Even a Giant might have been felled by their assault. But the Harrow was not. All three of the Humbled struck him-and all three rebounded to the dirt as if they had been slapped away. The Harrow remained standing, apparently untouched. Neither his posture nor his amiable smile suggested that he had noticed his attackers.
“Lady,” he observed with easy nonchalance. “you have not inquired into the nature of my desires.”
Shocked, Linden realised too late that she was looking directly into the black caves of his eyes. They caught her and held as if they were sucking at her mind.
None of the Humbled hesitated. The force which had repulsed them must have hurt; yet they sprang up instantly to attack again. This time, however, they did not leave their feet. Planting themselves around the Harrow, they hammered him with blows too swift and heavy to be distinguished from each other. A plinth of sandstone might have been pulverised by their onslaught.
Still he ignored them. Instead he gazed at Linden, drawing her deeper and deeper into the fathomless abysm of his eyes. She could not think or move; could not look away. The frenzy of the Humbled and the cheerful dance of the campfire became imprecise, meaningless: they had slipped sideways somehow, into a slightly different dimension of existence. The Harrow himself had slipped. Only his eyes remained fully real, his eyes and the rich loam of his voice; only the darkness
Vaguely she tried to summon the power of her Staff. But she was already lost. The hands of her volition hung, useless, at her sides. She could not lift them.
“First,” he said pleasantly, “I desire this curious stick to which you cling as though it possessed the virtue to ward you. Second, I crave the circle of white gold which lies hidden by your raiment. And last, I covet the unfettered wrath at the centre of your heart. It will nourish me as the Demondim did not. Though the husk of yourself is comely, I will discard it, for it does not interest me.”
He laughed as he added. “Did I not forewarn you that you must succumb’?”
Stave may have shouted Linden’s name. She was almost sure that he had joined Galt, Branl, and Clyme, assailing the Harrow with all of his prodigious strength. But she knew that none of them would prevail. Knowledge is power, she thought absently. The Harrow had destroyed the entire horde of the Demondim. He could certainly withstand the
Long ago, she had succumbed. More than once. She was familiar with self-abandonment. Now she resisted. Desperately she tried to say the Seven Words. Any of them. She remembered them all: she could form them in her mind. But they required utterance. They had no efficacy without breath and effort. The Harrow cocked an eyebrow as if he were aware of her attempt, and mildly surprised by it. Nevertheless he went on laughing with the ease of complete certitude.
There was no pain; no falling; no sensation at all. She was not possessed and tortured as she had once been by a Raver. Nor did she feel the illimitable excruciation of a
She wanted to plead with him somehow; beseech him to let her go. He did not care about Jeremiah. Her son would never be freed if she could not convince the Harrow to release her.
But she did not know his true name. She lacked the means to make him heed her.
There was another name, one which had been given to her for a reason, and which she had not forgotten. She was no longer substantial or significant enough to speak it.
Stave and the Humbled beat themselves raw on the Harrow’s impervious form. They hit and kicked so hard that any bones except theirs would have shattered. The skin of their fists and feet became pulp. With every blow, they splashed blood that did not touch the Insequent.
They could not save Linden.
Still they were
Stave was imponderably swift.
Nevertheless the Harrow snatched Stave’s hand aside before it reached his face. To prevent another strike, he kept his grip on Stave’s wrist.
Surprised by the Harrow’s quickness, Stave may have faltered for a small fraction of a heartbeat. Then he attacked the lnsequent’s eyes with his other hand.
That blow the Harrow caught and held easily as well; so easily that even Stave’s boundless courage must have known dismay.
But the Humbled followed the former Master’s example. Branl and Clyme grasped the Harrow’s arms in an attempt to prevent him from moving: Galt leaped onto the Harrow’s back. With both hands, Galt clawed at the lnsequent’s eyes.
Within herself, Linden continued to struggle.
The Harrow did not try to defend himself physically. Instead he released Stave and let out a roar of force which flung all of the
But while he scattered his attackers, his will or his attention wavered for an instant. And in that instant, Linden gasped softly. “
At once, the Harrow staggered as though an avalanche had fallen on his shoulders. He stumbled into his campfire. Flames flared hungrily over his boots and onto his leggings.
And the grasp of his gaze snapped.
As his blackness vanished from Linden’s mind, she recoiled; pitched headlong to the ground with her hands clamped over her eyes. She had dropped her Staff, and did not care. Released, she returned to herself with a shock as violent as a seizure. Her muscles spasmed as she lay in the dirt, unable to move or think. At that moment, she only knew that she had to protect her eyes.
“Fool.” The Harrow’s voice was velvet with rage. “You are doomed, damned, ended. If you do not extinguish yourself, the entire race of the Insequent will rise up to excoriate your intrusion. Every commandment of what we are requires-”
“Oh, assuredly,” put in the Mahdoubt complacently. “By this deed, the Mahdoubt completes her long years of service. Yet her doom is not immediate. Even your animal fury cannot demand madness of her until her interference is beyond denial.”
Linden’s appeal had been answered.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she moved her hands. Although her arms trembled in reaction, and her heart shook, she fumbled around her for the Staff. But she found only bare ground and the residual loathing of the Demondim, bitter as gall.
The Mahdoubt had come. But surely she had no power to compare with the Harrow’s? She could cross time. And she could pass unseen to appear where she was needed. She was provident and considerate. But she had evinced no magic like that with which the Harrow had repulsed Stave and the Humbled.
“You prevaricate, old woman”- the largesse of the Harrow’s anger filled the night- “as has ever been your wont. You have intervened in my triumph, which no Insequent may attempt without cost. If you deny this, you are false to yourself as to me.”
Linden’s head reeled. Her whole sense of herself seemed to stagger drunkenly. Nevertheless she could not remain sprawling, blind and helpless, while the Mahdoubt confronted the Harrow on her behalf. Fearfully she slitted her eyes; confirmed that she was facing away from the campfire. Then she pushed herself up onto her knees and glanced around rapidly, looking for the Staff.
It was out of reach behind her and to the left. Even if she dove toward it while the Harrow was distracted, he might be too quick for her. She was still too dazed to summon Earthpower and Law without touching the black wood.
“Rage as you wish,” answered the Mahdoubt, unperturbed. “Assuredly the Mahdoubt seeks to defy the commandments of our kind. This she acknowledges. And in so doing, she hazards her life. Yet even your arrogance cannot proclaim that she has prevented your designs. Her intrusion has merely delayed them. She cannot be named inexculpate until she has coerced you to forswear your purpose against the lady’s person.”
Linden braced herself to lunge for the Staff. As she did so, however, Stave came to stand between her and the campfire. Blood dripped from his hands: it trickled down his shins, oozed from his feet. But he disdained his
