Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

Long ago, the Unhomed had designed Revelstone to withstand the enemies of the Old Lords. In her weakness, Linden could only hope that the ancient granite would prove to be as obdurate as the men who warded it.

With an effort, she turned her attention outward; toward the people and creatures gathered around her.

She was not surprised to find that most of the Demondim-spawn had already dispersed, leaving no trace of themselves in the dawn or the rain. But she felt a small frisson of anticipation when she saw that the loremaster still stood nearby with a wedge at its back. The formation held no more than half a dozen creatures-but they were all Waynhim.

The loremaster’s knife had disappeared. Instead with both hands the black creature offered her an iron bowl.

As soon as she heard the muted guttural voices of the Waynhim, and caught the dust-and-mildew scent of vitrim , her heart lifted. The creatures understood the effects of their earlier gift. Now they sought to restore her. The Waynhim chanted, summoning and concentrating their lore, in order to multiply the lenitive potency of the liquid in the bowl.

At once, she reached for the bowl, eager for sustenance; for any theurgy which might revive her.

As she swallowed the dank fluid in long gulps, she recognised its distilled virtue. It was stronger than any vitrim she had ever tasted. In an instant, it seemed to spangle like sunshine through her veins and along her nerves as if it were a form of hurtloam. It was not, of course: it was not organic or natural in any useful sense. Like the ur-viles and Waynhim themselves, the beverage had been created of knowledge and might which were alien to Earthpower or Law. Nonetheless it met her needs. It did more than give back the energy and courage which she had expended against the horde’s caesure : in some fashion, it restored her sense of her self.

With gratitude in her eyes and appreciation in her limbs, she bowed deeply as she returned the bowl to the loremaster. Then she looked as closely as she could at the creature and its companions. Earlier she had given no consideration to the chance that her efforts against the horde might harm the Demondim-spawn. Now she felt chagrin at her thoughtlessness. A few short days and several millennia ago, she had seen that the Waynhim were damaged by their stewardship of the Staff-

Once again, they had aided her in spite of their own peril.

The artificial nature of the creatures confused her health-sense. Yet she detected no injury in the loremaster, or in its small wedge. The attitudes of the Waynhim suggested fatigue and strain, but nothing more.

Perhaps they had been protected by the fact that every aspect of her power had been directed away from them.

“Thank you,” she said to the loremaster’s eyeless face and slitted mouth. “I don’t know why you turned your back on Lord Foul. I’ll probably never understand it. But I want you to know that I’m grateful. If you can ever figure out how to tell me what you need or want from me, I’ll do it.”

The loremaster gave no sign that it had heard her. It had put its bowl away somewhere within itself. The Waynhim behind it had stopped chanting. A moment after she fell silent, the creatures loped away, taking no apparent notice of Handir and Galt, or of the Ramen and Anele. Soon they seemed to dissolve into the dark air and the rain, and Linden lost sight of them.

She no longer needed Stave’s support, or Liand’s. She was strong enough to face her friends-and almost eager to meet with Jeremiah and Covenant. Briefly she considered expending some of her new vitality against the Demondim. Then she shrugged the idea aside. She did not know what Covenant’s intentions might require of her, or how much power she would be asked to wield.

She had done what she could for Revelstone. The Masters would have to do the rest.

When she looked toward Mahrtiir and his Cords, they bowed in the Ramen style. “That was well done, Ringthane,” said Mahrtiir gruffly. “Your tale grows with each new deed-and will doubtless expand in the telling. We are honoured that it has been granted to us to accompany you.”

Bhapa nodded his earnest agreement, and Pahni smiled gravely. Yet it seemed to Linden that the young woman’s attention was fixed more on Liand than on her.

Without warning, Anele remarked. Such power becomes you.”

He stood with thick wet grass under his feet, but his voice was not Covenant’s-or any other voice that she recognised. It was deep and full, rich with harmonics which she had not heard before. Apparently the force that had silenced Covenant-or Covenant’s imitator-the previous day still allowed other beings to inhabit the old man.

But it will not suffice,” he continued. “In the end, you must succumb. And if you do not, you will nonetheless be compelled to accept my aid, for which I will demand recompense.”

His moonstone eyes glowed damply in the crepuscular air.

“Anele?” Quickly Linden focused her revitalised senses on him. Who are you now’?” But she could perceive nothing except his age and frailty, and his heritage of Earthpower. Even his madness was masked, at least for the moment. “Who’s speaking?”

Anele replied with an incongruously gallant bow. “Lady,” the stranger in him answered. “we will meet at our proper time-if you do not fail the perils which have been prepared for you. But you would do well to heed my words.”

An instant later, the old man’s derangement closed like a shutter on the being who had possessed him. Either the stranger had made a hasty departure, or some force had expelled him.

“Did you hear that?” Linden asked her friends unsteadily. “Did it sound familiar? Have you heard that voice before?’

Liand shook his head; and the Manethrall stated without hesitation. We have not. The distinction cannot be mistaken. Some new being has spoken.”

Oh, shit! she thought in sudden anger. Another one? How many were there? How many of them were her enemies? And how much longer would Anele have to suffer such violations?

When would his pain become great enough to merit healing?

It will not suffice.

Covenant had referred to “ other powers”- And Jeremiah had mentioned a race called “the Insequent.” Those people were-or had been-lorewise enough to recognise and respond to her son’s disembodied presence.

The possibility that Linden’s situation might be even more complicated and treacherous than she had realised made her stomach clench. Hell and damn! she muttered to herself as if she were Covenant. This is getting ridiculous. How was she supposed to find her way when she knew so little about what was really going on?

— the perils which have been prepared for you.

Abruptly she wheeled on the Voice of the Masters. “Are Covenant and my son still here’?” she demanded in alarm. “Did I banish them?”

This is bad enough. Tell me that I haven’t made it worse.

Handir’s mien tightened slightly, but he betrayed no other reaction. “The ur-Lord and his companion remain. They were forewarned of your power, and have endured it.” A moment later, he added, “They have departed from their chambers, proceeding toward the upland and Furl Falls.” The moisture on his face seemed to increase the severity of his gaze. “If you have no wish to delay them, we must set forth.”

In response, Mahrtiir growled softly. “If the ur-Lord is delayed, let him be delayed. She is the Ringthane and has demonstrated her worth. Do you question this?”

Torn between relief that she had not erased Covenant and Jeremiah, anger on Anele’s behalf, and anxiety about what lay ahead of her, Linden made a placating gesture toward the Manethrall. “You’re right,” she told Handir. “We should go. Covenant says that he can save us. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”