The Wounded Land

but to prepare the way for this moment. I am Lord Foul the Despiser, and I speak the one word of truth. To you I say it: the wild magic is no longer potent against me! It cannot serve you now. No power will suffice.

“Unbeliever, you cannot oppose me. At the last there will be but one choice for you, and you will make it in all despair. Of your own volition you will give the white gold into my hand.”

No! Covenant shouted. No! But he could not penetrate Lord Foul's certitude.

'Knowing that I will make use of that power to destroy the Earth, you will place it into my hand, and no hope or chance under all the Arch of Time can prevent you!

“Yes, tremble, groveler! There is despair laid up for you here beyond anything your petty mortal heart can bear!”

The passionate whisper threatened to crush Covenant against the stone. He wailed refusals and curses, but they had no force, could not drive the attar from his throat.

Then Lord Foul began to chuckle. The corruption of death clogged the air. For a long moment, Covenant retched as if the muscles of his chest were breaking.

But as he gagged, the jeering drifted away from him. Wind sifted through it, pulling the mist apart. The wind was cold, as if a chill of laughter rode it, echoing soundlessly; but the atmosphere grew bright as the mist frayed and vanished.

Covenant lay on his back under a brilliant azure sky and a strange sun.

The sun was well up in the heavens. The central glare of its light was familiar, comforting. But it wore a blue corona like a ring of sapphire; and its radiance deepened the rest of the sky to the texture of sendaline,

He squinted at it dumbly, too stunned to move or react. Of your own volition- The sun's aurora disturbed him in a way he could not define. Plans which I planted in my anguish- Shifting as it had a mind of its own, his right hand slowly probed toward the spot where the knife had struck him.

His fingers were too numb to tell him anything. But he could feel their pressure on his chest. He could feel their touch when they slipped through the slit in the centre of his T-shirt.

There was no pain.

He withdrew his hand, took his gaze out of the sky to look at his fingers.

There was no blood.

He sat up with a jerk that made his head reel. For a moment, he had to prop himself up with his arms. Blinking against the sun-dazzle, he forced his eyes into focus on his chest.

His shirt had been cut-a slash the width of his hand just below his sternum. Under it lay the white line of a new scar.

He gaped at it. How-?

You are stubborn yet. Had he healed himself? With wild magic?

He did not know. He had not been conscious of wielding any power. Could he have done such a thing unconsciously? High Lord Mhoram had once said to him, You are the white gold. Did that mean he was capable of using power without knowing it? Without being in control of it? Hellfire!

Long moments passed before he realized that he was facing a parapet. He was sitting on one side of a round stone slab encircled by a low wall, chest-high on him in this position.

A jolt of recognition brought him out of his stupour. He knew this place.

Kevin's Watch.

For an instant, he asked himself, Why here? But then a chain of

connections jumped taut in him, and he whirled, to find Linden stretched unconscious behind him.

He almost panicked. She lay completely still. Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing. The muscles of her limbs hung slack against the bones. Her hair was tangled across her face.

Blood seeped in slow drops from behind her left ear.

You are mine.

Suddenly, Covenant was sweating in the cool air.

He gripped her shoulders, shook her, then snatched up her left hand, started to slap her wrist. Her head rolled in protest. A whimper tightened her lips. She began to writhe. He dropped her arm, clamped his hands to the sides of her face to keep her from hurting herself against the stone.

Abruptly, her gaze sprang outward. She drew a harsh gasp of air and screamed. Her cry sounded like destitution under the immense sky and the strange blue-ringed sun.

“Linden!” he shouted. She sucked air to howl again. “Linden!”

Her eyes lurched into focus on him, flared in horror or rage as if he had threatened her with leprosy.

Fiercely, she struck him across the cheek.

He recoiled, more in surprise than in pain.

“You bastard,” she panted, surging to her knees. “Haven't you even got the guts to go on living?” She inhaled deeply to yell at him. But before she could release her ire, dismay knotted her features. Her hands leaped to her mouth, then covered her face. She gave a muffled groan. “Oh my God.”

He stared at her in confusion. What had happened to her? He wanted to challenge her at once, demand an answer. But the situation was too complex. And she was totally unprepared for it. He remembered vividly his first appearance here. If Lena had not extended her hand to him, he would have died in vertigo and madness. It was too much for any mind to accept. If only she had listened to him, stayed out of danger-

But she had not listened. She was here, and in need. She did not yet know the extent of her need. For her sake, he forced a semblance of gentleness into his voice. “You wanted to understand, and I kept telling you you weren't equipped. Now I think you're going to understand whether you want to or not.”

“Covenant,” she moaned through her hands. “Covenant.”

“Linden.” Carefully, he touched her wrists, urged her to lower her arms.

“Covenant-” She bared her face to him. Her eyes were brown, deep and moist, and dark with the repercussions of fear. They shied from his, then returned. “I must have been dreaming.” Her voice quavered, “I thought you were my father.”

He smiled for her, though the strain made his battered bones ache. Father? He wanted to pursue that, but did not. Other questions were more immediate.

But before he could frame an inquiry, she began to recollect herself. She ran her hands through her hair, winced when she touched the injury behind her ear. For a moment, she looked at the trace of blood on her fingers. Then other memories returned. She gasped sharply. Her eyes jerked to his chest. “The knife-” Her urgency was almost an attack. “I saw-” She grabbed for him, yanked up his shirt, gaped at the new scar under his sternum. It appalled her. Her hands reached toward it, flinched away. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “That's not possible.”

“Listen.” He raised her head with his left hand, made her meet his gaze. He wanted to distract her, prepare her. “What happened to you? That man hit you. The fire was all over us. What happened after that?”

“What happened to you?”

“One thing at a time.” The exertion of keeping himself steady made him sound grim. “There are too many other things you have to understand first. Please give me a chance. Tell me what happened.”

She pulled away. Her whole body rejected his question. One trembling finger pointed at his chest. “That's impossible.”

Impossible. At that moment, he could have overwhelmed her with impossibilities. But he refrained, permitted himself to say only, “So is possession.”

She met his gaze miserably. Then her eyes closed. In a low voice, she said, “I must have been unconscious. I was dreaming about my parents.”

“You didn't hear anything? A voice making threats?” '

Her eyes snapped open in surprise. “No. Why would I?”

He bowed his head to hide his turmoil. Foul hadn't spoken to her? The implications both relieved and frightened him. Was she somehow independent of him? Free of his control? Or was he already that sure of her?

When Covenant looked up again, Linden's attention had slipped away to the parapet, the sun, the wide sky. Slowly, her face froze. She started to her feet. “Where are we?”

He caught her arms, held her sitting in front of him. “Look at me.” Her head winced from side to side in