Chapter Three: 

Tales Among Friends

Linden was eating cheese, grapes, and cold mutton, and washing them down with draughts of Glimmermere’s roborant, when she heard Liand knock at her door. She recognised his touch through the heavy granite by its mingled eagerness and anxiety; and she stood up at once to answer, although the door was not latched. She was eager and anxious herself. Among a host of other things, she did not know how long she had been gone from Revelstone, or how Lord’s Keep had fared against the Demondim; and she needed confirmation that her friends were unharmed.

As she opened the door, Liand burst unceremoniously into the room. He may have assumed that he would be met—and thwarted—by the Mahdoubt. When he caught sight of Linden, however, his open face seemed to catch light. His eyes shone with pleasure, and his black brows soared. At once, he wrapped her in a fierce, brief hug. Then he stepped back, simultaneously abashed and glowing.

“Linden,” he breathed as if his throat were too crowded with emotion for any other words. “Oh, Linden.”

Behind him, Manethrall Mahrtiir swept in, avid as a hawk. Standing before Linden, he gave her a deep Ramen bow, with his arms extended toward her on either side of his head, and his palms outward. His garrote bound his hair, and a garland of fresh amanibhavam hung about his neck. The sharp scent of the flowers emphasised his edged tone as he said, “Ringthane, you are well returned—and well restored. When first you appeared, we feared for you, though the Mahdoubt and our own discernment gave assurance that you required only rest. Our troubled hearts are now made glad.”

Mahrtiir’s accustomed sternness made his greeting seem almost effusive; but Linden had no time to reply. Bhapa and Pahni followed their Manethrall, bowing as well. The older Cord’s eyes were moist and grateful: an unwonted display of emotion for a Raman. But Pahni’s plain joy was more complex. She appeared to feel more than one kind of happiness, as if her delight at Linden’s recovery subsumed a deeper and more private gladness. And Linden detected a secret undercurrent of concern.

Leading Anele by the arm, Stave entered behind the Ramen. The old man suffered Stave’s touch without discomfort: apparently even he understood that the Haruchai was no longer a Master. His moonstone gaze passed over Linden as if he were unaware of her. Instead of acknowledging her, he shook off Stave’s hand, strode over to the tray of food, sat down, and began to eat as if his decades of privation had left him perpetually hungry.

Stave responded to Anele’s behaviour with a delicate shrug. Then he faced Linden and bowed. His flat features and impassive mien revealed nothing: she still could not read him. But his remaining eye held an unfamiliar brightness; and she guessed that her absence had been uniquely harsh for him. No doubt he judged himself severely for failing to protect her. In addition, however, he had sacrificed more in her name than any of her other friends. Liand had turned his back on his home, and the Ramen had left behind their lives among their people; but Stave had been effectively excommunicated by his kinsmen.

All of his wounds were long healed. In the place of his torn and soiled garment, he wore a clean tunic. Only his missing eye betrayed the scale of his losses.

Linden gazed at all of her companions with affection and relief. Often in her life, she had felt that she wept too easily. Now she regretted that she had no tears to show her friends how she felt about them. She could see that none of them had been harmed while she was away.

But she did not return Stave’s bow, or those of the Ramen. She did not reply to Liand or Mahrtiir. They had not come into her rooms alone: two of the Humbled had followed them. Galt and Clyme stood poised on either side of the open door as if they suspected her of some insidious betrayal.

Many of the Masters had been slaughtered by the Demondim. More may have suffered in the battle between Esmer and the ur-viles. And they had not interfered with Linden’s attack on the horde’s caesure. But she had not forgotten what they had done to the people of the Land, or how they had refused her own pleading. And she would not forgive their repudiation of Stave. She remembered their blows as though her own body had been struck.

“Stave,” she asked as though she stood on Gallows Howe and desired bloodshed, “what’s going on?”

“Chosen,” he relied flatly. “they are chary of me.”

Surprised, she demanded, “You mean that they don’t think they’ve punished you enough?”

Stave shook his head. “As you know, my people will no longer address their thoughts to me, or respond to mine. When I had experienced their rejection for a time, I found that I wished to foil it. Though I comprehend their denunciation, I became loath to countenance it. Therefore I have learned to mute my inward voice. I hear the silent speech of the Masters, but they do not hear mine.”

While Linden stared at him, he continued, “Formerly the Humbled might remain in the passage with the door sealed, and yet would know all that I heard and said and thought. But now my mind is hidden from them. If they do not stand in your presence, they will learn nothing of your tale or your purposes, for they judge rightly that I will not reveal you to them.”

“Stave—” His explanation filled her with such wonder that she could hardly find words. “Anyone who makes the mistake of underestimating you deserves what happens.” Then she fought down her awe and ire. The Land has had some great heroes. I’ve known a few myself,” too many to bear. “But you—all of you”—she looked around at Liand, Anele, and the Ramen—“could hold your heads up in any company.”

Then she faced Stave again. Articulating each word precisely, she said, But I can’t talk in front of these halfhands.” What had happened to her was too personal. “I need them to wait outside. I know this is a lot to ask. And I’ll understand if you don’t want to do it. But I hope that you’ll agree to answer their questions after we’re done here. Assure them that you’ll tell them whatever they need to know.”

The Haruchai raised an eyebrow; but he did not object. Instead he glanced at Clyme and Galt. Without inflection, he said, “The Chosen has spoken. I will comply. You may depart.”

As he spoke, Linden folded her arms across her chest to conceal her fists. Glaring, she dared the Humbled to believe that Stave would not abide by his word.

They considered her for a moment. Then Galt countered. And if his judgment differs from ours, concealing that which we would deem necessary? What then?”

Linden did not hesitate. “You’re forgetting something.” She had beaten back Roger Covenant and the croyel and Lord Foul’s manipulations. She had met Berek Halfhand and Damelon Giantfriend and the Theomach, the greatest of all Insequent. Caerroil Wildwood had given runes to her Staff. The Mahdoubt had crossed ten millennia to rescue her. She felt no impulse to doubt herself, or falter. The Land needs you. Even I need you. I’m still hoping that something will persuade you to help me. And Stave knows how you think. He won’t withhold anything that matters to you.”

