Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (34 page)

“Mom,” Jeremiah objected: he sounded

frightened. And Covenant muttered, “Bloody hell, Linden. Just when I think you’ve run out of terrible ideas.”

Her son’s alarm tugged at her as Covenant’s vexation did not. But she kept her back to them; hardened her heart. Her attention was fixed on the injuries of Berek’s people, and her gaze focused her appeal on Yellinin. If she had not been so tightly clenched to her purpose, she might have said, Please. I beg of you.

“Wisdom, as I have proclaimed,” the Theomach announced. “Lady, I am both pleased and gratified.”

The mounted woman leaned down from her saddle, trying to study Linden’s face in the dim glow of the camp. “You ask much, Linden Avery,” she replied severely. “If I judge wrongly-or if Krenwill’s hearing has misled him-you may cause great woe.”

“And if I’m telling the truth,” Linden countered. “you’ll save lives.” She did not slow her strides to accommodate Yellinin’s uncertainty.

After a moment, the outrider said slowly, feeling her way. “It was the one whom you name Jeremiah-was it not?-who wielded theurgy against Basila and her comrades? If you are parted from him, he will be unable to ward you.”

Her tone added, And in your absence, he will be free to wreak any harm which he may desire.

“Yes,” Linden answered at once. “it was. But I don’t need his protection.” If she had been a different woman, she could have challenged Berek’s foes for him; perhaps routed them. “He won’t use his power again unless Covenant tells him to-and Covenant won’t do that.” Covenant had accepted the path which the Theomach had laid out for

him. Linden was confident that he would not risk Berek’s enmity: not in the Theomach’s presence. “I can’t promise that your Warhaft will like their answers. But they won’t fight him.”

“Assuredly I will not,” the Theomach offered lightly. “And I will watch over your companions.”

“Linden.” Covenant’s voice was harsh with warnings or threats. “You know what can go wrong here.”

“Sure,” she replied over her shoulder. Disturbances in the integrity of Time, lethal discontinuities. And she had been warned that Berek held enough Earthpower to erase Covenant and Jeremiah-“But you know what we have to gain. You’ll be all right without me for a while.”

Abruptly Yellinin dismounted. Leaving her horse, she came to Linden. In spite of her obscured features, her sword and cuirass, and her warrior’s bearing,

she radiated concern rather than suspicion as she grasped Linden’s arm and pulled her away from her companions.

Softly, tensely, Yellinin said, “Linden Avery, if you choose to part from your comrades, I must inform you that Warhaft Inbull is not known for gentleness. Lord Berek endeavors to restrain him, but he has suffered much in this war-lost much, endured much-and has become cruel. Upon

occasion, he has refused Krenwill’s aid because he desires to discover truth with pain.

Is it truly your wish that your son should be delivered to the Warhaft?”

For the first time since she had become aware that she was needed, Linden faltered. Instinctively she looked at the pleading on Jeremiah’s face. He, Covenant, and the Theomach had stopped: they stood watching her;

waiting for her. She could not read Covenant or her son; but the meaning of Covenant’s scowl was obvious, and Jeremiah’s open chagrin seemed as poignant as a cry.

-has become cruel.

He’s full of Earthpower. If he so much as touches us, this whole ordeal will be wasted.

But the call of the wounded was too

strong. She was a physician, and could not refuse it.

Like Covenant and the Theomach, Jeremiah had resources which surpassed her ability to measure them.

Deliberately Linden turned back to Yellinin. “My companions don’t mean any harm.” She made no effort to conceal the pressure rising in her. “They won’t cause any trouble. I keep saying that. But they can protect

themselves if they have to. Right now, people are dying. Your people.” She could feel them: they were as vivid to her as the ravages of the Sunbane. “The sooner I get to work, the more of them I can help.”

The outrider remained caught in indecision for a moment longer. Then she shook it off. She was a fighter, uncomfortable with doubt and hesitation.

“Accept my mount, Linden Avery,” she said as if she were sure. Her hand released Linden’s arm. “If you are indeed able to feel the wounded and dying, you will have no difficulty discovering where they lie. Should any seek to thwart you, reply that you act by Yellinin’s command. Epemin and I will escort your comrades to the Warhaft. If I have erred, I will bear his wrath, and Lord Berek’s.”

