The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One (66 page)

“Linden,” he said softly as she focused her eyes on him. “It is good to see you wake. I feared that this ague would hold you until it frayed the thews of your spirit.”

Liand, she tried to say. Oh, Liand. But she could not force her throat to release words.

Tears moistened his gaze for a moment. “If you are able, you must speak. I would urge you to rest silent, but there is an illness within you which we know not how to tend. You must name what is needed to restore you.

“Is it hurtloam? Already the Manethralls have dispatched Cords for it, but the way is long, and they will not return soon. Will treasure-berries succor you? The Ramen have gathered them in plenty. And
amanibhavam,
if that is your need. Only speak—”

She shook her head, striving to interrupt him. She wanted to tell him that she was not as sick as she appeared; or that she was sick in another way. But the residue of the horserite filled her throat with ashes, and her mouth and tongue had forgotten the shapes of language.

As Liand pleaded with her, Char left the fire and hastened from the shelter. In the distance, she heard him announce, “The Ringthane wakes.”

Oh, God. Linden closed her eyes, covered her face with her hands. Give me courage.

Then Liand thrust an arm under her neck, lifted her into a half-sitting position. Carefully, almost reverently, Pahni offered a bowl of water to her lips. From the bowl came a delicate scent of
aliantha.

Lowering her arms, Linden sipped at water mixed with the juice of treasure-berries. Succored by that gentle touch of Earthpower, she found words.

“Liand.” Her voice was a thin croak, barely audible. “Just hold me. You're already giving me”—she sipped more water—“what I need. Just hold me until I'm ready to stand.”

At once, he shifted himself behind her; braced her against his chest with his arms around her. Tentatively he protested, “Yet this fever, Linden—”

She shook her head. “I'll be all right.” His attention to her weakness threatened her resolve. She could not afford to acknowledge that she might fail. She was too fragile—“You're my friend. That's enough.”

Reaching for Pahni's bowl again, she gulped down as much as she could swallow. Then she began climbing to her feet.

“No,” Liand objected. “Linden, it is too soon. You suffered sorely in the storm—and the horserite. You must rest. Perhaps on the morrow you will be ready for these exertions.”

Still she strove to stand. He was wrong about her: she was not physically ill. And she had slept long and warmly. She had been given treasure-berries. Her bodily weakness would pass when she began to move around.

He could have held her down, but he did not. Instead he relented; helped lift her to her feet. For a moment, she had difficulty finding her balance. Then, however, her unsteadiness receded, and she was able to stand.

But she could not stop shivering.

While she tried to reassure Liand with a smile, a small group of Ramen entered the shelter: Hami, Mahrtiir, and two or three Cords.

Stave accompanied them. As ever, she could not discern his emotional state. She saw only that he had regained his strength; and that the pain in his hip had declined.

The moisture in their hair and on their faces made her aware for the first time that the rain had not stopped. But it fell more gently now, no longer lashed by the blasts of the storm. And it had become warmer, more springlike.

The malice which had harried her after the horserite had spent its force and faded from the clouds.

Apparently Esmer had accomplished his purpose—

Or he had seen that the Ranyhyn were too enduring to be daunted, and had decided to change his tactics.

Yet the rain continued steadily, soaking the Verge of Wandering until every step outside the shelters splashed water through the thick grass. From her place between her bed and the fire, Linden could not see the sky; but the hue of the air and the texture of the rainfall conveyed the impression that it might continue for days.

Facing her, the Ramen bowed deeply, as though she had earned their admiration. Stave did not join them, however. He remained behind his companions as if he had nothing to say to her.

Hami's concern matched Liand's; but Mahrtiir's gaze caught gleams of eagerness from the firelight.

“Linden Avery,” Hami began gravely, “Ringthane and Chosen, we are pleased to see you so much recovered. You returned from the horserite in such straits that we feared for your life.” She scrutinized Linden narrowly, then added with a touch of asperity, “Yet you remain fevered. You must rest. Surely Liand has told you so. It is not well to expend yourself when you require sleep and healing.”

Linden felt Liand squirm. “She is the Chosen,” he said a bit defensively. “I have no power over her.”

Again Linden shook her head, trying to stop Hami as she had interrupted Liand a few moments ago. “Don't worry about me.” Her voice still croaked despite the soothing effects of
aliantha,
and her throat hurt as if she had howled for hours against the scourge of the storm. “I'm not as weak as I look.”

Before Hami could respond, she asked, “Where's Esmer?”

The Manethrall frowned. “Ringthane, your need is plain, but it lies beyond our lore. We know not how you may be restored. That is our first concern. What is Esmer's part in this?”

She and her companions wanted explanations which Linden did not know how to provide. Nevertheless she had to try.

“Would you get me some more
aliantha
?” she asked Liand: a husky whisper. “And a little
amanibhavam
? That's really all I need.”

The Ramen had never shared a horserite. She did not know how to tell them that the potent waters of the tarn had preserved her from malevolence which might otherwise have slain her.

Liand hesitated for a moment: he may have looked to Hami for advice. But the Manethrall did not react, and after a moment, he referred Linden's request to Pahni and Bhapa. Clearly he meant to stay at her side; to catch her if her endurance failed.

She wanted to thank him, and the Cords as well, but that could wait. Instead she faced Hami.

