The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One (72 page)

“Come on,” she told Liand and Stave. “If they want us here, they can figure out some way to stop us. Otherwise we're going with Anele.”

At once, Hynyn and Rhohm joined Hyn; and in unison the three Ranyhyn stretched their strides to pursue their companions.

The others had already passed out of sight behind the bulge in the ravine. When Linden, Stave, and Liand reached that point, however, and followed the ascending curve of the streambed beyond it, they spotted Bhapa some distance ahead of them, waiting near a break in the east wall. As they approached, the Cord led them up into the break and darkness.

Its sheer sides, rugged and uncompromising, rose above them. Even at noon, the sun's light did not reach the floor of the break. But the surface had been softened by millennia of weather and runoff. It posed no threat to the footing of the Ranyhyn. They managed the slope at a trot.

Silt and moss swallowed the sounds of their passage. They followed the crooked path unheralded and unforewarned.

Overhead, an arch of granite spanned the walls like a flying buttress. Beyond it, the last twist of the break revealed sunshine splashed across a slow hillside covered with mountain grasses and wildflowers. When Linden and her companions emerged, they found their mounts wading through rich swaths of eglantine, cornflowers, blue columbine, and paintbrush as stark as blood.

There they joined Pahni. She greeted them with a bow, but did not speak. Instead she pointed beyond her toward a wide, low basin surrounded on the east, south, and west by grey cliffs and grass-dappled mountainsides.

When she followed Pahni's gesture, Linden spotted Anele halfway across the bottom of the basin, with Mahrtiir mounted beside him and Hrama trailing nearby.

The old man no longer moved so swiftly. Even at this distance, his weariness was plain. Yet he stumbled onward, half falling from stride to stride, his urgency undiminished.

He may have been unaware of Mahrtiir's presence, and Hrama's.

Mahrtiir could have stopped him, perhaps even placed him on Hrama's back. But the Manethrall seemed content to let Anele labor along on foot, presumably so that he would not run too far ahead of Linden and her companions.

The old man was heading toward the southeastern edge of the basin, where a high pile of boulders sprawled against the base of the mountain. Long ago, monolithic slabs and menhirs must have fallen from the cliffs and broken there. Watching him, she guessed that his former home lay hidden among those massive, ragged stones.

He has no friend
—

If so, he had chosen a lovely spot for his escape from astonishment. The bluff grandeur of the surrounding peaks contrasted dramatically with the profuse fertility of the basin. And it had plenty of water. Several streams tumbled down from the heights, catching the sunlight in a cascade of sparkles, and gathered to form a lively creek which babbled and ran toward the south and east. Anele could have grown food here easily. And in the heavy winters, he could have warmed himself with wood fires and Earthpower.

To Linden's eyes, the whole basin seemed to show the benignant influence of the Staff of Law. Even unused, the Staff's very existence sustained and promoted the natural Law, the essential structures and vitality, of the Land. She herself had formed it for that purpose. In Andelain, she had finally learned to love the Land, and with all her heart she had yearned to preserve and defend its beauty.

The vista ahead of her had the look of a place which had been adored.

Nevertheless an inarticulate foreboding troubled her. The high clouds cast vague shadows across the wildflowers, transforming them from vividness to uncertainty and back again; shedding mute premonitions across the basin. And in the distance, Anele appeared to flounder, hindered by recollections of failure and loss. Suddenly she felt reluctant to follow him. Instead of sending Hyn down into the basin, she remained where she was.

Beside her, Liand leaned forward as if he were eager to discover the future. Both Pahni and Bhapa studied her with puzzlement in their eyes, confused by her hesitation. But she turned from them to Stave, half-consciously seeking to postpone the moment when she would learn whether she herself would fail or succeed; whether she had endangered the Arch of Time for nothing.

“So tell me,” she began awkwardly. “Why did you change your mind?”

She meant, What am I going to do if the Staff isn't there? But she could not ask that question: it searched her too deeply. She would not have trusted anyone except Covenant to hear her without reproach or dismay.

Stave met her gaze, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

Linden wanted to look away, but she did not. “You were planning to leave. You wanted to warn the Masters. God knows you have plenty to tell them. But then you changed your mind.” After the horserite. “I can't help wondering why.”

Stave held her troubled stare. “Chosen,” he replied, “I have elected to accompany you. I will defend you with my life. But I will not account for my choices. I await the proper time and place.

“When it is meet to do so, I will speak of what is in my heart.”

He had promised her a reckoning—

In this time, her need for the Staff was absolute. She could not return to her proper present without entering another Fall. In order to do so, she would first have to create it with wild magic. But whenever she attempted to wield Covenant's ring, its power might scale out of control. In that eventuality, that likely danger, only Law could preserve the Arch.

By entering Esmer's
caesure,
she had created a situation in which any failure or misstep would bring about Lord Foul's victory.

“One matter, however,” Stave added after a moment, “I will explain, for I deem that you are unaware of it.

“We partook of the horserite together, you and I, but we did not share the same vision. That which the Ranyhyn revealed to you, they did not impart to me. Nor did they grant to you that which they wished me to see and understand.”

Linden stared at him. She had assumed that they had participated in the same memories, the same prophecies; that he had seen the same dangers. And she had felt that he had finally become her friend, in spite or because of those dangers.

But she was wrong. The Ranyhyn had given him other insights, other knowledge. He had accompanied her for reasons which he kept from her.

As if he knew what disturbed her, he continued, “They made plain to me that I must not be parted from you. Therefore I will remain your companion until I have discovered or devised an opportunity to consult the will of my people.”

Because she was afraid, she wanted to say something sarcastic; but she refrained. She recognized that he had given her as much reassurance as he could. For the present, at least, she could rely on him.

