The Wounded Land (64 page)

The terrain had opened; nothing obscured the encirclement. To one side, streaks of green reflected off a small pond. The water seemed to be leering. The creatures advanced like leprosy. The night held no sound except the sighing of the rain.

Clang danced like a nervous colt. Annoy snorted heavily, winced from side to side. But Sunder kept the Coursers under control. He urged them forward until they stood in the center of the green circle. There he stopped.

In a flat voice, Brinn said, “Withhold your power. The lurker must not be made to notice us.”

Linden panted as if she could hardly breathe.

The creatures came seething noiselessly through the dark. The ones beyond the water stopped at its edge; the others continued to approach. They were featureless and telic, like lambent gangrene. They looked horribly like children.

Hergrom dismounted, became a shadow moving to meet the line. For a moment, he was limned by slime fire. Rain stippled his silhouette.

Then Linden coughed, “No! Don’t touch them!”

“Chosen.” Brinn’s voice was stone. “We must breach this snare. Hergrom will make trial, that we may learn how to fight.”

“
No
.” Her urgency suffocated her. “They’re acid. They’re made out of acid.”

Hergrom stopped.

Pieces of darkness whirled at him from Ceer’s direction. He caught them, two brands from the quest’s store of firewood.

Hefting them by their ends, he confronted the creatures.

Stark against the green, he swung one of the faggots like a club, striking the nearest child-form.

It burst like a wineskin, spilling emerald vitriol over the ground. His brand broke into flame.

The creatures on either side appeared not to care that one of them had fallen. But they promptly shifted to close the gap.

He struck with the other brand, ruptured another shape. Then he returned, bearing the faggots like torches.

In the firelight, Covenant saw that the company stood in an incongruously open stretch of grass. Beyond the advancing children, black trees crouched like craven ghouls. The pool on his left was larger than he had guessed it to be. Scant inches below its surface lay thick, dark mud. A quagmire.

The green creatures sought to herd the quest into it.

As if he could read Covenant’s thoughts, Brinn said warningly, “Ur-Lord. Withhold.”

Covenant tried to reply, could not. His lungs were full of moisture. His chest tugged at the air. He seemed to be asphyxiating on rain. Water ran down his face tike blood sweat.

No, it was not the rain. It was the air itself, strangling him.

Gradually the drizzle changed pitch. It began to sound like a cry. From deep in the night, a wail rose toward the sky.

It was in Covenant’s lungs. The very air was howling. He could hear Sunder gasp, feel Linden’s muscles jerking to breathe, taste his own acrid fear.

The lurker.

Damnation!

The cry scaled upward in pitch and passion, became a throttling scream. It clawed the depths of his chest, sucked at his courage like quicksand.

Panic.

The company stood like sacrificial cattle, trembling and dumb, while the acid-creatures advanced.

An instant later, Clash’s distress became a convulsion. Bucking savagely, the Courser scattered Linden and Covenant to the grass, then sprang insanely against Clang. With Brinn clinging to its neck, Clash knocked Sunder and Stell from Clang’s back. At once, the rampaging Courser tried to leap over Clang.

Covenant regained his feet in time to see Clangor go mad. Ignoring Hollian’s cries and Harn’s commands, the beast plunged against Clash and Clang and drove them to their knees.

Suddenly all four mounts were possessed by a mad frenzy to attack Sunder and Stell. Annoy crashed squealing into the roil of Coursers. Ceer and Cail dove free. Stell and Harn snatched Hollian out from under Clangor’s hooves.

Vain stood near the edge of the pool, watching the confusion as if it pleased him.

Covenant could not understand why the acid-creatures did not charge. They continued to approach incrementally, but did not take this opportunity to attack.

Brinn still clung to Clash’s neck, fending off the teeth of the other Coursers with his free hand. The
Haruchai
appeared insignificant, helpless, amid the madness of the beasts.

Darkness gathered in Covenant like venom. It leaped instinctively toward his ring. White gold. Power.

He wanted to shout, but could not get enough air. The howl of the lurker made the rain ring, choked his chest, covered his skin with formication.

He cocked his arm. But Linden, catching his half-hand in both her fists, gasped at him like hysteria, “No!”

