Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

You vaunt yourself without cause, Elohim ,” retorted the Harrow. “Was not your Appointed Guardian of the One Tree defeated by the Theomach?”

“He was,” admitted Infelice in a tone that conceded nothing. “And in his turn, the Theomach was defeated. Though he strove to affect the Wurd of the Earth, he fell before one mere Haruchai . Thus our present peril is in part attributable to the Insequent. Had the Theomach refrained from aggrandisement, much which now threatens the Earth would not have occurred, and I would not have come to counter your gluttony.”

The Harrow laughed, mocking Infelice as he had mocked Linden. “You are clever, Elohim . You speak truth to conceal truth. Did you not also come to prevent the lady?”

Infelice did not waver. “I did.” Nevertheless expressions molted across her face, ire and grief and alarm commingled with a look that resembled self-pity. “If the Wildwielder will heed me.”

Their exchange gave Linden time to rally herself; step back from the brink of consternation. She did not trust the Harrow: she knew the intensity of his greed. And she was painfully, intimately familiar with the surquedry and secrets of the Elohim : she could not believe that Infelice wished her-or Jeremiah-well. As a people, the Elohim cared only for themselves.

The Theomach had enabled Berek Halfhand to fashion the first Staff of Law. He had made himself the Guardian of the One Tree. Then his stewardship had become Brinn’s. But Linden did not understand how such things contributed to Lord Foul’s designs.

“No,” she said before the Harrow spoke again. “You can talk around me as if I’m not here some other time. Tonight is mine.

“Stave. Mahrtiir. Coldspray.” Deliberately she turned away from Infelice. “We’re going. I need the krill .” And the Dead. “If Infelice and the Harrow want to come with us, I don’t mind. They can answer a few questions along the way.”

The Harrow laughed. A flare of anger burned in Infelice’s eyes. Almost immediately, however, he cut short his scorn, and she quelled her indignation.

Out of the new dark, Wraiths came skirling like music, the song of pipes and flutes. Dancing and bobbing, they appeared as if in response to Linden’s declaration, more and more of them at every moment: first a small handful, then a dozen, then one and two and three score. And as they lit themselves from their impalpable arcane wicks, they joined together in two rows to form an aisle leading southward.

Involuntarily Linden gasped. The Giants exclaimed their astonishment. “Linden,” Liand breathed, unable to contain himself. “Heaven and Earth. Linden .” The Ramen stared as if the Cords and their eyeless Manethrall were bedazzled.

“Sunder my father,” Anele panted between his teeth. “Hollian my mother. Preserve your son.” A tumult of distress ran through his voice. “Preserve me. Anele is lost. Without your forgiveness, he is damned.”

The Wraiths had come-

— to welcome Linden. For reasons which she could not fathom, they meant to escort her like an honour guard to Loric’s krill .

Their presence filled her with hope as if they had opened her heart.

Unable to speak, she urged Hyn into motion. With a stately step and an arched neck, the mare entered the avenue of Wraiths as though she had accepted an obeisance.

Quickly the Swordmainnir arrayed themselves around Linden and Hyn. Prompted by an instinctive reverence, they drew their swords and stretched out their arms, pointing their blades at the first faint stars. A moment later, Stave guided Liand, Anele, and the Ramen into formation behind Linden. None of the Humbled went ahead of her. Instead they rode down the aisle at the rear of the company as if to distance themselves from her intentions.

Without hesitation, the Harrow joined Linden; but he did not presume to precede her. Instead he rode his destrier beside one of the Giants. After an instant of outrage and chagrin, Infelice came to accompany Linden between the Wraiths. She, too, did not take the lead, but chose rather to float opposite the Harrow, placing her light in contrast with his darkness.

— hope in contradiction. Although they shared a wish to preserve the Arch of Time, the Insequent and the Elohim seemed to cancel each other.

Along a path defined by flames and implied melody, the riders, the Giants, and Infelice crossed a rounded hill and moved into a lea swept with night. Gradually stars began to peek out of the heavens, glittering dispassionately as the final remnants of daylight frayed and faded.

Old elms dotted the lea. Amid trees and Wraiths, the Harrow remarked quietly. In an ancient age, this night would have been Banas Nimoram, the Celebration of Spring. We might perchance have witnessed the Dance of the Wraiths of Andelain.” Every hint of mockery had fled from his deep voice. “Millennia have passed since they last enacted their rite of gladness. Yet they remain to signify the import of our deeds and needs. Did I not say, lady, that here you would find delight and surprise?” After a pause, he added. “No other Insequent has beheld such a sight.”

Linden made no reply. The voiceless entrancement of the living fires held her. Doubtless the Haruchai and the Ramen had memories or tales of Banas Nimoram : she did not. Yet she understood that every swirl and glow and note of the Wraiths accentuated the meaning of her presence.

Then, however, Infelice said in a tone of careful severity, “Wildwielder, we must speak of your purpose here.”

With an effort, Linden set aside her hushed awe. She needed to ready herself for what she meant to attempt. More to occupy her conscious mind than to resolve any lingering uncertainty, she countered by asking. “Did you really come all of this way just to stop the Harrow from taking me to my son?”

The Elohim made their home far to the east beyond the Sunbirth Sea. Infelice had crossed many hundred of leagues, leaving behind the rapt self-contemplation of her people.

“In part,” she admitted with a faint suggestion of disdain or revulsion. “But I will not speak of the Harrow, or of his unscrupling greed, or of your son. We must address your intent.”

Linden refused to be distracted. “I would rather talk about meddling.” The Elohim had Appointed Findail and Kastenessen: they had sealed Covenant’s mind and tried to imprison Vain. They had sent one of their number to the aid of the One Forest, and another to warn the Land. “Even though you’re “equal to all things”, the heart of the Earth. “you sometimes take matters into your own hands. You’re here to block the Harrow. You want to interfere with me. So tell me something.

“According to the Theomach, if he hadn’t disrupted Roger’s plans to destroy the Arch, you would have intervened. Is that true?”

Haughtiness and pleading bled together in Infelice. “It is. Much of the Despiser’s evil does not concern us. His ends are an abomination, but often his means are too paltry to merit our notice. When he strives to unmake Time, however, our existence is imperilled. This alone we share with the Insequent. We do not desire the destruction of the Earth.”

Softly, as if in the distance, the Harrow began to sing. His low voice followed the inferred tune of the Wraiths as if he had deciphered their minuet.

“The ending of all things is nigh.

Both grief and rue will pass away,

Both love and gratefulness; and why?

No one will stand to offer, “Nay.”

“This chosen plight is chosen doom,

A path unwisely, bravely found

Which leads us to a lonely tomb,

A sepulchre of ruined ground.

“Some fool or seer has made it so: