Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (76 page)

When Handir responded, Linden faced him again.

To Stave, the Voice of the Masters said. “It is Linden Avery who threatens Desecration. You do not. How will the

success or failure of your strength measure the Land’s peril?’

“It will not,” Stave replied stolidly. “It will measure your worthiness to adjudge her as you have adjudged me.”

Linden groaned to herself. If Stave failed, he would validate the repudiation of his people.

“The Humbled have spoken,” Galt put in sharply. “We will accept the contest.”

“But
have not spoken,” Handir returned with a tinge of asperity. “By right of years and attainment, I am the Voice of the Masters. I must be heeded.”p>

“As the Humbled also must be heeded,” Galt reminded him.

For a long moment, the Humbled and Handir regarded each other. Then all four of them nodded; and the Voice of the Masters shifted his attention to

Mahrtiir.

“Manethrall, we have heard you. Though your ire is unseemly, you are a Manethrall of the Ramen, and we hear you with respect. But we do not perceive how the will of the Ranyhyn pertains to the nature of our service.”

Keen as a raptor, Mahrtiir answered. “The Ranyhyn are inherent to the Land as the Haruchai and even the Ramen are not. The great horses partake of

the Land’s essence and grandeur, for they are expressions of Earthpower, wholly and purely themselves,

unflawed by either lore or aggrandizement. They stand high among the wonders which have caused you to choose the nature of your service. Also their foresight is both well known and inestimable.

“Inform me, then, how any Master may disdain the choices of the Ranyhyn and yet claim that he serves the Land.”

Although several of the other Masters emanated indignation, Handir did not appear offended. Instead he nodded as if to acknowledge that the Manethrall had made a valid point. Linden gnawed her lip while Handir remained silent, presumably communing with the Haruchai in the forehall.

For no apparent reason, Anele stated. “Anele does not fear horses. He does not fear the dark ones. He fears them.”

Then the Voice of the Masters spoke. “Linden Avery,” he said as if words uttered aloud had become awkward for him, “you have healed Stave. The Humbled remain hampered by injury.”

He may have been asking her to disavow Stave’s test of truth.

If so, he had misjudged her. Stave had sacrificed his bond with his own sons for her sake. In spite of her apprehension, she replied. “And he

only has one eye. I call that even.”

In any case, the hurts of the Humbled were superficial. And Stave had blows to repay-

“Linden,” breathed Liand, warning her. You have it within you—

For a few heartbeats, Handir resumed his silence. Then he shifted his stance to address everyone around him.

“It is decided,” he said rigidly. “Both tests have merit. Neither suffices.

“However, we do not desire Linden Avery’s enmity. Nor do we intend any slight to the Ramen, or to the majesty of the Ranyhyn. And the Humbled must be heeded. Therefore both tests will be essayed in turn. If Stave withstands each of the Humbled, Linden Avery will then summon the Ranyhyn, as the Manethrall has urged. If Stave falls, no summons will be

countenanced.”

After a brief pause, he continued, “It is in my heart, however, that such trials resolve naught.” Again his manner or his tone seemed to imply a veiled sorrow. “Conceding them, we accept only the hazard of greater uncertainty, for the strictures of our service will not be set aside. If Linden Avery’s release is won, we will be compelled to consider whether we have damned the Land. Yet if Stave or the Ranyhyn fail

her, she will not thereby be persuaded to accept our Mastery. Rather the darkness within her will deepen. And Desecration may be wrought as readily in Revelstone as in Kiril Threndor. Thus will we again be compelled to consider whether we have damned the Land.

“I am Handir, by right of years and attainment the Voice of the Masters. I have spoken. But my words will bear no sweet fruit. Rather they will ripen to

gall and rue.”

When he was finished, he and the other Masters immediately withdrew, leaving only Galt, Clyme, and Branl between Linden’s company and the clenched gates. Clearly Handir intended the tests to begin at once.

Hugging the Staff harder, Linden tried to breathe as if she were calm. She was not sure that she could bear to see Stave beaten again.

While Stave advanced to confront the Humbled, Mahrtiir and Liand stood with Linden. “Gall and rue are the inescapable outcome of your Mastery,” the Manethrall said to Handir. “Do not complain of them here, where those who seek to preserve the Land wish only to do so without opposition.”