Still neither of the Humbled moved. You speak of us as “halfhands”, observed Clyme. That name we accept, for we have claimed it in long combat, and our purpose among the Masters is honorable. But is it your belief that we are “the halfhand” of whom the Elohim sought to forewarn the people of the Land?”

She sighed, gripping herself tightly. “No. I know better.”

Galt, Branl, and Clyme represented that aspect of the Masters which might cause them to stand stubbornly aside when they were most needed. But she had seen the truth of Roger and the croyel. And Kastenessen himself might now be considered a halfhand. She was sure that the Elohim did not fear the Humbled.

For a moment longer, Clyme and Galt appeared to consult the air of the chamber, or perhaps the larger atmosphere of Revelstone. Then they left the room without further argument, closing the door behind them.

At last, Linden bowed to Stave. “Thank you.” When the Humbled were gone, some of her tension eased. She was finally able to look at her friends and smile.

Because Liand was the least reserved among them, and his apprehensions darkened his eyes, she faced him, although she spoke to the Ramen and Stave as well. “Please don’t misunderstand,” she urged with as much warmth as she could muster. “I probably don’t look happy to be back. But I am. It’s just that I’ve been through things that I don’t even know how to describe. For a while there, I didn’t think that I would ever see any of you again.” Her voice held steady when it should have quivered. “If the Mahdoubt hadn’t saved me, I would be as good as dead.”

The young Stonedownor’s face brimmed with questions. Linden held up her hand to forestall them.

“But now I know what I have to do. That’s what you see in me,” instead of gladness. “I was betrayed, and I’ve gone so far beyond anger that I might not come back. I want to hear what’s happened to all of you. I need to know how long I’ve been gone, and what the Demondim are doing. Then I have to find a way to leave Revelstone.” Trying to be clear, she finished, “I’ve been too passive. I’m tired of it. I want to start doing things that our enemies don’t expect.”

She was not surprised by Stave’s blunt nod, or by the sudden ferocity of Mahrtiir’s grin. And she took for granted that the Cords would follow their Manethrall in spite of their reasons for alarm, the ominous prophecies which they had heard from Anele. But Linden had expected doubt and worry from Liand: she was not prepared for the immediate excitement that brightened his gentle eyes. And Anele’s reaction actively startled her.

Swallowing a lump of mutton, he jumped to his feet. In a loud voice, he announced, “Anele no longer fears the creatures, the lost ones.” His head jerked from side to side as if he were searching for something. “He fears to remember. Oh, that he fears.” With one hand, he beckoned sharply to Liand, although he seemed unaware of the gesture. “And the Masters must be fled. So he proclaims to all who will heed him.

“But the others—” Abruptly his voice sank to a whisper. “They speak in Anele’s dreams. Their voices he fears more than horror and recrimination.”

His madness was visible in every line of his emaciated form. To some extent, however, it was vitiated by the fact that he stood on wrought stone. Here as on Kevin’s Watch, or in his gaol in Mithil Stonedown, he referred to himself as if he were someone else; but shaped or worn rock occasionally enabled him to respond with oblique poignancy to what was said and done around him.

Still he beckoned for Liand. 

The others—?

“Linden—” said Liand awkwardly. The insistence of Anele’s gestures appeared to disturb him. He must have understood them. “I lack words to convey—”

“Then,” Mahrtiir instructed, “permit the Ringthane to witness his plight, as he desires. When she has beheld it, words will follow.”

The young man cast a look like an appeal at Linden; but he obeyed the Manethrall. Sighing unhappily, he reached to a sash at his waist, a pale blue strip of cloth which Linden had not seen before, and from which hung a leather pouch the size of his cupped hand. Untying the pouch, he slipped an object into his hand, took a deep breath to steady himself, then pressed the object into Anele’s grasp.

It was a smooth piece of stone, vaguely translucent—and distinctly familiar. Linden’s health-sense received an impression of compacted possibilities.

Anele’s fingers clenched immediately around the stone. At once, he flung back his head and wailed as though his heart were being torn from him.

Instinctively Linden moved toward the old man. But Liand reached out to stop her; and Mahrtiir barked. “Withhold, Ringthane! Anele wishes this.”

An instant later, a rush of power from Anele’s closed fist washed away every hint of his lunacy.

Linden jerked to a halt and stared. That was Earthpower, but it was not Anele’s inborn strength. Rather his latent force catalysed or evoked a different form of magic; a particular eldritch energy which she had known long ago.

Then the flood of puissance passed, and Anele fell silent. Slowly he lowered his head. When he looked at Linden, his blind gaze focused on her as if he could see.

“Linden Avery,” he said hoarsely. “Chosen and Sun-Sage. White gold wielder. You are known to me.”

“Anele,” she breathed. “You’re sane.”

None of her companions showed any surprise, although their distress was plain. They had recognised the old man’s gestures; must have seen this transformation before—

“I am,” he acknowledged, and do not wish it. It torments me, for it is clarity without succour. I cannot heal the harm that I have wrought. But I must speak and be understood. They ask it of me.”

“They”?” urged Linden. Anele had endured Lord Foul’s brutal presence, and Kastenessen’s. He had felt Esmer’s coercion. And Thomas Covenant had spoken through him as well: a more benign possession, but a violation nonetheless. If even sleep had become fear and anguish, how could he retain any vestige of himself?

“They do not possess me,” he replied with fragile dignity, as though he understood her alarm. “Rather they speak in my dreams, imploring this of me. They are Sunder my father and Hollian my mother, whom my weakness has betrayed. And behind them stands Thomas Covenant, who craves only that I assure you of his love. But the intent of Sunder Graveler and Hollian eh-Brand is more urgent.”

Sunder? Linden thought dumbly. Hollian? She gaped at the son of her long-dead friends as he continued, “They sojourn among the Dead in Andelain, and they beg of you that you do not seek them out. They know not how the peril of Kastenessen and the skurj and white gold may be answered. They cannot guide or counsel you. They are certain only that doom awaits you in the company of the Dead.”

