The Wounded Land

moon rose half full, shedding silver over the waste. Without hesitation or hindrance, he told out the dark in names.

Across the Centerpith Barrens: fourteen leagues. Down the Fields of Richloam, Sunbane-ruined treasure of the Plains: six leagues. Up through the jagged ridges of Emacrimma's Maw: three leagues. Along Boulder Fash, strewn with confusion like the wreckage of a mountain: ten leagues.

The night unfurled like an oriflamme: it snapped open over the Plains, and snapped away; and he went on running through the dawn. Outdistancing moon and stars, he caught the sunrise in the dry watercourse of the Soulsease River, fivescore leagues and more from Stonemight Woodhelven. Speed was as precious to him as a heart-gift. With Vain always at his back, he sipped vitrim and left the Soulsease behind, left the Centre Plains behind to run and run, northwest toward Revelstone.

Over the open flat of Riversward: five leagues. Through the fens of Graywightswath, which the desert sun made traversable: nine leagues. Up the rocks of the Bandsoil Bounds: three leagues.

Now the sun was overhead, and at last he came to the end of his exaltation. His eldritch strength did not fail-not yet-but he began to see that it would fail. The knowledge gave him a pang of loss. Consciously, he increased his pace, trying to squeeze as many leagues as possible from the gift of Bamako's rhysh.

Across the rolling width of Riddenstretch: twelve leagues.

Gradually his mortality returned. He had to exert effort now to maintain his speed. His throat ached on the dust.

Among the gentle hills, smooth as a soft-rumpled mantle, of Consecear Redoin: seven leagues.

As the last rays of sunset spread from the Westron Mountains, he went running out of the hills, stumbled and gasped-and the power was gone. He was mortal again. The air rasped his lungs as he heaved for breath.

For a while, he rested on the ground, lay panting until his respiration eased. Mutely, he searched Vain for some sign of fatigue; but the Demondim-spawn's black flesh was vague in the gloaming, and nothing could touch him. After a time, Covenant took two swallows from his dwindling vitrim, and started walking.

He did not know how much time he had gained; but it was enough to renew his hope. Were his companions two days ahead of him? Three? He could believe that the Clave might not harm them for two or three days. If he met no more delays -

He went briskly on his way, intending to walk through the night. He needed sleep; but his body felt less tired than it usually did after a hike of five leagues. Even his feet did not hurt. The power and the vitrim of the Waynhim had sustained him wondrously. With the sharpness of the air to keep him alert, he expected to cover some distance before he had to rest.

But within a league he caught sight of a fire burning off to the left ahead of him.

He could have bypassed it; he was far enough from it for that. But after a moment he shrugged grimly and started toward the fire. His involuntary hope that he had caught up with his friends demanded an answer. And if this light represented a menace, he did not want to put it behind him until he knew what it was.

Creeping over the hard uneven ground, he crouched forward until he could make out details.

The light came from a simple campfire. A few pieces of wood burned brightly. A bundle of faggots lay near three large sacks.

Across the fire sat a lone figure in a vivid red robe. The hood of the robe had been pushed back, revealing the lined face and grey-raddled hair of a middle-aged woman. Something black was draped around her neck.

She triggered an obscure memory in Covenant. He felt he had seen someone like her before, but could not recollect where or when. Then she moved her hands, and he saw that she held a short iron sceptre with an open triangle affixed to its end. Curses crowded against his teeth. He identified her from Linden's description of the Rider at Crystal Stonedown.

Gritting to himself, he began to withdraw. This Rider was not the one he wanted. The Graveller of Stonemight Woodhelven had indicated that Linden's abductor, Santonin na-Mhoram-in, was a man. And Covenant had no intention of risking himself against any Rider until no other choice remained. With all the stealth he could muster, he edged away from the light.

Suddenly, he heard a low snarl. A huge shape loomed out of the darkness, catching him between it and the fire. Growling threats, the shape advanced like the wall of a house.

Then a voice cut the night,

“Din!”

The Rider, She stood facing Covenant and Vain and the snarl. “Din!” she commanded. “Bring them to me!”

The shape continued to approach, forcing Covenant toward the campfire. As he entered the range of the light, he became gradually able to see the immense beast.

It had the face and fangs of a sabre-tooth, but its long body resembled that of a horse-a horse with shoulders as high as the top of his head, a back big enough to carry five or six people, and hair so shaggy that it hung to the creature's thighs. Its feet were hooved. From the back of each ankle grew a barbed spur as long as a swordthorn.

Its eyes were red with malice, and its snarl vibrated angrily. Covenant hastened to retreat as much as he could without moving too close to the Rider.

Vain followed calmly with his back to the beast.

“Halfhand!” the Rider barked in surprise. “I was sent to await you, but had no thought to meet with you so soon.” A moment later, she added, “Have no fear of Din. It is true-the Coursers are creatures of the Sunbane. But therefore they have no need of meat. And they are whelped in obedience. Din will lift neither fang nor spur against you without my command.”

Covenant put the fire between him and the woman. She was a short, square individual, with a blunt nose and a determined chin. Her hair was bound carelessly at the back of her neck as if she had no interest in the details of her appearance. But her gaze had the directness of long commitment. The black cloth hanging around her neck ritualized the front of her robe like a chasuble.

He distrusted her completely. But he preferred to take his chances with her rather than with her Courser. “Show me.” He cast a silent curse at the unsteadiness of his voice. “Send it away.”

She regarded him over the flames. “As you wish.” Without shifting her gaze, she said, “Begone, Din! Watch and ward.”

The beast gave a growl of disappointment. But it turned away and trotted out into the night

In an even tone, the Rider asked, “Does this content you?”

Covenant answered with a jerk of his knotted shoulders. “It takes orders from you.” He did not relax a jot of his wariness. “How content do you expect me to get?”

She considered him as if she had reason to fear him, and did not intend to show it. “You misdoubt me, Halfhand. Yet it appears to me that the right of misdoubt is mine.”

Harshly, he rasped, “How do you figure that?”

“In Crystal Stonedown you reft Sivit na-Mhoram-wist of his rightful claim, and nigh slew him. But I give you warning.” Her tone involuntarily betrayed her apprehension. “I am Memla na-Mhoram-in. If you seek my harm, I will not be so blithely dispatched.” Her hands gripped her rukh, though she did not raise it

He suppressed an angry denial. “Crystal Stonedown is just about a hundred and fifty leagues from here. How do you know what happened there?”

She hesitated momentarily, then decided to speak. “With the destruction of his rukh, Sivit was made helpless. But the fate of every rukh is known in Revelstone. Another Rider who chanced to be in that region was sent at once to his aid. Then that Rider spoke with his rukh to Revelstone, and the story was told. I knew of it before I was sent to await you.”

“Sent?” Covenant demanded, thinking, Be careful. One thing at a time. “Why? How did you know I was coming?”

“Where else but Revelstone would the Halfhand go with his white ring?” she replied steadily. “You fled Mithil Stonedown in the south, and appeared again at Crystal Stonedown. Your aim was clear. As for why I was sent-I am