Then he whispered privately to Linden. “I proposed a test of the Ranyhyn hoping to spare Stave. He has been harmed in both body and spirit, and I

feared for him. It was not my intent to hamper you, Ringthane.”

“I know,” she murmured tensely. “I’m scared, too. If they hurt him again, I don’t know how I’m going to forgive myself. But I just don’t have any better ideas.”

“Ah, Stave,” sighed Liand. “Now I am truly shamed that I have thought and spoken ill of you.”

As one, Stave and the Humbled bowed to each other with ritual formality. Then Branl and Clyme retreated to clear a space for Galt and Stave.

Involuntarily Linden remembered

another battle in this place. When Nom had broken the inner gates, she and Covenant had entered the forehall with Sunder and Hollian, a few Giants, and a small company of Haruchai. Here they had fought desperately against the Clave, Coursers, and the na-Mhoram’s

Grim. Old frenzy, terror, and bloodshed seemed to harry her now, as bleak as Handir’s omens.

So suddenly that she nearly gasped, Galt struck. Blood still crusted his hands and feet. Nonetheless he launched a blow swift and hard enough to crush the blinded side of Stave’s face.

Stave had said that he did not wish to cause harm. Plainly Galt’s intentions

were more extreme. He seemed to want to eradicate Stave from his sight.

The lamps and torches provided light in abundance. Yet Linden could not distinguish the vicious blur of Galt’s punch from the details of Stave’s response. She saw only that Stave remained poised in front of Galt’s fist-and then he stood behind the Humbled with his hands on Galt’s shoulders. With delicate precision, he kicked away one of Galt’s feet and

jerked the Humbled backward.

Galt fell: he could not prevent it. But as he fell, he twisted in the air; caught hold of Stave’s tunic; tried to wrench Stave down with him.

Stave countered by letting himself drop so that his knees landed heavily on Galt’s ribs. With his arms braced against Galt’s grasp, Stave kept his balance so that no part of him except his feet touched the floor.

A wince of shock or chagrin flashed over Galt’s features and vanished. For an instant, Linden feared that the Humbled would refuse to cede defeat; that he would attempt to roll Stave into a fall. Instead, however, Galt released Stave and relaxed. His Haruchai rectitude did not permit him to violate the conditions of the test.

Nodding, Stave rose smoothly to his feet and turned toward Branl and Clyme.

Handir and the observing Masters concealed whatever they may have felt. Linden found that Liand had placed his hand on her shoulder. He gripped her tightly to contain his suspense.

Clyme was the next to approach Stave. While they gazed at each other, motionless, the concentration-or perhaps the firelight-in the Humbled’s eyes conveyed the impression that he was probing Stave’s defenses.

Linden knew that she would receive no forewarning; that even her health-sense could not anticipate the instant when either of the Haruchai would move. That in itself was a kind of presage. Nevertheless she was not ready. She flinched instinctively as Clyme attacked.

Smooth as oil, and swift as light, the Humbled lashed a kick at Stave’s abdomen.

Once again, Stave did not appear to react until he had already done so. Stepping aside, he swung an arm like a bar of iron across Clyme’s chest. Stave’s arm stopped Clyme’s momentum while Clyme’s kick carried him forward. Opposing forces swept the Humbled’s supporting leg out from under him.

Like Galt, Clyme clutched at Stave as he fell. Clasping Stave’s arm, the Humbled attempted to yank Stave from

his feet. But Stave responded by crouching quickly, using Clyme’s hold to drive the Humbled downward.

Clyme landed hard. His shoulder blades could have been cracked. Certainly the breath should have been knocked from his lungs. But he was Haruchai: he did not react to the impact. Instead he let go of Stave’s arm, acknowledging defeat.

Again Stave stood upright. While

Clyme rose and walked away to join his kinsmen, Stave waited for the last of the Humbled.

“My God,” Linden breathed to Liand and Mahrtiir. “They can’t hear his thoughts, but he still hears theirs. He knows exactly what they’re going to do.”

Even if he had lost both eyes, he might have been able to defend himself against his own people. Over the

millennia, the Haruchai had become dependent on their mental communion. Linked to each other, they could not adjust their tactics to accommodate his unfamiliar blend of isolation and awareness.

But Branl appeared to understand the reasons for Stave’s success. The pace of his approach-or perhaps merely its tone-implied caution. And Handir studied the Humbled in a way that seemed to suggest inward counsel. All

of the Masters may have been reminding Branl to fight as though Stave were not Haruchai.

