from strain and limitation: the necessary, ineluctable, and crippling strictures of Time.
Earlier, she had feared that they sought the Staff for reasons which might conflict with hers. Now she began to worry that they might exhaust themselves before they found it.
Overhead, the sun slipped toward midafternoon. Linden was dimly conscious of thirst and hunger, and of her own deep fatigue. She had known no real rest since the hour when she had first met Roger Covenant. Nevertheless the efforts and lore of the ur-viles held her. Her need for the Staff of Law outweighed every other consideration.
Ahead of her, the lore-serpent slid past an outcropping of rock in a narrow gully and seemed to become confused, no longer able to taste its prey in the thin soil. At the same time, Mahrtiir returned, accompanied by the rest of Linden’s companions as well as by a group of ur-viles.
Tersely the Manethrall explained that when Liand, Anele, and the Cords had emerged from the ravine, the loremaster had led them westward, abandoning its solitary efforts to replenish the ditch and compel the shadows. Instead of simply advancing to the serpent’s head, however, the loremaster had stopped to replace the rearmost ur-viles. Driving its power into the black flow, the largest of the creatures had freed the others to extend the reach of their lore.
They staggered with fatigue as they loped forward. Nonetheless they plunged unsteadily to their knees beside their fading search. Their blades seemed to gutter in their hands, lapsing to iron and then resuming a molten glow spasmodically. Yet they bent as one to their task, chanting in raw voices.
If Bhapa and Pahni felt any weariness, they did not show it. Instead they evinced the unassuming stoicism of Cords in the presence of their Manethrall. But Anele sprawled on Hrama’s neck as though he had given up hope. And Liand made no attempt to conceal his worry and wonder. Nothing in his life had prepared him to comprehend an exertion of power like the lore-serpent.
When he had drawn Rhohm to Linden’s side, the Stonedownor said, “The Manethrall deems that the ur- viles quest for the Staff.” He spoke in a whisper, plainly hoping that the creatures would not hear him. “Yet your apprehension is clear. Do you not desire their aid? Do you mistrust them, Linden?”
“I’m not sure.” She hardly knew what she felt. “Everything they’ve done for us so far has been good. But I don’t know why they’re doing it.
“I’ve heard that they’re driven by some kind of racial purpose.” Their Weird. “For thousands of years, they served Lord Foul. Then they turned against him.” They had created Vain so that a new Staff of Law could be made. “I don’t know what changed.
Nor did she know the limits of their lore. Were they capable of prescience; of reading Time? Was it possible that they had enabled her to fashion the Staff so that later-now- they would have an opportunity to claim it for themselves?
If they shared the loathing of the Viles and the Demondim for their own forms, they might believe that they needed the Staff in order to transform themselves.
Liand nodded. He had learned enough about the ur-viles from Stave to understand her uncertainty. Softly he said, “I confess that I have envied your knowledge of the Land and power. But now I find that I do not envy the burdens imposed by your knowledge
Smiling ruefully, he left her to study the progress of the lore-serpent in silence.
Linden could see signs that it would soon fail altogether. It was stretched too thin: its power dwindled as if the black fluid were being denatured by the summer heat. The ur-viles knelt behind its head in relays, leaving its tail so that their vitriol could continue its search. But each time they did so, weariness sapped more of their strength; and no new power fed the snake.
The sun seemed to cook Linden’s heart as she watched, bringing her closer and closer to Anele’s despair.
Then the black fluid neared the bottom of a narrow crease between hills, and there it stopped altogether. She could see no obstacle in its path-and no feature to distinguish this particular crease from others she had passed. The sand and stone of its bottom suggested a watercourse, fed during the spring by rain and melting snow, but now entirely dry. However, a scattering of low brush grew along the scant ravine’s sides; more shrubs and grass than Linden had noticed on the surrounding hills. Perhaps a little water still seeped through the sand, helping the deep roots of the brush cling to life.
For no apparent reason, the liquid line of the ur-viles’ questing ended in a flat plane as though it had encountered an invisible wall.
Behind Linden, the creatures slumped away from the serpent, withdrawing their blades from its body, allowing its power to wither and fade. In moments, the dark fluid began to evaporate. Its macerated strength curled into the air in midnight plumes and wisps like remnants of shadows.
As the serpent died, she urged Hyn forward. She wanted to study the spot where it had ended. Had the ur-viles simply failed? Or had their searching met a barrier of some kind, an expression of lore which ordinary sight could not detect?
The Demondim-spawn barked at her hoarsely: they may have been trying to warn her. But their cries were too weak and weary to hold her back.
Stave came after her at once. Liand and Mahrtiir did the same. But their Ranyhyn were a stride behind Hyn as Linden neared the line where the dying liquid had been cut off.
Abruptly the mare shied; stopped. Tossing her head, she snorted in disapproval.
“Have care, Chosen,” advised the Master. “There is power here.”
Still Linden could discern nothing. “What kind of power?”
Stave gazed across the hills. “It resembles a Word of Warning such as the Lords wrought to forbid the approach of their foes.”
Harshly Mahrtiir put in, “It lacks such force.” He appeared to relish contradicting the
Stave nodded. “Indeed. It conceals. It does not threaten.”
Linden gaped at the blank air as though she had gone blind. Why could she not perceive-?
She glanced around for Liand to ask him what he could see; and as she did so the edge of her vision caught a faint shimmering in the bottom of the dry streambed, an elusive distortion like a hint of mirage. Instinctively she looked directly at the sand and brush again; and again her senses detected nothing. Yet when she glanced aside, the watercourse seemed to waver slightly.
Guided by uncertainty, as she had been ever since she had first met Thomas Covenant, Linden gradually refined her percipience until, like Stave and Mahrtiir, she could feel the character of the shimmering.
They were right: there was power in the air. If Hyn had carried her into the bottom of the crease, she would have been stung by forces strong enough to stun her. Yet any harm that she might have suffered would have been a necessary side-effect of the power, not its intent. It had been placed here for another purpose.
To conceal something, as Stave had suggested? Or to forewarn its wielders?
Or both?
In any case, its evanescent presence implied-
“Linden-?” Liand began. But he was too bewildered to complete his question.
– that the lore of the ur-viles had not failed. Some potent being or beings lurked nearby.
And it or they did not wish to be found. Or taken by surprise.
“All right,” she murmured under her breath. “All right.”
She could still hope.
Then she asked more loudly, “Now what?”
At her side, Stave shrugged. “I know little of such lore. The
Unless Linden called up white fire and simply tore the shimmering aside-
She no longer trusted that she would be able to do so. Her failure to find her own power in the
Thinking that she should return to the ur-viles, see if they were in any condition to take action, she touched Hyn’s neck; and the Ranyhyn turned to trot back toward the creatures.
Already most of their fluid had wisped away into the sunlight; and another group of ur-viles had joined those nearby, sprawling exhausted beside their fellows. More limped over the crest of the hill, their black skin
