Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

She made a rough gesture that Linden felt rather than saw; and at once, the man with the smaller wounds sprinted away, clearly heading toward the nearest of Berek’s outriders. The woman jogged to catch up with Linden at a safe distance, while her comrade took a similar position on the far side of Linden’s small company.

After a brief hesitation, Jeremiah lowered his barrier. Linden sent him her silent gratitude, hoping that he would be able to read her aura. But she did not pause to thank him aloud. The woman who led the scouts was speaking again.

“Comprehend me, however,” she said in a bitten voice. “I accede because I know not how to oppose you. But you are folk of power, hazardous in this war. If by any word or deed you threaten the Lord, or cause harm to those who stand with him, I will contrive to slay you. I have learned much of death. By some means, I will evade your eldritch force and end your haughtiness.”

Linden sighed. Without turning her head, or shifting her attention from the burgeoning and hurtful emanations of Berek’s camp, she asked, “Don’t you have anyone with you who can hear truth? I would have thought that by now,” under the influence of the Land’s rich Earthpower. “some of you would start to notice changes in what you can see and feel and hear.”

“What do you know of such matters?” demanded the woman suspiciously. She seemed unaware that Jeremiah’s barrier was gone.

“This war,” Linden replied. “It changed on the slopes of Mount Thunder. That’s when Lord Berek started to show signs of power you hadn’t seen before. But I find it hard to believe that he’s the only one.” Surely Berek was not alone in his sensitivity to the true life around him? “There have to be more of you who can sense things that seem impossible.”

Now the woman sounded less sure of herself. “Krenwill avers that he has become able to distinguish truth from falsehood.” A jerk of her head indicated the scout striding opposite her. At first, I deemed him a fool. Yet I have beheld proofs-Commonly now, our Warhaft enlists his aid in the questioning of prisoners, for the Lord frowns upon harshness toward our foes when they cannot defend themselves.”

Linden glanced at the man, a vague shape in the night. With every step, the sensations of Berek’s camp became stronger: the fear and pain bordering on madness; the frantic fatigue; the stunned, almost unreactive resolve. And now she could smell horses, already half maimed by inadequate provender and far too much exertion. The cold carried the scents of dung and rotting straw as clearly as sounds.

“Then listen,” she told the scout Krenwill. “I’m a healer. I want to help. Not with the war. With the wounded. And my companions don’t mean you any harm.”

The man studied her in silence for a moment. Then he announced softly, “I hear truth, Basila. If her words are false, she does not know them to be so.”

Linden felt a grudging, uncertain relief from the woman. Still suspiciously, Basila asked. “You say that you desire Lord Berek’s aid. What do you wish of him?”

The clatter of hooves on ice came faintly through the dark, growing louder. Linden counted two riders approaching cautiously. And they were alone. Presumably the man who had run to warn them had continued on toward the camp.

“Horses,” she answered, brusque with the effort of sustaining her haste. “Food. Warm clothes. I want to get as far away from here as possible.

“That’s a lot to ask, I know,” she added. “But first I’m going to earn it.”

If the stubborn hostility of men and women who had seen too much war did not prevent her-

“Wisdom indeed,” the Theomach remarked to the forlorn multitude of the stars. Then he told Linden. You have been well chosen, lady.”

“Hell and blood,” Covenant muttered at her back. “How did the two of you become such buddies? I’m the one who’s trying to save the damn world.”

“There is your error,” replied the Theomach over his shoulder. “You aim too high. The Earth is too wide and rife with mystery to be saved or damned by such as you.”

Peering ahead, Linden studied the approach of the riders. Long ago, Covenant had told her of prophecies which the Council of Lords had preserved concerning the white gold wielder.

And with the one word of truth or treachery,

he will save or damn the Earth

because he is mad and sane,

cold and passionate,

lost and found.

She did not know what she would do if the outriders blocked her path. She needed to reach Berek’s camp while she still had enough stamina to be of some use. But she was reluctant to call on Jeremiah’s aid again. She did not understand his power, and feared its consequences.

With a muffled clash of tack and an uneasy skitter of hooves, two mounted horses condensed from the dark. Involuntarily she slowed to a stop; leaned on the Staff while she strove to steady her breathing. The riders were both women. When they had halted, one of them asked gruffly. “What transpires, Basila? All darkness is fraught with peril, and the coming of these strangers does not rest lightly upon us.”

Basila’s manner conveyed a shrug. “Krenwill conceives that the woman speaks sooth.”

That she means no harm?” insisted the rider. That she is a healer, and intends healing? That she seeks aid of the Lord?”

“Aye,” Basila replied. And Krenwill said. “If there is falsehood here, or peril, she has no knowledge of it.”

“And the theurgy which compelled you to let them pass?” the rider continued. “Does it ward them still?”

Basila extended her arm toward Linden; moved closer until she was almost near enough to touch Linden. Then she let her arm drop. “It does not.” As if she wished to be fair, she added, “And we received no hurt from it. We were merely” — she shrugged again- “repelled.”

“Then we will not tarry,” the rider announced. She radiated a desire for haste that had nothing to do with Linden’s urgency. Rather she seemed to feel exposed on the open plain; eager for light-and for the support of Berek’s army. “Warhaft Inbull will adjudge the matter. A healer we would welcome gladly. But that the woman speaks sooth promises little for her companions.

“Resume your watch,” she told the scouts. “This seems a night for hazards. If four strangers approach from the west, eight may follow, or a score, or-” She left the thought unfinished. “Epemin and I will continue your escort.”

Relieved, Linden started forward again with her companions. At once, the two riders separated, turning their weary horses to take the positions that Basila and Krenwill had occupied; and the scouts drifted back into the night.

Linden forgot the scouts as soon as they were gone. Her percipience was focused on the growing emanations of Berek’s camp. Her face felt frozen, and all of her skin ached with cold. Nonetheless her nerves were certain.

She was nearing a large body of men and women-and a much smaller number of horses. She sensed the turmoil and determination among the warriors; the prolonged strain of overexertion and blood loss and insufficient food; the instances of agony and anguish. As well as she could, she watched the east for the glow of campfires. But her eyes themselves felt frozen, and ordinary sight was of little use to her. Unable to sustain herself with Earthpower while Covenant and Jeremiah were nearby, she had nothing to rely on except her health-sense.

In her concentration, she was slow to realise that the nearer rider, the woman who had spoken earlier, was speaking again. “I am Yellinin,” the woman said, “third after Warhaft Inbull in the tenth Eoman of the second Eoward. He will require your names. And if indeed you come as friends, I would wish to speak of you courteously. How shall I introduce you to the Warhaft?”