The Runes of the Earth

advanced to stand between Cail’s son and the Master.

The Ramen were certain that Esmer had not sent malice against her after the horserite.

Fighting chills, she demanded without preamble, “What’s going on here, Esmer?” The caesure was too near for politeness. “First you practically kill Stave. Then you offer to answer my questions, but you don’t say much. You make it clear that you want to be my friend and my enemy at the same time. And now you’re helping me?

“Do you expect me to believe that this time you aren’t going to hurt anybody?”

Through the wet fabric of her shirt, she clutched Covenant’s ring for courage; but the cold metal gave her no comfort. It felt inert, numb; unreachable.

“For all I know,” she finished, “this is some crazy attempt to help Lord Foul destroy the Land.”

Esmer frowned. Abruptly his manner became acerbic, self-punishing. “Yet you must trust me. I have served you well. And I have brought ruin upon this encampment. When the Ramen return to the Verge of Wandering, they will find wreckage rather than sanctuary. Thus is my nature satisfied. I have harmed those who have given me naught but friendship. If you do not trust me, you will render their losses valueless.”

Linden stared at him. His rapid changes disconcerted her. And she did not know what to make of his assertion. Had he consciously hurt the Ramen to aid her?

At last, she referred her doubt to the Haruchai. “Stave?”

“The Fall approaches,” he stated. “I will not trust this Esmer. I do not lightly accept his aid. Yet he has summoned a Fall like any other. It will meet your purpose, if you are able to master its evil. In this he speaks sooth.”

Harshly Linden asked Esmer, “Is that true? Did you summon a Fall? Or did you create it?”

Did his power resemble wild magic?

“I have no lore to cause such rifts.” His eyes were full of advancing squalls. “When we spoke, I discerned your purpose. Therefore I withdrew among the mountains, that my labours would occasion no other harm. In your name, Wildwielder, I have unleashed fierce theurgies, seeking first to discover the location and course of an apt caesure, and then to compel it hither. Thus I hope to counter the loss which the Ramen will suffer.”

Through her nausea and chills, Linden heard violence and remorse, but no falsehood. Gail’s son might commit atrocities without number, but he would not lie.

For an instant or two, his struggles filled her with empathy. “You’re tearing yourself apart,” she told him more gently. “Do you know that? You should pick a side.”

“I do so constantly.” Now his voice sounded as damp as the rain, drenched in sorrow. “That is my doom.”

His desire to serve her was so poignant that she could feel its ache in him. Apparently Gail’s legacy outweighed the fatal hunger of the merewives, at least for the moment. And he had already called a caesure for her. Perhaps in his present phase he would do more-

“All right.” Linden made a conscious attempt to catch him before his mood shifted again. “Since you seem to be on my side at the moment, tell me about your connection to Kastenessen.”

Why had he sought to prevent Anele from speaking of the Appointed?

At once, Esmer resumed his diffidence. “He is my grandsire. I serve him utterly. As I also serve you.”

In bafflement, she protested, “Damn it, Esmer. You aren’t making sense. Do you mean that Kastenessen and I are on the same side?”

It was possible. Kastenessen had defied the Elohim and his own nature for the love of a mortal woman. He and Linden might have more in common than she had imagined. If he had indeed broken free of his prison, he might be willing to take risks as extravagant as hers for the sake of his lover.

But he was Elohim; and the Elohim whom she had known had not seemed capable of any emotion that she would have recognised as love.

Esmer sighed. Quietly, humbly, he said like the water on his face, “The Elohim speak of Weird as the ur-viles do of Weird. There is also the Worm of the World’s End. It is my doom. I have no other answer.”

The damp soaked into Linden’s bones, aggravating her fever. Chills tugged at her concentration. “All right,” she said again. “All right. I don’t understand, but right now that doesn’t matter.

“Come with me.” Guide me. “Do some good with all that power. If you really want to help me, help me now.”

The sheer intensity of his uneasy puissance made her stomach clench whenever she studied him directly.

In response, Esmer turned his head away. “I must not. In my presence, you will surely fail “

She should have known what he meant. Perhaps if she had been less ill, she would have been able to think more clearly. But her fever continued to pull her away from herself. She could no longer look at Esmer. Instead she searched the grey vista of the rain in the direction of the Land as if her fate were written there, spelled out in falling droplets and cold.

“Chosen,” Stave said at her back, “this gains nothing. He conceals his enmity in confusion, yet it remains enmity nonetheless. It is folly to heed him.”

“Then call the Ranyhyn,” she told the Master faintly. “Let’s do this.”

He complied at once, raising a shrill whistle that sounded strangely forlorn in the drizzle; devoid of resonance or echoes. Unregarded by either Linden or Esmer, he whistled again, and yet again.

When the rain had washed his call from the air, she sensed movement behind her. Ramen approached from the encampment, a throng of them. They had come to say goodbye-

Moments later, a heavy woollen cloak dropped onto her shoulders. Its hood covered her head. The sudden weight surprised her until she felt Liand beside her.

“Linden,” he said severely, “this is madness. You are ill, yet you stand unprotected in the rain. Already your ailment worsens. Are you a child, that you must be warded at every step?”

Before she could reply, Stave commanded, “Attend, Chosen.”

With an effort, Linden withdrew her gaze from the shrouded north, turned her head-and found herself confronted by ur-viles. Somehow they had concealed themselves from her senses; or she was shivering too hard to notice them.

Esmer’s manner had shifted again. Scornfully he pronounced, “They watch against me, as I have said. You did not discern them. Their lore enables them to veil their presence.”

They must have been nearby for some time. Esmer had been aware of them-and had not considered them worthy of comment.

Trembling more violently, Linden leaned on Liand. Now beyond the ur-viles she could see the approaching Ramen, Hami and Mahrtiir first among them. As the Manethralls and Cords came near, the ur-viles moved to form a wedge; concentrate their power.

Its tip pointed, not at Gail’s son, but at Linden.

The leading Ramen quickened their strides. Soon Hami and Mahrtiir stood in front of Linden, with Pahni and Bhapa at their shoulders. Deliberately they interposed themselves between Linden and the Demondim-spawn.

Behind them, Char guided Anele forward. The young Cord looked vaguely crestfallen, as if his pride had suffered a blow. He may have considered himself old enough, experienced enough, to accompany Linden and Mahrtiir in Sahah’s name. If so, he had been refused.

Anele shuffled toward Linden as though he had no say in his own movements. He appeared bedraggled and bewildered, his tattered raiment drenched, as if he had spent days wandering aimlessly about the vale. In spite of his blindness, however, he conveyed the impression that he was aware of her.

The thought that he might have been possessed in her absence disturbed her. With the last of her lucidity, she turned to Char. “Is he all right?” she asked. “Did anything happen to him while I was away?”

The Cord bowed uncomfortably, as if he feared that he had committed some affront. “He has been as he is, Ringthane. Since your departure, he has betrayed little cognisance of us, though he permitted us to tend his needs. He appeared to await your return.”

Again Char bowed. When Linden said nothing, he backed away from her until she lost sight of him among the gathered Ramen.