The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One (67 page)

He faced her flatly: she could not read him. She had never been able to see into the hearts of his people. If he decided to attack her on the spot, she would receive no warning of any kind.

Nevertheless she studied him with fever in her eyes, and waited for him to declare himself.

For a few heartbeats, Stave appeared to consider his options. Then he replied, “The wishes of the Ranyhyn have been made plain to me. If I do not accompany you, Hynyn will withdraw his acceptance.”

Stiffly the
Haruchai
shrugged. “And the horserite has given me cause to remain at your side for a time.”

Stung by relief, Linden's eyes misted and ran. She could not clear her sight until her hands found Pahni's bowl of
aliantha;
until the taste of treasure-berries filled her mouth and throat with healing.

Already she owed the Ranyhyn a debt too great to be repaid.

W
hile Linden ate
aliantha
lightly—very lightly—sprinkled with crushed
amanibhavam,
most of the Ramen left the shelter to continue their preparations for departure. They did not expect Esmer's
caesure
to leave any part of their encampment undamaged.

Before he went, Mahrtiir explained tersely that he had selected Bhapa and Pahni to accompany him, rather than any of his own Cords, because of their kinship with Sahah. Then he led them away to gather supplies for an extended journey into the unknown hazards of time.

Char was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he had been dispatched on an errand of some kind. Of her people, only Hami stayed with Linden. At once solicitous and alarmed, the Manethrall fretted over Linden's condition as Linden stoked her courage with treasure-berries enhanced by the dangerous roborant of
amanibhavam.

Her shivering eased somewhat as she absorbed the sustenance of the Land, but she remained perilously labile; close to terror.

When the Ramen had dispersed, Stave approached her. In spite of his native stoicism, he walked with a pronounced limp. Hours on horseback had inflamed his injury. Yet he proposed to ride again soon, as long and as far as she required.

At least “for a time.” Whatever that meant.

As if Liand were not present, the Master announced, “The Stonedownor must remain here. His mount cannot accompany the Ranyhyn. If he attempts the Fall, he will be lost.”

Liand might have retorted hotly; but Linden stopped him by touching his chest with her palm. “Anele has the same problem,” she answered, trembling. “But I need him. And I need Liand. We'll have to figure something out.”

The young man gave her a look of gratitude; but she kept her attention on Stave. “The Ramen don't ride. How will they stay with us?”

Stave did not look away. “Their bond with the Ranyhyn cannot be severed. Where the Ranyhyn lead, they will be able to follow. The Stonedownor has no such bond.”

Linden sighed. “Then he can ride with you. I'll take Anele with me.”

The
Haruchai
raised an eyebrow. But he did not object.

When she glanced at Liand, she saw him grinning as though she had given him a gift.

Before he could speak, she muttered, “Don't you dare thank me. I'm not doing you any favors.” Her voice shook with fear for him. “If this doesn't kill us, we could end up in places worse than your worst nightmares. If I didn't need your help so badly, I wouldn't risk any of you.”

Except Anele, who could hardly suffer more than he already did.

Liand went on grinning; but he took her seriously enough to remain silent.

Sighing again, she told him, “We're going to need your supplies. You'd better get them. Bring as much as you can carry.”

The Ramen might provide everything necessary; but she wanted an excuse to send the Stonedownor away. If she could, she meant to spare him the confrontation that awaited her.

“Yes, certainly,” Liand said without hesitation. At once, he hurried away as if he were eager to risk not only his life but his sanity in her name.

Within herself, Linden sagged. Devoutly she prayed that the young man would not have cause to regret his loyalty. However, a more immediate concern demanded her attention. She did not know how near the
caesure
had come. She might not have much time left.

To Stave, she said abruptly, “Before we do this, I've got to talk to Esmer. Will you go with me?” The senses of the
Haruchai
were more discerning than hers: no doubt Stave knew exactly where to find Cail's son. “I understand if you prefer to keep your distance. But I could use your company.”

This time, Stave raised both eyebrows. “If you wish it.” He may have felt surprise, but his tone held no hint of alarm. “He stands at the edge of the encampment. The way is not far.”

Gratefully she took his arm. Clinging to the tacit validation of his support, she stepped out into the ceaseless rain.

The mild, steady drizzle drenched her hair; washed the heat of fire and fever from her cheeks. It was indeed much warmer than it had been the previous day. Nevertheless it was cool enough to leach away the residual warmth of the shelter. Her chills seemed to worsen with every step as Stave took her among the busy Ramen past the open center of the encampment.

Her fear had soaked into the marrow of her bones. She had not forgotten Covenant's words in Anele's mouth.
You need the ring. But be careful with it. It feeds the
caesures. But he had died long ago; and now she did not intend to regard his warning.

He had also said,
I can't help you unless you find me.
She did not know how to do so, except by daring the Land's past.

Esmer had prepared the way, apparently seeking to aid her. Before she went farther, accepted his help, she needed to know how much she could trust him.

Limping, Stave escorted her northward. In that direction, veiled by the rain and the teeming clouds, the Verge of Wandering narrowed gradually toward the Land. There Cail's son stood alone with his back to the last shelters, ignoring the swift preparations of the Ramen.

