Fatal Revenant

For a moment or two, a silence as gravid as an aftershock held the forehall. Linden imagined that she could hear the preconceptions of Stave’s kinsmen crumbling. Then Liand crowed. “Stave!” and pumped jubilation into the air with both fists. “Heaven and Earth, Stave!”

Grinning fiercely, Mahrtiir growled, “Well done, Haruchai. Well done in all sooth. Here is a tale to gladden the hearts of the Ramen. At last blows have been struck which may humble the sleepless ones. And we have witnessed it, a Manethrall and his Cords. No longer may these Masters feign that their worth exceeds yours.”

Linden felt suddenly weak; drained by relief. She wanted to sit down. Stave had already suffered too many hurts in her name. Now he was safe-at least for the moment. But she clung to her resolve and hid her frailty. Holding herself upright, she gave thanks with her eyes.

Impassively Stave turned to Mahrtiir. “Manethrall, it was not done to demonstrate my worth. In their place, I would conduct myself as the Masters do. Rather it was done in the Chosen’s service-and to teach my people that they also may exceed themselves, if they elect to make the attempt.”

Mahrtiir replied with a deep Ramen bow as if he were accepting a reprimand; but his whetted grin remained.

“Worth is not at issue,” Handir said sternly. “One fall does not define merit or prowess. Yet we honour Stave’s wish to cause no harm, as we must. And we acknowledge the outcome of his trial.

“Behold.”

He nodded toward the gates; and as he did so, the massive stone began to open, turning soundlessly on its Giantish pivots or hinges. The savour of the air, chilled to crispness, and redolent with springtime, told Linden that the sun was rising. Its light was blocked by the bulk of the watchtower; but a grey illumination washed inward, softening the flames of the lamps and torches.

“Linden Avery,” the Voice of the Masters announced, “you may summon the Ranyhyn.”

His words seemed to dismiss some of the trepidation from the forehall.

She resisted an impulse to head immediately for the walled courtyard. The taste of the air, and the prospect of leaving Revelstone, restored her eagerness. She was confident now. She had shared a horserite with Hyn and Hynyn: she knew that they would answer.

But she had other concerns-

First she faced Handir and bowed, although he had never bowed to her. “Even when I believe that you’re wrong,” she said quietly, “I don’t question your integrity. If I’ve ever said anything to make you think otherwise, I regret it. I hope that someday we’ll be allies again,” as they had been in the time of the Sunbane. “But for now, I just hope that you’ll try to withhold judgment.”

She did not expect a reply, and Handir did not proffer one. She felt a tinge of sadness like an echo of his as she gestured for her friends to gather around her.

“The Ranyhyn won’t fail us,” she told them. “You all know that. And Handir is going to let us leave.” She had sensed it in his hidden sorrow. “He doesn’t like the fact that Roger and the croyel tricked him. None of the Masters do. And were a constant reminder that they can make mistakes. Once were gone, they can debate their definition of service in peace.”

If any peace remained to the Land-

Stave nodded his confirmation.

“But when we go,” Linden continued. “we have to remember that Anele is vulnerable when he stands on anything except stone.” Beyond the watchtower lay bare dirt. “Kastenessen can reach him. Lord Foul can reach him. Even Esmer can interfere with him. And there’s Covenant,” the real one. “who seems to suffer in the process as much as Anele does.

“Whenever he isn’t riding, we have to be sure that he’s on stone. If we can’t find stone, maybe we can convince him to climb a tree. And if there aren’t any trees, a bedroll might be enough to protect him.

“Or-” She held Liand’s gaze steadily. “If we don’t have any other options, you’ll have to let him hold your orcrest. I know that he hates being sane. But anything is better than allowing Kastenessen or Lord Foul to hurt him again.”

Certainly the mad Elohim or the Despiser would be able to locate Linden if they were allowed to enter Anele. They would know where to send their forces.

“As you say, Ringthane,” Mahrtiir promised. “The Ramen will not neglect the old man’s straits.”

Liand ducked his head. When he looked at Linden again, she saw shadows and pain in his eyes. Carefully he said, “I cannot unremember the fire of violence and rage which has twice claimed Anele. His anguish as he holds the orcrest is fearsome. Yet in my sight it is a lesser torment than that which is inflicted upon him by possession. I will do what must be done to ward him.”

Pahni gripped the Stonedownor’s hand as he spoke; and Stave nodded again.

“Good.” At last, Linden unfolded her arms from the Staff. Taking it in her right hand, she stamped one heel on the stone. With her left, she reminded herself that Covenant’s ring still hung under her shirt; that one of her pockets held Jeremiah’s twisted toy. Then she turned toward the courtyard. “In that case, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do this.”

Flanked by her companions, she strode through the inner gates to the open air between the watchtower and the main Keep. Behind her walked Handir and his phalanx of Masters as if they had become spectators at an event which no longer held their interest.

In the centre of the courtyard, she stopped. Here, she told herself. Now. But she had never summoned the Ranyhyn: Stave had done so for her. And she did not know how to whistle as he did, shrilly, and as poignant as keening.

In a low voice, she asked Stave. “Would you mind?”

He complied at once. Raising his fingers to his mouth, he gave a sharp whistle like a flung shaft of sound. It resounded from the smooth granite of Revelstone, echoing off the Keep’s buttresses, repeating itself darkly from the passage under the watchtower; and Linden’s heart lifted with it. He had surpassed himself for her sake. Both Liand and Mahrtiir had given more than she could have asked of them. Even poor Anele-The Ranyhyn would do no less.

Then Stave whistled again, and the echoes multiplied until they beat like wings around the courtyard. When he whistled a third time, Linden seemed to hear the pinions of an imminent and ominous bird: a great raven, perhaps, just out of sight beyond the tower, and poised for augury.

Slowly the echoes died away, emptying the sky. The heavy stone of the outer gates hampered her percipience. But she was not afraid. At that moment, she feared nothing except that her foes might prevent her from reaching Andelain.

Instead of holding her breath or fretting, she counted her heartbeats until she heard the Voice of the Masters say her name. Then she met his flat gaze like a woman who had already departed, leaving her doubts and even her capacity for uncertainty with him.

“It is as the Manethrall proposed,” Handir announced. “This test of truth also has been satisfied. The Ranyhyn have answered. They await your will beyond the gates.”

For an instant, he appeared to hesitate. Then he admitted. “Their number is ten.”

Ten. Oh, God, ten. Seven for Linden and her friends: three for the Masters.

“Thus,” Handir continued, “the great horses acknowledge both your intent and your capacity for desecration.”

In effect, he had given his permission.

Linden meant to offer him a parting bow. In her relief, she might have thanked him. The Masters were Haruchai and deserved as much. But she could not stop herself: she was already running toward the tunnel under the watchtower as if the sheer force of her yearning would compel the gates at the end of the lightless passage to set her free.

Chapter Six: Sons