His love. “Anele—” Linden’s voice was a croak of chagrin. “Can you talk to them?” They beg of you—“In your dreams? Can you tell them that I know what I’m doing?”

All of her hopes were founded in Andelain. If she were forbidden to approach the Dead, she was truly lost; and Jeremiah would suffer until the Arch of Time crumbled.

The old man shook his head. “Sleeping, I am mute.” His moonstone eyes regarded her in supplication. “In my remorse, I would cry out to them, but they cannot hear. No power of dream or comprehension will shrive me until I have discovered and fulfilled my geas.”

Then he turned away. “Liand,” he panted, faltering, “I beseech you. Relieve me of this burden. I cannot bear the knowledge of myself.”

Doom awaits you in the company of the Dead.

When he extended his hand and opened his fingers, he revealed a piece of orcrest, Sunstone. To Linden’s senses, it appeared identical to the smooth, unevenly shaped rock with which Sunder had warded the folk of Mithil Stonedown from the Sunbane. Its potency made it seem transparent, but it was not. Instead it resembled a void in the substance of Anele’s palm; an opening into some other dimension of reality or Earthpower.

Its touch had restored his mind.

“No.” As Liand reached for the stone, Linden grabbed Anele; forced him to face her again. She wanted to demand, Why? You’re sane now. Tell me why. She had heard too many prophesies of disaster. Even Liand had warned her, You have it within you to perform horrors. She needed to know what Sunder and Hollian feared from her.

But when her hands closed on his gaunt frame, her nerves felt his excruciation like a jolt of lightning. He was sane: oh, he was sane. And for that reason, he was defenseless. Even his heritage of Earthpower could not rebuff the self-denunciation and grief which had broken his mind; blinded him; condemned him to decades of starvation and loneliness while he searched for the implications of his fractured past.

Linden’s heart may have grown as ungiving and dark as obsidian; but she could ask nothing of this frail old man. Even to save her son, she could not. She had already extorted too much pain from Anele. She was done with it.

And behind them stands Thomas Covenant, who craves only that I assure you of his love.

Swallowing grief as acute as rage, Linden said softly, “I want you to understand something. While you still can. I used you. When I was trying to convince the Masters to help me.” And she had contemplated causing him more hurt. “But I won’t do that again. I’m finished.”

She had learned at least this much from her betrayal by Roger and the croyel. They had wanted her to achieve their ends for them. And their manipulations had nearly destroyed her. But what the croyel was doing to Jeremiah was worse.

“I’ll keep you with me,” she promised. “I’ll protect you as much as I can.” She had no other hope to offer him. “But I won’t ask you to pay the price for what I want. Not again.”

Anele breathed heavily for a moment. He shuddered in her grasp: his eyes were closed. When he had mastered himself, he replied. “Linden Avery, you are the Chosen, and will determine much.” His low growl echoed Mahrtiir’s severity. “But that choice is not vouchsafed to you. All who live share the Land’s plight. Its cost will be borne by all who live. This you cannot alter. In the attempt, you may achieve only ruin.”

Then he pulled away from her easily, as if her strength had failed. Leaving her confounded, he handed the orcrest to Liand.

As soon as the stone left his fingers, he appeared to faint.

Too late, Linden snatched at his slumping form. But Bhapa was quicker. He caught the old man and lowered him gently to the rug.

Obviously the Cord had known what to expect. All of Linden’s friends had known.

“Liand?” she asked in chagrin. “Is he—?”

Liand continued to cradle the orcrest in his palm as though its touch gave him pleasure. “We have spoken of this,” he answered quietly, gazing at Anele. “We discern no lasting hurt. He will slumber briefly. When he wakes, he will be as he was. In some form, his madness is kindly. It shields him. In its absence, his bereavements would compel despair.” When the young man looked up at Linden, his compassion for Anele filled his eyes. “This we have concluded among ourselves, for we know not how otherwise to comprehend either his pain or his endurance of it.”

Mahrtiir nodded; and Pahni rested her hand on Liand’s shoulder, sharing his sympathy.

Linden’s knees felt suddenly weak. “God,” she breathed, “I need to sit down.” Unsteadily she moved to the nearest chair and dropped into it. Then she covered her face with her hands, trying to absorb what had just happened.

Oh, Anele. How much more of this will you have to suffer?

—that doom awaits you—

Sunder and Hollian feared intentions which Linden had not revealed, even to the Mahdoubt. She had hardly named them to herself.

And behind them stands Thomas Covenant

Now she believed absolutely that it was her Covenant who had spoken in her dreams; who had warned her through Anele in the Verge of Wandering; who had addressed her friends on the rich grass of the plateau. No one else would have spoken as he did.

—who craves only that I assure you of his love.

For a while, her friends waited for her in silence. Then Stave said firmly, “Chosen, we must speak. We recognise that you have suffered much. But you propose to combat the Land’s foes. You speak of betrayal. And it appears that both the Unbeliever and your son have been lost, when their proclaimed intent was the Land’s redemption. Such matters require comprehension.”

“Also we are bewildered by the Mahdoubt,” added Mahrtiir, “who has shown herself able to pass through stone. She is absent from these chambers, though she was not seen to depart. Her role in your return pleads for explanation.”

Linden did not lower her hands. When her friends had come to her door, she had believed herself ready for them. Now she knew that she was not.

“Manethrall,” Stave countered, “if you will heed my counsel, we will not consider the Mahdoubt until other concerns have been addressed. I do not desire concealment, either from you or from the Chosen. But I deem that the Mahdoubt’s strangeness is less than urgent. The ur-Lord’s fate, and our own straits, hold greater import.”

“As you will.” Linden felt Mahrtiir’s nod. The mistrust which he had once displayed toward Stave was entirely gone. “I am content to speak of her when you find it condign to do so.”

Promptly Stave continued. “Then I will say to you, Linden Avery, Chosen, that you have been absent from Revelstone for half a moon—”

“Thirteen days, Linden,” put in Liand.