If he sensed Linden's approach, or Stave's, he gave no sign. Instead he concentrated through the grey drizzle as if he sought to draw the
caesure
toward him by force of will.

At her first blurred glimpse of him, Linden's guts knotted, disturbed by the nausea which had troubled her during their previous encounters. He stood like a cynosure against the shrouded background of the rain, bright with the queasy squirming of power. As soon as she saw him, she wondered how she had failed to discern him earlier. His vast capabilities, like his inbred conflicts, seemed as unmistakable as wailing.

In his presence, something within her turned numb. She was no longer sure how to question him.

Yet Stave did not hesitate, although he had more cause for apprehension. And when they were within three or four steps, Esmer turned to regard them with eyes the color of storm-wracked seas.

Danger seethed in him. For reasons of his own, he attempted a diffident, unconvincing smile. “You are well come, Wildwielder.” His tone was full of obscure fears. They gnawed at each other like old bones. “The Fall is a few hundred paces distant, no more. Soon it will become manifest to your senses.”

He conveyed the impression that he thought she might take offense at his efforts on her behalf.

Deliberately Linden released Stave's arm so that he could move freely if Esmer attacked. Then she advanced to stand between Cail's son and the Master.

The Ramen were certain that Esmer had not sent malice against her after the horserite.

Fighting chills, she demanded without preamble, “What's going on here, Esmer?” The
caesure
was too near for politeness. “First you practically kill Stave. Then you offer to answer my questions, but you don't say much. You make it clear that you want to be my friend and my enemy at the same time. And now you're helping me?

“Do you expect me to believe that this time you aren't going to hurt anybody?”

Through the wet fabric of her shirt, she clutched Covenant's ring for courage; but the cold metal gave her no comfort. It felt inert, numb; unreachable.

“For all I know,” she finished, “this is some crazy attempt to help Lord Foul destroy the Land.”

Esmer frowned. Abruptly his manner became acerbic, self-punishing. “Yet you must trust me. I have served you well. And I have brought ruin upon this encampment. When the Ramen return to the Verge of Wandering, they will find wreckage rather than sanctuary. Thus is my nature satisfied. I have harmed those who have
given me naught but friendship. If you do not trust me, you will render their losses valueless.”

Linden stared at him. His rapid changes disconcerted her. And she did not know what to make of his assertion. Had he consciously hurt the Ramen to aid her?

At last, she referred her doubt to the
Haruchai.
“Stave?”

“The Fall approaches,” he stated. “I will not trust this Esmer. I do not lightly accept his aid. Yet he has summoned a Fall like any other. It will meet your purpose, if you are able to master its evil. In this he speaks sooth.”

Harshly Linden asked Esmer, “Is that true? Did you summon a Fall? Or did you
create
it?”

Did his power resemble wild magic?

“I have no lore to cause such rifts.” His eyes were full of advancing squalls. “When we spoke, I discerned your purpose. Therefore I withdrew among the mountains, that my labors would occasion no other harm. In your name, Wildwielder, I have unleashed fierce theurgies, seeking first to discover the location and course of an apt
caesure,
and then to compel it hither. Thus I hope to counter the loss which the Ramen will suffer.”

Through her nausea and chills, Linden heard violence and remorse, but no falsehood. Cail's son might commit atrocities without number, but he would not lie.

For an instant or two, his struggles filled her with empathy. “You're tearing yourself apart,” she told him more gently. “Do you know that? You should pick a side.”

“I do so constantly.” Now his voice sounded as damp as the rain, drenched in sorrow. “That is my doom.”

His desire to serve her was so poignant that she could feel its ache in him. Apparently Cail's legacy outweighed the fatal hunger of the
merewives,
at least for the moment. And he had already called a
caesure
for her. Perhaps in his present phase he would do more—

“All right.” Linden made a conscious attempt to catch him before his mood shifted again. “Since you seem to be on my side at the moment, tell me about your connection to Kastenessen.”

Why had he sought to prevent Anele from speaking of the Appointed?

At once, Esmer resumed his diffidence. “He is my grandsire. I serve him utterly. As I also serve you.”

In bafflement, she protested, “Damn it, Esmer. You aren't making sense. Do you mean that Kastenessen and I are on the same side?”

It was possible. Kastenessen had defied the
Elohim
and his own nature for the love of a mortal woman. He and Linden might have more in common than she had imagined. If he had indeed broken free of his prison, he might be willing to take risks as extravagant as hers for the sake of his lover.

But he was
Elohim;
and the
Elohim
whom she had known had not seemed capable of any emotion that she would have recognized as love.

Esmer sighed. Quietly, humbly, he said like the water on his face, “The
Elohim
speak of Würd as the ur-viles do of Weird. There is also the Worm of the World's End. It is my doom. I have no other answer.”

The damp soaked into Linden's bones, aggravating her fever. Chills tugged at her concentration. “All right,” she said again. “All right. I don't understand, but right now that doesn't matter.

“Come with me.” Guide me. “Do some good with all that power. If you really want to help me, help me now.”

The sheer intensity of his uneasy puissance made her stomach clench whenever she studied him directly.

In response, Esmer turned his head away. “I must not. In my presence, you will surely fail.”