Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

Her mouth and throat suddenly felt too dry for speech. She should not have been surprised that he was able to perceive Covenant’s ring under her shirt. Still she was not prepared. And neither the Theomach nor Covenant was here to advise her.

“My lord,” she said weakly, trying to fend him off. “I can’t talk about this. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. It won’t affect your war, or your Queen-or your oath,” not without destroying Time. Bitter with memories, she added, “And you haven’t earned the knowledge. You aren’t ready for it. It can only hurt you.”

She could not gauge what anything that she might say-or refuse to say-would cost Berek. Similar knowledge had damaged her immeasurably. But it had also redeemed her.

He did not relent. “Yet I wish to hear them named.”

His eyes and his tone and his vital aura compelled her. Guided only by intuition, she held the Staff in one hand. “My Staff is about Law and Earthpower. It exerts the same force as the Seven Words, but in a different form.” With the other, she indicated Covenant’s hidden ring. “This is white gold.” She felt that she was accepting responsibility for all of the Earth’s millennia as she said. “It wields the wild magic that destroys peace. But it isn’t natural here.

“If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask the Theomach.”

She saw that she had baffled him; and she braced herself, fearing that he would demand more. Yet he did not. Instead he rubbed at his bald scalp as though he sought to massage coherence into his scattering thoughts.

“This is bootless, my lady,” he grumbled. “It conveys naught.” Then he dropped his hand, and his uncertainty with it. “However, I will not press you, for your discomfiture is evident. Instead I will pose a query of another kind.

“It has been averred that your powers and your purpose do not pertain to me. How may I be assured of this? My

force is greatly outnumbered. And as I drive my foes before me, I strengthen them, for they draw ever closer to Doriendor Corishev and reinforcement. I can not ignore the prospect of a threat from another quarter.”

“The Theomach-” Linden tried to offer.

“My lady,” Berek interrupted more harshly, “I do not ask for aid. That the Theomach may well provide, as he has avowed. Rather I ask how I may fear nothing from the needs which compel you. There is no wish for harm in your heart, of that I am certain. Your companions, however, are closed to me. I know naught of them but that they wield strange theurgies, and that their manner is ungentle.

“Answer this, my lady, and I will not disturb you further.”

Linden sighed. “My Lord, there are only two things that I can tell you.” To describe Covenant’s intentions in this time would be ruinous. “First, were going northwest-and we have a long way to go. Something like two hundred leagues. Everything that Covenant and Jeremiah and I are trying to do, everything that brought us here in the first place-It’ll all be wasted if we don’t cover those two hundred leagues as quickly as possible.

“Second,” she continued so that Berek would not interrupt her, “the last thing that the Theomach wants is trouble from us. And I do mean the last . You have no idea how powerful he is. I don’t understand it myself. But you can be sure of this. If we try anything that might threaten you, he’ll stop us. We can’t fight him. Not here. No matter how strong you think we are.”

The Insequent had demonstrated his ability to override Covenant’s intentions. She was sure that he meant her no harm; but she did not doubt that he would banish Covenant, Jeremiah, and her in an instant if they endangered his relationship with Berek-or the security of the Arch of Time.

Berek regarded her sombrely. In his gaze, she could almost trace the contention between his visceral impulse to trust her and his necessary concerns for his people, his Queen, his oath. Then she saw his expression soften, felt the tension in his shoulders relax; and she knew before he spoke that she had gained what she needed most from him.

“My lady Linden,” he said with wry regret. “these matters surpass me. I lack the lore to comprehend them. But a trek of two hundred leagues in this winter-That I am able to grasp. It will be cruel to you, bereft as you are of food, or horses, or adequate raiment.

“To the extent that my own impoverishment permits, I will supply all that you require”- he held up his hand to forestall any response- “and count myself humbled because I cannot equal your largesse. The knowledge of hurtloam alone is incomparable bounty, yet you have given more, far more. If you are thus generous in all of your dealings, you will need no songs or tales of mine to honour you, for you will be fabled wherever you are known.”

Linden wanted to protest, No, my lord. You’re the legend here. I’m not like that. But his unanticipated gentleness left her mute. She was too close to tears to find her voice.

If she could have believed in Covenant’s honesty, her gratitude would have been more than she knew how to contain.

For three days, Linden, Covenant, and Jeremiah rode into the northwest, hugging the Last Hills as closely as they could without venturing onto terrain that would hamper their gaunt and weary horses. Over her cloak and her old clothes, Linden wore a heavy robe lined with fur which-according to Hand Damelon-had been scavenged from one of Vettalor’s abandoned camps. Her hands she kept swaddled in strips cut from the edge of a blanket: a wider strip she wrapped like a scarf around her mouth and neck. Still the cold was a galling misery, day and night. And during the day, hard sunlight glanced like blades off the crusted snow and ice, forcing her to squint. Her head throbbed mercilessly.

With Covenant and Jeremiah riding nearby, she could not draw on the Staff of Law, even to sustain her abject mount. Instead she carried it quiescent across her lap; clung to the reins and the saddle with her abused hands. Somehow Covenant had endured Berek’s touch. Still she feared that he and Jeremiah would not be able to withstand close proximity to the Staffs power.

They had their own difficulties. Their mounts were restive, hard to control. The beasts shied at every shadow despite their weariness. At times, they made frail attempts to buck. Linden suspected that the horses sensed something in her companions which she could not. On a purely animal level, they were disturbed by the secretive theurgy of their riders.

But Covenant and her son scorned their mounts’ uneasiness. They stayed near Linden at all times, as though they meant to ensure that she did not use her Staff. And they appeared oblivious to the cold; preternaturally immune to the ordinary requirements of flesh and blood. They had refused cloaks and robes, did not wear blankets over their shoulders. Yet they revealed no discomfort. Only Covenant’s seething impatience and Jeremiah’s glum unresponsiveness betrayed their underlying discontent.

They ate the stale bread, tough meat, and dried fruit that Berek had provided: they drank the water and the raw wine. Those simple human needs they retained. And at night, they built campfires which generated enough heat to encourage slumber. As far as Linden knew, however, neither of them slept. Whenever she was roused by cold or nightmares, she saw them still seated, wakeful and silent, beside the fading coals. At daybreak, they were on their feet ahead of her.

They hardly spoke to each other: they seldom addressed her. Nor did she question them, although the throng of her doubts and concerns clouded her horizons in every direction. She and her companions were constrained because they were not alone.