted commands to ward off Roger’s blasts. With the other, he sketched arcane symbols in an attempt to quash earthen geysers. Frenzy filled the emptiness of his eyes. Yet the black theurgy of the ur-viles did not endanger him, although their loremaster still flung gouts of vitriol. Esmer’s efforts to hurt the Harrow disrupted the attack of the Demondim-spawn.
Esmer-?
He could have attacked the Harrow from any direction. At first, Linden thought that Cail’s son chose an angle of assault which blocked the magicks of the ur-viles because he did not wish to share the Harrow’s death with them: he craved it for himself-or for Kastenessen. But then she saw the truth. While he assailed the Harrow, Esmer continued to leave himself exposed to the shattering concussions of the third wedge; and they were weakening him. Blood haemorrhaged from his mouth with every breath. His arms and legs were livid with detonations and bruises. His cymar hung in tatters. As a result, his force was simply not great enough to overwhelm the Insequent. Yet he accepted his own hurts in order to concentrate his waning puissance on the Harrow.
In fact, he appeared to be protecting the Demondim-spawn. The Harrow needed too much of his mystic knowledge to survive Roger’s magma: the added threat of Esmer’s swirling bombardment prevented him from unmaking any more of the ur-viles.
Aid and betrayal. Even here, the son of Cail and the Dancers of the Sea could not pick a side.
In spite of Linden’s fire, the leading Cavewights drew nearer. Now Clyme charged to meet them, crashing into them with all of Mhornym’s mass and might. A barrage of spears seemed to plummet as one toward Linden. Impossibly swift, Stave used one to strike the others down. The incessant clash of eldritch powers shook the ground. Hyn’s hooves danced as she strove to provide Linden with a steady seat.
“No!” Linden howled, although she could hardly hear herself through the mad clangour and tumult of weapons, blows, screams. Nevertheless the ur-viles and Waynhim must have understood her; or understood what was happening better than she did. In unison, they stopped attacking Esmer. Turning their wedge, they began to hurl corrosion among the Cavewights.
The impact slowed the creatures’ onrush. And Linden set fires among them as if they were dried and brittle, primed for conflagration. Sickening herself, she wielded her flail of Earthpower. As long as Roger only defended himself from the Demondim-spawn while he tried to destroy the Harrow-as long as he did not strike at her and her mortal allies-she forced herself to fight his army instead of renewing the battle that had begun under Melenkurion Skyweir; instead of repaying him for his part in Jeremiah’s pain.
In glimpses, she saw Mahrtiir and Bhapa; Galt and Branl; Clyme. The Ramen had neither the strength nor the speed of Haruchai: they certainly could not stand against the size and muscle
of the Cavewights. Nonetheless they were experienced fighters, trained to protect the Ranyhyn with quickness and cunning. And their mounts fought for them. Gradually Galt and Branl on foot and Clyme on Mhornym lunged and dodged their way through the melee toward Bhapa and Mahrtiir.
They were all covered in blood, their own as well as the Cavewights’. The carnage among the creatures was terrible. Yet the Cavewights surged closer to Linden and her remaining defenders with every step and heartbeat.
At a word from Stave, Bhanoryl and Naybahn joined the battle for the sake of their riders, leaving only the former Master to protect Linden while Liand and Pahni guarded Anele.
Roger appeared to laugh, exulting in power. If he had turned his vehemence against the Waynhim and ur-viles, he might have butchered them all. But he was content to ward off their black lore while he strove to burn down the Harrow.
Again and again, the Insequent was driven back. If he had the ability to step aside, he could not use it: he was too hard-pressed by Roger’s gleeful fury and Esmer’s wounded assault.
Linden had no idea what a being as dangerous and greedy as the Harrow had done-or could do-to earn such enmity from Lord Foul’s minions.
Still the wedge challenging the Harrow could not reach him through Esmer’s ragged eruptions. Abruptly those ur-viles changed their objectives. In small groups of five or six, they began to peel away. Scampering on all fours, they sped to join the formation which fought the Cavewights.
They were too late-and the Cavewights were too many. Even Linden’s desperation was not enough. In spite of the dark efforts of the Demondim-spawn, she and her last companions would soon be inundated. If Esmer and perhaps even the Harrow did not turn to aid her, she might not be able to keep herself alive. She would certainly not be able to preserve Stave and Liand, Pahni and Anele.
As far as she knew, the other Ramen and the Humbled were already dead.
While she transformed creatures into living, screaming firewood, a Cavewight hurled a bludgeon at her from a distance of no more than six or seven paces. She barely saw it before Hynyn sprang in front of Hyn, and Stave snatched the massive club out of the air. Using the weapon’s velocity, he swung his arm to fling the bludgeon back at the Cavewight.
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