Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (86 page)

“And Liand tends me well,” he said: a brittle rustling like the sound of dried leaves in a breeze. “I will not impose my garland upon you by perishing.”

Shamed in spite of her exhaustion, Linden found somewhere enough gentle fire to stop the Manethrall’s bleeding and grant him sleep. For years, she had wept too easily. She wanted to weep now. But she could not. Her stone heart held no tears.

The Sandgorgons departed a short time later; pelted avidly into the east as if they were eager for more destruction. Presumably they were returning to their host. And when they were gone, Esmer reappeared.

He still wore his wounds and his shredded raiment. Perhaps his many powers did not include the ability to

heal himself.

He did not approach Linden. He spoke to no one. Indeed, he seemed unaware that anyone watched him as he sent waves of force through the ground to gather up corpses: Cavewights and kresh; slain villagers. Intimidated by powers beyond their comprehension, the Woodhelvennin did not object.

Whrany’s body he took as well: he made no distinctions among the fallen.

Linden expected protests from the Ramen, but they said nothing. Even the Ranyhyn did not interfere. Instead the great horses called a kind of farewell, at once haunting and brazen, to their lost herd-mate; and Bhapa and Pahni bowed their foreheads to the ground.

When Esmer had pulled all of the dead together into a bitter mound, he called down lightning to set the pile ablaze. Then he wrapped the acrid reek of

burning flesh and blood around him and vanished again. However, he left enough of his eerie force behind to keep the flames of the pyre roaring. Linden guessed that the fire would not burn down until it had consumed every scrap of slaughtered flesh.

Black smoke, viscid as oil, and sour as the fumes of a midden, rolled skyward. Fortunately the breeze tugged it away from the survivors. That, too, may have been Esmer’s doing.

As soon as Cail’s son removed himself, Stave returned to Linden. He said nothing about Esmer or the Sandgorgons. And she asked him nothing. Perhaps Esmer was grieved by the cost of the battle. Perhaps the Sandgorgons had gone to lead their host to Doriendor Corishev. It made no difference.

Taking Stave with her, she let him care for her with water, springwine, and a little food while she exerted frail flames

of Earthpower and Law among the Woodhelvennin.

She still had done nothing for the Ranyhyn. But Liand had added his efforts to Pahni’s and Bhapa’s. And the horses absorbed the white brilliance of his Sunstone gratefully. Earthpower in that form did not heal them; but they appeared to draw a different sustenance from it, as they did from amanibhavam, so that they became stronger in spite of their hurts.

Somewhere in the distance, Linden heard insistent whinnying. But she ignored it, and after a while it stopped. She did not grasp what it signified until Vernigil and a few villagers approached her bearing fired clay bowls redolent with the salvific savor of hurtloam. Apparently Hyn, Rhohm, and Naharahn had galloped away to search along the brook for the healing sand. They had found a small vein in the washed streambed.

Vernigil’s condition had improved visibly. Already some of the damage to his mangled leg had begun to repair itself. Yet Linden did not imagine that the Master had availed himself of the hurtloam’s benison. Rather he had benefited from the humble act of carrying it.

The Woodhelvennin accompanying him were full of astonishment. They must have used their hands to scoop up the spangled sand; and Earthpower

had come to life within them, banishing the pall of Kevin’s Dirt. Now for the first time in their lives-the first time in unnumbered generations-they were able to see. They could not yet understand what had happened to them. Nevertheless they had been transformed.

Finally Linden allowed herself to rest. She touched the tip of one finger to the hurtloam, let its sovereign potency spread through her. Then she sank to

the dirt and covered her face, leaving Stave and Vernigil to instruct the tree-dwellers in the use of the Land’s largesse.

Later, she recovered enough to wonder why the Masters had permitted the Woodhelvennin to experience Earthpower; to discover health-sense and know what they had been denied.

In addition to the unremitting stench of the pyre, she smelled cooking. When she sat up and looked around, she saw that many of the villagers were busy at fires, using boughs and branches from their homes for fuel. Inspired, perhaps, by the miraculous recovery of their maimed and dying friends and families, they had emerged from their dismay to perform the necessary tasks of staying alive.

