Against All Things Ending (29 page)

Surging erect, she kicked furiously at the marred section of the gnarled arm; stomped with the heel of her boot.

Her blow skidded aside. Her own momentum flung her forward. When one kneecap hit the travertine, she felt the bone crack.

Enlivened by Earthpower, her nerves sensed the first flicker of wild magic as the Harrow began to invoke Covenant’s ring. The bastard was going to
win
—

In spite of her pain, Linden kicked again. Hardly aware of what she did, she started screaming the Seven Words.

“
Melenkurion abatha!
”

Her second blow struck squarely.

“
Duroc minas mill!
”

Her third broke a chunk as large as her fist out of Jeremiah’s construct.

“
Harad khabaal!
”

At once, the inherent power of the construct failed. The ridges lost their darkness. Swiftly the travertine lapsed to a more natural grey.

Staggering, Linden faced a throng of
skest
.

She barely had time to draw breath, blink tears from her vision, gasp at the agony in her knee. Then Roger Covenant arrived, shedding his glamour directly behind the Harrow.

Ecstatic with triumph, Roger shouted, “SUCK-er!”

Magma blared from his right fist as he punched fury straight through the center of the Harrow’s back.

For an instant, the Harrow gaped at Kastenessen’s hand; at the charred wound where Roger’s fist emerged from his chest. He seemed unable to comprehend what had become of him. Then Roger snatched back his arm; and the Insequent fell dead.

The Staff and Covenant’s ring dropped from his hands.

Chittering incomprehensibly, the
skest
drew back. Commanded by Roger or the
croyel
, they cleared a space around Roger, Jeremiah, the Harrow’s corpse. If more of them waited in the corridors, they did not press into the chamber.

Linden’s health-sense had evaporated again, but she was in too much pain to notice the difference. Roger was
here
. All he had to do now was bend down and pick up his father’s ring. The
skest
had given him room. He could claim the Staff of Law at the same time, if he wanted it.

His victory would be complete.

Linden had done what she could—and it was too little. She had broken the spell of Jeremiah’s construct. Surely now the
Elohim
were able to discern his location? Roger she had expected in some fashion. But she had also believed that at least one of the scattered
Elohim
would care enough to intervene. Or if none of Infelice’s people responded, Kastenessen would—or Esmer—

Here Roger and the
croyel
could combine their powers. They could escape through time and distance, as they had done before.

Yet no
Elohim
came. Esmer did not.

And the Ardent had failed the will of the Insequent. Liand was severely injured: he may have been dying. Anele had fled. The rest of Linden’s companions were held in thrall by the astonishment of the palace.

Sobbing at the scream in her knee, she dove headlong toward Liand’s
orcrest
.

If the Sunstone reawakened even a few tiny glints of her percipience, she would be able to reach out for Earthpower and Law. She did not need to hold the Staff in order to use it: not now. She needed only a small spattering of health-sense—

A body hurtled past her into the chamber. She had no idea who or what it was. Pain and desperation blinded her to everything except
orcrest
. She hardly heard Roger’s eager roar of defiance.

When her straining fingers closed on the Sunstone, she felt nothing. Nothing at all. The
orcrest
was only a lump of rock. She could not
see
it; could not touch its true vitality.

A surge of absolute despair broke over her: a crashing wave. Then it receded. She was too frantic to drown in it, or to be swept away.

Wrenching herself into a sitting position, she cocked her arm to hurl the Sunstone at Roger’s head: the last throw of a woman whose fate was written in water.

Covenant’s ring still lay amid a tumble of chain near Jeremiah’s bare feet. The runed ebony length of the Staff rested an arm’s length away. Roger had not claimed either instrument.

He had not had time.

Through a blaze of argent, Linden saw Thomas Covenant.

Somehow he had emerged from his memories; had shrugged off the enchantment of the palace. He must have sensed Roger’s power, or the
croyel
’s; must have realized that Linden needed him.