Instead of striking, Branl circled Stave slowly. He may have wanted Stave to make the first move; to commit himself.

Yet even then Stave had the advantage. He had heard Handir’s advice-and Branl’s response. He understood Branl’s preparations. When

Stave jabbed suddenly at Branl’s head, the blow was a feint.

The Humbled replied with a block which flowed seamlessly into a wheeling kick powerful enough to crumple Stave. But Stave had already stepped inside the kick and slapped down the block. While Branl snatched back his leg, Stave clipped him across the forehead with one elbow.

To Linden’s slower perceptions, the

touch of Stave’s elbow looked harmless: a glancing blow, nothing more. The collision of bone with bone sounded too soft to have any force. Yet the Humbled sprawled backward.

In the fraction of a heartbeat remaining to him, Branl endeavored to execute a flip which would land him on his feet. But he did not have enough time. His knees and then his hands hit the floor.

When he stood again, he gave Stave a

small bow and withdrew to join the rest of the Masters.

For a moment or two, a silence as gravid as an aftershock held the forehall. Linden imagined that she could hear the preconceptions of Stave’s kinsmen crumbling. Then Liand crowed. “Stayer’ and pumped jubilation into the air with both fists. “Heaven and Earth, Stave!”

Grinning fiercely, Mahrtiir growled,

“Well done, Haruchai. Well done in all sooth. Here is a tale to gladden the hearts of the Ramen. At last blows have been struck which may humble the sleepless ones. And we have witnessed it, a Manethrall and his Cords. No longer may these Masters feign that their worth exceeds yours.”

Linden felt suddenly weak; drained by relief. She wanted to sit down. Stave had already suffered too many hurts in her name. Now he was safe-at least

for the moment. But she clung to her resolve and hid her frailty. Holding herself upright, she gave thanks with her eyes.

Impassively Stave turned to Mahrtiir. “Manethrall, it was not done to demonstrate my worth. In their place, I would conduct myself as the Masters do. Rather it was done in the Chosen’s service-and to teach my people that they also may exceed themselves, if they elect to make the attempt.”

Mahrtiir replied with a deep Ramen bow as if he were accepting a reprimand; but his whetted grin remained.

“Worth is not at issue,” Handir said sternly. “One fall does not define merit or prowess. Yet we honor Stave’s wish to cause no harm, as we must. And we acknowledge the outcome of his trial.

“Behold.”

He nodded toward the gates; and as he did so, the massive stone began to open, turning soundlessly on its Giantish pivots or hinges. The savor of the air, chilled to crispness, and redolent with springtime, told Linden that the sun was rising. Its light was blocked by the bulk of the watchtower; but a grey illumination washed inward, softening the flames of the lamps and torches.

“Linden Avery,” the Voice of the

Masters announced, “you may

summon the Ranyhyn.”

His words seemed to dismiss some of the trepidation from the forehall.

She resisted an impulse to head immediately for the walled courtyard. The taste of the air, and the prospect of leaving Revelstone, restored her eagerness. She was confident now. She had shared a horserite with Hyn and Hynyn: she knew that they would

answer.

But she had other concerns—

First she faced Handir and bowed, although he had never bowed to her. “Even when I believe that you’re wrong,” she said quietly, “I don’t question your integrity. If I’ve ever said anything to make you think otherwise, I regret it. I hope that someday we’ll be allies again,” as they had been in the time of the Sunbane. “But for now, I

just hope that you’ll try to withhold judgment.”

She did not expect a reply, and Handir did not proffer one. She felt a tinge of sadness like an echo of his as she gestured for her friends to gather around her.

“The Ranyhyn won’t fail us,” she told them. “You all know that. And Handir is going to let us leave.” She had sensed it in his hidden sorrow. “He doesn’t like

the fact that Roger and the croyel tricked him. None of the Masters do. And were a constant reminder that they can make mistakes. Once were gone, they can debate their definition of service in peace.”

If any peace remained to the Land-Stave nodded his confirmation.

“But when we go,” Linden continued. “we have to remember that Anele is

vulnerable when he stands on anything except stone.” Beyond the watchtower lay bare dirt. “Kastenessen can reach him. Lord Foul can reach him. Even Esmer can interfere with him. And there’s Covenant,” the real one. “who seems to suffer in the process as much as Anele does.