The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One (91 page)

“Then we're even.” Without transition, Linden found that she was eager to confront the Masters. She felt fundamentally restored, in full possession of her powers, as if she had reclaimed a birthright. Armed with the Staff of Law and Covenant's ring, as with Liand's trust, she was ready for any challenge. “I could not have done this without you.”

Grinning, he replied, “And still your estimate of yourself falls too low.” Then he indicated the room where Galt waited. “I am inclined to try the patience of these Masters as far as I may. Yet Anele's plight remains. And I do not doubt that the Ramen grow restive.” After a brief hesitation, he added, “Also I fear that Pahni's blindness torments her. She lacks Bhapa's years, and the Manethrall's, and has not learned to harden her heart.”

“You're right.” Linden wiped away her tears; secured her grip on the Staff. “We should go.”

He gave her a humorous bow, which she returned. She was smiling as they left her bedroom to rejoin the Humbled.

If Galt had ever experienced impatience, he did not show it. Linden was sure that he knew what had just happened. With his
Haruchai
senses, he had probably heard every word, felt every change. Nevertheless he remained stolid; impenetrable. Her restoration gave him no discernible qualms. He merely acknowledged her with a nod and turned toward the door.

When Liand had taken a double handful of bread and cheese, and tucked the food into the front of his jerkin, he and Linden followed the Master out into the corridors of Revelstone.

She was vaguely surprised to find them lit at wide intervals by oil lamps and torches. Since the previous day, someone—the Mahdoubt, perhaps, or another servant of Revelstone—had heeded her desire for light. She could see her way along the disused passages, down the echoing stairways, across the uninhabited halls.

If anything, the sparse illumination made the great Keep seem more abandoned than it had earlier. Now she could not imagine hosts of people thriving beyond the reach of her senses. Instead the long stone corridors and high chambers ached with emptiness. Lord's Keep had been made by Giants to be occupied by men and women who loved it; and now those inhabitants were gone.

Doubtless the Masters respected Revelstone. They may even have admired it. But they could not take the place of people who served Earthpower and stone. The huge gutrock warren needed more than light: it needed use and warmth.

By complex stages, Galt led Linden and Liand inward and downward, deeper into the old heart of the Keep; and as they descended, both the air and the stone grew colder. The shadows beyond the lamps and torches intensified until they became as dark as coverts. Beyond the flat retort of her boot heels, the softer clap of Liand's sandals, and the nearly inaudible susurrus of Galt's steps, Linden seemed to hear the muffled breaths and whispers of lurking enmity. With her health-sense, she could feel the tremendous weight of Revelstone's rock leaning over her as if to watch what she would do.

“Where are we going?” she asked Galt abruptly. The deserted Keep oppressed her in spite of her new confidence. She wanted to hear something other than ramified echoes and emptiness.

“It is near,” replied the Humbled. “We will speak together in the Close, where in ancient times the Council of Lords gathered to debate the Land's need, and to determine their response.”

Linden sighed. No doubt the Close held meaning for the
Haruchai,
but she had
never seen it. Too much of the Land's long history was hidden from her, or lost. Its undefined significance seemed to bear down on her like Revelstone's impending mass.

“Anele will be there?”

“Chosen,” Galt answered, “all of your companions await you, saving only the Demondim-spawn. Already they have dispersed among the upland hills. We do not know if they will return.”

Gone, she thought. The obscure dictates of their Weird—or of their Weirds, if the ur-viles and Waynhim did not agree—had commanded them elsewhere. She had no idea what their departure meant; but at least she could believe that they were safe.

Liand offered her a few pieces of bread and cheese. She accepted them and began to eat while she followed Galt's strict back.

Then ahead of them she saw an arched entryway which looked like it might once have held doors. If so, however, they were long gone; neglected until they had fallen away. Now the opening gaped like a scream petrified in granite, an outcry so old that only the stone could remember it.

