If Linden Avery the Chosen does not fail in her quest-
Her mere presence among the villagers was a promise which she did not know how to keep.
Chapter Eight: Salva Gildenbourne
I am able to convey you to your son.
The Harrow’s parting words were a knell in Linden’s heart. While the glory of Liand’s orcrest washed over the villagers, she rode away from the crowd and the shattered remnants of First Woodhelven; from her friends. Doubt-ridden, and haunted by her dreams, she wanted to be alone with Hyn.
She did not understand how the Ramen seemed to know what the Ranyhyn wanted or intended: she could not even guess how the Ramen knew the names of the great horses. Nevertheless a form of communion existed between the Ramen and the Ranyhyn. She had tasted that bond herself during the horserite which she had shared with Hyn, Hynyn, and Stave. At need, Hyn never failed to grasp what Linden desired of her-and to obey.
Impelled by fears and yearning, Linden guided the mare a short distance away from her companions. There, bending low over Hyn’s neck and whispering so that she would not be overheard, she asked the Ranyhyn to take her to Jeremiah.
She felt the mare’s muscles quiver in willingness or trepidation. Hyn shifted her hooves restively, tossed her head, then shook it from side it side. She stood where she was.
Trying to be clear, Linden took Jeremiah’s toy from her pocket and clenched it in her fist. Then she closed her eyes and visualised her son, not as she had known and loved him in their former life together, but as she had last seen him under Melenkurion Skyweir, with the croyel clinging savagely to his back; debased by the creature’s bitter theurgy. She formed his image in precise detail and offered it to Hyn, silently pleading with the Ranyhyn.
Still the mare did not move.
Then Mahrtiir came to Linden’s side, and to Hyn’s, drawn by his sensitivity to Linden, or by his instinctive rapport with the Ranyhyn. Murmuring, he gentled the mare until she no longer trembled.
“Do not misunderstand, Ringthane,” he urged Linden gruffly. “Hyn is valorous in all things. She would bear you into any of the Seven Hells, as she has into the horror of caesures. But she does not know where your son may be found. Mayhap she is able to discern the nature of his hiding place or prison, but she cannot determine its location. Therefore she shies from your desire.
“The son of the former Ringthane is present in this time. For that reason, I deem that your son is likewise present. As you have described them, the powers of both the halfhand and the croyel were required to elude the Law of Time. Therefore the halfhand’s evil assures us that your son has not been secreted in some other age. He does not lie beyond your reach. But Hyn cannot pierce his concealment.”
Linden sighed. “I didn’t really expect it to work.” If she could have found her son simply by asking the Ranyhyn to aid her, the Harrow would have no leverage with her-and Roger and Esmer would have no reason to fear that she might strike a bargain with the Insequent. “I just had to try.”
The Manethrall seemed to study her through his bandage. “Indeed, Ringthane. Who would comprehend, if I do not? Against the Cavewights, I did not expect to retain my life. Yet I could not decline to give battle. It is ever thus. Attempts must be made, even when there can be no hope. The alternative is despair. And betimes some wonder is wrought to redeem us. Expecting death, I have sacrificed only my sight.
“Therein lay Kevin Landwaster’s error-aye, and great Kelenbhrabanal’s also. When all hope was gone, they heeded the counsels of despair. Had they continued to strive, defying their doom, some unforeseen wonder might have occurred. And if it did not, still their glory would have surpassed their failure.”
“I know,” Linden murmured: a dying fall of sound. “The world is full of Kastenessens and Rogers.” Esmers and Joans, croyel and Cavewights. “Lord Foul is everywhere. But there are still people like Liand.” And the Mahdoubt. “Stave is on our side. The ur-viles have changed. Even the Sandgorgons-” In spite of samadhi Raver’s shredded malignance, they had retained enough gratitude to answer her. “I’ll try anything to save Jeremiah.”
She meant her assertion as a warning, but she lacked the courage to speak more clearly. She was afraid that Mahrtiir-that all of her friends-would attempt to stop her.
As matters stood, she did not know the difference between the Manethrall’s advice and the counsels of despair.
