The Wounded Land

not alone. Seven of the Clave are scattered throughout this region, so that you would not find the Keep unforewarned. We were sent to escort you if you come as friend. And to give warning if you come as foe.”

Deliberately, Covenant let his anger show. “Don't lie to me. You were sent to kill me. Every village in the Land was told to kill me on sight. You people think I'm some kind of threat.”

She studied him over the jumping flames. “Are you not?”

“That depends. Whose side are you on? The Land's-or Lord Foul's?”

“Lord Foul? That name is unknown to me.”

“Then call him a-Jeroth. A-Jeroth of the Seven Hells.”

She stiffened. “Do you ask if I serve a-Jeroth? Have you come such a distance in the Land, and not learned that the Clave is dedicated entirely to the amelioration of the Sunbane? To accuse-”

He interrupted her like a blade. “Prove it.” He made a stabbing gesture at her rukh. “Put that thing down. Don't tell them I'm coming.”

She stood still, trapped by indecision.

“If you really serve the Land,” he went on, “you don't need to be afraid of me. But I've got no reason to trust you. Goddamn it, you've been trying to kill me! I don't care how much tougher you are than Sivit.” He brandished his ring, hoping she had no way of recognizing his incapacity. “I'll take you apart. Unless you give me some reason not to.”

Slowly, the Rider's shoulders sagged. In a tight voice, she said, “Very well.” Taking her sceptre by the triangle, she handed it past the fire to him.

He accepted it with his left hand to keep it away from his ring. A touch of relief eased some of his tension. He slipped the iron into his belt, then tugged at his beard to keep himself from becoming careless, and began to marshal his questions.

Before he could speak, Memla said, 'Now I am helpless before you. I have placed myself in your hands. But I desire you to understand the Clave before you choose my doom. For generations, the soothreaders have foretold the coming of the Halfhand and the white ring. They saw it as an omen of destruction for the Clave-a destruction which only your death could prevent.

'Halfhand, we are the last bastion of power in the Land. All else has been undone by the Sunbane. Only our might, constant and vigilant, preserves any life from Landsdrop to the Westron Mountains. How can our destruction be anything other than heinous to the Land? Therefore we sought your death.

'But Sivit's tale held great meaning for Gibbon na-Mhoram. Your power was revealed to the Clave for the first time. The na-Mhoram took counsel for several days, and at last elected to dare his doom. Power such as yours, he declared, is rare and precious, and must be used rather than resisted. Better, he said, to strive for your aid, risking fulfilment of the soothreaders' word, than to lose the hope of your puissance. Therefore I do not seek your hurt, though Sivit did, to his cost,'

Covenant listened intently, yearning for the ability to hear whether or not she spoke the truth. Sunder and Hollian had taught him to fear the Clave. But he needed to reach Revelstone-and reach it in a way which would not increase the danger to his friends. He decided to attempt a truce with Memla.

“All right,” he said, moderating the harshness of his tone. “I'll accept that-for now. But there's something I want you to understand. I didn't lift a finger against Sivit until he attacked me.” He had no memory of the situation; but he felt no need to be scrupulously candid. Bluffing for his safety, he added, “He forced me. All I wanted was the eh-Brand.”

He expected her to ask why he wanted an eh-Brand. Her next sentence took him by surprise.

“Sivit reported that you appeared to be ill.”

A chill spattered down his spine. Careful, he warned himself. Be careful. “Sunbane-fever,” he replied with complex dishonesty. “I was just recovering.”

“Sivit reported,” she went on, “that you were accompanied by a man and a woman. The man was a Stonedownor, but the woman appeared to be a stranger to the Land.”

Covenant clenched himself, decided to chance the truth. “They were captured by a Rider. Santonin na- Mhoram-in. I've been chasing them for days.”

He hoped to surprise a revelation from her; but she responded with a frown, “Santonin? He has been absent from Revelstone for many days-but I think he has taken no captives.”

“He's got three,” rasped Covenant. “He can't be more than two days ahead of me.”

She considered for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Had he taken your companions, he would have spoken of it through his rukh to the Readers. I am na-Mhoram-in. Such knowledge would not be withheld from me.”

Her words gave him a sick sense of being out of his depth-caught in a web of falsehood with no possibility of extrication. Who is lying? The Graveller of Stonemight Woodhelven? Memla? Or Santonin, so that he could keep a fragment of the Illearth Stone for himself? His inability to discern the truth hurt Covenant like vertigo. But he fought to keep his visage flat, free of nausea. “Do you think I'm making this up?”

Memla was either a consummate prevaricator or a brave woman. She met his glare and said evenly, “I think you have told me nothing concerning your true companion.” With a nod, she indicated Vain.

The Demondim-spawn had not moved a muscle since he had first come to a halt near the fire.

“He and I made a deal,” Covenant retorted. “I don't talk about him, and he doesn't talk about me.”

Her eyes narrowed. Slowly, she said, “You are a mystery, Halfhand. You enter Crystal Stonedown with two companions. You reave Sivit of an eh-Brand. You show power. You escape. When you appear once more, swift beyond belief, your three companions are gone, replaced by this black enigma. And you demand to be trusted. Is it power which gives you such arrogance?”

Arrogance, is it? Covenant grated. I'll show you arrogance. Defiantly, he pulled the rukh from his belt, tossed it to her. “All right,” he snapped. “Talk to Revelstone. Tell them I'm coming. Tell them anybody who hurts my friends is going to answer for it!”

Startlement made her hesitate. She looked at the iron and back at him, debating rapidly with herself. Then she reached her decision. Reluctantly, she put the rukh away within her robe. Straightening her black chasuble, she sighed, “As you wish.” Her gaze hardened. “If your companions have indeed been taken to Revelstone, I will answer for their safety.”

Her decision softened his distrust. But he was still not satisfied. “Just one more thing,” he said in a quieter tone. “If Santonin was on his way to Revelstone while you were coming here, could he get past you without your knowing it?”

“Clearly,” she responded with a tired lift of her shoulders. 'The Land is wide, and I am but one woman. Only the Readers know the place and state of every rukh. Though seven of us were sent to await you, a Rider could pass by unseen if he so chose. I rely on Din to watch and ward, but any Rider could command Din's silence, and I would be none the wiser. Thus if you desire to believe ill of Santonin, I cannot gainsay you.

“Please yourself,” she continued in a tone of fatigue. “I am no longer young, and mistrust wearies me. I must rest.” Bending like an old woman, she seated herself near the fire. “If you are wise, you will rest also. We are threescore leagues from Revelstone-and a Courser is no palanquin.”

Covenant gazed about him, considering his situation. He felt too tight-and too trapped-to rest. But he intended to remain with Memla. He wanted the speed of her mount. She was either honest or she was not; but he would probably not learn the truth until he reached Revelstone. After a moment, he, too, sat down. Absent- mindedly, he unbound the pouch of vitrim from his belt, and took a small swallow.

“Do you require food or water?” she asked. “I have both.” She gestured toward the sacks near her bundle of firewood.

He shook his head. “I've got enough for one more day.”

“Mistrust,” Reaching into a sack, she took out a blanket and spread it on the ground. With her back to Covenant, she lay down, pulled the blanket over her shoulders like a protection against his suspicions, and settled herself for sleep.

Covenant watched her through the declining flames. He was cold with a chill which had nothing to do with the night air. Memla na-Mhoram-in challenged too many of his assumptions. He hardly cared that she cast doubt on his distrust of the Clave; he would know how to regard the Clave when he learned more about the Sunbane. But her attack on his preconceptions about Linden and Santonin left nun sweating. Was Santonin some kind of rogue Rider?