Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (109 page)

Now she wondered if she had ever slept so deeply here, or felt so refreshed. Her previous nights among the Hills had been troubled ones. Involuntarily she remembered the

spectre of Kevin Landwaster.

Tormented by despair, the former High Lord had implored her to halt the Unbeliever’s mad intent. Kevin had believed that the Despiser’s cruelty had broken Covenant.

His purpose is the work of Despite. He must not be permitted.

Similar things had been said about Linden.

Yet Kevin had been wrong. Covenant’s surrender had secured the Arch of Time. With sunshine on her face and Andelain’s beneficence like chrism in her veins, Linden could believe that those who feared her capacity for darkness were also wrong.

She can do this. And there’s no one else who can even make the attempt.

The Hills were safe. She and her friends had survived to reach this place

of luxuriance and health. Now she was ready for the outcome of her choices. When she reached the krill—

Around the ashes of the caamora, some of the Giants were awake. The others stirred, roused by the quiet murmurs of their comrades. Liand still slept; but Pahni and Bhapa had risen to walk the greensward with their Manethrall, gathering treasure-berries. Stave and the Humbled guarded the rest of the company from perils which

no longer threatened them. They looked as poised and vigilant as ever, like men who did not need rest and had never experienced fatigue. One night in Andelain had healed their lingering hurts.

There was no sign of Longwrath. If he remained hidden near the border of Salva Gildenbourne, Linden could not detect him. Like Anele, apparently, he was terrified by anything which endangered the hermetic logic of his

madness. Therefore he feared the Wraiths. If their touch amended his insanity, he would remember the consequences of his deeds.

Sighing, Linden set the ramifications of Longwrath’s dilemma aside. Anele had not been refused by the Wraiths. That meant more to her than Longwrath’s desire for her death. She could hope that Anele might find a measure of solace among his Dead.

When Stonemage saw that Linden was awake, the woman nudged Liand. His eyes sparkled with anticipation as he sat up.

Escorted unnecessarily by Stave, Linden walked down the slope to drink from the stream. Then she washed her face and hands and arms. The water ran cleanly now, free of the tumbling detritus of the previous day’s storm; and its chill tang sharpened her senses.

A handful of aliantha completed her preparations. While her companions ate enough to sustain them, she asked Stave how long it would take to reach the krill.

In two days, we will gain the Soulsease,” he replied. if you are borne by the Giants, and they do not weary themselves running. Loric’s krill stands little more than half a league to the south of the river.”

Linden frowned. She was more than ready: she was eager. And Jeremiah had already spent far too much time in torment. “Damn it,” she muttered. “Isn’t there some way that we can go faster?

“Don’t misunderstand me.” She

included Coldspray in her appeal. “I’m grateful to be here. I’m grateful for everything that you’ve done. I can’t remember the last time that we weren’t in danger. This is Andelain. We ought to relax and enjoy it.

“But I need my son.” She needed Thomas Covenant. “I have to be able to save him. And for that, I need power,” a weapon which would transcend her inadequacy. “I don’t know how I can stand waiting for two more days.”

Coldspray’s chagrin was plain as she contemplated more haste. The Swordmainnir had already run most of the way from The Grieve. And they had lost two of their comrades: they had lost Longwrath. Protests clouded her

gaze as she searched for a reply.

But Stave held up a hand to forestall the Giant. Instead of answering Linden, he turned to Mahrtiir.

For a long moment, he and the Manethrall appeared to study each other, although Mahrtiir had no eyes and one of Stave’s was gone. Then Mahrtiir cleared his throat.

“Ringthane-” he began carefully. “We

parted from the Ranyhyn in order that they might be spared from the skurj. It is well that we did so. But now that danger has passed. And they are Ranyhyn, capable of much which defies comprehension. They could not have borne us safely in Salva Gildenbourne. Yet you cannot question that they are able to rejoin us in Andelain.

“Then it will not be we who slow the long strides of the Giants. Rather it will

be they who limit our pace.”

The Ranyhyn-Caught by

astonishment, Linden stared at him. Hyn! God, yes.

She yearned to arrive by nightfall, when the Dead might walk among the trees and copses and lucent rivulets of Andelain.