But a brighter illumination shone from the entryway. When Galt led his charges through the entrance, Linden found herself in a huge chamber lit by many lamps: the Close. It was a round cavity, both high and deep, which appeared to have been formed with conflicting purposes. Above her, almost beyond the reach of the light, the groined ceiling was intricately crafted, shaped with reverence, as if to honor everything that was done and said within the chamber. But below the entryway the floor slumped to form a crude pit. At first, the surface sank down in stages which may once have been tiers. Farther down, however, the stone resembled poured magma. She could almost believe that a once-fine audience hall had been subjected to a terrible heat; fire so hot that the floor melted and ran, cooling at last into contorted patterns like memorials of pain at the bottom of the pit.

In the wall opposite her, Linden saw a pair of gaps which may once have been smaller doors. But they had suffered the same damage which had marred the lower half of the Close, and did not appear to be usable.

Among the wracked shapes at the bottom of the Close waited Handir, Stave, and perhaps a score of other Masters. Among them, Linden saw Anele as well as Manethrall Mahrtiir and his two Cords. The old man stood at the back of the gathering, guarded or restrained by two of the Masters. Linden knew at a glance that he had not been harmed; but his physical well-being failed to reassure her.

As soon as she entered the hall, the Ramen ascended the rumpled stone toward her. All three of them were pale with loss and oppression. Bhapa concentrated on protecting his newly healed arm and shoulder as he moved; but Pahni mustered a thin smile for Linden and Liand. Mahrtiir betrayed more discomfort, however. He had difficulty
holding up his head, and his fierce features looked uncharacteristically daunted. He climbed the stone with a slight hitch in his strides, a subtle flinch.

The Manethrall stopped a step below Linden, Liand, and Galt, with his Cords behind him in deference. Avoiding Linden's eyes, he bowed in the Ramen fashion, then asked uncertainly, “Ringthane, are you well? Have you been treated courteously?”

He may have expected her to say that she had not.

Because his distress was vivid to her, Linden held up the Staff of Law like an emblem of authority and bowed formally. “I'm glad you're here, Manethrall. Liand and I are fine.” The Stonedownor nodded in confirmation, grinning at Pahni. “Mostly the Masters ignored us. But a woman called the Mahdoubt took good care of us.

“How about you? Are you all right?”

Mahrtiir made a transparent effort to gather his resolve. “We are not. At our word, the Ranyhyn were released to the grasses of the upland plateau, and to the eldritch waters of Glimmermere. We accompanied them, preferring service and the open sky to the veiled disdain of these Bloodguard. The Ranyhyn remain there, although we have answered the summons of the sleepless ones in your name. So much is well.”

Linden nodded, waiting for him to go on.

“But, Ringthane—” He faltered; had to force himself to lift his head so that she could see the shame in his eyes. “I fear that I will fail you here. This dire place bears down upon me. The Ramen are born to open skies. Such enclosure darkens our hearts. Yet there is a deeper pain which hampers me.”

He stepped closer, lowered his voice. “Ringthane, we are blinded. We were aware of the nature of Kevin's Dirt, but we had not experienced it in our own flesh. We—” He scowled in dismay. “
I
had not known that its bereavement would be so extreme. I am more than half crippled, unfit for your service.”

Still holding up the Staff, Linden shook her head. “Manethrall, you're wrong. You and Bhapa and Pahni are who you've always been,” as worthy as loyalty and valor could make them. “With your permission, I'll show you what I mean.”

He stared at her, perplexed and uncertain. He could not see her health, or the potency of the Staff. Yet he assented without hesitation.

Law and Earthpower came easily now. They were natural to her: as long as she held the Staff, they could not be taken away. If she had not felt diminished by Kevin's Dirt earlier, she would not have panicked. With the warm wood in her hands, she had only to desire the cleansing of the Ramen's senses, and her desire was accomplished.