When she had observed them for a

while, Linden saw that they were being organized by an old couple, the same man and woman whom she had aided at Hyn’s insistence. She had not truly healed them: she had merely postponed their deaths. But they must have shared in the unequivocal efficacy of hurtloam. Although they were fragile and hurt, they walked among their neighbors, still holding hands as they sorted the Woodhelvennin into cooperating teams.

Hyn stood near Linden, watching over her rider. And soon after Linden sat up, Liand came to join her. Squatting comfortably on the shale and grit, he studied her for a moment to assure himself that she was physically unharmed. Then he, too, turned his attention to the villagers.

“I am told,” he remarked quietly, “that the elders who lead them are named Heers. The customs of Woodhelvennin are strange to me.” He gave Linden a

wry smile. “I had not known that such folk inhabited the Land. But ‘by right of years and attainment—he quoted Handir good-naturedly-“Karnis and his mate, Quilla, are the Heers of First Woodhelven. You did well to redeem their lives, Linden. They command respect among their people which the Masters do not. Vernigil nearly

perished in their defense. His companion was slain. Nonetheless here the Masters appear to lack some increment of their stature in Mithil

Stonedown. It was Karnis and Quilla rather than Vernigil who truly roused these folk from their bereavement.”

Linden sighed. The tree must have been wonderful. I wish I could have seen it. Maybe it affected them. Maybe they knew in their bones that the Land isn’t as”-she grimaced reflexively-“as superficial as the Masters wanted them to believe.”

The Masters had spent many centuries

teaching the villagers to be unprepared for the peril and loss which had befallen them.

Yet now Stave’s kinsmen had recanted? She did not believe it. Decades of caesures had not swayed the Masters: the terrible magicks of the Demondim and the Illearth Stone had not moved them. So why had Vernigil and the Humbled allowed the Woodhelvennin to touch hurtloam?

To some extent, she understood the Harrow.
am able to convey you to your son. The actions of Esmer, Roger, and moksha Jehannum seemed explicable. But the Masters baffled her.p>

As the villagers prepared food, or searched through the grove’s debris for the supplies that they would need in order to reach Revelstone, the sun sank toward late afternoon, drawing stark shadows across the stained ground. With Liand’s help, Linden

climbed wearily to her feet and went to check on the condition of her friends.

She was relieved to see that the Ranyhyn also had been given the benefit of hurtloam. The worst of their injuries were mending with remarkable celerity. Soon they would be able to bear their riders again.

And Mahrtiir and Bhapa had been treated with the gold-flecked sand as well. Although the Cord moved stiffly,

and would no doubt feel the ache of his saft ribs for days, he was free of infection; no longer bleeding. Since the Ranyhyn no longer needed care, he and Pahni watched over their Manethrall.

Blessed by hurtloam, Mahrtiir slept deeply, and all of his wounds showed signs of swift healing. With strips of clean wool, the Cords had bandaged his gouged forehead and nose, as well as several deep slashes in his limbs

and along his ribs. But first they had washed his eye sockets and cuts, removing dirt and chipped bone. Linden’s health-sense assured her that he would live.

How his blindness would affect him was a different question.

Sighing again, she scanned the area for Anele. At first, she failed to spot him. But then Liand pointed at one of the cooking fires, and Linden saw the

old man there amid a busy cluster of Woodhelvennin. He had dismounted beside the flames: apparently he was eager to eat. She felt a moment of trepidation on his behalf until she realized that Stave was with him. Gently but firmly, Stave kept Anele on the sheet of slate which protected him from Kastenessen.

Thank God, Linden thought wanly. Thank God for friends. Without Liand, Stave, and the Ramen—without Anele

and the Ranyhyn and the MandoubtŹshe would have been lost a long time ago. And all of her choices seemed to attract new enemies.

She must be doing something right.

Stave seemed to feel her gaze. When he had spoken to the villagers, presumably asking them to guard Anele, he left the fire to approach Linden and Liand.

The pyre was gradually burning itself out. But its grim smoke still tarnished the air, and Linden gauged that it would not sink down to coals until after nightfall.

As Stave drew near, she looked around for the Humbled. They stood like sentinels at separate points around the fringe of the lowland where the tree-dwellers were preparing to spend the night. They were too far away for her to see their faces, but even at this

distance she could feel the

concentrated harm of their untended wounds. It made them appear as forlorn as outcasts in spite of their unrelenting stoicism.