“—and have slept for two days more,” the Haruchai went on. “In that time, we have feared for your life. And now that you have returned, we fear for the life of Land. Your words give us reason to conceive that the Unbeliever has failed.”

Still Linden covered her face; hid from her companions. The spectres of Sunder and Hollian distrusted her. How could she tell her friends that she had come within a few heartbeats of giving the Despiser exactly what he desired?

Gallows Howe demanded a greater champion than Linden Avery.

“Linden,” said Liand, prodding her gently, we did not know how to hope. When you had disappeared, Esmer likewise vanished. The ur-viles then dispersed, leaving no sign of themselves—or of the Waynhim. And the Ranyhyn had departed among the mountains, suggesting that you had no more need of them—” His voice tightened momentarily. That you would not return. Yet the Demondim besieged Revelstone furiously. The loss of you filled our hearts with dread.”

“It was Thomas Covenant who took you from us,” Pahni added as if she feared that Linden might doubt Liand, “the first Ringthane. Now he is gone. Through Anele, we have been promised travails rather than relief. How then should we hope?”

Linden sighed. They were right, of course, all of them. She had to tell them what had happened. Still she was reluctant to answer them. She did not want to reveal what she had become.

Anele’s warning scared her because she already knew that she would ignore it.

Soon, she commanded herself. Soon she would face the risk of her story. But she would postpone it a little longer.

Slowly she lowered her hands.

Her friends stood clustered in front of her. Pahni’s hand remained on Liand’s shoulder, gripping him for support or comfort. Bhapa waited near Anele, ready to help the old man when he woke. The older Cord kept his gaze averted from Linden’s as if to show that he asked nothing of her; that her mere presence was enough for him. But both Mahrtiir and Stave studied her, the Manethrall avidly, the Haruchai without expression.

Clearing her throat, Linden asked carefully. “How often has Anele been sane?”

“Once only,” Liand answered at once. And he retained himself only so that he might command us to grant him the orcrest stone when he beckoned. For ten days and more, he has not touched the stone, or spoken clearly.”

The Stonedownor’s gaze encouraged her not to worry about Anele—or any of her friends. But his tone held a muffled eagerness, a whetted admixture of relief, uncertainty, and excitement. He appeared to feel elevated by the Sunstone, raised to a stature which surpassed his expectations for himself.

“And what about the orcrest?” Linden asked him. “The Sunstone? How did you find it?”

In a general sense, she knew the answer. What you need is in the Aumbrie. You’ll know what you’re looking for when you touch it. But she wanted Liand’s confirmation. She could not imagine why Covenant had urged him to go in search of power.

And she had never seen the Aumbrie of the Clave. She only knew that Vain had found the iron heels of Berek’s Staff there while she was a prisoner in Revelstone.

But Stave intervened before Liand could reply. “Chosen, I belittle neither Liand nor orcrest in saying that they do not outweigh our need for your tale. In the name of all that we have dreaded, I ask this of you. Speak to us, that we may know the truth of our peril.”

Linden did not glance away from Liand. “Just this one, Stave.” To her own ears, she sounded as inflexible as the Haruchai. “Please. I’m still trying to pull myself together. Hearing you talk—all of you—helps me.”

Their voices, and her concern, reminded her of the woman she had once been.

Stave glanced at Mahrtiir. When the Manethrall assented, Stave said stiffly, “Be brief, Stonedownor.”

Pahni continued to hold Liand’s shoulder; but she lowered her eyes as though she sought to mask the fact that where he felt excitement she knew only trepidation.

Abruptly Liand seated himself near Linden. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he leaned toward her; held his piece of orcrest like an offering or demonstration between them. His concern for her crowded against the surface of his attention. But his desire to speak of the Sunstone temporarily took precedence.

“In this matter, Linden, I am not formed for brevity. At your side, I have been mazed by marvels which surpassed all conception. But until I placed my hand upon this stone, and felt my spirit answer to its astonishment, I had not imagined that I, too, might find myself exalted.”

In life, Sunder had wielded his piece of Sunstone skilfully. But he had been educated by the Clave’s Rede. Liand had no such instruction; no lore of any kind. Only the inborn resources of his Stonedownor blood might enable him to make use of orcrest.

You must comprehend,” he explained earnestly, “that we were distraught to the depths of our hearts. The Unbeliever and your son had rent you from us, promising salvation. Yet the ur-viles opposed them—and were in turn opposed by Esmer, whose disturbed loyalties appear to shift at every occasion. Also a voice had spoken to us through Anele, foretelling obscure needs and burdens. And the Demondim battered Revelstone heinously. The Masters responded valorously, but their losses were grave, and none knew how long they might deny the horde.

“It is your word that you have endured events which defy description. Our consternation also exceeded telling.”

Pahni’s fingers dug into Liand’s shoulder; but she would not meet Linden’s gaze.

Liand continued to search Linden’s face for an answer to his underlying apprehension. “Galled by helplessness, we endeavoured to busy ourselves. Daily we bathed in Glimmermere to banish the bale of Kevin’s Dirt. The Ramen tended the mounts of the Masters. And Stave—as he later informed us—labored to acquire the secret of silencing his thoughts. But Anele and I were without purpose or relief.

“He remained as he was, compliant and mumbling incoherently. Of him I knew only that he misliked the nearness of the Masters. I, however—” Liand shrugged at the memory. “I had no place in the defense of Lord’s Keep. My presence merely hindered the Masters. The Ramen sought a use for my aid, but their skills eluded me, though I have cared for horses since boyhood. I could discover no trace or trail of the Demondim-spawn. And Stave declined to guide me to the Aumbrie, declaring that the Masters would permit no approach to implements of Earthpower.

“Linden, the thought that I was barred from that which I had been advised to seek became anguish. In your company, I have encountered the greatness and import of the Land. But in your absence, I was no more than a foolish Stonedownor, superfluous and ignorant. Even the benison of Glimmermere gave me no solace. Were it not for Pahni’s attentiveness and generosity”—he smiled quickly at the young Cord—“I might have flung myself against the Demondim merely to relieve my futility.”

