Against All Things Ending (12 page)

His argument stopped Linden: she could not imagine a way to counter it. If she had been in his place, would she have trusted a person who had violated the essence of Law in order to drag Covenant out of his place in the Arch of Time? She wanted to believe that she would have found room in her heart for any parent who sought to save a child; that she would not have been as self-absorbed and uncaring as the Harrow. But she had already demonstrated that she was capable of defying every consequence in order to get what she wanted. She remained ready to take any risk for Jeremiah’s sake; but she could not pretend that she was morally superior to the Harrow. His distrust was as valid as hers; as entirely justified.

Esmer had once said,
That which appears evil need not have been so from the beginning, and need not remain so until the end
. She wanted to say the same about herself, but she knew that the Harrow would only laugh.

“Then think of something,” she murmured weakly. “We’re at an impasse. Find a way out.”

Surely she could not surrender Covenant’s ring and her Staff without
some
assurance—?

“Lady,” he answered without hesitation, “that I speak sooth is confirmed by who and what I am. The word of any Insequent is as precious as wealth. We do not speak falsehood. It demeans knowledge, which we revere. Condoning lies, I would cease to be who I am.

“I grant, however, that you do not know me. For you, my word cannot suffice. Therefore I will pledge my oath. You have cause to trust that such an oath will bind me. As I have previously forsworn my purpose against your mind and spirit and flesh, so will I swear now that I am certain of your son’s covert, and that I am able to convey you to him. In exchange for your instruments of power, I will further avow that when I have effected your reunion with your child, I will return you wheresoever you desire. To reassure you, I once again adjure all of the Insequent to heed me. If I do not abide by this second oath, as I have honored the first, I pray that the vengeance of my people upon me will be both cruel and prolonged.”

Linden did her best to meet the empty blackness of his gaze. “That’s it?” Her voice was little more than a whisper of dried leaves gusting over barren ground. She had difficulty swallowing. “That’s your oath?”

The radiance of the
krill
lit every line of his face, but could not touch the depths of his eyes.

“It is,” he assented, “if we are in agreement.” Mirth stirred beneath the surface of his tone. “Place into my hands the white gold ring and the Staff of Law, and I will abide by my vow precisely as I have pronounced it. Refuse, and I will be bound by no oath but that which the Mahdoubt wrested from me, at the cost of her mind and use and life.”

According to the Theomach, the Insequent were
seldom petty
when their desires opposed those of the
Elohim
.

Sighing, Linden reached up to pull the chain of Covenant’s ring over her head.

“Linden,” murmured Liand anxiously, “this troubles me. In one matter, I concur with the Humbled. The Harrow cannot equal the puissance which you have won from both your Staff and the white ring. Is it not certain that the hope of the Land, dim though it may be, will dwindle if his wishes are granted?”

“Stonedownor—” Mahrtiir began gruffly.

Liand refused to be interrupted. “And is it not certain also that the fell creature which you have named the
croyel
retains possession of your son? How will you win his freedom if you wield neither Earthpower nor wild magic?”

“Liand,” said the Manethrall more firmly, “desist. Every friend of the Ringthane shares your apprehensions. Yet this choice is hers, not ours. And there lives no parent among the Ramen who would not choose as she does. Only the opposition of the Ranyhyn would suffice to deter us—and behold!” He gestured around the vale. “They have departed. By this token is their faith in the Ringthane confirmed.”

The absence of the horses did not concern Linden. They would return when they were called; or when they were needed.

“She has followed her heart to our present straits,” Mahrtiir concluded. “If she does not continue to do so, all that she has hazarded and lost will come to naught.”

At the Manethrall’s command, Liand subsided; and Rime Coldspray nodded her approval. If Stave agreed with either Liand or Mahrtiir, he did not say so. But he had sons among the Masters, sons who had participated in casting him out of their mental communion. Nevertheless he had said of them—and of all the children of the
Haruchai
—that
They are born to strength, and it is their birthright to remain who they are
.

Had Covenant not told Linden long ago that Lord Foul could not gain his ends through decisions like the one she made here?