“Linden,” Liand put in. “is this wise? We did not quit the Ranyhyn solely to

preserve them from the skurj. We sought also to spare them an arduous passage through Salva Gildenbourne. And we have been less than two days separated from them. Surely they-” He faltered, then finished more strongly. They are Ranyhyn, but they are also flesh and bone. If you summon them, will they not suffer in the attempt to answer?”

While Linden hesitated, Mahrtiir said gruffly, “Do not speak when you are

ignorant, Stonedownor. The Ranyhyn are beasts of Earthpower, as precious to the Land as Andelain.” Beneath the surface, he appeared to wrestle with the pain of knowing that he would never again gaze upon the great horses. “If they are summoned, they will find a path and come, ready to bear those riders whom they have chosen.

“Also,” he added. “the Ringthane has good cause to seek swiftness. Her own need is exceeded only by the plight of

her son, and by the Land’s doom.”

For a moment, Liand seemed unconvinced. But then Pahni tucked her arm through his, held him tightly. When he saw her reassuring smile, his apprehension eased.

Rime Coldspray peered down at Mahrtiir and Stave; at Linden; at Liand. “Limit your pace?” she growled. “That I will not credit until I have witnessed it-and even then I will require

corroboration.”

Two or three of her Swordmainnir chuckled.

Slowly a combative grin bared the lronhand’s teeth. Are we not Giants? And do we not welcome wonders? The Manethrall of the Ramen has inspired in me a wish to behold these Ranyhyn. If they merit the service of the Ramen, they are worthy indeed.” She glanced around at her comrades. When they

nodded, she said, “We are loath to hasten in Andelain, where every view is balm to the worn of heart. But we have endured much to come so far. One day more will not daunt us.”

Linden’s heart lifted. Quickly she urged. “Stave? I can’t whistle the way you do.”

He complied with a bow. Facing Andelain and the west as if he had turned his back on a silent debate

among the Humbled, he put his fingers to his mouth and let out a piercing call.

Three times he whistled. Then he fell silent.

For moments that seemed long to Linden, she heard no reply. She had time to doubt herself and feel the first pricklings of alarm. Soon, however, a distant whinny carried through the crystal air, followed by the muted rumble of hooves on deep grass.

When the horses appeared, they seemed to gallop straight into the glory of the sun. Its light blazed like heraldry in the stars on their foreheads. They were ten, and they ran as though they were the rich heart of the Hills made flesh.

Linden recognized them all: Hyn and Hynyn and Rhohm; Narunal, Naybahn, and the others. Even Hrama had answered.

Nevertheless her immediate joy faltered as she realized that all of them were hurt; desperately tired; nearly undone.

Their injuries were superficial:

scratches, jabs, and bruises caused by a hurried passage through the jungle. They showed no sign that they had encountered the skurj. But their weariness was altogether more serious. Sweat stained their coats like blood: froth splashed from their

muzzles. Two or three of them stumbled at intervals, and their long muscles shuddered.

God, Linden thought. Oh, Christ. What have I done?

She could not even begin to guess how many leagues they had crossed, or how many obstacles they had overcome.

Yet they grew stronger as they

approached. The change was slight but unmistakable. Andelain’s vitality buoyed them along. With every stride, they absorbed energy from the ground, sucked renewal into their heaving chests. They remained near the edge of their endurance. But with a few hours of rest-with water and abundant nourishment-their exhaustion would fade. They would be ready to bear their riders.

Still Linden blamed herself for their

condition. Every living thing that

supported her paid too high a price for doing so. She ached to protect them all. As the Ranyhyn lurched to a halt before the glad appreciation of the Giants and the sharp empathy of the Ramen, she unfurled healing from the Staff of Law and threw it like a blanket over the great horses.

There was no danger. In this place, any exertion of Law was condign. And the Hills’ benison diminished Kevin’s Dirt.

Nothing hindered her as she poured strength into the depleted stamina of the Ranyhyn.

By their very nature, they participated in Earthpower: they were apt vessels for her magic. They drank in flame as if it were the potent waters of Glimmermere; inhaled fire as if it combined the benefits of amanibhavam and aliantha. And as they did so, their fatigue fell away. When she was done-when she had

banished their hurts and dried their coats and offered them her deepest gratitude-they gleamed with life.

