Fatal Revenant

Then the Voice of the Masters spoke. “Linden Avery,” he said as if words uttered aloud had become awkward for him, “you have healed Stave. The Humbled remain hampered by injury.”

He may have been asking her to disavow Stave’s test of truth.

If so, he had misjudged her. Stave had sacrificed his bond with his own sons for her sake. In spite of her apprehension, she replied. “And he only has one eye. I call that even.”

In any case, the hurts of the Humbled were superficial. And Stave had blows to repay-

“Linden,” breathed Liand, warning her. You have it within you-

For a few heartbeats, Handir resumed his silence. Then he shifted his stance to address everyone around him.

“It is decided,” he said rigidly. “Both tests have merit. Neither suffices.

“However, we do not desire Linden Avery’s enmity. Nor do we intend any slight to the Ramen, or to the majesty of the Ranyhyn. And the Humbled must be heeded. Therefore both tests will be essayed in turn. If Stave withstands each of the Humbled, Linden Avery will then summon the Ranyhyn, as the Manethrall has urged. If Stave falls, no summons will be countenanced.”

After a brief pause, he continued, “It is in my heart, however, that such trials resolve naught.” Again his manner or his tone seemed to imply a veiled sorrow. “Conceding them, we accept only the hazard of greater uncertainty, for the strictures of our service will not be set aside. If Linden Avery’s release is won, we will be compelled to consider whether we have damned the Land. Yet if Stave or the Ranyhyn fail her, she will not thereby be persuaded to accept our Mastery. Rather the darkness within her will deepen. And Desecration may be wrought as readily in Revelstone as in Kiril Threndor. Thus will we again be compelled to consider whether we have damned the Land.

“I am Handir, by right of years and attainment the Voice of the Masters. I have spoken. But my words will bear no sweet fruit. Rather they will ripen to gall and rue.”

When he was finished, he and the other Masters immediately withdrew, leaving only Galt, Clyme, and Branl between Linden’s company and the clenched gates. Clearly Handir intended the tests to begin at once.

Hugging the Staff harder, Linden tried to breathe as if she were calm. She was not sure that she could bear to see Stave beaten again.

While Stave advanced to confront the Humbled, Mahrtiir and Liand stood with Linden. “Gall and rue are the inescapable outcome of your Mastery,” the Manethrall said to Handir. “Do not complain of them here, where those who seek to preserve the Land wish only to do so without opposition.”

Then he whispered privately to Linden. “I proposed a test of the Ranyhyn hoping to spare Stave. He has been harmed in both body and spirit, and I feared for him. It was not my intent to hamper you, Ringthane.”

“I know,” she murmured tensely. “I’m scared, too. If they hurt him again, I don’t know how I’m going to forgive myself. But I just don’t have any better ideas.”

“Ah, Stave,” sighed Liand. “Now I am truly shamed that I have thought and spoken ill of you.”

As one, Stave and the Humbled bowed to each other with ritual formality. Then Branl and Clyme retreated to clear a space for Galt and Stave.

Involuntarily Linden remembered another battle in this place. When Nom had broken the inner gates, she and Covenant had entered the forehall with Sunder and Hollian, a few Giants, and a small company of Haruchai. Here they had fought desperately against the Clave, Coursers, and the na- Mhoram’s Grim. Old frenzy, terror, and bloodshed seemed to harry her now, as bleak as Handir’s omens.

So suddenly that she nearly gasped, Galt struck. Blood still crusted his hands and feet. Nonetheless he launched a blow swift and hard enough to crush the blinded side of Stave’s face.

Stave had said that he did not wish to cause harm. Plainly Galt’s intentions were more extreme. He seemed to want to eradicate Stave from his sight.

The lamps and torches provided light in abundance. Yet Linden could not distinguish the vicious blur of Galt’s punch from the details of Stave’s response. She saw only that Stave remained poised in front of Galt’s fist-and then he stood behind the Humbled with his hands on Galt’s shoulders. With delicate precision, he kicked away one of Galt’s feet and jerked the Humbled backward.