With an aborted snore, Anele raised his head, peered blindly around the room. Then he appeared to catch the scent of food. Muttering, “Anele is hungry,” he braced himself on Bhapa’s prompt support, climbed to his feet, and went at once to sit near the tray so that he could resume his interrupted meal.

If his temporary lucidity had left any aftereffects, they lay beyond the reach of Linden’s senses.

“Briefly, Liand,” muttered Mahrtiir in a low voice. “The Ringthane’s heart is sufficiently fraught. Do not dwell upon griefs which have passed.”

At once, Pahni turned to the Manethrall, apparently intending to defend Liand. But Mahrtiir silenced her with a frown, and she ducked her head again.

“I crave your pardon,” Liand said to Linden. The Manethrall speaks sooth. Your sorrows indeed defy utterance, for the fate of the Land rests with you. It is plain that the Unbeliever’s purpose has failed, and your son is lost to you. I speak of my plight only so that you may comprehend my transformation”—again he looked at the Ramen girl—“and Pahni’s dread.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Linden’s tone resembled Stave’s stoicism. “It’s going to be a long night, and there isn’t much that we can do until morning.” She might not be able to leave Revelstone until she found a way to help the Masters defeat the Demondim. “We don’t need to hurry.”

Liand’s countenance revealed his gratitude—as well as his alarm at her manner—as he resumed his explanation.

“On the fourth day from your disappearance, Stave approached me to announce that the time had come. He had learned to conceal his thoughts from the Masters. And the Masters themselves were heavily engaged by the Demondim. He conceived that we might therefore approach the Aumbrie without opposition. His kinsmen were too few to guard us closely.

“I accepted at once, though Pahni protested. I required some task or deed which might offer meaning to my days.

“Leaving Anele with the Ramen, we descended into the depths of Revelstone, where no lamps burned except that which Stave bore, and the neglected dust of many and many years had gathered heavily. There we entered a passage which appeared to serve no purpose, for it ended in blank stone. Glimmermere had refreshed my discernment, however, and when I had studied the wall for a time, I perceived a faint residue of glamour or theurgy.

“Though it was veiled from simple sight, a tracing of red outlined the shape of a portal. I have no knowledge of such matters, as you are aware. Yet to my senses, the tracing flowed toward a place of accentuation in the centre of the lintel. Testing me, perhaps, Stave offered no counsel. Nonetheless I dared to set my hand upon that accentuation. And when I had done so, a door became evident within the pattern of the lines.”

Linden listened closely, trying to prepare herself; bracing her resolve on Liand’s story. Some of its details begged for examination. Surely the Masters knew that he now held a piece of Sunstone? And they must have sensed Liand’s entrance into the Aumbrie. Why had they not taken the orcrest from him as soon as he found it?

His tone intensified as he continued. “Moved by an ancient magic beyond my ken, the door opened of its own accord, admitting us to corridors thick with dust and dank air. Thereafter Stave resumed his guidance, for the passages gave no hint of their design or intent. Soon the air grew nigh too foul to breathe, and Stave’s lamp faltered. Ere it failed, however, we came upon an iron door, heavy and dark, lying discarded upon the floor. And from the chamber which the door had once sealed shone the lumination of the moon at its full. Also I discerned an aura of eldritch vitality as poignant as Glimmermere’s, but immeasurably more complex. Indeed, I recognised nothing except that the atmosphere was compounded of Earthpower in a multitude of forms.

“To my inquiries,” Liand said, “Stave replied only that the chamber was the Aumbrie of the Clave, that the door had been wrested from its mounts by the ur-vile-made man or creature named Vain, and that none had seen a need to repair the door, guarded as it was by its outer theurgy. Then he did not speak for a time. Rather he appeared to listen for the inward speech of the Masters so that we might be forewarned if we were threatened. In silence, we entered the Aumbrie together.”

His effort to contain the wonder of what he had seen was plain: it showed in his grasp on the orcrest. As his fingers tightened, the stone began to glow softly, white as washed cotton, and clean as his heart.

“The chamber was large, perhaps twice the size of your quarters taken together, and clearly a storehouse for implements and talismans of aged puissance. Indeed, I was hardly able to advance against the radiance of Earthpower on every side.

“Tables crowded the floor as shelves covered the walls, their surfaces laden. Everywhere I saw scrolls and casks, amulets and torcs, periapts beyond my naming of them, swords of many shapes and fashions, staffs which compelled me to imagine that they had once been clasped by Lords. The light itself was emitted by three munificent caskets upon the shelves, as well as by some few objects upon the tables. Yet wherever I turned my senses, I beheld potencies of such transcendence that my spirit was dazzled by them.”

Suddenly Liand stopped. Easing his grip on the Sunstone, he let its light fade. Then he sat up straight, tucked the orcrest away in its pouch, and faced Linden with his hands braced on his thighs. An unexpected anger sharpened his tone.

“Linden, the proscriptions of the Masters no longer appear arrogant to me. Now I deem them madness. I comprehend that the Haruchai eschew weapons, trusting solely to strength and skill. This they deem necessary to their vision of themselves. And the Ramen are the servants of the Ranyhyn. They find no use in the exercise of theurgy, for the great horses do not require it of them. Yet the sheer waste of that which the Aumbrie contains staggers me. I discern no conscience in the denial—”

Linden interrupted him. Defending herself as much as Stave and the Masters, she stated heavily, “It isn’t that simple. You don’t just need the instrument. You have to know how to use it.”

“Yet—” the Stonedownor tried to protest.

She did not let him go on. “Liand, what happened to you in that room? How many of those things did you have to examine before you found what you were looking for?”

“Many,” he admitted uncomfortably. Some felt inert to my touch, though their power was visible. Others refused my hand entirely. The markings upon the scrolls conveyed no meaning, and the radiance of the caskets forbade me to open them. For a time, I craved a sword or a staff, but they proffered no response.”

