Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

Coldspray’s chagrin was plain as she contemplated more haste. The Swordmainnir had already run most of the way from The Grieve. And they had lost two of their comrades: they had lost Longwrath. Protests clouded her gaze as she searched for a reply.

But Stave held up a hand to forestall the Giant. Instead of answering Linden, he turned to Mahrtiir.

For a long moment, he and the Manethrall appeared to study each other, although Mahrtiir had no eyes and one of Stave’s was gone. Then Mahrtiir cleared his throat.

“Ringthane-” he began carefully. “We parted from the Ranyhyn in order that they might be spared from the skurj . It is well that we did so. But now that danger has passed. And they are Ranyhyn, capable of much which defies comprehension. They could not have borne us safely in Salva Gildenbourne. Yet you cannot question that they are able to rejoin us in Andelain.

“Then it will not be we who slow the long strides of the Giants. Rather it will be they who limit our pace.”

The Ranyhyn-Caught by astonishment, Linden stared at him. Hyn! God , yes.

She yearned to arrive by nightfall, when the Dead might walk among the trees and copses and lucent rivulets of Andelain.

“Linden,” Liand put in. “is this wise? We did not quit the Ranyhyn solely to preserve them from the skurj . We sought also to spare them an arduous passage through Salva Gildenbourne. And we have been less than two days separated from them. Surely they-” He faltered, then finished more strongly. They are Ranyhyn, but they are also flesh and bone. If you summon them, will they not suffer in the attempt to answer?”

While Linden hesitated, Mahrtiir said gruffly, “Do not speak when you are ignorant, Stonedownor. The Ranyhyn are beasts of Earthpower, as precious to the Land as Andelain.” Beneath the surface, he appeared to wrestle with the pain of knowing that he would never again gaze upon the great horses. “If they are summoned, they will find a path and come, ready to bear those riders whom they have chosen.

“Also,” he added. “the Ringthane has good cause to seek swiftness. Her own need is exceeded only by the plight of her son, and by the Land’s doom.”

For a moment, Liand seemed unconvinced. But then Pahni tucked her arm through his, held him tightly. When he saw her reassuring smile, his apprehension eased.

Rime Coldspray peered down at Mahrtiir and Stave; at Linden; at Liand. “Limit your pace?” she growled. “That I will not credit until I have witnessed it-and even then I will require corroboration.”

Two or three of her Swordmainnir chuckled.

Slowly a combative grin bared the lronhand’s teeth. Are we not Giants? And do we not welcome wonders? The Manethrall of the Ramen has inspired in me a wish to behold these Ranyhyn. If they merit the service of the Ramen, they are worthy indeed.” She glanced around at her comrades. When they nodded, she said, “We are loath to hasten in Andelain, where every view is balm to the worn of heart. But we have endured much to come so far. One day more will not daunt us.”

Linden’s heart lifted. Quickly she urged. “Stave? I can’t whistle the way you do.”

He complied with a bow. Facing Andelain and the west as if he had turned his back on a silent debate among the Humbled, he put his fingers to his mouth and let out a piercing call.

Three times he whistled. Then he fell silent.

For moments that seemed long to Linden, she heard no reply. She had time to doubt herself and feel the first pricklings of alarm. Soon, however, a distant whinny carried through the crystal air, followed by the muted rumble of hooves on deep grass.

When the horses appeared, they seemed to gallop straight into the glory of the sun. Its light blazed like heraldry in the stars on their foreheads. They were ten, and they ran as though they were the rich heart of the Hills made flesh.

Linden recognised them all: Hyn and Hynyn and Rhohm; Narunal, Naybahn, and the others. Even Hrama had answered.

Nevertheless her immediate joy faltered as she realised that all of them were hurt; desperately tired; nearly undone.

Their injuries were superficial: scratches, jabs, and bruises caused by a hurried passage through the jungle. They showed no sign that they had encountered the skurj . But their weariness was altogether more serious. Sweat stained their coats like blood: froth splashed from their muzzles. Two or three of them stumbled at intervals, and their long muscles shuddered.

God, Linden thought. Oh, Christ. What have I done?

She could not even begin to guess how many leagues they had crossed, or how many obstacles they had overcome.

Yet they grew stronger as they approached. The change was slight but unmistakable. Andelain’s vitality buoyed them along. With every stride, they absorbed energy from the ground, sucked renewal into their heaving chests. They remained near the edge of their endurance. But with a few hours of rest-with water and abundant nourishment-their exhaustion would fade. They would be ready to bear their riders.

Still Linden blamed herself for their condition. Every living thing that supported her paid too high a price for doing so. She ached to protect them all. As the Ranyhyn lurched to a halt before the glad appreciation of the Giants and the sharp empathy of the Ramen, she unfurled healing from the Staff of Law and threw it like a blanket over the great horses.

There was no danger. In this place, any exertion of Law was condign. And the Hills’ benison diminished Kevin’s Dirt. Nothing hindered her as she poured strength into the depleted stamina of the Ranyhyn.

By their very nature, they participated in Earthpower: they were apt vessels for her magic. They drank in flame as if it were the potent waters of Glimmermere; inhaled fire as if it combined the benefits of amanibhavam and aliantha . And as they did so, their fatigue fell away. When she was done-when she had banished their hurts and dried their coats and offered them her deepest gratitude-they gleamed with life.

Some of them nickered in delight and relief. Others tossed their manes, whisked their tails, stamped their hooves. Sunshine gleamed on their coats. While the Haruchai spoke their ancient ceremonial greeting, and the Ramen bowed their heads to the earth in homage, Hyn came prancing toward Linden.

First the mare bent her forelegs and bowed her head as if in obeisance or thanks. Then she nuzzled Linden’s shoulder, urging Linden to mount. Her eyes were full of laughter.

In the horserite, Hyn and Hynyn had laughed at Stave with the same affectionate kindness that Linden saw in Hyn’s soft gaze. To him, they had revealed their amusement at the presumption of the Masters-and their willingness to serve her utterly.

But her own experience when she had shared the mind-blending waters of the tarn had been entirely different. Hyn and Hynyn had offered her neither laughter nor affection. Instead they had shown her visions of such horror-

They had portrayed her to herself as if she were High Lord Elena, misguided and doomed. And they had superimposed images of both Linden and Covenant on Jeremiah. In the nightmare of the horserite, her efforts to redeem Covenant and her son had brought forth the Worm of the World’s End.

Linden might have quailed at the memory; but she was spared by the fond mirth of Hyn’s gaze. See? the mare’s eyes seemed to say. I am here. We are here. And we stand with you. We have only given warning. We have not prophesied that you will fail.

“All right,” she replied like a promise. In her own way, she strove to emulate the Wraiths; to repel horror and doubt as they had refused Longwrath. She had come too far to falter, and the stakes were too high. She required a conflagration so mighty that it would shake the foundations of Lord Foul’s evil. You’re the only one who can do this. “All right.”