accommodate Yellinin’s uncertainty.
After a moment, the outrider said slowly, feeling her way. “It was the one whom you name Jeremiah-was it not? — who wielded theurgy against Basila and her comrades? If you are parted from him, he will be unable to ward you.”
Her tone added, And in your absence, he will be free to wreak any harm which he may desire.
“Yes,” Linden answered at once. “it was. But I don’t need his protection.” If she had been a different woman, she could have challenged Berek’s foes for him; perhaps routed them. “He won’t use his power again unless Covenant tells him to-and Covenant won’t do that.” Covenant had accepted the path which the Theomach had laid out for him. Linden was confident that he would not risk Berek’s enmity: not in the Theomach’s presence. “I can’t promise that your Warhaft will like their answers. But they won’t fight him.”
“Assuredly I will not,” the Theomach offered lightly. “And I will watch over your companions.”
“Linden.” Covenant’s voice was harsh with warnings or threats. “You know what can go wrong here.”
“Sure,” she replied over her shoulder. Disturbances in the integrity of Time, lethal discontinuities. And she had been warned that Berek held enough Earthpower to erase Covenant and Jeremiah- “But
Abruptly Yellinin dismounted. Leaving her horse, she came to Linden. In spite of her obscured features, her sword and cuirass, and her warrior’s bearing, she radiated concern rather than suspicion as she grasped Linden’s arm and pulled her away from her companions.
Softly, tensely, Yellinin said, “Linden Avery, if you choose to part from your comrades, I must inform you that Warhaft Inbull is not known for gentleness. Lord Berek endeavours to restrain him, but he has suffered much in this war-lost much, endured much-and has become cruel. Upon occasion, he has refused Krenwill’s aid because he desires to discover truth with pain.
Is it truly your wish that your son should be delivered to the Warhaft?”
For the first time since she had become aware that she was needed, Linden faltered. Instinctively she looked at the pleading on Jeremiah’s face. He, Covenant, and the Theomach had stopped: they stood watching her; waiting for her. She could not read Covenant or her son; but the meaning of Covenant’s scowl was obvious, and Jeremiah’s open chagrin seemed as poignant as a cry.
— has become cruel.
But the call of the wounded was too strong. She was a physician, and could not refuse it.
Like Covenant and the Theomach, Jeremiah had resources which surpassed her ability to measure them.
Deliberately Linden turned back to Yellinin. “My companions don’t mean any harm.” She made no effort to conceal the pressure rising in her. “They won’t cause any trouble. I keep saying that. But they can protect themselves if they have to. Right now, people are
The outrider remained caught in indecision for a moment longer. Then she shook it off. She was a fighter, uncomfortable with doubt and hesitation.
“Accept my mount, Linden Avery,” she said as if she were sure. Her hand released Linden’s arm. “If you are indeed able to feel the wounded and dying, you will have no difficulty discovering where they lie. Should any seek to thwart you, reply that you act by Yellinin’s command. Epemin and I will escort your comrades to the Warhaft. If I have erred, I will bear his wrath, and Lord Berek’s.”
“I don’t believe it,” Covenant growled under his breath. “Here she is, completely lost, with no idea what’s at stake-and total strangers still do what she wants.”
“That’s my Mom,” Jeremiah sighed glumly. He sounded like a boy who had resigned himself to an unjust punishment.
But Linden ignored them now. As soon as Yellinin let her go, she strode to the woman’s mount; grabbed at the reins.
When she had found the stirrup, she heaved herself into the saddle.
“Thank you,” she said to the outrider. “You’re not going to regret this.” Then she called, “Jeremiah! I’m counting on you!” She did not trust Covenant. “Don’t make these people sorry that they helped me.”
No one responded-and she did not wait. Digging her heels inexpertly into the horse’s sides, she headed for the top of the rise as swiftly as her shambling mount could carry her.
Chapter Eight: The Stuff of Legends
Her mount was no Ranyhyn, and the beast was frail. It stumbled under her whenever a hoof skidded on the glazed ice. She could feel its heart strain against its gaunt ribs. But as soon as she was thirty or forty paces beyond her companions, Linden began to draw Earthpower from the Staff, using its vitality to nurture her horse as well as to warm her numb skin, her cold-stiff limbs. Surely she would not endanger Covenant and Jeremiah now, when her mount increased the distance between them with every stride?
Gradually the horse grew stronger. Its gait increased toward a gallop as she fed it with the substance of life.
Then she crossed the crest of the rise, and Berek’s camp appeared like a tapestry woven of fires and tents and wagons; picket lines and latrines; gritted pain, exhaustion, and graves.
The encampment seemed huge, although she knew that it was not. The surrounding dark dwarfed it. Nevertheless it was all that the night contained. The larger host of Berek’s foes lay beyond the reach of her senses. Even the stars were lessened by the human multitude of the camp’s fires.
As she crossed the ridge, she was already near enough to see individual figures; dim tottering shapes that moved among the tents and campfires. Most of the tents were small, hardly big enough for two or three warriors to share their meagre warmth. But a few were larger: mess tents, perhaps, or command posts. One of these occupied the centre of the encampment. Linden guessed that it was Berek’s. However, three of the tents were the size of pavilions, and their burden of suffering drew her toward them immediately. Enclosed by thick clusters of wagons, they had been erected along the northern edge of the encampment, as far as possible from any attack; and they called out to every dimension of her health-sense, beseeching her for succour. There the most grievously wounded of Berek’s army carried on their faint and fading struggle for life.
Linden was an unskilled horsewoman, but she knew enough to turn her mount’s head so that the beast directed its lengthening strides toward the pavilions. At the same time, she urged more power from the Staff to protect the horse from slipping on the treacherous slope. In that way, she gathered her own strength as well as her mount’s, so that she would be able to bear what lay ahead of her.
Her haste attracted attention at several points along the edge of the camp. And as she approached the light, her open cloak, red shirt, and stained jeans marked her as a stranger; a likely threat. Shouts rose against her. At least half a dozen warriors ran for their horses, plainly intending to intercept her.
In response, she summoned fire like a shout from the end of the Staff and kicked awkwardly at her mount’s sides, trying to compel more speed.
Her display made the men and women racing for their mounts hesitate. More shouts scattered through the camp, dragging warriors urgently away from their chores and cookfires. Doubtless Berek’s forces were acquainted with theurgy. The King whom they had opposed had been counselled by a Raver. They had felt black malevolence from the east, and knew their Lord’s unforeseen might. A few of them had witnessed the salvific rampage of the FireLions. Nonetheless it was likely that none of them had ever seen Earthpower in thetic fire. And apparently most of them had not yet felt the first stirrings of health-sense. They could not look at Linden’s emblazoned rush and recognise that she wielded the same Law which had brought the FireLions to Berek’s aid.
Commanders yelled orders. A few warriors flung themselves onto their mounts, followed by others-and by
