Fatal Revenant

Land’s sake, however, more than for Jeremiah’s, she tried one last argument. She did not doubt that the Masters would be needed-

“All right,” she said harshly. “I think I understand why you don’t trust me. But there’s one thing that you haven’t explained.

“You weren’t able to beat the Demondim. If I hadn’t closed their caesure, you wouldn’t have been able to hold Revelstone. So what changed while I was away? What makes you think that now you can handle Esmer and Kastenessen and the skurj and Kevin’s Dirt and Falls and Roger Covenant and the Insequent, never mind Ravers and the Elohim and Joan’s ring and Corruption himself?

“Hasn’t it occurred to you yet that you need me? That you need all of us, and any other allies you can find?”

The Voice of the Masters shook his head. His countenance revealed nothing. Nonetheless some subtle shift in the quality of his intransigence gave his reply a faint patina of sadness.

“Still you do not comprehend our Mastery. We do not seek to prove ourselves equal to every peril which besets the Land. We seek only to forestall Desecration. Such evils may be performed only by those who wield power and love the Land and know despair.

“The true Thomas Covenant, ur-Lord and Unbeliever, charged us to preserve Revelstone. We will willingly spend our lives in the attempt. But our larger purpose does not require us to redeem the Land. It requires us to ensure that a new Landwaster does not commit a second Ritual of Desecration.”

In spite of her determination, Linden sagged. He was right: she had misapprehended the Masters. She had fixed her attention on the effects of what they had done; on their arrogance-As a result, she had missed the real point of Stave’s patient explanations. All of her attempts to persuade Handir and his kinsmen had been predicated on a misconception, an oblique error. She had faulted the application and results of their Mastery instead of addressing their fundamental concerns; and so her efforts to move them had failed.

Now it was too late. She could not promise Handir that his concerns were groundless; that she would never become another Landwaster. Too many people had seen darkness in her: she had seen it herself. Too many people feared that her intentions would lead to ruin rather than hope.

You have it within you to perform horrors.

Within her she holds the devastation of the Earth-

Doom awaits you in the company of the Dead.

All right, she tried to tell herself. She had failed here. She needed an entirely different approach. But for a few moments, she was caught and held by her regret for what her inadequacies had cost her. Standing before Handir, she bowed her head like an admission of defeat.

Her heart was stone: she was not beaten. But she needed a little time to recover her concentration.

While she tried to think of an alternative, Stave stepped forward unexpectedly. “It boots nothing to bandy words,” he said to Handir. “I propose a test of truth.”

A slight lift of Handir’s chin betrayed that Stave had surprised him.

While Liand fumbled in consternation at his pouch, Stave explained. “I do not suggest the use of orcrest. A challenge by Earthpower will not suffice among Haruchai. Rather I offer a test of truth by combat.”

“Stave, no,” Linden protested. She had not forgotten the blows which he had already received from his kinsmen.

“I have no wish to cause harm,” he said, holding Handir’s gaze. “And it is certain that the Chosen does not, for she comprehends that the Land requires the Haruchai. Therefore I will confront any three of the Masters. Let each in turn assail me. If I drive each from his feet and do not fall, you will permit the Chosen to depart. If I am thrown and any of the three remains standing, she will withdraw to the plateau and seek her son’s salvation by some other means.”

Before the Voice of the Masters could speak, Galt replied with unwonted eagerness, “The Humbled accept this contest.” Apparently he, Clyme, and Branl had seen a personal affront in Stave’s actions or attitude.

“Damn it, Stave,” Linden muttered; but she knew of no argument that he would heed. His offer did not commit her to anything which would block her search for another egress. And after all that he had done for her, she could not say aloud that she believed he would fall.

Liand began to object hotly; but Mahrtiir’s voice rode over his. Clarion as a trumpet, the Manethrall announced. “I also propose a test of truth.”

Linden wheeled toward him as he proclaimed, “Permit the Ringthane to enter the courtyard beyond this dark stone. Enclosed by the outer gates, she will summon the Ranyhyn. Their approach will be witnessed by those Masters who watch from the tower.

“Heretofore the Ranyhyn that have answered her need are seven, Hynyn, Hyn, Narunal, Hrama, Rhohm, Whrany, and Naharahn. If she is answered now by more than those seven, you will acknowledge that the great horses approve both her desires and your caution. They have determined that she must depart-and that some among you must accompany her. If she is answered by no more than seven, you will recognise that the Ranyhyn do not share your fear of Desecration. You will honour their wisdom. And if she is not answered, we will accept your refusal.”

Shaken, Linden strove to compose herself. Like Stave’s, Mahrtiir’s challenge did not undermine her. The Ranyhyn would answer: she was sure of that. Still the Manethrall’s audacity staggered her. Surely in their entire history no Ramen had ever suggested making commitments on behalf of the great horses?

Yet Stave’s test was no less bold. He had been healed: the Humbled had not. But he had lost an eye. He was subtly crippled by the truncation of his sight.

Nevertheless Linden could not refuse either Stave’s aid or Mahrtiir’s. She needed to leave Revelstone-and had no clear idea how to do so.

Liand brimmed with protests; but Pahni drew him aside, whispering urgently. She appeared to be asking him to accept the Manethrall’s authority.

When Handir responded, Linden faced him again.

To Stave, the Voice of the Masters said. “It is Linden Avery who threatens Desecration. You do not. How will the success or failure of your strength measure the Land’s peril?’

“It will not,” Stave replied stolidly. “It will measure your worthiness to adjudge her as you have adjudged me.”

Linden groaned to herself. If Stave failed, he would validate the repudiation of his people.

“The Humbled have spoken,” Galt put in sharply. “We will accept the contest.”

“But I have not spoken,” Handir returned with a tinge of asperity. “By right of years and attainment, I am the Voice of the Masters. I must be heeded.”

“As the Humbled also must be heeded,” Galt reminded him.

For a long moment, the Humbled and Handir regarded each other. Then all four of them nodded; and the Voice of the Masters shifted his attention to Mahrtiir.

“Manethrall, we have heard you. Though your ire is unseemly, you are a Manethrall of the Ramen, and we hear you with respect. But we do not perceive how the will of the Ranyhyn pertains to the nature of our service.”

Keen as a raptor, Mahrtiir answered. “The Ranyhyn are inherent to the Land as the Haruchai and even the Ramen are not. The great horses partake of the Land’s essence and grandeur, for they are expressions of Earthpower, wholly and purely themselves, unflawed by either lore or aggrandisement. They stand high among the wonders which have caused you to choose the nature of your service. Also their foresight is both well known and inestimable.

“Inform me, then, how any Master may disdain the choices of the Ranyhyn and yet claim that he serves the Land.”

Although several of the other Masters emanated indignation, Handir did not appear offended. Instead he nodded as if to acknowledge that the Manethrall had made a valid point. Linden gnawed her lip while Handir remained silent, presumably communing with the Haruchai in the forehall.

For no apparent reason, Anele stated. “Anele does not fear horses. He does not fear the dark ones. He fears them.”