Braced in the act of trying to slash downward with Loric’s
krill
, Covenant confronted his son. He gripped the dagger in both fists, apparently striving to cripple or sever Kastenessen’s hand. But Roger had blocked his father’s cut with a blast of heat and scoria. Straining to strike, Covenant stood with his blade embedded in the furnace of Roger’s power.

They had not touched each other physically: their blows met in the air between them. Roger’s pyrotic theurgy held Covenant’s blade in a grip of crimson and sulphur, as fluid and fatal as lava. Covenant answered with the salvific possibilities of wild magic channeled and focused by High Lord Loric’s mighty lore. The
krill
’s pure gem was an expanding cynosure of incandescence.

Too
much
incandescence. Linden did not need health-sense to guess that Joan was pouring out her madness, trying to hurt the man who had been her husband. Somehow Joan—or
turiya
Herem—had recognized Covenant’s grip on the
krill
, Covenant’s intention. While he struggled against their son, she wielded her own ring in an effort to incinerate him.

She could not attack him directly. She was not present; and her own plight hampered her. But if she unleashed enough wild magic through the gem, she might make the
krill
so hot that it burned the flesh from his bones.

And Roger’s power was the essence of the
skurj
multiplied by Kastenessen’s immense might. Even a Giant could not have endured such heat.

Leprosy aggravated the numbness in Covenant’s fingers. The Ardent had bandaged his hands in garish strips of magic and knowledge. The handle of the
krill
was wrapped in vellum. Yet the vehemence directed at him was too great. Linden watched in horror as the vellum charred and curled, cracking into flickers of flame. For a moment, the Ardent’s bandages resisted. Then they, too, began to smolder.

Wailing, the
skest
crowded back against the walls. The
croyel
appeared to be searching for an opportunity to attack.

“Hell and
blood
, Roger!” Covenant shouted: a cry thick with excruciation. “You don’t have to
do
this! There are better answers!”

“What makes you think I
want
your answers?” Roger retorted, fierce as scoria. “You’re done being the hero,
Dad
!” He made “Dad” sound like a vile obscenity. “It’s time somebody put you in your place! I’m just glad that somebody is going to be
me
!”

The
krill
’s brilliance nearly blinded Linden. Its echo of wild magic was too bright to be borne. God! she thought, oh, God, there must be
caesures
all across the Land, Joan is trying to bring down the Arch by herself—Sudden flames undid the bandages from Covenant’s hands. Soon he would be too badly hurt to hold the
krill
.

In an argent blur cruelly tainted with crimson and malice, Linden saw another figure sprint into the chamber. Indistinct amid the squall of magicks, Stave leapt as if he meant to join Covenant’s battle. But he did not. Instead he stretched out in the air, landed full-length on the stone. His momentum carried him, skidding, beneath the conflagration of Kastenessen’s hand and Joan’s ring and Loric’s
krill
.

Covenant withstood Roger’s assault because Joan’s efforts increased the
krill
’s puissance. Nevertheless Covenant’s flesh was dying. His protections were gone: flames ate at his fingers. Only the reek of Roger’s magma masked the odor of burning meat.

Roger’s concentration was fixed on his father: the
croyel
’s was not. The creature’s gaze resembled howling as it raised Jeremiah’s arm to hurl hate like boulders down on Stave.

Yet Stave had taken the
croyel
by surprise. Before it could unleash its blast, he collided with the Harrow’s body. A thrust of Stave’s arms shoved the dead Insequent at Jeremiah.

The unexpected impact swept Jeremiah’s feet out from under him. He fell awkwardly atop the Harrow, disrupting the
croyel
’s magicks.

Through Jeremiah, the
croyel
clutched at Stave; failed to catch him. Stave was too swift. Snatching up Covenant’s ring, he rolled aside, evading Jeremiah’s hands—

—rolled onto and over the Staff of Law.

Then Linden thought that she heard Stave shout her name. From the core of the clashing theurgies, she seemed to see a black shaft like a spear arc through the air toward her as though it had been aimed at her chest.

She dropped the Sunstone. Pure reflex enabled her to reach out and catch the Staff.