Some of them nickered in delight and relief. Others tossed their manes, whisked their tails, stamped their hooves. Sunshine gleamed on their coats. While the Haruchai spoke their ancient ceremonial greeting, and the Ramen bowed their heads to the earth in homage, Hyn came prancing toward Linden.

First the mare bent her forelegs and bowed her head as if in obeisance or thanks. Then she nuzzled Linden’s shoulder, urging Linden to mount. Her eyes were full of laughter.

In the horserite, Hyn and Hynyn had laughed at Stave with the same affectionate kindness that Linden saw in Hyn’s soft gaze. To him, they had revealed their amusement at the presumption of the Masters-and their willingness to serve her utterly.

But her own experience when she had shared the mind-blending waters of the tarn had been entirely different. Hyn and Hynyn had offered her neither laughter nor affection. Instead they had shown her visions of such horror—

They had portrayed her to herself as if she were High Lord Elena, misguided and doomed. And they had superimposed images of both Linden and Covenant on Jeremiah. In the nightmare of the horserite, her efforts

to redeem Covenant and her son had brought forth the Worm of the World’s End.

Linden might have quailed at the memory; but she was spared by the fond mirth of Hyn’s gaze. See? the mare’s eyes seemed to say. I am here. We are here. And we stand with you. We have only given warning. We have not prophesied that you will fail.

“All right,” she replied like a promise. In

her own way, she strove to emulate the Wraiths; to repel horror and doubt as they had refused Longwrath. She had come too far to falter, and the stakes were too high. She required a conflagration so mighty that it would shake the foundations of Lord Foul’s evil. You’re the only one who can do this. “All right.”

While the Giants voiced their approval, Linden vaulted onto Hyn’s back. And when she had settled herself on the

mare’s immaculate acceptance, she raised high the Staff.

“It’s time!” she called to her

companions. Andelain and the Land’s future lay open before her. “I’m done waiting. Let’s do this!”

In response, the Ramen surged up from the grass. Nickering like horses, they seemed to flow onto the backs of their Ranyhyn. Even Mahrtiir mounted Narunal without uncertainty or

fumbling. Stave and Liand followed their example. While the Ironhand gathered her comrades, the Humbled surged to sit astride their Ranyhyn. In moments, only Hrama lacked a rider; and he reared as if he were eager to find Anele.

“Coldspray!” Linden urged. “Set a pace that you can keep. Stop when you need rest. We’ll stay with you.” Somehow she would restrain her impatience. “All I want is to reach the Soulsease by

sunset.”

Coldspray responded, chuckling. “That is ‘all’? Then we must give thanks that it is not more. Already we have run for days without number, until we feared that our souls would break, Giants though we are.” After a moment, she added, “I have a better thought. When we crave rest, lave us in fire as you have bathed these Ranyhyn. With such sustenance, we will surely accomplish your desire.”

“I’ll do that.” Leaning forward, Linden nudged Hyn into motion. “Remind me later to tell you how glad I am that you’re here. I’ll make a speech.”

Then she whirled the Staff around her head; and the Swordmainnir began to move, chortling as they spread out behind the Ranyhyn and stretched their strides to a brisk trot. At a canter, the horses bore Linden’s company up the hillside into the burgeoning splendor of spring in Andelain.

Throughout the day, Linden reveled in swiftness, and in the munificent landscape, and in the prospect of culmination. The Ranyhyn could have traveled faster; much faster. Galloping, they could have outdistanced the best speed of the Giants. But she did not wish for that. She was already fond of Coldspray, Grueburn, and their comrades. Their readiness to laugh

with delight or appreciation in spite of their exertions nourished her spirit.

And the Hills nourished her as well. Although she remembered them vividly, her mind was too human to retain the full health and majesty of the woodlands, the shining of Gilden anademed in sunlight, the comfortable spread of sycamores and elms and oaks, the almost lambent sumptuousness of the greenswards. Or perhaps during her previous time in

Andelain her senses had been tainted by the Sunbane, too troubled by wrongness to absorb so much beauty. As if for the first time, she saw hillsides and vales encircled by torcs or chaplets of wildflowers, aliantha, profuse primrose and daisies. When she swept past proud stands of spruce and cedar, or copses of wattle, she immersed herself in their tang and redolence as though she had never known such scents before. The friendly chatter of brooks and streams bedizened with