The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One (71 page)

In a voice still husky with strain, he urged Linden, “Aid the Cords. And the Stonedownor.”

He did not need to add, And yourself.

She ached for some of the roborant. The Fall's effects clung to her still, aggravating old memories of the Sunbane and loss. But her companions took precedence.

From Mahrtiir, she went to kneel beside Pahni.

The young woman could not raise her head. The bile in her guts threatened to overflow at any moment; and her muscles hung slack along her bones, stretched past exhaustion. But Stave joined Linden then, supporting Pahni so that Sahah's cousin could take a mouthful of
vitrim.

When Pahni had tasted the dusky fluid, Linden and Stave turned to assist Bhapa.

By then Liand had seen what was happening. Still cradling his aggrieved stomach, he crept to the older Cord's side. He had his own memories of
vitrim.

Soon both he and Bhapa were on their feet, with Pahni beside them. They did not stand easily, but Linden saw that their recovery would not take long. Doubtless they would be ready to ride before she was.

Finally she allowed herself to drink from the bowl.

As before, the heavy liquid had a neglected flavor, as if it had been left too long in a lightless room, exposed to dust and stagnation. Yet she swallowed it gladly; and in moments, the
caesure
's brutality lost its hold on her, dropping from her shoulders like a shed cloak. The
vitrim
seemed to expand the boundaries of her mortality. When she returned the bowl to the loremaster, her steps no longer wavered, and her bow of thanks was as deep as an obeisance.

Then at last she turned to Stave; to the only member of her company who may have wished her to fail. She could no longer postpone the larger concerns of her situation.

She had too many fears. She might still be days away from Anele's lost cave. The Staff of Law may have been found and moved—and used—since Anele's departure. She may not have arrived at the right time to retrieve it. And any significant alternation of the past might violate the integrity of Time.

She believed that the Law of Time was sturdy enough to withstand an occasional shock. How else had it endured the affront of Joan's attacks? And she believed as well that the mere existence of the Staff would have a sustaining influence on all Law. Surely she could search for it without inflicting any irreparable harm?

Still she wanted some form of reassurance.

Covenant had told her,
You need the Staff of Law.
But he had also said,
Just be wary of me. Remember that I'm dead.

And somewhere millennia from now an
Elohim
wandered the Earth, warning people to
Beware the halfhand.

“All right,” she said to the Master. “I'm ready now. You said you know where we are?”

He nodded. “Indeed. We stand among the South Plains. The Southron Range rises before us. The mountains to the east form the western bound of the Mithil valley. Many leagues to the west lies Doom's Retreat. And there”—he pointed across the
foothills toward the curving line of scarps and slopes where the spur met the southwestward sweep of the Range—“we will be able to ascend toward the region where I judge that the old man once made his home.”

Clearly
caesures
traversed distance as well as time: Linden had seen them move. Indeed, she was fortunate that the Fall had not carried her farther from her goal during the intervening centuries.

Studying the mountains, she asked, “How far do you think we have to go?”

Stave glanced at the sun. “We will be among the heights before midday. There, however, the way may become too difficult for riding. Beyond that—” He shrugged.

Linden understood him: he did not know the location of Anele's cave. But surely it would be somewhere accessible? While Ramen and ur-viles battled
kresh
in the rift, Anele had said that his dwelling was
not so distant from Mithil Stonedown that I could not hasten to the Land's aid at need, but far enough to attain the freedom from astonishment which my spirit craved.

“Good enough,” she murmured half to herself. “We'll ride as far as we can. Then we'll figure out what to do next.”

As she turned toward Hyn, she slipped off her cloak. Warmed by the summer sun and
vitrim,
she no longer needed the heavy wool. At once, Liand accepted it from her. When he had removed his own as well, he went to Hrama and tugged the cloak from Anele's back. Then he packed the three garments away among his supplies.

At the same time, Mahrtiir approached Linden with Bhapa and Pahni. The usual fierceness of his mien was complicated by chagrin, and when he spoke his voice held a note of defensive belligerence.

“Ringthane,” he rasped, “we are shamed by our weakness. It ill becomes us.” Sharply he promised, “We will not again be overcome.”

Both Bhapa and Pahni nodded, but without his combative assurance. Already the prospect of their next encounter with a
caesure
seemed to cast shadows in their eyes.

“We know our peril now,” the Manethrall continued, “and are forewarned. When next we dare a Fall, we will provide for our own endurance.”

He did not say how he proposed to protect himself and his Cords.

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” Linden sighed. “I'm not worried about you.” In fact, the thought of entering another Fall made her entire being flinch. And she had no more patience for people who judged themselves by inhumane standards. She did too much of that herself. “We aren't Ranyhyn. We don't have their gift for time.”

Mahrtiir accepted her reply with a bow, but his manner remained defiant.

Linden glanced around; found the ur-viles ready and the Ranyhyn waiting. It was time to go.

With Liand's help, she gained Hyn's back. Stave and the Stonedownor placed themselves on either side of her. After they had prostrated themselves before the Ranyhyn
once more, the Ramen brought up the rear of the small company, herding Anele ahead of them. This time, however, the ur-viles did not girdle the riders. Instead they formed a loose wedge off to one side, dropping to all fours for speed.