She held Covenant’s wedding band in her left hand as though she were testing the weight of her surrender. The fingers of her right gripped the Staff as they had under
Melenkurion
Skyweir; as if they were still cramped and sealed by pain and blood.

Extending her arms toward the Harrow cost her an effort so severe that she feared it might burst a vessel in her brain. His grin stretched into a shape that resembled madness or murder as he reached out to accept the instruments he craved.

A new voice stopped him: a voice that she had never heard before. Its pitch lay midway between the Theomach’s light assurance and the Harrow’s ripe bass, and it lisped slightly, giving each word a foppish timbre.

“For this I have come.”

The Harrow jerked up his head, already glaring in surprise and indignation. Snatching at their weapons, the Giants and Mahrtiir whirled to face the newcomer. While Liand stared, Stave adjusted his protective posture at Linden’s shoulder.

She dropped her arms as though her burdens had become too heavy for her. Then she turned.

Into the vale from the north rode a stranger. He was mounted on a mangy, shovel-headed horse so spavined that it should have been unable to support his improbable bulk. In spite of its gaunt ribs and sagging spine, however, the beast looked irascible enough to be a mule; and it bore its rider with an air of sideways malice, as if it had been waiting indefinitely for its chance to do him harm.

But Linden spared only a glance for the horse. Its rider compelled her attention.

Her first impression was one of grotesque corpulence; but then she saw that his apparent size was exaggerated by his apparel. He seemed to be clad entirely in ribbands: thousands of them in every conceivable hue and texture. Garish in the
krill
’s light, they fluttered and streamed from his head, his limbs, his torso, as if they were constantly unwinding themselves without ever quite flying loose. Independent of the night’s stillness and his own movements, they flapped in all directions, surrounding him like a penumbra of wind-tugged cloth; a personal effluvium of cerise and incarnadine and carbuncle, ecru and ivory, turquoise and viridian and azure, blue as deep as velvet, yellows ranging from the fulvous and the sulphuric to the palest gold.

His hands were bare: they grappled with the reins of his mount as if he had never ridden before. And his face also was exposed, revealing eyes wide with perpetual astonishment, a nose like a luxuriant toadstool, and lips too plump for any explanation except gluttony. Wrapped in waving layers, several chins may have wobbled below his jaw, shaken by the lurching gait of his mount; but his garb muffled such details.

A cacophony of ribbands and colors, he approached the group around Linden and the Harrow until he was near enough to be struck down by one of the Swordmainnir. Then he hauled his recalcitrant horse to a halt.

“
You
,” spat the Harrow in obvious recognition. “Was the Mahdoubt’s doom insufficient to warn away your folly? Do you covet the decline of your beloved flesh to carrion?”

The newcomer ignored the Harrow. Facing Linden past Stave and two of the Giants, he twirled his arms and ribbands, apparently bowing. “Lady,” he announced in a tone like his fat, “by good chance I am timely arrived.” His lisp detracted from his attempt at dignity. “There are matters which must be considered ere your bargain with the Harrow is sealed.”

While she stared at him, he continued, “With your gracious consent, I will make myself known to you.” Holding up one finger as if to test the direction of a breeze which she could not feel—or perhaps to warn the Harrow against speaking—he said, “I am the Ardent. As you have doubtless surmised, I am of the Insequent. Indeed, I share some slight kinship with the Harrow. Unlike him, however, I am an acolyte—if such as the Insequent may be said to have acolytes—of the Mahdoubt. I lack both her kindliness and her arduous knowledge of Time. Also I lay no claim to her manifest valor. Yet I esteem her example highly. So great is my esteem, indeed, that I follow her as I would a guide, though even the most casual glance at my person will discern that I require no guidance.”

His otiose self-confidence made him sound ludicrous.

“That, at least,” grumbled the Harrow, “is a form of sooth. Prepare a feast within a hundred leagues of the Ardent, and you will find him at table ere the first course is presented.”

In response, the Ardent waggled his finger, now clearly cautioning the Harrow to silence—and clearly expecting the Harrow to comply.

