Stephen Donaldson - The Runes of the Earth

Stolidly Stave explained, “Their laughter did not resemble Corruption’s, scornful and demeaning. The Giants laugh so, and it gives no hurt. Rather it was kindly and-” He hesitated for a moment, murmuring, “Such speech is awkward.” But then he pronounced clearly, “Their laughter was both kindly and affectionate. The Ranyhyn conceived no ill of me. They merely wished to express that they found amusement in my belief that our service is sufficient to the Land’s need.

“Our Mastery amuses them. In their sight, we are too small to comprehend or gauge all of the paths which may lead to triumph or Desecration. Though they are beings of Earthpower and mystery, they do not claim for themselves either the discernment or the courage to determine the Land’s defence.”

For a few heartbeats, Stave fell silent. He may have felt that his people needed time to absorb what he had said. Then he resumed.

“At the same time, laughing, they desired me to grasp that they have declared themselves utterly to the service of the Chosen. They will bear her wheresoever she wills, until the end of days. Her paths may enter Falls and the hazardous depths of time. Each and all of her choices may conduce to ruin. Yet will they bear her gladly. Indeed, they deem themselves fortunate to serve her.

“It is sooth,” he pronounced as if he were passing sentence, “that she may damn the Land. Yet the Ranyhyn believe that she will not. In their eyes, the Land’s life and hope require them to believe that she will not.”

Around him, tension gathered. It seemed to well up from the twists and flaws of the floor, drift down from the obscured ceiling, until it became so thick that the light of the lamps flickered and dimmed.

Stave’s kinsmen were taking umbrage.

Now his tone appeared to quicken, although his words maintained their uninflected tread.

“Masters, you will decide as you must, according to your beliefs. Doubtless it is difficult for the people who gave birth to the Guardian of the One Tree to consider themselves small. But the Manethrall has spoken aptly, though he knew it not.

“I have shared the horserite of the Ranyhyn, and have learned that we are not greater than they. Nor are we greater than the Ramen, who are content with service, and who do not attempt to alter that which lies beyond them.”

Mahrtiir muttered gruff approval. Surprise and wonder shone from the faces of his Cords.

Stave’s voice took on a palpable sharpness. “Nor are we greater than this Stonedownor, the least of the Chosen’s companions, for he seeks only to join his cause with hers, and to partake in beauties and powers which we have withheld from him.”

As he spoke, the assembled Masters watched him with darkness in their eyes, despite the many lamps; and the muscles at the corners of Handir’s jaw knotted and released with the heaviness of a deathwatch. Slowly the Humbled closed their hands into fists.

But Liand seemed not to notice the tightening among the Haruchai . Instead he simply stared at Stave, astonished to hear a Master say such things. And Linden, who felt the rise of tension, ignored it to listen and hold her breath, waiting for Stave’s conclusion.

Finally he turned again so that he stood facing the Voice of the Masters across the distorted stone. The lamplight emphasised the unwonted intensity in his gaze as he announced, “Because I have heard the laughter of the great horses, I will cast my lot with the Chosen. I cannot do less than the Ranyhyn. Whatever may befall her, I will endeavour to prove that I am equal to my fears.”

Linden hugged the Staff of Law to her chest with both arms, blinking furiously to hold back her tears. She wept too easily and did not mean to do so now.

At last-she breathed to herself. God, at last!

Stave of the Haruchai had brought her to Revelstone for this: so that he could declare himself in front of his people.

He had finally become her friend.

She could not imagine what the Masters would do now. But their accumulated judgment had a tangible force which seemed to bear down upon her from the sides of the Close, as heavy as Revelstone’s unillumined rock.

It felt like animosity.

She spared a glance and a quick nod for Liand’s open relief and Mahrtiir’s begrudged approval. Then she rose to her feet, holding the Staff before her like a talisman. At once, Liand and the Manethrall came to stand beside her.

Escorted by her friends, she approached Stave and bowed deeply, hoping that he would recognise the scale of her gratitude. However, the bow which he returned to her resembled a farewell more than an acknowledgment. His manner conveyed the impression that for her sake he had turned his back on more things than she could understand.

She wanted to ask him how the Masters would respond to his profession of faith; but her throat was full of other words which demanded utterance.

Meeting his single gaze, she said with her whole heart, “ Thank you. I owe you more than I can ever repay.

“You’ve already done so much for me. You’ve been true-” Her voice broke momentarily. “I can’t even begin to describe how glad I am-“

In this place, she could not go further. Handir had not yet pronounced judgment upon her.

Dispassionately, as if he had no interest in her gratitude, Stave replied, “You are Linden Avery the Chosen. The Ranyhyn have taught me that I cannot refuse your service.”

“Still,” she countered, smiling sadly, “I hope that someday you’ll be sure you did the right thing.”

Because she was determined not to weep, she bowed again, as deeply as before. Then she turned toward the Voice of the Masters.

There she froze. The merciless clarity in his eyes chilled her: it seemed to settle like frost on her bones. She had to swallow a mouthful of dread before she could speak.

Awkwardly she asked, “So what’s it going to be? Are we on the same side?” His gaze covered her with rime. She had to cling to the Staff’s warmth to keep her voice from shaking. “Will you let me have Anele? Will you give me your help?”

“How will the sleepless ones refuse?” put in Mahrtiir. His tone held a sting of asperity. “Stave has confirmed the will of the Ranyhyn. Naught else signifies.”

But Handir did not choose to heed the Manethrall. Instead he replied, “Stand aside, Linden Avery. Another matter requires precedence. I will reply when it has been addressed.”

Commanded by his certainty, she stepped back, drawing Mahrtiir and Liand with her.

For a moment, Handir appeared to commune with all of the Masters mutely, mind to mind. When he was satisfied with their response, he nodded sternly; and the three Humbled moved closer.

Instinctively Linden lifted the Staff higher, thinking that the Humbled meant to reclaim Anele. But they did not. When they reached Handir’s side, Galt moved forward to confront Stave.

They faced each other in silence, as poised as predators, and as relaxed. They might have been living statues, motionless except for the subtle flex of their respiration; sculptures positioned to form a tableau of arcane and ambiguous intent. Then, without warning, Galt lashed a kick at Stave’s chest.

Stave made no move to defend himself. Only a hard flat exhalation indicated that he was prepared for the blow. He stood like stone to receive it.

The kick drove him backward a step; two. Linden could see its impact jolt through him, forceful as a sledgehammer. But then he regained his poise. Only a brief accentuation of his breathing betrayed that he had been struck.

“Heaven and Earth!” Liand cried. Whipping his garrote from his hair, Mahrtiir launched himself at Galt’s back with the suddenness of a panther. At the same time, Bhapa and Pahni leaped to their feet and rushed forward.