As Linden touched Hyn's flanks with her heels, all of the Ranyhyn sprang into a gallop southward, pounding the thin grass as fast as the Demondim-spawn could run.

S
tave had gauged the distance accurately. More swiftly than Linden had anticipated, the riders left the plains behind and surged up the first slopes of the foothills. And here the terrain had been softened by long ages of wind and rain, heat and cold. The Ranyhyn would be able to sustain their pace for a while yet. If the ur-viles did not falter, the company might be high among the mountains by noon.

Nevertheless a sense of trepidation grew in Linden as the company ascended the hillsides. If she ever hoped to return to her proper present, she would have to rend time with her own hands. She dreaded that prospect.

After a while, however, Anele distracted her. As the heat of the plains gave way to the sharper, thinner exhalation of the peaks, she noticed a shift in his emanations. His earlier passivity was gone. Instead he radiated urgency, and he rode leaning forward with a look of frenzy in his milky eyes.

But he had not suddenly become sane: that was obvious. Rather his madness had resolved into focus. Perhaps he recognized his surroundings. He was being driven now by the same obsession which had impelled him to return to his former home over and over across the decades, searching uselessly for his lost inheritance.

At the same time, another change demanded her attention. Although the ur-viles continued to scramble doggedly upward, they were growing restive. Occasionally at first, then more and more often, one or another of them paused to taste the air, falling behind the other creatures, and barking insistently before they resumed their haste. As a result, the whole wedge lost ground.

Did they scent danger? Foes? Linden had no way of knowing. But the possibilities, the potential hazards, left her dry-mouthed and winded, as though the air were becoming too thin to breathe.

Surely it was impossible that Lord Foul might oppose her here? If her senses had not misled her, and Stave's perceptions were accurate, the Despiser's defeat at Covenant's hands had taken place less than three hundred years ago. And Foul had been
thoroughly
defeated. The beaten being that remained unextinguished in this time could hardly threaten her.

Yet the ur-viles were troubled, for no apparent reason. And Lord Foul was not Linden's only enemy.
Elohim
wandered the Earth at will. For all she knew, they could
traverse time as well, or manipulate
caesures.
And the strange dictates of their Würd were incomprehensible to her.

If Kastenessen had indeed broken free of his Appointed prison; if his bonds were the Durance of which Anele had spoken—

In addition, the Earth might hold other banes as fearsome as the Illearth Stone. Somewhere
kresh
lived and multiplied. More than once, Anele had referred to
skurj.
And Linden feared that Roger Covenant had accompanied his mother to the Land. Because he had power over Joan, he might be able to manipulate her use of wild magic.

Anele's headlong urgency might lead the company into an ambush—

Finally Linden called over the pounding din of hooves, “Stave! The ur-viles. Something is wrong!”

The Master nodded without a glance at the straggling wedge. “They have lore which even the Old Lords could not equal.” Then he added, “I discern no peril.”

Linden looked over her shoulder at Mahrtiir. Glowering, the Manethrall shrugged: he had no answer.

A moment later, the creatures began to slacken their pace. They had apparently reached an agreement. As the Ranyhyn crossed a low hollow between the hillsides with cliffs soaring ahead of them, the Demondim-spawn halted altogether. At once, they gathered around their loremaster, bickering like a pack of wild dogs.

Damn
it. Linden tried to slow Hyn; and in an instant, all of the Ranyhyn responded together, turning in a curve as they reduced their strides.

When he understood what was happening, Anele wailed, “No!” But Hrama ignored his protest, stamping to a standstill with the other Ranyhyn.

In a fury, the old man flung himself from Hrama's back. As soon as he gained his feet, he began to run.

Above him, a narrow ravine marked by a dry streambed separated the cliffs. Shallow at first, it grew deeper as it cut into the hills; and after a few hundred paces, it disappeared around a bulge in its eastern wall. With surprising speed, Anele headed for the ravine, sure of his destination and determined to reach it. Earthpower and intensity made him preternaturally fleet.

Swearing again under her breath, Linden wheeled toward Mahrtiir. “You'd better go after him,” she panted. “Don't try to stop him. Just don't lose him. We'll catch up with you when we find out what's bothering the ur-viles.”

The Manethrall nodded his acquiescence. Calling Pahni and Bhapa with him, he sent his Ranyhyn cantering after Anele.

Of his own accord, Hrama joined them. Like the Ramen, the shaggy pinto appeared to respect Linden's wishes.

Temporarily relieved for the old man, she turned her attention to the
Demondim-spawn. “What's going on?” she asked rhetorically. “Are we in danger? What do they expect us to do?”

But Liand knew no more than she did, and Stave did not respond. The air held no threats. It smelled only of summer and wildflowers, warmed granite and shale, and the slow, distant trickling of melted ice. The breeze carried nothing that might have warned her.

Impelled by uncertainty, she asked the loremaster, “What should we do? Do you need us here? Can I help you? You understand me, but I don't know what you want.”

But the creatures ignored her while they continued their harsh debate. Some of them had produced short black daggers with blades like forged magma, seething redly. Others made abrupt, intricate gestures as if they were weaving expostulations. Even the loremaster paid no heed to Linden's appeal.

For a moment, she glared at them with frustration beating like anger in her temples and nameless fears aching in her chest. Then she muttered a curse and turned Hyn away.