In that instant, she was transformed.

Stave. Of course. When she needed him most.

Of the
Haruchai
, he alone knew how to silence his thoughts. Perhaps that skill—or the discipline to attain it—lessened the entrancement of the palace. He must have felt her absence and broken free when none of her other companions could do so. If he had been bestirred by Anele’s return, he had not paused to rouse anyone else.

The touch of the Staff restored Linden’s health-sense. Earthpower lifted her to her feet. The torn flesh of her fingers and palms seemed to heal itself. Stave had renewed her true heritage, the birthright that she had wrested from her parents’ legacy of despair.

Jeremiah had already clambered upright. The
croyel
was summoning enough wrath to crush every bone in Stave’s body.

Without a heartbeat’s hesitation, Linden flung flame and Law into the fight.

She wanted to hurl her fire everywhere at once. Liand needed her. Covenant needed her urgently. Stave had no defense: not against the
croyel
’s theurgies. The
skest
might advance at any moment, rallied by Roger or the
croyel
. Surely one or both of them would turn their powers against her? If they were given an opportunity, they could transport themselves out of danger.

But she was limited by her mortality. She could not focus on so many perils simultaneously.

Trusting that Stave could fend for himself—that Roger and the
croyel
were done with Liand—that the
skest
were too frightened to advance—Linden threw her desperation at Covenant’s son.

If Covenant’s hands were crippled or burned away, no power known to her would repair them. Like Mahrtiir’s eyes, like Stave’s eye, they would be permanently lost. Covenant would not be able to hold Loric’s
krill
. And he would be in too much pain to call up wild magic from his ring.

Linden wept for her son; but she fought for her former lover.

She had defeated Roger once before. She had faced his ferocity and
croyel
’s together, and had prevailed. But here she was hampered by Kevin’s Dirt. And she could not draw on the supreme energies of the EarthBlood. As soon as Covenant failed—as soon as Roger and the
croyel
joined their strengths against her—she would die. Magma and malevolence would extinguish her.

Yet somehow Covenant endured his agony; his scorched and melting skin. Roger could not aim Kastenessen’s fist at Linden because he was forced to defend himself from his father.

Before the
croyel
could strike at Stave, the
Haruchai
bounded up from the floor. Imponderably swift, he whirled a flying kick at Jeremiah’s head. The creature could not evade him.

But its backward flinch diminished the impact of the kick. Jeremiah’s head snapped sideways: blood and saliva sprayed from his lips: he staggered. Wailing,
skest
scattered to avoid contact with their master. Yet Jeremiah did not go down.

Stave rushed after him. As Jeremiah hit the wall, Stave was poised to deliver a second blow.

A thin stream of blood dribbled from Jeremiah’s mouth. Nonetheless the
croyel
was unharmed. Perhaps no merely physical assault could harm it. Spite and eagerness frothed in its eyes as its fangs bit down harder on Jeremiah’s neck.

Involuntarily Jeremiah jerked up his halfhand—and Stave fell back as though he had crashed into an invisible wall.

He could not hope to defeat the
croyel
. In moments, he would be dead. Briefly, however, he had prevented the creature from aiding Roger against Covenant and Linden.

While she could, Linden poured Staff-fire straight at Roger’s face; at his bitter mockery of his father’s features.

Exalted by runes and blackness, weeping and frenzy, she compelled Roger to turn away from Covenant.

Covenant plunged, helpless, to his knees. Smoke rose from his twisted fingers. But he did not release the
krill
. As if his flesh had melted onto the dagger—had become one with it—he clutched it while he struggled to regain his feet.

Argent still blazed from the
krill
’s gem. But now its incandescence began to falter. Joan’s awareness of him was fading. She was too weak to support
turiya
’s demands on her.

A quick glance told Linden that Covenant’s hands would never be whole again. Given time and peace, she might be able to unclose his fingers from the
krill
without peeling away too much skin. She might be able to straighten them; heal them enough to let them flex. But with her best efforts she would never make them more useful than blunt stumps—