To her relief, Liand did not take long to cleanse the senses of those Woodhelvennin who desired his gift. Although his efforts left his skin pale with weariness, and he wavered on Rhohm’s back, breathing raggedly, he was still able to ride. When he swayed too far, Pahni steadied him.
Now none of Linden’s companions urged caution. The time had come for haste. She needed it; and the villagers would be safer when she was far from them. Her friends delayed only to consider the pane of slate which had protected Anele.
Clyme asserted his willingness to carry it-or to make the attempt-regardless of his hurts and renewed bleeding. But Linden shook her head. “It’s too heavy,” she stated as though she had the authority to command the Humbled. “It’ll get in your way if were attacked again. We’ll try blankets. Five or six of them might be enough to block Kastenessen.”
For a moment, the Masters appeared to debate their responsibilities. Then Clyme abandoned the slate.
At a word from the Heers, grateful villagers hurried to gather blankets, which they tied into a roll and handed to Pahni.
With difficulty, Linden held back her impatience as Karnis and Quilla endeavoured to express their thanks for all that she and her companions had done. But the Heers were among those who had been blessed or afflicted with percipience: they could see how she felt. Seeming flustered by her frustration, they cut short what they wished to say.
On Linden’s behalf, and Liand’s, Manethrall Mahrtiir responded to the Heers; but he spoke curtly. “It is sooth that Liand of Mithil Stonedown has granted no gentle gift. Also it is sooth that neither kresh nor Cavewights would have assailed you in our absence. Our aid is small recompense for the harm which we have brought among you.
“The Master Vernigil will guide you. While it endures, your new sight will serve you well. May you fare in safety. Beyond question, you will fare more safely for our departure.”
At last, Linden and her companions turned away, leaving silence and uncertainty behind them. With Mahrtiir beside her, Pahni, Liand, and Anele following, and Stave in the rear, she rode after Bhapa and the Humbled at a brisk canter which Hyn and the other Ranyhyn soon stretched into a rolling gallop.
For a time, they traversed rough hills of flint and shale. But then stones and scant dirt gave way to better soil as more streams traced their crooked paths across the landscape; and the riders began to encounter occasional clusters of aliantha. Linden called a halt at the first of these so that Liand could restore his depleted strength.
When she dismounted to join him, she noticed the marks of other hooves. To her questioning glance, Pahni replied that the Humbled and Bhapa had paused here as well.
Privately Linden hoped that the Masters were not too proud to avail themselves of treasure-berries. They were in no condition to face another conflict. They needed as much sustenance as their stubbornness could accept.
“To this place,” Pahni added, studying the ground, “they rode together. Now, however, they have separated. Mhornym and Rohnhyn continue southeastward, but Bhanoryl’s path lies to the east, and Naybahn has turned to the south. Doubtless they will guard our passage at the farthest extent of their senses.”
Linden nodded. Remembering Cail and Brinn, Ceer and Hergrom, she trusted the Humbled to protect her company as well as they could.
When Liand had eaten a handful of aliantha, and had recovered enough to whisper something playful that made Pahni smile and duck her head, Linden and her friends remounted. Together the Ranyhyn resumed their run, devouring the distance at a long gallop.
Before noon, the hills faded into a wide plain like a
steppe lambent with grasses and bright wildflowers. Birds scattered in waves before the rush of the riders, the muffled rumble of hooves. At intervals, Linden and her companions passed a small stand of wattle or scrub oak; splashed through a rambling stream or sprang over a sun-spangled rill; swept down into a shallow swale and flowed up the far side. But such features were few. Between them, the plain unfurled itself to the horizons as if the earth had opened its heart to the sun. There the Ranyhyn seemed to run effortlessly, buoyed by the grass and the vast sky as if they were born to revel in grasslands and illimitable vistas.
For a while, Linden caught no glimpse of the Humbled and Bhapa. Under the midday sun, however, she eventually saw Clyme waiting ahead of her. Apparently he had decided that the time had come to rest the Ranyhyn while their riders ate a quick meal.
His bleeding had stopped. Aided, perhaps, by treasure-berries, his native toughness had reasserted itself. Even while he rode, his wounds healed slowly.