Stave greeted her with a deep bow which she accepted because she was too weary to refuse it. Still studying the Humbled, she said, “I’ve seen Vernigil. He got a little healing, whether he wanted it or not. But what about them? Will they be all right?”

Stave did not glance at his former comrades. They are Haruchai. None of their hurts are mortal. And we are not prone to the corruption which devours flesh and life. They will not regain their full prowess for some days. But if we are spared a renewed assault-” With a shrug, he fell silent.

If Roger did not return with more Cavewights. If the Sandgorgons marched on Doriendor Corishev or the skurj instead of preferring easier

victims, more immediate slaughter. If the Harrow did not appear again, drawing Esmer’s storms with him. If moksha Raver could not gather more kresh.

If Kastenessen did not send his monsters—

Damn it. Linden would have to learn how to wield Covenant’s ring. The Staff of Law was not enough.

Grimly she muttered, “Then I guess we should hope that driving the Harrow away will be enough to satisfy Kastenessen and Roger,” Jehannum and Lord Foul. “At least for the time being.”

Liand winced. “Since the fall of Kevin’s Watch,” he admitted. “we have known incessant peril-and still I am not accustomed to it. I had not considered the likelihood of further battles”-he glanced around him-“or the

vulnerability of these Woodhelvennin when we are parted from them.”

Linden rested a hand on his shoulder, as much to steady herself as to reassure him; but she did not reply. Instead she asked Stave. “Can you tell me why they haven’t interfered’?” With a nod, she indicated Clyme, Galt, and Branl. “Your people have worked long and hard to keep anyone from knowing about Earthpower. But now dozens of ordinary villagers have felt hurtloam.

Temporarily, at least, they’re free of Kevin’s Dirt. And they won’t forget what it feels like. Why didn’t the Masters try to prevent that? What made them change their minds?’

Was it possible that events had forced a chink in the intransigence of Stave’s kinsmen?

But Stave shook his head. “Other matters aside, no Haruchai would willingly oppose the clear wishes of the

Ranyhyn. Yet the Masters have altered neither their thoughts nor their

commitments. They merely acknowledge that this disturbance of their service surpassed prevention. They could not have forestalled the battle, or the unveiling of powers unknown to the Woodhelvennin. By the measure of those forces, any experience of hurtloam and health-sense is a slight consideration.

“Also they acknowledge that they have

failed.” Stave’s tone seemed to harden. “To prevent the misuse of Earthpower is but one aspect of their stewardship. Another is to preserve the Land’s peoples. The Masters do not fault themselves for their inability to defeat the forces arrayed against them. But when they have failed, their Mastery does not require that others must suffer. They accept no ease for their wounds because they have chosen the path of their service. They do not regret its cost. But the Woodhelvennin did not

choose. Therefore they are not asked to share the cost.”

After a moment, he added, “When they have entered Revelstone, they will not be permitted to depart.”

Linden swore under her breath. But she did not protest. She had done so often enough, to no avail. Instead she said, “I still don’t understand, but that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful. These people have a long way to go. They’re

going to need all the compassion that they can get.”

“Indeed,” assented Liand fervently.

“So tell me that I’m doing the right thing,” she continued. “Tell me that we don’t have to help them reach Revelstone. I need to get to Andelain. We’ve already lost a day here. But these poor people-“

“They will not be assailed,” Stave

stated without hesitation. “There is no gain in their deaths for the Land’s foes. Neither Esmer nor the Harrow appears inclined to harm those who wield no power. And the Unbeliever’s son, his Cavewights, the skurj, and the Sandgorgons, all remain in the east. As we journey toward Andelain, we will ride between them and the Woodhelvennin, and will pose a far greater threat. Thus only the hazard of the kresh remains. But the carnage among them was extreme. If moksha

Raver does not compel them, they will not soon crave human flesh.

“At another time, any Raver might revel in the slaughter of the helpless. But we seek Corruption’s doom. And you bear powers sufficient to endanger him. As we distance ourselves from the Woodhelvennin, we will draw moksha Jehannum after us.”