“You see?” said Linden more gently. “Maybe the Masters were wrong. I think they were. But it doesn’t matter now. All of the old knowledge, the lore of the Lords, even the Rede of the Clave. It’s gone. It’s been lost. And without it—” She lifted her shoulders in a stiff shrug. “I can use the Staff of Law because I made it. But I can only call up wild magic because Covenant left me his ring.” In a sense, she had inherited it from him. “I’m surprised you found even one thing that felt right to you.”

Although he seemed unconvinced, Liand nodded. “And all that the Aumbrie contained bewildered me. The orcrest I would have ignored without Stave’s counsel. When I beseeched his aid, however, he observed that I am a Stonedownor, and that therefore some object of stone might serve me.”

Glancing around at her friends, Linden saw that Mahrtiir’s impatience was growing, and even Bhapa appeared restless. Pahni held herself motionless with her hand on Liand’s shoulder and her body stiff. Only Stave remained impassive, studying Linden with his single eye. And only Anele ignored the tension in the room.

Linden sighed. She could not postpone her own explanations much longer.

“But you found it,” she said to hasten Liand. “As soon as you touched it, you were sure. It makes you feel like you’ve come to life. We can all see what it means to you.” His heritage glowed within him as though the blood in his veins had taken light. Now I need you to skip ahead.

“Tell me why the Masters didn’t stop you. From their point of view, it was a major concession when they let me keep my Staff and Covenant’s ring. And they remember orcrest. They remember everything. Why didn’t they take it away from you?”

Liand glanced at Stave. When we returned to the door of theurgy,” the Stonedownor told Linden, “Branl of the Humbled awaited us, barring our passage. He demanded of me that I must replace the orcrest in the Aumbrie.” Then the young man’s grave eyes met hers again. “Stave dissuaded him.”

Linden caught her breath. Staring at Stave, she asked softly. “Did you fight him’?”

The Haruchai shook his head. “There was no need. To some small extent, the indulgence which the Masters have granted to you, and to Anele also, wards the Stonedownor as well. But that alone—” Stave shrugged.

“However, an uncertainty has been sown in the hearts of the Masters. They have not forgotten your words when you argued for their aid. In addition, the ur-Lord Thomas Covenant urged the Voice of the Masters to persuade you from your purpose against the Demondim. Yet it is apparent even to the least tractable of my kinsmen that only your quenching of the Fall, and thus of the Illearth Stone, has enabled Revelstone to withstand the horde.

“Afterward”—again Stave shrugged—“the Unbeliever took you from among us in a manner which encouraged doubt. And when the Unbeliever and your son had removed you, the siege remained. The unremitting attacks of the Demondim demonstrated that the ur-Lord had not accomplished his purpose—or that his purpose was not as he had avowed.

“Therefore the Masters have become uncertain. They do not yet question their own service. But they inquire now if they have justly gauged your worth. For that reason, Branl was reluctant to strike down even the least esteemed of your companions.”

Between her teeth, but quietly, Pahni exclaimed, “He is not the least. He is the first of the Ringthane’s friends, and the foremost.”

Involuntarily Liand blushed; but Linden kept her attention on Stave. “Are you telling me,” she asked, “that Branl let him keep something as Earthpowerful as orcrest because the Masters are uncertain?”

“No, Chosen,” replied Stave. “I have said only that Branl felt reluctance because the Masters have become uncertain. He did not reclaim the orcrest from Liand because I challenged him to the rhadhamaerl test of truth.”

Linden’s mien must have exposed her incomprehension. Without pausing, Stave explained, “In your sojourn with the ur-Lord, you knew only the Clave and the Sunbane. Your knowledge of the Land does not extend to the time of the Lords, when the stone-lore of the rhadhamaerl was the life and blood of every Stonedown, just as the lillianrill lore enriched and preserved every Woodhelven. You are unacquainted with the test of truth.

“It was performed with orcrest, or with lomillialor, to distinguish honesty from falsehood, fealty from Corruption. Such testing was known to be imperfect. At one time, Corruption himself accepted the challenge, and was not exposed. Among such lesser beings as the Ravers, however, or those who are mortal, the test of truth did not fail.

“I observed to Branl that Liand himself had met the test, though the lore of the rhadhamaerl has been lost for millennia. He held orcrest in his hand and suffered no hurt. And I proposed to endure the test as well, if Branl would do likewise.”

Liand nodded. In his face, Linden could see that Stave had surprised him then. He was not accustomed to thinking of any Haruchai as a friend.

“That challenge he refused,” Stave continued. “He did not doubt its outcome for himself. But such matters have too much import to be decided by a single Master when the Masters together have become uncertain. They have spurned me. In their sight, I have betrayed their chosen service. If I failed the test of truth, I would confirm their judgment. But if I did not, much would be altered. Therefore Branl permitted us to pass unopposed.

“Now Liand is suffered to hold the orcrest just as Anele is suffered to move freely, and your own actions have not been hindered. We are warded by the uncertainty of the Masters.”

Linden shook her head. “I’m sorry, Stave. I don’t understand. What would be altered?’

“Chosen,” Stave answered without impatience, “the Haruchai have not forgotten their ancient esteem for those dedicated to the rhadhamaerl and lillianrill lore. My kinsmen recall that the Bloodguard honored the test of truth. If the orcrest did not reject me, the Masters would be compelled to consider that mayhap they had erred when I was made outcast. Thereafter other doubts would necessarily ensue. Then would their uncertainty burgeon rather than decline.

“The Masters in conclave might perchance have accepted the hazard. Branl alone could not. And the extremity of Revelstone’s defense precluded careful evaluation.”

“All right,” Linden said slowly. “Now I get it. I think.” She could never be certain that she grasped the full stringency of the Masters. But her own circumstances demanded all of her conviction. And she had already made her companions wait too long. “Thank you.”

She suspected that the doubts of the Masters would eventually make them more intransigent rather than less. And she did not know how to tell her friends that she had become as rigid and unyielding as Stave’s kindred.

Instead of standing to meet her own test, she allowed herself one last distraction. With as much gentleness as she could summon, she said. “Pahni.”