Before Pahni and Liand allowed Anele to dismount, Linden took a moment to study the grass. All around her, many varieties grew together. Some resembled the lush wealth of the Verge of Wandering. But among more luxuriant greens were streaks and swaths of the raw-edged scrub grass which covered the hills and slopes of the Mithil valley: the grass on which the old man was vulnerable to Lord Foul.
Here Anele needed protection.
Instead of insisting that he remain on Hrama, she decided to test the effectiveness of the blankets. At her request, Pahni unrolled the thick pad and guided Anele onto it from Hrama’s back.
Warded by wool, the old man showed no sign of possession. His fractured muttering was disturbed only by his discomfort at Clyme’s nearness.
The horizons remained clear. When Linden questioned Clyme, he reported no indication of danger. He and Bhapa had found evidence of Roger’s army’s trek toward First Woodhelven. For a time, Galt had been able to track Roger and his remaining Cavewights eastward. But nothing stirred to threaten the riders-unless it was concealed by the glamour which had enabled Roger’s forces to take Linden’s company by surprise.
She might have felt relief. Perhaps she should have. Apparently Roger was indeed reduced without the aid and knowledge of the croyel. Alone, he could not simply bypass time or space: he was forced to travel by more ordinary means.
But his limitations confirmed that he had set out to intercept her several days before Kastenessen had touched Anele. Conceivably Roger had begun to lead his army westward as soon as he and Jeremiah had returned to their proper time. Kastenessen may have precipitated Roger’s attack; but Roger and his forces must have already been poised to strike. Hidden by glamour- extending as it does to conceal so many- he must have been waiting for her along her most direct route toward Andelain.
She had told him what her intentions were; forewarned him-
Nevertheless he had lost too many Cavewights to challenge her again soon. He knew her power. He knew that scores of ur-viles and Waynhim remained willing to serve her. And he no longer had the support of the croyel. He would need time to rally more of Kastenessen’s-or Lord Foul’s-allies.
Therefore-Linden swore under her breath. Therefore the next attack would probably come from the skurj.
In spite of everything that she had learned and suffered, she was inadequate to her task. If she were wiser, or stronger, or calmer-When the battle ended yesterday, she should have tried to catch Roger while he was still within reach, and vulnerable. That might have forced Kastenessen to hesitate. But she had been consumed by desperation and killing; exhaustion and remorse. She had missed her chance. Now she could only hope to outrun the maddened Elohim’s malice.
When she and her companions were mounted, ready to ride, she described her concerns. Then she told Clyme, “We’ll need as much warning as possible. You and Bhapa have to be able to ride as far and as fast as you can. We need you at your best.”
With difficulty, she restrained an impulse to demand, So heal, damn it. Or let me help you. You aren’t much good like this.
His hurts were as unmistakable as groans.
Clyme faced her without expression. For a moment, he appeared to be waiting for her to say more; to speak her wishes aloud so that he could refuse her. Then he gave a slight nod. Urging Mhornym to greater speed with every stride, he rode away.
Abruptly Mahrtiir growled, “The Ringthane speaks sooth. Yet needful tasks in which the Ramen have no equal I cannot now perform. Cord Pahni, you also must watch over this company, that no sign or hint which may elude the sleepless ones will be missed. The Stonedownor and Stave will care for Anele.”
Pahni flung a look like pleading at Liand, urging him to be safe, before she sent Naharahn into a gallop after Clyme. Behind her, the remaining Ranyhyn began to run, carrying their riders with the swift ease of birds toward Andelain and the Land’s threatened heart.
While the great horses pounded the steppe, Linden prayed that she would be able to reach the Hills and Loric’s krill in time; and that she would find Thomas Covenant and hope among the Dead.
Eventually the steppe modulated into a region of rugged, stony hills like glacial moraines. Although the horses found passage along the valleys, the littered ground forced them to slow their pace. When they finally emerged from the hills toward gentler terrain, the sun was setting.
Linden did not doubt that the Ranyhyn could travel confidently in darkness. Nevertheless she called a halt on the last of the granite debris. Temporarily, at least, her concern for Anele outweighed her desire for haste. She did not yet entirely trust his pad of blankets. Loose stone would guard him from possession as well as restore a measure of his sanity.