“I don’t believe it,” Covenant growled

under his breath. “Here she is, completely lost, with no idea what’s at stake-and total strangers still do what she wants.”

“That’s my Mom,” Jeremiah sighed glumly. He sounded like a boy who had resigned himself to an unjust punishment.

But Linden ignored them now. As soon as Yellinin let her go, she strode to the woman’s mount; grabbed at the reins.

When she had found the stirrup, she heaved herself into the saddle.

“Thank you,” she said to the outrider. “You’re not going to regret this.” Then she called, “Jeremiah! I’m counting on you!” She did not trust Covenant. “Don’t make these people sorry that they helped me.”

No one responded-and she did not wait. Digging her heels inexpertly into the horse’s sides, she headed for the

top of the rise as swiftly as her shambling mount could carry her.

God, she loathed war.

8.

The Stuff of Legends

Her mount was no Ranyhyn, and the beast was frail. It stumbled under her whenever a hoof skidded on the glazed ice. She could feel its heart strain against its gaunt ribs. But as soon as

she was thirty or forty paces beyond her companions, Linden began to draw Earthpower from the Staff, using its vitality to nurture her horse as well as to warm her numb skin, her cold-stiff limbs. Surely she would not endanger Covenant and Jeremiah now, when her mount increased the distance between them with every stride?

Gradually the horse grew stronger. Its gait increased toward a gallop as she fed it with the substance of life.

Then she crossed the crest of the rise, and Berek’s camp appeared like a tapestry woven of fires and tents and wagons; picket lines and latrines; gritted pain, exhaustion, and graves.

The encampment seemed huge, although she knew that it was not. The surrounding dark dwarfed it. Nevertheless it was all that the night contained. The larger host of Berek’s foes lay beyond the reach of her senses. Even the stars were lessened

by the human multitude of the camp’s fires.

As she crossed the ridge, she was already near enough to see individual figures; dim tottering shapes that moved among the tents and campfires. Most of the tents were small, hardly big enough for two or three warriors to share their meager warmth. But a few were larger: mess tents, perhaps, or command posts. One of these occupied the center of the

encampment. Linden guessed that it was Berek’s. However, three of the tents were the size of pavilions, and their burden of suffering drew her toward them immediately. Enclosed by thick clusters of wagons, they had been erected along the northern edge of the encampment, as far as possible from any attack; and they called out to every dimension of her health-sense, beseeching her for succor. There the most grievously wounded of Berek’s army carried on their faint and fading

struggle for life.

Linden was an unskilled horsewoman, but she knew enough to turn her mount’s head so that the beast directed its lengthening strides toward the pavilions. At the same time, she urged more power from the Staff to protect the horse from slipping on the treacherous slope. In that way, she gathered her own strength as well as her mount’s, so that she would be able to bear what lay ahead of her.

[

Her haste attracted attention at several points along the edge of the camp. And as she approached the light, her open cloak, red shirt, and stained jeans marked her as a stranger; a likely threat. Shouts rose against her. At least half a dozen warriors ran for their horses, plainly intending to intercept her.

In response, she summoned fire like a shout from the end of the Staff and kicked awkwardly at her mount’s sides,

trying to compel more speed.

Her display made the men and women racing for their mounts hesitate. More shouts scattered through the camp, dragging warriors urgently away from their chores and cookfires. Doubtless Berek’s forces were acquainted with theurgy. The King whom they had opposed had been counseled by a Raver. They had felt black malevolence from the east, and knew their Lord’s unforeseen might. A few of them had

witnessed the salvific rampage of the FireLions. Nonetheless it was likely that none of them had ever seen Earthpower in thetic fire. And apparently most of them had not yet felt the first stirrings of health-sense. They could not look at Linden’s emblazoned rush and recognize that she wielded the same Law which had brought the FireLions to Berek’s aid.

Commanders yelled orders. A few warriors flung themselves onto their

mounts, followed by others-and by still others. As Linden reached level ground and sped toward the tents of the wounded, holding aloft her pennon of power, a thickening barricade of riders surged into formation across her path.

