Fatal Revenant

Roger ignored the damage to his army. Now he seemed to counter the roaring blackness of the Demondim- spawn with dismissive ease. The power blazing from his right fist increased moment by moment as if Kastenessen fed it; as if the Elohim channelled more and more of his scoria and anguish through Roger. And as Roger drove back the assault of the ur-viles and Waynhim, he also sent shafts of rage at the Harrow.

A spear arched through the air, plummeting toward Linden. Stave knocked it aside without apparent effort. Frantically she struggled against her consternation to pour more and still more passion into the Staffs yellow fire.

Embattled, the Harrow began to give ground. When she risked a glance behind her, however, Linden saw that the Insequent fought only Roger and Esmer. The acid of the ur-viles no longer reached him. He gestured furiously with one hand and shouted commands to ward off Roger’s blasts. With the other, he sketched arcane symbols in an attempt to quash earthen geysers. Frenzy filled the emptiness of his eyes. Yet the black theurgy of the ur-viles did not endanger him, although their loremaster still flung gouts of vitriol. Esmer’s efforts to hurt the Harrow disrupted the attack of the Demondim-spawn.

Esmer-?

He could have attacked the Harrow from any direction. At first, Linden thought that Cail’s son chose an angle of assault which blocked the magicks of the ur-viles because he did not wish to share the Harrow’s death with them: he craved it for himself-or for Kastenessen. But then she saw the truth. While he assailed the Harrow, Esmer continued to leave himself exposed to the shattering concussions of the third wedge; and they were weakening him. Blood haemorrhaged from his mouth with every breath. His arms and legs were livid with detonations and bruises. His cymar hung in tatters. As a result, his force was simply not great enough to overwhelm the Insequent. Yet he accepted his own hurts in order to concentrate his waning puissance on the Harrow.

In fact, he appeared to be protecting the Demondim-spawn. The Harrow needed too much of his mystic knowledge to survive Roger’s magma: the added threat of Esmer’s swirling bombardment prevented him from unmaking any more of the ur-viles.

Aid and betrayal. Even here, the son of Cail and the Dancers of the Sea could not pick a side.

In spite of Linden’s fire, the leading Cavewights drew nearer. Now Clyme charged to meet them, crashing into them with all of Mhornym’s mass and might. A barrage of spears seemed to plummet as one toward Linden. Impossibly swift, Stave used one to strike the others down. The incessant clash of eldritch powers shook the ground. Hyn’s hooves danced as she strove to provide Linden with a steady seat.

“No!” Linden howled, although she could hardly hear herself through the mad clangour and tumult of weapons, blows, screams. Nevertheless the ur-viles and Waynhim must have understood her; or understood what was happening better than she did. In unison, they stopped attacking Esmer. Turning their wedge, they began to hurl corrosion among the Cavewights.

The impact slowed the creatures’ onrush. And Linden set fires among them as if they were dried and brittle, primed for conflagration. Sickening herself, she wielded her flail of Earthpower. As long as Roger only defended himself from the Demondim-spawn while he tried to destroy the Harrow-as long as he did not strike at her and her mortal allies-she forced herself to fight his army instead of renewing the battle that had begun under Melenkurion Skyweir; instead of repaying him for his part in Jeremiah’s pain.

In glimpses, she saw Mahrtiir and Bhapa; Galt and Branl; Clyme. The Ramen had neither the strength nor the speed of Haruchai: they certainly could not stand against the size and muscle of the Cavewights. Nonetheless they were experienced fighters, trained to protect the Ranyhyn with quickness and cunning. And their mounts fought for them. Gradually Galt and Branl on foot and Clyme on Mhornym lunged and dodged their way through the melee toward Bhapa and Mahrtiir.

They were all covered in blood, their own as well as the Cavewights’. The carnage among the creatures was terrible. Yet the Cavewights surged closer to Linden and her remaining defenders with every step and heartbeat.

At a word from Stave, Bhanoryl and Naybahn joined the battle for the sake of their riders, leaving only the former Master to protect Linden while Liand and Pahni guarded Anele.

Roger appeared to laugh, exulting in power. If he had turned his vehemence against the Waynhim and ur- viles, he might have butchered them all. But he was content to ward off their black lore while he strove to burn down the Harrow.

Again and again, the Insequent was driven back. If he had the ability to step aside, he could not use it: he was too hard-pressed by Roger’s gleeful fury and Esmer’s wounded assault.

Linden had no idea what a being as dangerous and greedy as the Harrow had done-or could do-to earn such enmity from Lord Foul’s minions.

Still the wedge challenging the Harrow could not reach him through Esmer’s ragged eruptions. Abruptly those ur-viles changed their objectives. In small groups of five or six, they began to peel away. Scampering on all fours, they sped to join the formation which fought the Cavewights.

They were too late-and the Cavewights were too many. Even Linden’s desperation was not enough. In spite of the dark efforts of the Demondim-spawn, she and her last companions would soon be inundated. If Esmer and perhaps even the Harrow did not turn to aid her, she might not be able to keep herself alive. She would certainly not be able to preserve Stave and Liand, Pahni and Anele.

As far as she knew, the other Ramen and the Humbled were already dead.

While she transformed creatures into living, screaming firewood, a Cavewight hurled a bludgeon at her from a distance of no more than six or seven paces. She barely saw it before Hynyn sprang in front of Hyn, and Stave snatched the massive club out of the air. Using the weapon’s velocity, he swung his arm to fling the bludgeon back at the Cavewight.

This time when Liand shouted her name, Linden looked at him; saw him pointing toward the Woodhelvennin.

They had been standing at some distance, watching in comparative safety. Now they were running toward the battle. They appeared to be yelling, although she could not hear them through the din. For an instant, she thought that they meant to join the fight; that the destruction of First Woodhelven had inspired them to strike back.

But then she saw a huge pack of kresh sweeping down on the villagers from the north. Easily the great yellow wolves leapt over or splashed through the brook. Men, women, and children fled slaughter in the only direction open to them. The wolves would have run them down in moments if they had turned to either side.

Nevertheless they were caught between the battle and the kresh. Soon all of them would die.

The two Masters-the only defenders of the Woodhelvennin-had already thrown themselves at the pack. But they were only two. And their mounts were merely horses, not Ranyhyn. They would be engulfed almost immediately.

Despite the turmoil and frenzy around her, Linden felt the presence of a Raver among the kresh.

She knew that malign spirit well: it had once possessed her, seeking to desecrate her love for Covenant. It was moksha Jehannum, and it ruled the wolves, goading them until they were rabid for bloodshed.

She did not pause for thought. She had no time. An Elohim had warned the Land of merewives and skurj and croyel. He had spoken of a shadow upon the hearts of his people. He had foretold the threat of the halfhand.

And he had mentioned Sandgorgons

Linden had seen his other prophecies fulfilled. Why not this one?

Distance has no meaning to such power.

Hardly aware of her own actions, she cried. “Nom! We need you!” Then she sent Hyn hurtling into the collision of theurgies, pounding through cataclysm toward the panicked villagers.

Instantly Stave and Liand joined her, and Pahni and Anele followed at her back, as if they-or their mounts- had known what she would do.