The Wounded Land

he decided to stop.

For a time, he had trouble sleeping. An innominate anxiety disturbed his rest. Vain held himself like an effigy of darkness, hinting at dangers. An ur-vile, Covenant growled. He could not trust an ur-vile. They, the Demondim- spawn, were one of the ancient races of the Land; and they had served Lord Foul for millennia. Covenant had been attacked time and again by the roynish creatures. Eyeless and bloodthirsty, they had devoured scores of Wraiths at a time when he had been empty of power. Now he could not believe that the ur-viles which had given Vain to Foamfollower had told the truth.

But the air and grass of Andelain were an elixir that answered his vague distress; and eventually he slept.

He was awake and travelling in the exultation of sunrise. Regret clouded his mood now; he did not want to leave Andelain. But he did not let that slow him. He was concerned for his companions.

Well before noon, he crested the last line of hills above the Mithil River.

He had reached the valley too far east; the old oak at the corner of Andelain was half a league or more away to his right. He moved briskly toward it along the crests, watching intently for a glimpse of his friends.

But when he neared the majestic tree, he could see no sign of Linden, Sunder, or Hollian.

He stopped, scanned the barren region across the Mithil for some sign of his companions. It was larger than he had realized. In his eagerness to enter Andelain, he had paid little attention to the area. Now he saw that the wrecked rock and dead shale spread some distance south through the hills, and perhaps a league west into the Plains. Nothing grew anywhere in that blasted region; it lay opposite him like a corpse of stone. But its edges were choked by the teeming verdure of the fertile sun. Two periods of fertility without a desert interval between them to clear the ground made the area look like a dead island under green siege.

But of Linden and the two Stonedownors there was no trace.

Covenant pelted down the hillside. He hit the water in a shallow dive, clawed the surface of the Mithil to the south bank. In moments, he stood on the spot where he had said farewell to Linden.

He remembered the place exactly, all the details matched his recollection, it was here, here-! “Linden!” His shout sounded small against the desolation of the rocks, disappeared without echo into the surrounding jungle. “Linden!”

He could find no evidence that she had been here, that he had ever had any companions at all.

The sun wore its green carcanet like a smirk of disdain. His mind went blank with dread for a moment. Curses he could not utter beat against his stupefaction. His companions were gone. He had left them, and in his absence something had happened to them. Another Rider? Without him to defend them-! What have I done? Pounding his fists dumbly at each other, he found himself staring into Vain's unreachable eyes.

The sight jarred him. “They were here!” he spat as if the Demondim-spawn had contradicted him-A shudder ran through him, became cold fury. He began to search the region, 'They didn't abandon me. Something chased them off. Or they were captured. They weren't killed-or badly hurt. There's no blood.'

He picked a tall pile of boulders and scrambled up it, regardless of his vertigo. Standing precariously atop the rocks, he looked across the River toward the Plains bordering Andelain. But the tangle of the monstrous vegetation was impenetrable; his companions could have been within hailing distance, and he would not have been able to see them. He turned, studied the wreckage south and west of him. That wilderland was rock-littered and chaotic enough to conceal a myriad perils.

“Linden!” he yelled. “Sunder! Hollian!”

His voice fell stricken to the ground. There was no answer.

He did not hesitate. A geas was upon him. He descended from the boulders, returned to the place where he had last seen Linden. As he moved, he gathered small stones. With them, he made an arrow on the rock, pointing toward the interior of the wilderland, so that, if his companions returned for him, they would know where he had gone. Then he set off along the line of his arrow.

Vain followed him like an embodied shadow.

Covenant moved rapidly, urgently. His gaze hunted the terrain like a VSE. He wanted to locate or fall prey to whatever was responsible for the disappearance of his Mends. When he knew the nature of the peril, he would know how to respond. So he made no attempt at stealth. He only kept his eyes alert, and went scuttling across the rocks and shale like a man bent on his own destruction.

He drove himself for a league through the ruins before he paused to reconsider his choice of directions. He was badly winded by his exertions; yet Vain stood nearby as if he had never stood anywhere else-indefatigable as stone. Cursing Vain's blankness or his own mortality, Covenant chose a leaning stone spire, and climbed it to gain a vantage on his surroundings.

From the spire, he saw the rims of a long canyon perhaps half a league due west of him. At once, he decided to turn toward it; it was the only prominent feature in the area.

He slid back down the spire too quickly. As he landed, he missed his balance and sprawled in front of Vain.

When he regained his feet, he and the Demondim-spawn were surrounded by four men.

They were taller than Stonedownors, slimmer. They wore rock-hued robes of a kind which Covenant had learned to associate with Woodhelvennin. But their raiment was ill-kempt. A fever of violence glazed their eyes. Three of them wielded long stone clubs; the fourth had a knife. They held their weapons menacingly, advanced together.

“Hellfire,” Covenant muttered. His hands made unconscious warding gestures. “Hell and blood.”

Vain gazed past the men as if they were trivial.

Malice knotted their faces. Covenant groaned. Did every human being in the Land want to kill him? But he was too angry to retreat. Hoping to take the Woodhelvennin by surprise, he snapped abruptly, “Where's Linden?”

The man nearest him gave a glint of recognition.

The next instant, one of them charged. Covenant flinched; but the others did not attack. The man sprang toward Vain. With his club, he levelled a smashing blow at Vain's skull.

The stone burst into slivers. The man cried out, backed away clutching his elbows.

Vain's head shifted as if he were nodding. He did not acknowledge the strike with so much as a blink of his black eyes. He was uninjured and oblivious.

Amazed uncertainty frightened the other men. A moment later, they started forward with the vehemence of fear.

Covenant had no time for astonishment. He had a purpose of his own, and did not intend to see it fail like this. Before the men had advanced two steps, he spread his arms and shouted, “Stop!” with all the ferocity of his passion.

His cry made the air ring. The men halted.

“Listen!” he rasped. “I'm not your enemy, and I don't intend to get beaten to death for my innocence!” The man with the knife waved it tentatively. Covenant jabbed a finger in his direction. “I mean it! If you want us, here we are. But you don't have to kill us.” He was trembling; but the sharp authority in his voice leashed his attackers.

The man who had recognized Linden's name hesitated, then revealed himself as the leader. “If you resist,” he said tautly, “all Stonemight Woodhelven will arise to slay you.”

Covenant let bitterness into his tone. “I wouldn't dream of resisting. You've got Linden. I want to go wherever she is.”

Angry and suspicious, the man tried to meet Covenant's glare, but could not. With his club, he pointed toward the canyon. “There.”

“There,” Covenant muttered. “Right.” Turning his back on the Woodhelvennin, he marched off in that direction.

The leader barked an order; and the man with the stunned arms hurried past Covenant. The man knew the rocks and nuns intimately; the path he chose was direct and well-worn. Sooner than he had expected, Covenant was led into a crevice which split the canyon-rim. The floor of the crevice descended steeply before it opened into its destination.