The Runes of the Earth

had dried for decades. “But it could be worse. We aren’t beaten yet”

The Cords gaped at her. Even Mahrtiir, the eager fighter, stared as though she had begun to froth at the mouth. Liand could find no words or air adequate to his shock.

Because she trusted the Stonedownor, Linden held up her hand as if to refuse his unspoken appeal. “Don’t say it. Don’t say anything at all.” Then she swept her arm to include all of her companions. “None of you” They could have broken her heart. “Don’t interrupt me. I need to think.”

But Anele continued pounding his head on the floor. In desperation, Linden snapped, “Anele, God damn it-!” Then she whipped a look toward Liand. “For pity’s sake, stop him. He shouldn’t punish himself like this.”

The young man heard her: he could still recognise pain and feel compassion. Shaking off his consternation, he hastened to Anele’s side. With Pahni’s help, he turned the old man over. Then he wrapped his strong arms around Anele’s grief, cradling it against his chest.

At once, Linden turned on Stave.

“You,” she said like an accusation, although she blamed no one but herself. “The Masters. The Haruchai. You remember everything.” She had reason to wonder what he might have withheld. “So tell me this.

“What’s been going on here since Anele disappeared with the Staff? I mean in this time. This region, this part of the South Plains. Have there been any battles? Any signs of power? Strange fertility, unnatural wastes? Unexplained enemies? Dangerous occurrences of any kind?”

Stave tried to respond, but she rushed on. “What about the people who live here? What are their lives like? How have they recovered from the Sunbane? What-?”

“Chosen,” the Master interrupted sternly. “Your question is plain. Permit me to reply.”

With an effort, Linden restrained herself. Chewing on her lower lip, she waited for his answer.

“It is Booth,” he said more quietly, “that we remember much. Yet there are matters which you must understand.

“First, the Haruchai did not lightly undertake to become the Masters of the Land. Until the Staff of Law was lost, the Land had no need of such care. Even then, centuries passed before the decision was made, for we are not hasty in these things. And as new Masters we did not extend our bourne to encompass all the Upper Land until centuries more had passed.

“Between the time of your own knowledge and the time in which we now stand, few Haruchai sojourned so far into the South Plains. To Mithil Stonedown my people rode, that they might honour Sunder and Hollian. And later, when the loss of the Staff had become certain, they aided in searching for it. But they conceived that if the Staff had been removed toward Doom’s Retreat, they would have caught some glimpse of its presence or its use. Therefore they believed that its fate lay among the heights of the Southron Range, where no quest would discover it.”

Stave seemed to consider how much he should reveal. Then he said, “But there is a second reason why the Haruchai made no thorough search in this region. Since the time of the Old Lords, the South Plains to the west of the Mithil River and the south of the Black have been little inhabited. The soil is ill- nourished and knows scant rain. The folk of the Land have found no welcome there.”

Mahrtiir nodded. Apparently the long tales of the Ramen confirmed the Master’s assertion.

“In the time of Berek Heartthew,” Stave went on, “before he became the first of the Old Lords, much of his vast war against Corruption and the servants of evil was waged in the South Plains. The violence of that war blighted the earth, leaving too much harm to encourage human life.”

The Haruchai held Linden’s urgent stare. “Because there are no dwellings in this region, it has no need of Masters. We know the South Plains because our duty to the Land requires it. But we seldom journey here.”

“So you don’t know,” Linden retorted. “Anything could have happened here-anything at all-and you wouldn’t know about it. The Staff could have been destroyed, or used for centuries, and you wouldn’t have any idea.”

“No, Chosen.” An undercurrent of reproach disturbed Stave’s flat tone. “Have you quested so long and arduously in the company of Haruchai, and not learned that we are sensitive to power? Such forces as you imagine could not fail to draw our notice. Kevin’s Dirt does not blind us, and the reach of our senses is great.

“Also I have said that we seldom journey here. I did not say never. Across the centuries, our care has been bounded only by the bounds of the Land. Small theurgies, perhaps, we would not discern. But that is not your fear.

“Your concern is groundless. Of that I am certain.”

Linden should have been grateful for his reassurance; but her emotions burned too hotly. Nevertheless she believed him. Their straits could indeed be worse.

Biting her lip again, she shifted her attention to Mahrtiir.

“You said others have been here. Human or not.” Friendly or not. “Can you tell me anything else about them?”

In spite of his fierceness, the Manethrall looked suddenly timid; or the torchlight cast shadows like fears across his visage. He swallowed roughly. “I cannot. As you have seen, this habitation is well protected. Wind and rain do not enter. Yet dust settles ceaselessly here. Too much has been obscured.”

“But you can still track them?” Linden demanded. “Can’t you?”

Her tone drew a wince from Bhapa.

Mahrtiir squared his shoulders. “We cannot, Ringthane. I am a Manethrall of the Ramen. The Cords with me are skilled. In such things we are adept beyond any other people we have known.

“But we have been preceded by years or decades, as I have said. Many seasons have combined to efface any outward path. And the lowland beyond this cave is both open and fertile, rich with grass. I cannot follow those that preceded us because it cannot be done:”

His answer rebuffed Linden’s hopes; but now she did not hesitate. She could not. If she faltered for an instant, the enormity of what she had done would overtake her. Then she might collapse like Anele, beating out her despair against the stone.

“In that case,” she muttered, hardly aware that she spoke aloud, “we’ll have to trust the ur-viles.”

Creatures make Anele remember!

Outside the encampment of the Ramen, the ur-viles had drawn the old man’s blood in order to reach his memories. But they had previously done something similar to him. They may have done it several times. Surely they had learned enough of his past to know where and how-and when-he had lost the Staff? They must have sought it themselves, for their own reasons. Why else had they continued to probe his madness? Why else had they aided Linden-?

They had not followed Anele to his cave now because they had known that the Staff was gone. Instead they meant to search for it in some other way.

They had served Linden valiantly, but she did not know why. Perhaps they desired the Staff for themselves. She-and Covenant’s ring-might be nothing more than a means to an end. They could not have reached this time, their own past, without her.

She might already be too late.

Immediately she began to run, rushing ahead of the torchlight into the dark.

An instant of surprise held her companions. Then Liand called urgently after her, “Linden! Wait!”

She did not slacken her pace. She trusted him. He would bring Anele as swiftly as he could. If he needed help, the Ramen would not forsake him.

Harried by images of disaster, she crossed Anele’s abandoned home and raced into the throat of the cave.

Stave seemed to overtake her easily, in spite of his damaged hip. Mahrtiir followed close behind them, lighting their way with his unsteady torch.

The ur-viles were too far away-

Ahead of her, precise streaks of sunshine fell among the piled boulders. She no longer needed torchlight. The Manethrall discarded his brand as he ran.

The aisle beyond the mouth of the cave was too narrow to allow either Stave or Mahrtiir past her; but as