Otherwise we’re going with Anele.”
At once, Hynyn and Rhohm joined Hyn; and in unison the three Ranyhyn stretched their strides to pursue their companions.
The others had already passed out of sight behind the bulge in the ravine. When Linden, Stave, and Liand reached that point, however, and followed the ascending curve of the streambed beyond it, they spotted Bhapa some distance ahead of them, waiting near a break in the east wall. As they approached, the Cord led them up into the break and darkness.
Its sheer sides, rugged and uncompromising, rose above them. Even at noon, the sun’s light did not reach the floor of the break. But the surface had been softened by millennia of weather and runoff. It posed no threat to the footing of the Ranyhyn. They managed the slope at a trot.
Silt and moss swallowed the sounds of their passage. They followed the crooked path unheralded and unforewarned.
Overhead, an arch of granite spanned the walls like a flying buttress. Beyond it, the last twist of the break revealed sunshine splashed across a slow hillside covered with mountain grasses and wildflowers. When Linden and her companions emerged, they found their mounts wading through rich swaths of eglantine, cornflowers, blue columbine, and paintbrush as stark as blood.
There they joined Pahni. She greeted them with a bow, but did not speak. Instead she pointed beyond her toward a wide, low basin surrounded on the east, south, and west by grey cliffs and grass-dappled mountainsides.
When she followed Pahni’s gesture, Linden spotted Anele halfway across the bottom of the basin, with Mahrtiir mounted beside him and Hrama trailing nearby.
The old man no longer moved so swiftly. Even at this distance, his weariness was plain. Yet he stumbled onward, half falling from stride to stride, his urgency undiminished.
He may have been unaware of Mahrtiir’s presence, and Hrama’s.
Mahrtiir could have stopped him, perhaps even placed him on Hrama’s back. But the Manethrall seemed content to let Anele labour along on foot, presumably so that he would not run too far ahead of Linden and her companions.
The old man was heading toward the southeastern edge of the basin, where a high pile of boulders sprawled against the base of the mountain. Long ago, monolithic slabs and menhirs must have fallen from the cliffs and broken there. Watching him, she guessed that his former home lay hidden among those massive, ragged stones.
He has no friend-
If so, he had chosen a lovely spot for his escape from astonishment. The bluff grandeur of the surrounding peaks contrasted dramatically with the profuse fertility of the basin. And it had plenty of water. Several streams tumbled down from the heights, catching the sunlight in a cascade of sparkles, and gathered to form a lively creek which babbled and ran toward the south and east. Anele could have grown food here easily. And in the heavy winters, he could have warmed himself with wood fires and Earthpower.
To Linden’s eyes, the whole basin seemed to show the benignant influence of the Staff of Law. Even unused, the Staff’s very existence sustained and promoted the natural Law, the essential structures and vitality, of the Land. She herself had formed it for that purpose. In Andelain, she had finally learned to love the Land, and with all her heart she had yearned to preserve and defend its beauty.
The vista ahead of her had the look of a place which had been adored.
Nevertheless an inarticulate foreboding troubled her. The high clouds cast vague shadows across the wildflowers, transforming them from vividness to uncertainty and back again; shedding mute premonitions across the basin. And in the distance, Anele appeared to flounder, hindered by recollections of failure and loss. Suddenly she felt reluctant to follow him. Instead of sending Hyn down into the basin, she remained where she was.
Beside her, Liand leaned forward as if he were eager to discover the future. Both Pahni and Bhapa studied her with puzzlement in their eyes, confused by her hesitation. But she turned from them to Stave, half-consciously seeking to postpone the moment when she would learn whether she herself would fail or succeed; whether she had endangered the Arch of Time for nothing.
“So tell me,” she began awkwardly. “Why did you change your mind?”
She meant, What am I going to do if the Staff isn’t there? But she could not ask that question: it searched her too deeply. She would not have trusted anyone except Covenant to hear her without reproach or dismay.
Stave met her gaze, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.
Linden wanted to look away, but she did not. “You were planning to leave. You wanted to warn the Masters. God knows you have plenty to tell them. But then you changed your mind.” After the horserite. “I can’t help wondering why.”
Stave held her troubled stare. “Chosen,” he replied, “I have elected to accompany you. I will defend you with my life. But I will not account for my choices. I await the proper time and place.
“When it is meet to do so, I will speak of what is in my heart.”
He had promised her a reckoning-
In this time, her need for the Staff was absolute. She could not return to her proper present without entering another Fall. In order to do so, she would first have to create it with wild magic. But whenever she attempted to wield Covenant’s ring, its power might scale out of control. In that eventuality, that likely danger, only Law could preserve the Arch.
By entering Esmer’s
“One matter, however,” Stave added after a moment, “I will explain, for I deem that you are unaware of it.
“We partook of the horserite together, you and I, but we did not share the same vision. That which the Ranyhyn revealed to you, they did not impart to me. Nor did they grant to you that which they wished me to see and understand.”
Linden stared at him. She had assumed that they had participated in the same memories, the same prophecies; that he had seen the same dangers. And she had felt that he had finally become her friend, in spite or because of those dangers.
But she was wrong. The Ranyhyn had given him other insights, other knowledge. He had accompanied her for reasons which he kept from her.
As if he knew what disturbed her, he continued, “They made plain to me that I must not be parted from you. Therefore I will remain your companion until I have discovered or devised an opportunity to consult the will of my people.”
Because she was afraid, she wanted to say something sarcastic; but she refrained. She recognised that he had given her as much reassurance as he could. For the present, at least, she could rely on him.
With that she had to be content.
While she gnawed on her doubts, Liand touched her arm; asked for her attention. “Linden,” he said tentatively, “Anele and the Manethrall proceed while we delay. Will they not gain the location of this Staff before us? And if they do, is it wise for Anele to hold the Staff? You have explained that any use of such power in this time is perilous.”
Linden sighed to herself. He was right. Hell, even Stave was right. This was not the time or the place-
Nodding to the Stonedownor, she touched Hyn’s sides with her heels; and immediately the mare started down into the basin at a swift canter.
Stave and Liand joined her. Hynyn and Rhohm stretched their legs with Hyn’s, matching the mare’s strides; and the Cords followed a heartbeat behind them. Gathering speed as they went, Linden and her companions followed Anele and Mahrtiir.
Among the wildflowers, butterflies scattered before the swift passage of the Ranyhyn, and occasional bees hummed away in alarm; but she had no attention to spare for them. Liand’s words had crystallised her fears into shapes as sharp as knives.
Ahead of her, Anele’s stamina was flagging, and Mahrtiir did nothing to hasten him. But they had gained ground while Linden spoke with Stave. Already they were nearing the rocks. Before she could overtake the old man, he found his path among the boulders and stumbled out of sight.