The joy that lit their faces when they could
see
again was wonderful to behold. And it was especially acute in Bhapa. Until this moment, apparently, he had not fully appreciated the fact that his ordinary sight had been restored. For years, his vision had been impaired: now he could see in every sense of the word.

As one, the Ramen prostrated themselves at Linden's feet as though she were as majestic as the Ranyhyn.

Embarrassed, she lowered the Staff, muttering, “Oh, get up. Please. I don't want to be treated this way.” Again she explained, “It's temporary. Kevin's Dirt is still there. But I can renew it as often as we need. And eventually we'll figure out how to get rid of the cause.”

Obediently the Ramen rose to their feet. Now a palpable current of pleasure flowed between Pahni and Liand; and Bhapa gazed at Linden with gratitude in his clear eyes. But Mahrtiir turned away to glare fiercely down at the waiting Masters.

“Sleepless ones,” he called out in a voice that rang with scorn, “your purpose here has no meaning. Doubtless you will require the Ringthane to defend her actions and intentions. Stave has promised a reckoning, has he not? And you will attempt to account for your mistreatment of sad Anele, who harms no one. But your words and your choices are empty.

“The Ranyhyn have accepted the Ringthane. More, they have honored her, bowing their heads when they have never bowed to any living being. And in her name they have likewise accepted all of her companions, not excluding Anele. Indeed, at their will they have been ridden by Ramen, a thing which no Raman has ever done before.

“Sleepless ones, Bloodguard, you who have ridden so many Ranyhyn to their deaths, there is no more to be said. No more! All of your doubts and arrogance have been answered. If you will not serve the Ringthane, then you must set aside your Mastery, for you have declared your infidelity to the Land!”

From the floor of the Close, the Masters regarded Mahrtiir in silence. Linden could not read their reactions. Nevertheless their flat stoicism conveyed the impression that they did not consider Mahrtiir's indignation worthy of a response.

Their lack of affect vexed Linden. It was no wonder, she thought grimly, that the
Haruchai
spoke to each other mind to mind. They were too enclosed, too deeply immured within themselves, for any other form of communication.

Snarling, Mahrtiir turned back to Linden. “Ringthane, do you choose to submit to this false council?”

“Submit?” Her tone resembled his. “No. But I'll hear what they have to say, and I'll answer it. I need them, Manethrall. The Land needs them. I can't turn my back on that.”

He held her gaze, apparently searching for some flaw in her determination. Then he nodded once, brusquely. “Very well. The Ramen will stand beside you, whatever befalls.

“But heed my warning. These
Masters
”—he spat the word—“will not treat honestly with you.”

Summoning her professional detachment, she replied, “I'll take that chance.”

The
Haruchai
would not deign to lie; not under any compulsion. Not unless they had first lied to themselves.

When she started down into the Close, Liand and Mahrtiir walked at her sides, and the Cords arrayed themselves behind her. Followed by Galt, and deliberate as a cortege, they descended the hurt stone. At the bottom of the pit, however, she paused to see how the gathered Masters would greet her arrival.

For a moment, Stave regarded her with his remaining eye as if he wished to measure her against his shame. Then he bowed as he had often done before, impassive in his respect. But Handir merely inclined his head. He might have done more to acknowledge one of the servants of Revelstone.

The rest of the Masters only gazed at her and waited.

Now Linden was near enough to see that both of Anele's guards had lost the last two fingers of their right hands. Like Galt, they were the Humbled.

She swallowed a curse; refused to allow herself that show of emotion. As Mahrtiir had just demonstrated, the Masters would not be swayed by outrage.

If they could be swayed at all.

Standing passively between the Humbled, Anele did not react to Linden's presence. He may have been lost in the labyrinth of his dismay; unaware of her.

“Chosen,” Handir began when she looked toward him again, “you have been made welcome in Revelstone. Yet the Manethrall your companion conceives that he has cause to denounce us. Do you also fault our purpose here? If so, speak plainly, and you will be plainly answered.”