The Runes of the Earth

around so that she could peer into his darkened face. “Why not? You people are the Masters of the Land. You’re responsible for it. And this is a warning. You said so. The Ranyhyn brought High Lord Elena here to warn her.” Hundreds of them. Not just two. “Don’t you think you need every warning you can get?”

“We do not,” Stave asserted. “We have heeded the lesson of Kevin Landwaster. We find no value in despair.”

She could see nothing of his expression; but his aura seemed like a rejection carved in stone.

“No,” she protested as if she were sure. “No.” Her hands insisted at his shoulders. “Bannor heard what High Lord Elena said, but none of you heard the warning.”

Again Hyn and Hynyn pounded past, circling the valley with frenzy and fervour glaring in their eyes; the passion of beasts that could not beseech. Somewhere behind the clamour of their hooves, Linden seemed to hear the distant distress of thunder.

“Sure,” she went on, “Kelenbhrabanal’s despair didn’t save the Ranyhyn. I get that. But what did?

“It wasn’t anything grand. It wasn’t Lords or Bloodguard or white rings or Staffs. The Ranyhyn weren’t preserved by Vows, or absolute faithfulness, or any other form of Haruchai mastery. That was the real warning.”

“Linden Avery?” Stave sounded implacable, ready for scorn.

But she had come too far, and needed him too much, to falter now. “It was something much simpler than that. The plain, selfless devotion of ordinary men and women.” The Ramen. “You said it yourself. The Ranyhyn were nearly destroyed until they found the Ramen to care for them.

“They wanted Elena to understand that she would be enough. She didn’t need to raise Kevin from death,” or give up sleep and passion, “or do anything else transcendent,” anything more than human. “All she had to do was trust herself.”

In dreams, Covenant had told Linden the same thing.

Unreadable in the darkness, Stave stared at her. For a long moment while Hynyn and Hyn raced each other around the valley, he said nothing. Then, with careful precision, he asked, “And do you not deem white gold transcendent?”

To that she had no answer except, “Maybe it is. I’m not sure. Maybe it’s nothing more than the person who wields it.” But she did not stop. “Isn’t that beside the point? If nothing else, don’t you need to know why Hyn and Hynyn are alone? Don’t you think it’s important that there aren’t more Ranyhyn here?”

She could not be sure that he had heard her, or that he cared. A moment later, however, she discovered that she had reached him, in spite of his certainty. Without a word of acquiescence or acknowledgment, he turned to hobble in the direction of the tarn.

Again thunder muttered threats in the distance. The air felt charged with Power and turmoil, thick with static and expectation, as though the potent waters of the tarn were disturbed by advancing storms.

Holding her breath to contain the labour of her heart, Linden hurried to Stave’s side; walked with him toward the tarn. Around them, Hyn and Hynyn constricted their circle as if they were focusing their frenzy inward, onto their riders.

Oh, Covenant, she prayed in silence, I hope this is what you wanted. You told me to do something unexpected.

This was the result.

The force of the black waters seemed to accumulate against her at every step. She could discern it clearly enough to know that it was neither toxic nor tainted. Rather it was an expression of Earthpower purer than anything she had ever experienced before. Nonetheless its sheer strength exceeded her. She could not define its nature or guess its effects. It was too extreme for human flesh.

Yet Elena had tasted these same waters as a young girl, undefended by the lore and resources of Lordship.

Linden’s eyes bled tears as she and Stave reached the rock-knuckled edge of the tarn.

Communion. Blending. The Ranyhyn wanted to share their minds with her. Their frenzy

“Stave.” She had to drag her voice up from the bottom of her chest. “Maybe I should go first. In case-”

She could not explain what she feared.

Energy seemed to crackle across the surface of the tarn: incipient lightning; imminent hysteria. In those unreflecting depths, no stars existed. Instead, stark blackness stretched down into the marrow of the world.

“There is naught to fear,” answered the Master. “The Ranyhyn wish only to enlighten you. They will not make you mad.”

Although they might break her heart.

Stooping without hesitation, he lowered his face to the tarn.

His example drew her with it. In this place, with so much at stake, she could not bear to be left behind.

The touch of the water on her lips and tongue was as cold as fire. When she swallowed it, it burned within her like a blaze of absolute ice.

Then she surged upright and began to run with the Ranyhyn, run and run frantically, flinging herself like ecstasy or abjection around the dell as if she had gone out of her mind.

Chapter Four: Heedless in Rain

Linden Avery and Stave of the Haruchai returned to the Verge of Wandering in a scourging rain. Huddled on the necks of their Ranyhyn, they rode into the encampment of the Ramen as if driven by flails, while behind them harsh winds lashed the wracked peaks, and a downpour as bitter as sleet cut into the vale from all directions, twisted to chaos by the tumbling gusts of the storm. Occasional thunder harried their heels. At intervals, shrouded streaks of lightning turned the massed thunderheads the colour of bruises and madness: a swollen, livid hue shot through with argent like unfettered wild magic.

They had been away for two days and a night.

Alerted by scouting Cords, or by some instinctive link with the great horses, a throng of Ramen accompanied by Liand hastened from their shelters to greet the Ranyhyn and their riders.

Stave was able to dismount without aid, although he wavered on his feet. Cold and cruel exposure combined with the aftereffects of his wounds had eroded even his great strength. Perhaps he would have spoken, if words would have sufficed to succour his companion-and if he could have made himself heard through the pummelling torrents.

But Linden’s fingers had to be pried from their grip on Hyn’s neck. She had to be dragged bodily from Hyn’s back. In Liand’s embrace and the support of the Ramen, she hung stiffly, unable to move: rigid with mortification, and chilled to the bone; so cold and deprived and lost that she could not even shiver. She only remained clenched, and breathed in shallow, dying gasps, and wept like the rain, ceaselessly.

Hyn’s steaming warmth was all that had kept her alive. Perhaps at some time earlier in the day, she had sustained herself with white fire. Stave would know, if she did not. But long hours ago the storm had whipped her capacity for power to tatters and rent it from her. If she had not lain along Hyn’s neck and clung there, desolate and unyielding, her flesh would have failed her. There was malice in the gnashing rain, the fanged wind, and she could not have endured it without her mount.

Half weeping himself, and frantic, Liand carried her to the nearest shelter, the nearest cookfire, helped by Bhapa and Pahni. Eager to be of service, Char brought arm-loads of wood and baskets of dried dung to stoke the flames. Hami trickled warmed water between Linden’s pallid lips while the Stonedownor stroked her throat to help her swallow. With unexpected tenderness, Mahrtiir bit into two or three treasure-berries, removed the seeds, then kissed the pulp and juice into her helpless mouth.

Accepting no assistance, Stave staggered into the shelter so that he, too, would be warmed. And both Hyn and Hynyn shouldered their way in among the Ramen, although the sod roof was too low to let them hold up their heads, and the stallion’s shoulders almost brushed the lattice of the ceiling. Together they watched over Linden.