Mumbling to himself, he began to pick through the igneous refuse as if he were seeking a particular kind of rock; specific memories. But whenever he found a bit of granite, or schist, or obsidian that seemed to interest him, he studied it briefly, then cast it aside and resumed his search.
As Liand and Stave unpacked supplies and set out bedding, Bhapa and Pahni emerged from the dusk. They had found no cause for concern within a league of the company, and the Humbled had instructed them to rejoin their companions for food and rest. If the Manethrall approved, Bhapa and Pahni proposed to take turns standing watch atop the nearest of the hills. The Humbled and the Ranyhyn would form a more distant cordon around the company.
Mahrtiir nodded. “It is well. Let it be so.” He sounded vexed, as though the Cords had disappointed him. But Linden understood that his ire was not directed at them. Rather he was galled by his comparative helplessness. As long as Linden or Liand renewed his health-sense regularly, he would remain capable of much. Still his abilities were irretrievably compromised.
Seeking to distract him while Pahni helped Liand prepare a meal, Linden said. “I’m worried, Mahrtiir. We’re pushing the Ranyhyn pretty hard. How much longer can they keep this up?”
Mahrtiir squatted among the stones until she sat down facing him. Then he said, “Do not mistake them, Ringthane. They are far from the bounds of their endurance. Many are the great deeds that they have performed at need. I will speak of one, though it is a tale which no Ramen witnessed. We heard of it from those few Haruchai who chose to serve the Ranyhyn during Fangthane’s unnatural winter, when the Vow of the Bloodguard had been broken.”
Linden settled herself to listen. Liand and Pahni did not pause in their tasks, but their attention was turned toward the Manethrall. Liand was always eager for tales of the Land’s past; and all Ramen loved to speak and hear of the great horses.
“In the years preceding the last siege of Revelstone,” Mahrtiir told the evening and his own darkness. “a silence had fallen over Seareach, and all who loved the Land were troubled by it. No Giants walked the Upper Land to gladden the heart with their friendship and their ready laughter. Nor did the Unhomed send word of their plight in The Grieve. Therefore two Lords and a party of Bloodguard set out for Seareach, to discover what had befallen the Giants.”
“This the Haruchai remember,�
� Stave put in. “Lord Mhoram, seer and oracle to the Council of Lords, had discerned the peril of the Giants. Therefore Hyrim son of Hoole and Shetra Verement-mate were dispatched to Seareach, accompanied by fifteen Bloodguard. Among that number were Runnik and Tull, who returned to tell the tale.”
Mahrtiir accepted Stave’s confirmation with a nod. Then the Manethrall continued.
“The passage of the Lords and Bloodguard eastward was opposed, but their gravest hazard found them upon the Giantway within Sarangrave Flat, for that was their most direct path to Seareach. There they were beset by the lurker of the Sarangrave. So dire was the lurker’s power that even the great horses could not endure it. In their fear, they endangered the Lords, and Ahnryn of the Ranyhyn was slain.
“Therefore the choice was made to abandon the Giantway-to return westward to Landsdrop and thence into the southeast toward the Defiles Course, that poisoned river which emerges from among the banes deep within Mount Thunder to corrupt Lifeswallower, the Great Swamp. The Lords had determined to fashion a raft to bear them along the Defiles Course and through the Sarangrave until they had passed beyond the reach of the lurker.
“But first it was necessary to cross many arduous leagues to approach the bitter river. The hills which foot the cliff of Landsdrop are raw and twisted, forbidding haste. Also night had fallen, obscuring the treachery of the terrain. Yet the company’s need for haste had grown extreme. And the Ranyhyn were shamed by their fear. Therefore they performed a prodigious feat. In the course of one night and a portion of the subsequent morning, they emerged from the Sarangrave and bore their riders to the Defiles Course, a distance of more than three score leagues.”
God, Linden thought. Three score-Her company had begun its journey by covering fifteen leagues a day.
“By the measure of that accomplishment, Ringthane,” Mahrtiir concluded, “the labours which the Ranyhyn have undertaken on our behalf may be deemed paltry.” His voice was full of pride in the great horses. “If you ask it of them, they will teach you the true meaning of astonishment.”
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