She could not fight them. Nor could she bear to be stopped. In her ears, the need of Berek’s wounded and dying was as loud as a wail, and as compulsory as blood. Even the men

and women who rode out to refuse her were rife with injuries.

Mustering fire, she called in a voice of flame, “By Yellinin’s command! I’m a healer! Let me pass!”

Again Berek’s warriors hesitated. Some began to rein in their mounts: others veered aside. But an older veteran, hardened and glaring, yelled back, “Yellinin’s command does not suffice! Halt and answer!”

Linden swore to herself. If she could elude the riders, she suspected that her mount would be able to outdistance them. Its energy was the Staffs. But they were mere heartbeats away. And the prospect of delays and argument was intolerable.

Shouting, “In Lord Berek’s name!” she mentally stamped one heel of her Staff against the frozen ground. With Earthpower and Law, she sent a concussion like the tremor of an

earthquake rolling under the hooves of the advancing horses.

Covenant and Jeremiah had withstood worse when she had closed the caesure of the Demondim. The Theomach might not protect them; but they had risked too much: they would not allow themselves to be banished now.

Instinctive animal terror cleared her passage. Some of the beasts

stumbled, pitching their riders. Others shied; reared; wheeled away. Their panic forced the riders behind them to struggle for control.

Through the momentary turmoil, Linden’s mount raced like Hyn, pounding the ice and dirt toward the tents of the wounded. Followed by shouts of rage and alarm, she ran for her destination.

She was now little more than a

hundred paces from the edge of the encampment. When she dismounted, she would be within twenty or thirty steps of the nearest pavilion. But during her dash at the camp, Berek’s commanders had readied a wall of swords and spears to resist her. Warriors stood clenched against their fear. Damn it: this was the cost of her haste. She had left behind anyone who might have spoken for her. Now she seemed to have no choice except to fight or fail.

But she had seen too much death and could not do otherwise than she had done.

She began to pull on her mount’s reins, slowing the beast so that the warriors ahead of her would see that she did not mean to hurl herself onto their weapons. While riders swept toward her, she eased the horse to a canter; to a walk. Then she slipped down from the beast’s back and left it.

A heartbeat later, horses clattered to a halt behind her. But she did not turn toward them. Striding directly at the wall of warriors, she let the Staffs fire die away. She wanted Berek’s people to recognize that she had no wish to harm them. Then she said as calmly as she could, knowing that she was close enough to be heard, “By Yellinin’s command, and in Lord Berek’s name, let me pass. Please. I would beg you, but I don’t have time. Your friends are dying in those tents.”

Still the points of the spears and the edges of the swords confronted her. Berek’s forces had grown accustomed to fear and death: they may not have been capable of heeding her.

“I’m a healer.” She walked straight at the barricade of warriors. “I intend to help. Either cut me down”-she did not raise her voice-“or let me pass.”

No one answered her. She heard no order given; felt no conscious decision

reached. Yet something in her tone or her manner, her strangeness or her steady stride, must have inspired conviction. When she drew near enough to spit herself on the first of the spears, it lifted out of her path. Abruptly several men and women lowered their swords. More spears followed the example of the first. The warriors stared at her with fierce concentration: their eyes held every shade of apprehension and doubt. Nevertheless they parted so that she could walk

between them.

For a moment, tears blurred her sight. “Thank you,” she murmured unsteadily, “thank you,” as she moved unhurt into the encampment.

Men and women formed an aisle for her, a gauntlet, all with their weapons held ready-and all motionless in spite of their uneasy tension. Here and there, firelight reflected in their eyes, or on the battered metal of their

breastplates. Many of them wore hardened leather caps in lieu of helmets; leather vambraces and other protection. All were variously clad in blood and bandages. As individuals, they ached with weariness and old wounds, entrenched loss and

desperation. Together they hurt Linden’s senses like a festering abscess. Yet she caught only hints of hopelessness or despair. Berek’s people were sustained by their deep belief in him. It kept them on their feet.

She loathed war and killing. At times, she did not know how to accept humankind’s readiness for evil. But she was already starting to admire Berek, and she had not yet met him. His spirit preserved his people when every other resource failed. And he was the reason-she was sure of this—that they had refrained from slaying her. She had invoked his name. They strove to prove themselves worthy of him.