With that she had to be content.

While she gnawed on her doubts, Liand touched her arm; asked for her attention.
“Linden,” he said tentatively, “Anele and the Manethrall proceed while we delay. Will they not gain the location of this Staff before us? And if they do, is it wise for Anele to hold the Staff? You have explained that any use of such power in this time is perilous.”

Linden sighed to herself. He was right. Hell, even Stave was right. This was not the time or the place—

Nodding to the Stonedownor, she touched Hyn's sides with her heels; and immediately the mare started down into the basin at a swift canter.

Stave and Liand joined her. Hynyn and Rhohm stretched their legs with Hyn's, matching the mare's strides; and the Cords followed a heartbeat behind them. Gathering speed as they went, Linden and her companions followed Anele and Mahrtiir.

Among the wildflowers, butterflies scattered before the swift passage of the Ranyhyn, and occasional bees hummed away in alarm; but she had no attention to spare for them. Liand's words had crystallized her fears into shapes as sharp as knives.

Ahead of her, Anele's stamina was flagging, and Mahrtiir did nothing to hasten him. But they had gained ground while Linden spoke with Stave. Already they were nearing the rocks. Before she could overtake the old man, he found his path among the boulders and stumbled out of sight.

At the edge of the piled monoliths, Mahrtiir dismounted, leaving the horses behind in order to accompany Anele.

Moments seemed to stretch out ahead of Linden, longer than the strides of the Ranyhyn. Despite the breeze of their passage, the air between the mountains felt viscid and still; cloying. Yet the great horses were wonderfully swift. If she had not hesitated earlier, she might have caught up with Anele before he reached his goal.

Then finally the riders thudded to a halt beside Hrama and Mahrtiir's mount. In a rush, Linden slipped from Hyn's back; stumbled running toward the rocks.

There, however, she faltered: she could not find Anele's path. Every gap and cranny between the boulders looked the same to her, truncated and depthless, leading nowhere. But Stave sprang ahead of her. His sight was keener than hers, and he must have identified the place where Anele had entered the pile.

Past a leaning slab of granite which appeared to rest squarely against still larger stones, he found a gap like a crevice just wide enough to admit him. Without hesitation, he moved into it.

“Follow the Bloodguard, Ringthane,” Bhapa offered encouragingly. “The Manethrall has marked the path.”

Linden saw no indications among the boulders; but she believed the Cord implicitly—and did not doubt Stave's instincts. Hurrying, she began to make her way between the stones.

His passage through the
caesure
had not restored Anele's mind. If he found the Staff, he might be made whole; or he might lose himself completely.

Deep behind the slab, another gap appeared, a crooked aisle between monoliths propped against each other. Only shafts and streaks of sunlight penetrated the pile, leaving much of the way shrouded in gloom. Beyond Stave's dark shoulders, however, Linden saw flickering hints of light, dancing flames. And when she reached the end of the aisle, she found herself in the mouth of a cave like an entombed tunnel. The rock-fall had concealed the entrance without burying it.

Mahrtiir met her there, holding a torch that burned hotly, dried almost to tinder by age. The rough wood must have hurt his scorched palms, but he ignored the pain.

Linden ran a few steps to catch at Stave's arm, hold him back. Then she panted to Mahrtiir, “Anele—?”

“He goes ahead,” answered the Manethrall. “This was once a dwelling, though many years have passed since it served that purpose. When I discovered torchwood, I returned to assist you. He will be not be lost. The signs of his passing”—Mahrtiir indicated the disturbed dirt of the floor—“will guide us.”

Still gripping Stave's arm, Linden pushed the Raman ahead of her. As they strode down the throat of the cave, she asked, “How big is this place?”

“I know not, Ringthane,” Mahrtiir replied. “Mayhap it extends for leagues. But the place of habitation is near.” He hesitated briefly, then added, “If the old man once dwelt here, he abandoned it long ago. However, others have also entered.”

Linden's heart thudded. “Others—?”

“Time and dust have obscured the marks of their feet,” Mahrtiir told her. The light of his torch cast grotesque shadows across his features. “I cannot determine their kind or number. Nor am I able to declare when they entered and departed. I am certain only that they have preceded us by years or decades.”

Oh, God. Suddenly the darkness ahead of her seemed crowded with catastrophes. Memories of the ordeal of the Fall mocked her as she started forward again.

Then the gullet of the cave opened into a larger space like a chamber in the rock. By the unsteady torchlight, Linden saw the signs of habitation: they seemed to flicker in and out of existence as the flames gusted and leaned.

A neat pile that might once have been bedding lay against one wall. Even in the cave's dry atmosphere, however, much of the fabric of the blankets and the stuffing of the mattress had rotted away. The rest had been gnawed apart by vermin.

Opposite it stood a trestle table and three-legged stool, both precariously balanced on legs as brittle as twigs. Another, smaller table held clay urns and amphorae for storage, most of which were still intact, although one amphora had slumped to mud, dissolved from within by its contents, and an urn had cracked open, spilling husks of grain like dust across the table.

Near the bed, Linden saw the remains of a large wicker basket which may once have held clothing, but which now contained only nests for mice. A scattering of faggots
obviously intended as torches lay on the floor. From them, Pahni and Bhapa took sticks and lit them at Mahrtiir's torch, adding their light to his.

As they did so, threatening shadows writhed and gibbered across the ceiling.

Lastly Linden noticed a tidy stone hearth designed as much for warmth as for cooking. At one time, its fires had spread soot up the wall behind it; but now most of the black had flaked away, leaving behind bare packed dirt and stone.

Nothing else remained to indicate that Anele, son of Sunder and Hollian, and inheritor of the Staff of Law, had ever lived here.