“Lady,” he added, “you may regard me as a friend.” Each word was a dollop of cream. “Doubtless there are those who deem that the Insequent know nothing of friendship. And doubtless they have cause for their conviction. You, however, will think otherwise. You have known the discretion and regard of the Theomach, he whom the Harrow seeks to displace as the greatest of our kind. Also you have been served as both friend and ally by the Mahdoubt. You will grant me leave to demonstrate that my nature is as benignant as hers, though her wisdom and fortitude elude me.”

Liand put his hand on Linden’s arm, but did not ask for her attention. Rather he seemed to touch her to remind himself that he and she, at least, remained solid; that they had not wandered inadvertently into the illimitable possibilities of dreams—

“Here is a wonder indeed,” exclaimed Rime Coldspray softly. “Had we any prospect of continued life, we would hear such tales gladly wheresoever we sailed—aye, and count ourselves fortunate to do so.”

“Enough!” demanded the Harrow darkly. “Name your desires and depart, fatuous one. You cannot be madman enough to intend interference. Therefore your presence serves no purpose, and your words waste the hearing of them.”

The Ardent did not deign to reply. Instead he flapped his upraised hand, and at once a long streamer extended itself from his habiliments toward the Harrow. The ribband had a niveous color as it fluttered away from the Ardent, but wafting it modulated to match the Harrow’s dun-and-loam hues. Although it remained anchored among the rest of the Ardent’s coverings, it lengthened quickly. And when it reached the Harrow, it began to wind around his head, floating nearer and nearer until it looked like it would soon cover and seal his face; his eyes or his mouth.

Reflexively Linden held her breath. Was it possible? Could the Ardent
suffocate
the Harrow? With a strip of
cloth
?

They were both men, as human as she was. Only their arcane studies gave them theurgy.

Liand’s fingers dug into her arm. The Giants watched open-mouthed, as if they were torn between amusement and alarm.

For a moment, the Harrow slapped at the ribband furiously. But it evaded him, as illusive as a swarm of gnats. Abruptly he stopped swatting, dropped his hands to his doublet. His fingers began forming strange shapes on the ornaments of his garment.

“Paugh!” the Ardent snorted in plump disdain. “Rub not your beads at me. You deem yourself worthy to determine the fate of the Earth. Very well. I will speak to you while the lady strives to gather her wits.”

Briefly his ribband twisted itself into a shape that mocked the Harrow. Then it withdrew to resume swaddling its wearer.

Assuming an air of lugubrious portent, the Ardent explained, “The Insequent are cognizant of your purpose. Also we perceive that the destruction of all things gathers against us. Indeed, some among us foretell that much depends upon the worth of your oath and the outcome of your desires. And many centuries of study have taught us that it is the nature of avarice to mislead. One who is driven by greed—as I acknowledge that I am—may speak sooth to disguise sooth. If you are permitted to do so, you may abide by your oath and yet betray the lady, for she cannot comprehend the omissions concealed within your words.

“Therefore I am come, bearing in my person the conjoined resolve of our kind. This in itself is of vast import, as I am. Heretofore no cause or exigency has lured the Insequent as a race from the solitary study and hunger which alone enables our multifarious accomplishments. Yet we crave life, as life itself craves continuance, and the utter termination of every desire and appetite has now been made imminent. If the Earth falls, no Insequent will remain to mourn its passing. For this reason, as we would for no lesser cause, we have set aside our solitude, that we may unite our intent in my person. I embody all that has made of our kind who we are.

“As sigil and emblem that I am the authorized emissary of the Insequent, I proffer this hint of my powers.”

Around his head, ribbands twined and waved as if of their own volition, seeming to grow first longer and then shorter as they fluttered like the language of an obscure ritual. Limned in argence, they performed a florid masque. Then, before Linden—or the Harrow, apparently—could guess what this display might mean, the Harrow’s destrier vanished between his legs.

Deprived of his mount, he fell heavily to the greensward; landed with an involuntary grunt and a bitter obscenity.

The laughter of the Giants stoked his anger as he sprang to his feet. Linden expected him to summon a counterattack of some kind. Instead of striking out, however, he merely adjusted his doublet, restored his chlamys to its insouciant angle across his shoulders. Although his aura fumed hotly, he seemed to see something in the Ardent’s magicks that was invisible to Linden; something that compelled restraint.