Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

At once, the Theomach demurred. “My lord, this is needless. That which the lady desires of you is simple, and I do not doubt that her requests will be easily met. Nor will she and her companions endanger you in any fashion. You have accepted my aid and guidance. Do not unwisely set them aside.”

Berek drew back his shoulders, lifted his chin. His tone was mild, but its mildness veiled iron. “My lord Theomach, I have said that my gratitude is certain, as is my welcome. Yet my wisdom is my own. If I prove unwise, as I have often done, it will be through no fault of yours.”

Linden wished that she could see the Theomach’s eyes. She had the impression that his gaze shifted rapidly between Berek and her, searching for an argument that would sway the Halfhand-or for a way to warn her of perils which he could not state aloud. But then he repeated his bow and salute. Instead of stepping between moments to address Linden where Berek could not hear him, he turned to the flaps and left the tent.

A crisis was upon her, and she was not prepared for it. The Seven Words still echoed around her, baffling her with hints of hope and calamity.

But she had spoken and acted by instinct for long hours now. She was too weary to do otherwise. Trust yourself . If she had truly heard Covenant’s voice in her dreams, not that of some malign misleading chimera-

As Berek stepped closer with gentleness on his face and resolve in his eyes, Linden shrugged off her cloak as if to rid herself of an obstruction. The braziers had warmed the air: soon she would be too warm, alarmed or shamed by her conflicted doubts. Clinging to the Staff with both hands, she braced herself to meet his probing gaze.

He approached until he was little more than an arm’s length away. There he stopped. Deliberately he folded his arms across his chest: a gesture of determination. He seemed to tower over her as he said, “My lady, you are troubled. Surely there is no need? My gratitude is boundless, and my respect with it. The aid that you have both given and brought is beyond estimation. Why, then, do you fear me’?”

Linden could not answer him: any explanation would reveal too much. Instead she fell back on matters that she understood; subjects which she could broach safely. “Lord Berek, listen,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “There are things that you have to do. Essential things. If you don’t do them, you could win this war and still lose, even with the Theomach’s help.”

Speaking brusquely because she was frightened and tired, she told him. “You’re killing your own wounded. Do you know that? Those blankets and pallets-the bandages-the tents They breed death. Your healers don’t see it yet, but you will.” The restoration of the Seven Words would evoke his latent powers. You can’t prevent your people from being cut down,” hacked at, pierced, trampled, “but you can save some of their lives.”

Perplexed and frowning, Berek began. “With hurtloam-”

“ No ,” Linden countered. “I don’t know when you’ll be able to find more of it, or how much of it you’ll find. And it starts to lose its effectiveness as soon as its scooped out of the soil. You can’t carry it very far.”

In haste because she could not bear to be interrupted, she said harshly, You need to take a day off from this war. A day or two. Let your enemies retreat. If you think that they might counterattack, use Inbull to scare them out of it. Instead of fighting, soak every blanket and scrap of bandage in boiling water. If you can replace the pallets, burn them. Otherwise pour boiling water over them. And tell your healers-tell all of your people-to wash every wound. Those injuries have to be kept clean .

“I don’t care how long it takes. Make the time. Your people are dying in droves, and I can’t stay. If you want to save any of them after I’m gone, you have to keep them clean.”

The grief in his gaze wrenched her heart. And if we cannot, my lady?” he asked softly. If the blankets fall to tatters when they are boiled, and the bandages likewise, and we glean no resupply from the encampments which our foes abandon? What must we do then?”

“Oh, God.” The extremity of his plight was unmistakable: it exceeded her courage. In his place, she would have been paralysed by dismay long ago. If the Theomach can’t tell you what to do, you’ll have to find more hurtloam. And if you can’t find enough hurtloam”- she swallowed a lump of empathy and anguish- “you’ll have to pour boiling water on those infections.” The burns would be terrible, but they would slow some of the poisons. “Anything to keep them clean.”

As she faltered, however, he grew stronger. His bravery was founded on the needs of the people around him. He had come so far and accomplished so much, not because the FireLions had responded to his desperation, but simply because he could not turn away from the plight of his people and his Queen. He was full of grief and understood despair: therefore he rejected both fear and defeat.

“My lady,” he said with rough kindness, “we will attempt your counsel. I cannot avow success, yet the gift of your lore will be treasured among us. As occasion permits, we will garner its benefits. You teach the worth of healing. It will not be forgotten. Songs will be sung of you to lift the heart, and tales will be told that surpass generations. Wherever those who serve my Queen and the Land are gathered together-”

“No!” Linden protested frantically. The thought of ripples appalled her. They would expand- “ No , it’s better, believe me, it’s better if you don’t talk about this. I mean anything that’s happened tonight. Don’t discuss it, don’t refer to it. Don’t keep the story alive. I’m begging you, my lord. I’ll get down on my knees if you want.” Vertorn had offered to prostrate himself: she would follow his example. “And the Theomach will insist-I can’t stay. And I don’t deserve-”

A legend of Linden the Healer would alter the Land’s known history. It might do enough harm to topple the Arch.

Berek raised his hands: a gesture of placation. “My lady,” he murmured to soothe her. “My lady. Quiet your distress. There is no need. I will honour your wish.

“All in this camp will deem it strange that I do not speak of you. But if you seek the boon of my silence, it will be granted. And in this I may command my Hands, Damelon and the others. My Hafts also may heed me. My word will not still every voice. Yet I will do all that can be done, since you desire it so.”

Linden stared at him until she was sure that she could believe him. Then she sagged. Thank God-she thought wanly. Thank God for men who kept their promises. If she had been equally confident of Covenant’s word, she would not have felt fretted with dread.

“I might inquire, my lady,” Berek continued after a moment. “what harm resides in the tale of your deeds. But I will not. My silence on that score is implicit in the boon you seek.

“Yet,” he said more sternly. “there are queries which demand utterance. My oaths of service, to my Queen as to the Land, require this of me. Understand that I intend neither affront nor disregard. However, I must be answered.”

Wincing inwardly, Linden started to say, Don’t, please. You don’t understand the danger. But Berek’s deep gaze held her. His will seemed greater than hers. She did not know how to refuse anyone who had suffered so much loss.

Berek’s mien tightened. “My lady Linden, it is plain that you bear powers-or instruments of power-greater than yourself. I know naught of such matters. Nonetheless I am able to discern contradiction. Though your powers exceed you, you have it within you to transcend them.”