The force of her desperation struck him still and cold. A gelid wind blew in his mind. Use it! Pressure threatened to burst him. His ring. Don’t! But the lurker—

The lurker was already aware. It was—

Why was it aware? What had alerted it?

Diving forward, Ceer joined Brinn among the Coursers. Together the two of them began casting down sacks of supplies and bundles of firewood.

Before they could finish, the tangle abruptly clarified itself. Clangor surged to its feet, followed by Annoy. Clash and Clang heaved upright.

Driven mad by the rain and the piercing shriek of the lurker, they assailed Sunder.

The Graveler ducked under Clangor, dodged Annoy, so that the beasts collided with each other. But the grass was slick under his feet. As he tried to spin out of the way, he went down. A chaos of hooves exploded around him.

Linden clinched Covenant’s arm as if he had tried to break free. But he had not, could not have moved to save his life. The acid-children— The howl— Coursers whirling. Rain swarming against his skin.

What had alerted—?

Stell appeared somehow among the beasts, stood over Sunder, and fought to protect him; he heaved legs aside, punched at heads, forced animals against each other.

Brinn and Ceer sought to distract the Coursers. But their insane fury at Sunder consumed them. He rolled from side to side, avoiding blows. But their savagery was too great.

The Coursers! Covenant gagged. His eyes bulged under the pressure of asphyxiation, vertigo. Creatures of the Sunbane. Corrupted Earthpower. The lurker was alert to such power.

Then this attack was directed against the Coursers. And they knew it. They were mad with fear.

Why didn’t they flee?

Because they were held!

Hellfire!

Covenant sprang into motion with a wrench that knocked Linden to the ground. His eyes locked onto Sunder. He could not breathe, had to breathe. The howl filled his lungs, strangling him. But he could not let Sunder die. With a convulsion of will, he ripped words out of himself.

“The
rukh
! Throw it away!”

Sunder could not have heard him. The screaming of the lurker drowned every other sound. The Graveler jerked over onto his chest as if he had been pounded by a hoof, then jerked back again.

With the
rukh
in his hands.

Stell snatched it from him, hurled it. Arcing over the Coursers, it splashed into the center of the quagmire.

Instantly the beasts wheeled. They charged after the iron as if it were the lure of their doom. In their terror, they strove to destroy the thing which prevented them from flight.

One of them smashed into Vain.

He made no effort to evade the impact. In his habitual pose, he stood as if no power on Earth could touch him. But the beast was a creature of the Sunbane, made feral and tremendous by fear. Its momentum knocked him backward.

He toppled into the pool.

The Coursers crashed after him, drove him down with their hooves. Then they, too, were caught in the quagmire.

At once, the water began to boil. Turbulence writhed across the surface, wringing screams from the Coursers; upheavals squirmed as if the quag were about to erupt. One by one, the beasts were wrenched downward, disappearing in dark froth like blood. Sucking noises came from the pool as if it were a gullet.

Moments later, the turmoil ended. The water relaxed with a sigh of satiation.

When the heaving subsided, Vain stood alone in the center of the pool.

He was sinking steadily. But the unfocus of his eyes was as blind as ever in the light of the torches. The water reached his chest. He did not struggle or cry out.

“Brinn!” Covenant panted. But the
Haruchai
were already moving. Harn pulled a coil of rope from one of the rescued sacks and threw it to Brinn. Promptly but without haste, Brinn unwound one end of the rope and tossed it toward Vain.

The rope landed across Vain’s shoulder.

He did not blink, gave no sign that he had seen it. His arms remained at his sides. The diffusion of his gaze was as complete as the quagmire.

“Vain!” Linden’s protest sounded like a sob. The Demondim-spawn did not acknowledge it.

Brinn snatched back the rope, swiftly made a loop with a slipknot. The water lapped at Vain’s neck as the
Haruchai
prepared to throw again.

With a flick, Brinn sent the rope snaking outward. The loop settled around Vain’s head. Carefully Brinn tugged it taut, then braced himself to haul on the rope. Ceer and Harn joined him.

Abruptly Vain sank out of sight.

When the
Haruchai
pulled, the rope came back empty. The loop was intact.

