Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

In response, Berek ordered. “Inform each Haft and Warhaft,” although there was no command in his voice. He had no reason to doubt that he would be obeyed. All who are able to discern the gleaming in the sand will hasten to the creek, bearing any stone which may be used to convey the sand hither. They will search diligently for as much as may be found. Others will bear torches to light the search.”

Damelon nodded. “At once, my lord.” With a second salute, the young man strode quickly out of the tent.

Berek returned his deep gaze to

Linden. “Surely there is more, my lady?” His voice was rough with compassion. “You are one, and those who suffer, many. For their sake, will you not name further aid?”

Linden took a step backward. She had felt another warrior perish, a man no more than half a dozen paces away. Everywhere in the tent, she heard wounds cry out for succour.

“Just let me work, my lord.” She doubted that Covenant, Jeremiah, or the Theomach would-or could-help her. And Covenant and Jeremiah would not be able to abide Berek’s presence. Assuming that they had reached the camp unhindered- “I can’t think of anything else.” She did not feel equal to the challenge of explaining aliantha . “We need to talk. I know that. But first-” She gestured weakly around the wide tent.

“Yet you are weary,” Berek countered, “nearly falling. Is there naught that you require for yourself?”

Linden paused for a moment. Almost timidly, she murmured. “I left three companions behind. I hope that they’re safe.” Then she turned her back on Berek Halfhand.

While she reached out mentally for the strength of the Staff, she whispered to Palla, “Guide me, please. I need to rest my eyes.” She did not know another way to contain her weeping.

If Berek’s people found enough hurtloam, she could allow herself-

As Palla led her away, Berek commanded gently. “Healer Vertorn, you will interrupt the lady Linden after each healing. You will not permit her to continue until she has swallowed a little of your wine and eaten a mouthful of bread.”

“My lord, it will be done,” replied the physician. Linden felt him hurrying after her.

But she soon forgot such details. Within moments, she had immersed herself once more in the hurts of the wounded and the fire of the Staff.

This time, however, she did not neglect to draw on Earthpower for support. And she did not resist Vertorn’s efforts to minister to her. The prospect of hurtloam had that effect on her: she no longer felt driven to care for every need except her own.

At some point during her endless progress back and forth around the tent, she became peripherally aware that Berek had not departed. He seemed to be standing guard, not over her, but for her; ready to give her his assistance if she required it. But she did not let his presence distract her from the next sword-cut and spear-thrust, the next trauma, the next putrefying infection. She swallowed wine and chewed bread as Palla guided her from patient to patient, and did not relax her flames.

By degrees, she grew stronger, in spite of her exertions. Vertorn’s herbed wine was a mild restorative. Bits of bread gave her a little nourishment. And the Staff sustained her. It could not redeem her mortality, but it preserved her concentration so that she was able to work effectively.

Then the first of the hurtloam arrived, carried in stone urns or on brittle pieces of slate. Linden dipped her finger into the glittering sand to show Vertorn, Palla, and Jevin how little was required for each wound, and how wondrously it took effect; and as she did so, she granted healing to herself. Spangles of revitalisation lit the blood in her veins, coursing through her heart until her pulse lost its febrile weakness, and the trembling in her muscles receded. Gradually the illimitable gift of the Land restored her to herself.

She was dimly amazed by the abundance of the vein of hurtloam which Berek had discovered. A score of his people made several trips each to convey the sand. Perhaps this was simply another instance of the Land’s largesse, undiminished because it had not been used until now. Or perhaps, like the FireLions, it expressed the Land’s response to Berek’s oath.

When Linden could finally blink the smoke and tears from her eyes-when she was able to see as well as feel the excitement, the near ecstasy, of the three physicians-she sent Vertorn, Jevin, and the irregular stream of warriors bearing hurtloam to the other tents. Those warriors, too, had been healed as they gathered the sand, and they carried their burdens with eager alacrity.

She did not think about ripples or time. She thought about lives that would have been lost, men and women who still needed care; and she was not afraid.

For a while, she and Palla laboured over the pallets alone, moving as efficiently as they could through the array of injuries and infections. But soon she realised that the worst was over. Dozens of warriors remained stricken, but none were near death. Some would cling to life for another day or two, some considerably longer. And Berek understood hurtloam now: he would search for it everywhere. In addition, Linden saw in Palla that touching the ineffable sand had awakened the physician’s latent health-sense. She, and Vertorn and Jevin, and perhaps every warrior who had been healed by it, would be able to recognise hurtloam for themselves.

If Linden rested now, she would not have so many-too many-lives on her conscience.

To spare herself, she began a more partial form of treatment, focusing on infections, pneumonia, and other illnesses rather than wounds. These required her keenest percipience, but they needed subtler care; demanded less raw power.

In her concentration, she did not immediately notice the growing mutter of voices outside the tent; the occasional shouts. But then she heard Covenant rasp distinctly, “Hellfire! Get your hands off me, you overgrown oaf!”

“Covenant!” protested Jeremiah. “We can’t-Berek-!”

Other voices protested as well. “Warhaft!” Yellinin shouted. “Lord Berek commanded courtesy!” And Basila added, “Are you deaf? The tale of her healing is everywhere!”

But Krenwill, who had vouched for Linden’s truthfulness, countered, “You do not see them, Basila. I did not until we gained the light of the encampment. They are sealed against discernment. Unnaturally sealed. They may conceal vast powers. Fatal powers, Yellinin. If they mean harm to Lord Berek-”

“Warhaft Inbull!” roared a man who sounded like Damelon. You will desist ! Lord Berek has commanded courtesy .”

“I will not,” a guttural voice retorted. “Let Lord Berek chastise me if he must. I will not hazard his life on the faith of strangers merely because they journey with a woman who heals .”

Oh, shit. Forgetting the wounded, Linden dropped her fire and ran.

Ahead of her, the tent flaps burst open. Both Jeremiah and Covenant were flung inward by a huge man with rage on his face and blood on his knuckles.

An instant later, Damelon sprang in front of the Warhaft, attempting to restrain Inbull by main strength. But the big man swatted Damelon aside as though the Hand were a minor annoyance.

Linden saw him clearly, in spite of the smoke; saw him as if he were surrounded by torches. He looked as solid as oak, with massively gnarled limbs and a mouth full of broken teeth. The heavy slash of a sword had cut deeply into the left side of his face and head, smashing bone and cutting away flesh; chopping out a crease which had collapsed his features. The only expression left to him was a grimace as suggestive of death as a rictus.

Between one heartbeat and the next, running frantically, Linden understood that he was a traitor. His brutality was the self-loathing of a man who had turned his back on a cause in which he had once believed. She did not know how or why his loyalties had changed. Nonetheless his betrayal was as palpable as a chancre.