Quickly the young Cord lifted her troubled gaze to meet Linden’s, then dropped her eyes again. “Ringthane?”

With that one brief look, Pahni seemed to bare her soul.

Linden caught her breath; held it for a moment. Then she murmured like a sigh, “Liand has what Covenant told him to find,” Thomas Covenant himself, not some malign imitation. “Now you’re afraid of what’s going to happen to him.”

Pahni nodded without raising her head. Her grip on Liand’s shoulder looked tight enough to hurt; but he only reached up to rest one of his hands on hers, and did not flinch.

At last, Linden rose to her feet. For her own sake as much as for Pahni’s, she said, “What you’ll have to face is going to be harder.” Covenant had said so through Anele. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what’s going to happen to any of us. But I know that you and Liand need each other.” She was intimately familiar with the cruelty of being forced to face her doom unloved. “Try to understand his excitement. For the first time in his life, he has something that you’ve never lacked,” something comparable to the way in which the Ramen served the Ranyhyn. “A reason to believe that what he does matters.” The Masters had taken that away from all of the Land’s people. “A reason to believe in himself.”

Covenant had given Linden’s friends a message for her. She can do this. Tell her I said that. She did not believe him—or disbelieve. She could only promise that she would let nothing stop her.

She had also made a promise to Caerroil Wildwood, which she meant to keep.

Standing, Linden looked around at her companions: at Mahrtiir’s champing frustration and Stave’s impassivity, Bhapa’s conflicted desire to hear and not hear her tale, Anele’s inattentiveness, Liand’s growing concern; at Pahni’s surprise and appreciation. Then, for the first time since the Humbled had left the room, she let her underlying wrath rise to the surface.

“As it turns out,” she said like iron. “the Elohim told the truth.” He or she had given warning of croyel as well as skurj. And both the Ramen and the people of the Land had been urged to Beware the halfhand. “If they hadn’t been so damn cryptic about it, they might have actually done us some good.”

Had you not suffered and striven as you did, you would not have become who you are.

“Liand, would you put more wood on the fire? It’s going to get colder in here.”

Before anyone could react, she walked away into her bedroom.

Temporarily, at least, she had moved past her reluctance. First she opened the shutters over the window so that the comparative chill of the spring night could flow in unhindered. She wanted that small reminder of grim winter and desperation. For a moment, she breathed the air as if she were filling her lungs with darkness. Then she retrieved her Staff and carried its rune-carved ebony back to her waiting friends.

As they caught sight of it, Liand and the Cords winced. They were not surprised: they had seen the Staff when they had brought her here from the plateau. But they did not understand its transformation.

“What has transpired’?” Bhapa’s voice was husky with alarm. “Is this some new Staff?”

“Gaze more closely, Cord,” growled the Manethrall. “This is alteration, not replacement. Some lorewise being has constrained the Ringthane’s Staff, or exalted it. And she has wielded her power in battle greater and more terrible than any we have witnessed. She has met such foes—”

Abruptly he turned to Stave. “Perhaps now we must speak of the Mahdoubt, who has retrieved the Ringthane from the most dire peril.”

Stave studied Linden closely. “The Chosen will speak as she wills. However, I am loath to address such matters. We may consider them with greater assurance when more is known.”

“Anele sees this,” Anele remarked, peering blindly past or through the Staff. “He cannot name it. Yet he sees that it is fitting.”

Linden shook her head. “The Mahdoubt is beside the point.” She had no idea why Stave wanted to avoid the subject; but she did not wish to discuss the Insequent without the older woman’s permission. For reasons of her own—perhaps to evade questions like Mahrtiir’s—the Mahdoubt had avoided encountering Linden’s companions a short time ago. Whatever those reasons were, Linden intended to respect them. Lightly she tapped one shod end of her Staff on the floor. “Even this isn’t the point. I just wanted you to look at it. I don’t know how to describe everything that happened, but I wanted to give you some idea of the scale.”

Now everyone except Anele regarded her intently. While the old man mumbled a disjointed counterpoint, she tried to put what she had experienced into words.

She could not do it. The stone in the centre of her chest left no room for sorrow or regret, or for the urgent bafflement and need which had compelled her actions. She still felt those things, but she could not articulate them. They had melted and joined to form the igneous amalgam of her purpose. Any language except deeds would have falsified her to herself.

Instead of the truth, she told her friends the bare skeleton of her story; bones stripped of passion and necessity. While the night air from her bedroom blew softly on the back of her neck, she recited the facts of her time with Roger and the croyel as if she had heard them from someone else. Although she glossed over a number of details, she skipped nothing essential—until she came to her time with the Mahdoubt in Garroting Deep. Then she spoke only of Caerroil Wildwood and runes, leaving unexplained her rescue from the Land’s past.

If her companions had asked about her return to Revelstone, she would have deflected their inquiries until she understood Stave’s disinclination to discuss the Mahdoubt—or until she could seek the Mahdoubt’s consent. But they did not. Various aspects of her narrative snagged their attention, and they had too many other questions.

Stave and the Ramen understood more than Liand did. In their separate fashions, their people had preserved their knowledge of the Land’s history. Perhaps for that reason, Mahrtiir was caught and held by everything that Linden chose to say about the Insequent: it was entirely new to him. Bhapa stumbled over her description of the Viles and seemed unable to recover his balance. Pahni listened wide-eyed until Linden related how she had entered Melenkurion Skyweir in Jeremiah’s deadwood cage. Then confusion dulled her expression as if she had reached the limit of what she could hear and absorb. And Stave attended with a slight frown that slowly deepened into a scowl as Linden talked about Roger Covenant and the croyel. But he only evinced surprise when she spoke of Caerroil Wildwood. Apparently he found more wonder in the Forestal’s forbearance and aid than in anything else.

In contrast, Liand concentrated on Linden herself rather than on the substance of her story. As she talked, he radiated a mounting and entirely personal distress; a concern for her which outweighed everything that he could not grasp. And when she had put in place the last bones of her denatured tale, his alarm swept him to his feet.