Until he heard himself swearing, Covenant did not realize that he could breathe.

The howling of the lurker was gone. The acid-creatures were gone. They had vanished into the night.

There was nothing left except the rain.

Covenant hugged his chest in an effort to steady his quivering heart. His lungs seized air as if even the rain of the Sarangrave were sweet.

Through the stillness, he heard Hollian moan Sunder’s name. As Sunder groaned, she gasped, “You are hurt.”

Covenant squeezed water out of his eyes, peered through the torchlight at the Graveler.

Pain gnarled Sunder’s face. Together Hollian and Linden were removing his jerkin. As they bared his ribs, they exposed a livid bruise where one of the Coursers had kicked him.

“Hold still,” Linden ordered. Her voice shook raggedly, as if she wanted to scream. But her hands were steady. Sunder winced instinctively at her touch, then relaxed as her fingers probed his skin without hurting him. “A couple broken,” she breathed. “Three cracked.” She placed her right palm over his lung. “Inhale. Until it hurts.”

He drew breath; a spasm knotted his visage. But she gave a nod of reassurance. “You’re lucky. The lung isn’t punctured.” She demanded a blanket from one of the
Haruchai
, then addressed Sunder again. “I’m going to strap your chest—immobilize those ribs as much as possible. It’s going to hurt. But you’ll be able to move without damaging yourself.” Stell handed her a blanket, which she promptly tore into wide strips. Caring for Sunder seemed to calm her. Her voice lost its raw edge.

Covenant left her to her work and moved toward the fire Hergrom and Ceer were building. Then a wave of reaction flooded him, and he had to squat on the wet grass, hunch inward with his arms wrapped around his stomach to keep himself from whimpering. He could hear Sunder hissing thickly through his teeth as Linden bound his chest; but the sound was like the sound of the rain, and Covenant was already soaked. He concentrated instead on the way his heart flinched from beat to beat, and fought for control. When the attack passed, he climbed to his feet, and went in search of
metheglin
.

Brinn and Ceer had been able to save only half the supplies; but Covenant drank freely of the mead which remained. The future would have to fend for itself. He was balanced precariously on the outer edge of himself and did not want to fall.

He had come within instants of calling up the wild magic—of declaring to the lurker that the Coursers were not the only available prey. If Linden had not stopped him— The drizzle felt like mortification against his skin. If she had not stopped him, he and his companions might already have met Lord Shetra’s doom. His friends—he was a snare for them, a walking deathwatch. How many of them were going to die before Lord Foul’s plans fructified?

He drank
metheglin
as if he were trying to drown a fire, the fire in which he was fated to burn, the fire of himself. Leper outcast unclean. Power and doubt. He seemed to feel the venom gnawing hungrily at the verges of his mind.

Vaguely he watched the
Haruchai
fashion scant shelters out of the remaining blankets, so that the people they guarded would not have to lie in rain. When Linden ordered Sunder and Hollian to rest, he joined them.

He awoke, muzzy-headed, in the dawn. The two women were still asleep—Linden lay like a battered wife with her hair sticking damply to her face—but Sunder was up before him. The rain had stopped. Sunder paced the grass slowly, carrying his damaged ribs with care. Concentration or pain accentuated his forehead.

Covenant lurched out of his sodden bed and shambled to the supplies for a drink of water. Then, because he needed companionship, he went to stand with the Graveler.

Sunder nodded in welcome. The lines above his nose seemed to complicate his vision. Covenant expected him to say something about the
rukh
or the Coursers; but he did not. Instead he muttered tightly, “Covenant, I do not like this Sarangrave. Is all life thus, in the absence of the Sunbane?”

Covenant winced at the idea. It made him think of Andelain. The Land was like the Dead; it lived only in Andelain, where for a while yet the Sunbane could not stain or ravish. He remembered Caer-Caveral’s song:

The mourning of that music brought back grief and old rage. Was he not Thomas Covenant, who had beaten the Despiser and cast Foul’s Creche into the Sea? “If it is,” he answered to the tone of dirges, poisons, “I’m going to tear that bastard’s heart out.”

Distantly the Graveler asked, “Is hate such a good thing? Should we not then have remained at Revelstone, and given battle to the Clave?”