Galt fell: he could not prevent it. But as he fell, he twisted in the air; caught hold of Stave’s tunic; tried to wrench Stave down with him.

Stave countered by letting himself drop so that his knees landed heavily on Galt’s ribs. With his arms braced against Galt’s grasp, Stave kept his balance so that no part of him except his feet touched the floor.

A wince of shock or chagrin flashed over Galt’s features and vanished. For an instant, Linden feared that the Humbled would refuse to cede defeat; that he would attempt to roll Stave into a fall. Instead, however, Galt released Stave and relaxed. His Haruchai rectitude did not permit him to violate the conditions of the test.

Nodding, Stave rose smoothly to his feet and turned toward Branl and Clyme.

Handir and the observing Masters concealed whatever they may have felt. Linden found that Liand had placed his hand on her shoulder. He gripped her tightly to contain his suspense.

Clyme was the next to approach Stave. While they gazed at each other, motionless, the concentration-or perhaps the firelight-in the Humbled’s eyes conveyed the impression that he was probing Stave’s defences.

Linden knew that she would receive no forewarning; that even her health-sense could not anticipate the instant when either of the Haruchai would move. That in itself was a kind of presage. Nevertheless she was not ready. She flinched instinctively as Clyme attacked.

Smooth as oil, and swift as light, the Humbled lashed a kick at Stave’s abdomen.

Once again, Stave did not appear to react until he had already done so. Stepping aside, he swung an arm like a bar of iron across Clyme’s chest. Stave’s arm stopped Clyme’s momentum while Clyme’s kick carried him forward. Opposing forces swept the Humbled’s supporting leg out from under him.

Like Galt, Clyme clutched at Stave as he fell. Clasping Stave’s arm, the Humbled attempted to yank Stave from his feet. But Stave responded by crouching quickly, using Clyme’s hold to drive the Humbled downward.

Clyme landed hard. His shoulder blades could have been cracked. Certainly the breath should have been knocked from his lungs. But he was Haruchai: he did not react to the impact. Instead he let go of Stave’s arm, acknowledging defeat.

Again Stave stood upright. While Clyme rose and walked away to join his kinsmen, Stave waited for the last of the Humbled.

“My God,” Linden breathed to Liand and Mahrtiir. “They can’t hear his thoughts, but he still hears theirs. He knows exactly what they’re going to do.”

Even if he had lost both eyes, he might have been able to defend himself against his own people. Over the millennia, the Haruchai had become dependent on their mental communion. Linked to each other, they could not adjust their tactics to accommodate his unfamiliar blend of isolation and awareness.

But Branl appeared to understand the reasons for Stave’s success. The pace of his approach-or perhaps merely its tone-implied caution. And Handir studied the Humbled in a way that seemed to suggest inward counsel. All of the Masters may have been reminding Branl to fight as though Stave were not Haruchai.

Instead of striking, Branl circled Stave slowly. He may have wanted Stave to make the first move; to commit himself.

Yet even then Stave had the advantage. He had heard Handir’s advice-and Branl’s response. He understood Branl’s preparations. When Stave jabbed suddenly at Branl’s head, the blow was a feint.

The Humbled replied with a block which flowed seamlessly into a wheeling kick powerful enough to crumple Stave. But Stave had already stepped inside the kick and slapped down the block. While Branl snatched back his leg, Stave clipped him across the forehead with one elbow.

To Linden’s slower perceptions, the touch of Stave’s elbow looked harmless: a glancing blow, nothing more. The collision of bone with bone sounded too soft to have any force. Yet the Humbled sprawled backward.

In the fraction of a heartbeat remaining to him, Branl endeavoured to execute a flip which would land him on his feet. But he did not have enough time. His knees and then his hands hit the floor.

When he stood again, he gave Stave a small bow and withdrew to join the rest of the Masters.