“That storm,” she said as firmly as she could. “It wasn't natural. It had malice in it.”

Still frowning, Hami nodded. “Yet the desire for harm has passed. Only the rain remains.”

Beside the point. Linden persisted. “Has Esmer come back?”

Hami made a sound of vexation. Apparently she distrusted Linden's insistence on Esmer. Yet she replied, “He returned while you slept. I will summon him, if you wish it.”

Linden shook her head. “When he came back,” she said through waves of fever, “the malice stopped. The desire for harm.”

Mahrtiir had told her,
He wields a storm among the mountains.

Hami's eyes widened. “And you conceive that the malice is his? That he raised ill against you in the storm?”

The idea visibly disturbed the Cords. Mahrtiir muttered a denial through his teeth.

Too fearful to say more, Linden clutched her frangible balance and waited for Hami's response.

“Ringthane,” the Manethrall sighed, “you judge him harshly. That you have cause to do so is beyond question. In this, however, your mistrust misleads you.

“Throughout his absence from us, we kept watch over him. Ramen witnessed closely the nature of his distress—and of his power. It was not directed against you. Of this we are certain.”

Hami's gaze urged Linden to give Esmer the benefit of the doubt. His acceptance by the Ranyhyn compelled the loyalty of the Ramen.

Abruptly Stave spoke. “Yet that which he invoked is evil.” His tone left no room for contradiction. “I have felt it. Even now it stalks the Verge of Wandering.

“The Ramen also have felt it,” he told Hami. “Why otherwise do you prepare to depart?”

Depart—? For the first time, Linden met the Master's gaze. The Ramen were
leaving
?

She and Stave had returned from the horserite through a scourge of malevolence. Who had inspired the ferocity of those winds, if not Esmer?

“Chosen,” Stave informed her, “Esmer has summoned a darkness more dire than any storm. The Ramen must flee before it.”

With a snarl of anger, Hami rounded on him. “Have you no heart, Bloodguard? You know the severity of that which lies before her. Why then do you seek to hasten her away from rest?”

Involuntarily Linden sagged against Liand. Summoned—? Esmer, what have you done?

At once, Hami turned back to her. “It is for your sake.” The woman's tone pleaded on Esmer's behalf. “He seeks to aid you.”

“He has done well,” Mahrtiir put in harshly. “She has named her purpose. He serves her as the Ramen cannot. Nor could the sleepless ones perform what he has accomplished.”

Stave's voice cut through the responses of the Manethralls. “Assuredly rest would speed the Chosen's healing.” He sounded unexpectedly vehement. “Where may she do so? Here? In the path of ruin? She cannot. To think otherwise is folly. If she will not flee, as the Ramen must, then she can only confront her peril. There is no rest for her.”

Hami replied with a growl of exasperation. “Have care, Bloodguard. You demean us, and we will not suffer it.

“We intend that the Ringthane should rest until we have determined the course of this evil. Then we will bear her to safety. Already we have readied a litter so that she may continue to rest among us as we withdraw.”

Linden did not look at Hami or Stave. The hostility between them pained her. It seemed to imply that she could not trust either of them. And the Land needed all of its friends. Jeremiah needed them.

Turning away from them, she studied the Stonedownor's troubled mien. “Liand,” she murmured, “what did Esmer do?”

He gave her a stricken glance, then ducked his head. “I know not. I have not left your side. No one has spoken to me. I did not know that the Ramen mean to depart.”

For a moment, everyone around her remained silent, reluctant to answer her aloud; to put her peril into words. On either side of her, Bhapa and Pahni stood motionless, stopped in the act of offering her
amanibhavam
and treasure-berries.

Then Mahrtiir said like a hawk, “Chosen, it is your intent to enter a Fall. Esmer has enabled you to do so. He has called Fangthane's malign creation to the Verge of Wandering.”

When Linden understood what he was saying, her heart lifted as if she had heard trumpets.

E
smer had summoned a
caesure.

The news did nothing to ease her complex dread, relieve her emotional fever. If anything, it made her fears more immediate, brought her chosen crisis nearer. Chills and urgency shook her until she felt almost dismembered. Nevertheless Mahrtiir's announcement seemed to tap a wellspring of purpose deep within her. Days of cruel frustration fell away as if she had cut the bindings of a millstone. At last she would be able to take action; to stop following other people's decisions from emergency to emergency.

And she would not have to spend days or weeks on horseback, wandering the Land in search of a
caesure,
while Lord Foul multiplied obstacles against her. She could dare her doom
now.

She should have been terrified. She
was
terrified. But she was also sure. The fever which threatened to paralyze her could only be annealed in fire.

At this moment, just one question remained to undermine her certainty. Her cheeks were flushed like a promise of flames as she confronted Stave past the staring Manethralls and Cords.

“Yes, it's dire,” she admitted. “I know that.” Still she could not speak above a hoarse whisper. Nevertheless her voice was full of implied conflagration. “But I'm going to do it. I think it's worth the risk.

“Will you come with me?”

She expected that he would refuse. He had already proclaimed his determination to ride away so that he could warn the Masters. And the horserite may have convinced him to oppose her directly. Why else had he postponed his departure? Yet last night he had gazed at her with an unwonted softness, as though he had been touched in spite of his intransigence—