Fatal Revenant

She could not see his eyes, but she was sure that he could see hers-and those of her companions. He had vowed that he would not make a second attempt to swallow her mind. He had called on his fellow Insequent to ensure that he kept his word. However, he had not promised to refrain from threatening her friends.

Mahrtiir and Anele were safe. The intransigence of the Haruchai might protect them from a fall into the Harrow’s bottomless gaze. Even the Giants might be able to resist. But Liand, Bhapa, and Pahni had no defence. If the Harrow wanted leverage-

Time seemed to stretch as though it might tear. The darkness under the oak became all darkness despite the faint light beyond the shadows. The Giants shifted their feet, waiting for Linden to speak. The destrier stamped one hoof restively.

Linden secured her grip on the Staff. With one hand, she touched Covenant’s ring through the fabric of her shirt.

“Say something,” she demanded. “I’m here. It’s your move.”

The Harrow laughed softly. “Be welcome in Andelain, lady.” His voice held the fertile depth of damp loam. Unlike Esmer, he had suffered no apparent damage in their earlier struggle. “You will find much to delight and surprise you in this bourne of peace.”

He may have been mocking her.

“Don’t play games with me,” she retorted. “Peace” isn’t one of your strengths. Get to the point.”

He laughed again, a low rustle like the sound of canvas sliding over stone. “Is it not sufficient that I am able to enter Andelain? Must I refrain from the enjoyment of loveliness because Kastenessen and the mere-son and your perished love’s scion cannot share my pleasure?”

Linden started to reply, then stopped herself. Roger was blocked from Andelain? And Esmer? She had hoped for that, but Esmer had not said so explicitly.

Then why did the Harrow hold back? He was in no danger of any kind. Why did he taunt her instead of bargaining?

Implied threats scraped across her nerves. At that moment, however, her certainty was greater than her alarm. She was so close to her goal-

Apart from Stave and the Humbled, all of her companions were taut, apprehensive; braced for danger. In spite of their concerns, she forced herself to relax her shoulders and breathe more slowly.

“All right,” she said as if she had become calm. “I’m confused. I know why you’re here. What I don’t know is how. Why didn’t the Wraiths stop you? Or the krill? If they can forbid Kastenessen, how did you get in?”

The Harrow did not answer. His emanations suggested that he was not paying attention.

Linden thought that she heard a distant sound which did not belong to evening in Andelain. But it was too elusive to be identified; and then it was gone.

“Mayhap, Chosen,” Stave offered, “he was not prevented because he is not a being of power. His theurgy is that of knowledge. It does not reside within him.”

Even Longwrath was possessed by a kind of magic: the ability to slough off his shackles whenever he wished.

Linden felt the Harrow’s gaze return. “Lady, I have promised my companionship, and the word of any Insequent is holy. Lacking such fidelity, knowledge erodes itself. I have striven too long, and have learned too much, to be made trivial by unfaith. Therefore I am here. No other justification is required.”

He still seemed to be mocking her.

Goaded by what he had done to the Mahdoubt, she said angrily, “And you think that just showing up occasionally makes you honest?” But then she caught herself. “No, forget that. I don’t care how you justify yourself. Tell me something else. I want to understand this.

“Anele has power. Why didn’t the Wraiths refuse him?”

Was it possible that the Wraiths had allowed the Harrow to enter Andelain because he did not serve Despite?

Something that she could not define seemed to snag his notice. It was not birdsong or breeze or the soughing of the Soulsease, although it resembled those sounds. Still she felt his posture shift; felt him probe the twilight behind her. Again he did not answer.

Stave appeared to shrug. “The old man desires no harm. And his power is that of Andelain. Here he was transformed in his mother’s womb, and given birth.”

“Then what about Longwrath?” Linden insisted, aiming her questions at the Harrow in spite of his inattention. “Is he possessed?” She did not think so. If a Raver-or some similar entity-ruled him, she would have sensed its presence. But she wanted to be sure. “Did the Wraiths stop him just because he’s trying to kill me?”

The Insequent faced her. “I would do so in their place.” His tone continued to jeer at her, but his manner implied boredom or distraction. “Have I not said that your might becomes you? Others may desire your death. I do not.

“However, concerning this Giant who craves your blood-”

He paused as though he expected an interruption. But Linden waited, and her companions were silent. After a moment, he resumed.

“His blade holds some interest. It was forged at a time millennia past, when Kasreyn of the Gyre feared the Sandgorgons, having not yet devised their Doom. He hungered for a weapon puissant to slay those feral beasts. Therefore he wrought the flamberge, aided by the croyel. It was fearsome in the hands of a knowing wielder. Yet its purpose ended when the Sandgorgons were bound to their Doom. Deprived of use, its theurgy fades.”

Staring, Linden asked. “Is that what attracted the Wraiths? His sword?”

“Lady,” replied the Harrow sardonically, “I have said that his blade holds some interest. It does not fascinate me. And the Wraiths are of no consequence. They merely articulate the might of Loric’s krill. Born of Andelain, they nurture its beauty. Far greater beings walk the Hills, among them one of vast arrogance and self-worship.”

She shook her head, trying to rid herself an innominate whisper. Far greater beings-Was he referring to the Dead?

Stubbornly she returned to her essential question. “I know what you want. You tried to force me, but you failed. So now I’m supposed to need your help.” I am able to convey you to your son. “That way, you can “demand recompense”. All right. Let’s get on with it. Isn’t it time for you to offer me a bargain? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“It is,” he replied. “and it is not. For the present, it would be bootless to barter. One comes who will preclude my desires without qualm. I do not relish the indignity of being thwarted. I will await a more congenial opportunity to speak of your son.”

Linden scowled. Hints of sound became more persistent, in spite of her efforts to dismiss them. She could almost-

An instant later, she realised that she was hearing the delicate music of bells or chimes: a soft ringing, at once beautiful and imprecise, as allusive as the scent of an exotic perfume. She nearly gasped as she recognised the tones. She knew them well.

Instinctively dismayed, she wheeled Hyn away from the Harrow.

“Linden?” Liand asked in surprise. Stave and the Humbled looked around, alert for danger. Muttering Giantish oaths, the Swordmainnir did the same.

They could not discern what Linden heard: she knew that. Long ago, this same chiming had filled her with turmoil and confusion-and none of her companions had been aware of it, not Covenant, not the Giants of the Search, not even the Haruchai.

Behind her, the Harrow said with rich sarcasm, “Be at peace, lady. Your concern is needless. No powers will contend in this place.”

Linden ignored him; ignored her friends. At once alarmed and angry, she watched a portion of Andelain’s dusk concatenate and flow as if the soul of the Hills were taking form.

Adorned with the tang and piquancy of tuned bells, a woman stepped out of the twilight and became herself.