“Linden—” he began, groping for words that would not come until he clenched his fists and punched them against each other to break the logjam of his emotions. “Chosen. Wildwielder. He was your son. And the man whom you have loved. Yet you say nothing of yourself. How do you bear it? How are you able—?”

“No.” Linden silenced him with sudden vehemence. His caring cut her too deeply. “We don’t talk about me. We aren’t going to talk about me at all.” How could she hope to explain her essential transformation? “I can try to answer practical questions. And I know what I have to do.” Within her she holds the devastation of the Earth— “But Lord Foul took my son and gave him to the croyel. That I do not forgive. I do not forgive.”

The Ranyhyn had tried to warn her, but she had failed to heed them. She had not understood—

Liand fell back a step, shocked by her ferocity. All of her friends stared at her, their eyes wide. Even Stave seemed to wince. Anele’s head flinched from side to side as if he sought to shake her words from his ears.

Thomas Covenant had urged her to find him. He had told her to trust herself.

For a long moment, no one moved. Linden heard no breathing but her own. The logs that Liand had tossed into the hearth seemed to burn without a sound. But then Bhapa shuddered as if he were chilled by the cool air from the bedroom. Raising his head, he looked directly into the mute fury of Linden’s gaze.

“Ringthane,” he said unsteadily. “you have spoken of your son’s plight, but you have said little else of him. How does it chance that he, too, is a halfhand?”

A-Jeroth’s mark was placed upon the boy when he was yet a small child.

She might have taken offense if she had not recognised what lay behind his question. It was a form of misdirection which she had used often herself. He did not mean to imply that Jeremiah was a danger to the Land. Instead Bhapa was trying to slip past her defenses. He thought that if she began to talk about Jeremiah, she might be able to release some of her grief, and so find a measure of relief.

He did not know that she was stone and could not bend: she could only shatter.

But the Manethrall intervened at once. “Be still, Cord,” he snapped harshly. “Where is your sight? Are you blind to the fetters which bind her heart? We are Ramen, familiar with treachery and loss. We do not reply thus to suffering. The Ringthane will reveal more when more is needed. Sufficient here is the knowledge which we have gained—and the depth to which both she and the Land have been betrayed.”

Bhapa gave a bow of compliance to his Manethrall. Then he lowered his head and remained silent.

Liand made no protest. He may have been stricken dumb by the sight of Linden’s pain. An ache of misery filled his eyes, but he accepted her refusal.

No one spoke until Stave said stolidly, “You do not forgive.” He had recovered his flat composure. “This we comprehend. The Masters also do not. And they bear the cost of it, as you do.”

Then he added in a more formal tone. “Linden Avery, Chosen and Wildwielder. Tell us of your intent, that we may make ready. If you would seek out and confront the Land’s foes, we mean to accompany you. Doubtless, however, some preparation is needful.”

He sounded like a man who saw the necessity of risk and death, and was not afraid.

Privately Linden had feared that her friends would flinch away when they heard her story. She had given them a host of reasons to question her judgment—and would give them more. But Stave’s assertion affirmed their fidelity. They had given her no cause to believe that they would ever spurn her.

Whether she went to salvation or doom, she would not be alone; not as she had been in Roger’s company, and the croyel’s.

All right,” she replied when she meant, Thank you. Simple gratitude was beyond her: telling her tale had expended too much of her self-possession. “This is what I have in mind.”

The Mahdoubt had called Linden’s intentions fearsome and terrible. The Viles had spoken of the devastation of the Earth— Liand himself had said, You have it within you to perform horrors. But Linden did not pause to doubt herself.

“First,” she began, “I’ll have to end the siege somehow.” She could not leave Revelstone to the depredations of the Demondim. “But then I’m going to Andelain. If I can, I want to find Loric’s krill. It’s supposed to be able to channel any amount of power. It might let me use white gold and my Staff at the same time.”

Stave nodded as if to himself; but she did not stop.

“And I want to meet the Dead.” Before anyone could object, she continued grimly, “I know what Anele said. I heard him as well as you did. But I need answers, and there’s no one else that I can ask.”

She was done with Esmer: his attempts to aid her were too expensive. And she was sure that Sunder and Hollian were not the only shades who walked among the Andelainian Hills. Others of the Land’s lost heroes would be there as well, and might view her desires differently.

Mahrtiir and Stave exchanged a glance. Then the Manethrall faced Linden with a Ramen bow. “As you will, Ringthane. We will make such preparations as the Masters permit. And,” he added. “Cord Pahni will share with Liand any comprehension of your tale the Ramen possess. Some portion of his ignorance she will relieve.

“However,” he continued more harshly, “you are unaware of one event which has occurred in your absence.”

His manner claimed Linden’s full attention. Studying him, she saw predatory approval—although behind it lay a degree of apprehension.

“The siege,” she breathed.

Mahrtiir nodded. “It is gone.”

She stared. “How?” She could not believe that the Masters had defeated their enemies. The Demondim had too much power—

“Understand, Ringthane,” he replied, “that the battle to preserve Revelstone raged furiously, and for many days the eventual defeat of the Masters appeared certain. But then, ere sunset on the day before your return, a lone figure in the semblance of a man arrived on the plain. None beheld his approach. He merely appeared, just as you later appeared with the Mahdoubt. Alone, he advanced against the horde.”

Now Linden understood his desire to speak of the older woman earlier.

“The Demondim turned upon him in rage,” Mahrtiir went on, “and their power was extreme. Yet he defeated them to the last of their numbers. In the space of five score heartbeats, or perhaps ten, all of the Render’s Teeth ceased to exist.”

Linden made no effort to conceal her astonishment. Again she asked. “How?”

For a moment, no one responded. Then Liand cleared his throat. “Linden,” he said uncomfortably. “to our sight, it appeared that he devoured them.”

In that instant, the chill of the night air overtook the warmth of the fire. A shiver of hope or foreboding ran down Linden’s spine, and her limbs ached suddenly as though she had fallen back into the cruel winter where she had been betrayed.