The Runes of the Earth

not stumble. The warm certainty of the Staff also sustained her. And soon the darkness receded on either side as the tunnel opened into the ravine, and the night sky spread a swath of starlight overhead. Sand yielding under her boots, she walked along the bottom of the ravine toward the open night of the foothills.

There Mahrtiir awaited her with Pahni. When Linden and Stave reached him, the Manethrall announced in a contained whisper, “Cord Bhapa has not yet returned. The Ranyhyn remain on the hillside above us. They are restive, for the peril draws near. But they will not flee it.” His tone suggested pride in the great horses.

“If you will heed my word,” he added, “we will mount so that they may respond swiftly to your desires.”

Bhapa had only one good eye. His night vision would be hampered-

“What about the ur-viles?” Linden asked, whispering as the Manethrall did.

“An unwary foe,” he replied, “might deem that they have abandoned us, but they have not. Rather they have secreted themselves among the shadows below us.” Between Linden’s company and the advancing danger. “Doubtless they will attempt surprise on our behalf.” He considered the hillside briefly, then said, “It may be, also, that they seek to distance themselves from the Waynhim. If so, they are wise. The Demondim-spawn will not readily trust each other, or fight in each other’s defence.”

Linden peered down the slopes, looked for some hint of the creatures. But she found none. Their lore and their blackness concealed them from her senses.

Yet she could see better than she had expected. Above the jagged line of mountains distant in the east, a sallow moon a few days from its full had risen, shedding its wan light, bilious and unresolved, over the rumpled foothills and sprawling plains. In that uncertain illumination, the undulations of the lowland seemed to seethe gradually toward the horizon, ponderous and fluid as seas, and the shallow vales and clefts which defined the hills were crowded with darkness. The vague shapes of the Ranyhyn, off to her right and uphill from her, were as ill- defined as shadows.

“Ringthane,” insisted Mahrtiir. “Will you mount?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. First I want you to talk to them.” She meant the ur-viles. “You or Pahni. They’ll understand.

“Tell them to come when they hear me shouting.” If she succeeded at tearing open a Fall-and if she could devise no other response to the peril- “I don’t care how they feel about the Waynhim. I won’t be able to save anyone who isn’t near me.”

Nodding sharply, the Manethrall turned away and strode into the night. For a moment, he slipped down the crease of the dry watercourse. Then he seemed to fade from sight as if, like the ur-viles, he had cloaked himself in darkness.

Beyond question the Ramen understood stealth.

“Stave,” Linden breathed to the Master, “tell the Waynhim. I need to know they’ll come to me when I call.”

He did not ask why she did not speak to the creatures herself. Nevertheless she told him, “I have to think.”

Noiselessly the Haruchai withdrew into the ravine; and Liand came to take his place at her side, bringing Anele with him.

The old man stood as though he were alone, wrapped in madness. Holding his head up, he studied the dark with senses other than vision; alert to the nuances of the night. As if to himself, he murmured, “It is wrong. Wrong and terrible. Beings of nightmare walk the hills. They must not be permitted.”

At that moment, he appeared as sane as Linden had ever seen him.

She had to think.

Summon a Fall: that was the obvious solution. Recover her grasp on wild magic and rip open time. Commit her companions, all of them, ur-viles and Waynhim as well, to the known horrors of a caesure so that they would not fall prey to Esmer’s betrayal. But she had pointed out the flaw in that reasoning to Stave. Something fatal had been unleashed on the South Plains; and it would not simply disappear, unmake itself, if she escaped. Deprived of its intended victims, it might seek to vent its destructiveness elsewhere.

It might turn toward Mithil Stonedown. Liand’s ancestors would have no defence. And such an attack would violate the known history of the Land. It would weaken the essential integrity of time.

Therefore Linden could not flee. First she had to meet the danger. She had brought it here: it was her responsibility.

And still she could see nothing. Even her health-sense gave her no hints. The Ranyhyn scented peril on the air, or felt it through the earth. The Waynhim and the ur-viles knew their danger. In some fashion, Anele tasted the approach of nightmares. Yet Linden herself remained effectively blind.

She held her breath for Bhapa’s return, hoping that the Cord would tell her what she needed to know. But when the imprecise night condensed at last into the form of a man, it was Mahrtiir rather than Bhapa who whispered her name.

“I have done as you required. Now I urge you to heed me. We must mount. The swiftness of the Ranyhyn will ward us more surely than any garrote or fist.”

“The Manethrall counsels well,” Stave observed. Linden had not seen him return: like Mahrtiir, he appeared to join her from among the secrets of the dark. “It is said that there is no glory to compare with riding a Ranyhyn in battle.”

Now Linden did not delay. The Ranyhyn were under her protection as much as the Waynhim and the ur- viles. As much as Liand and Anele and the Ramen-

With Mahrtiir in the lead, she and her companions climbed the hillside toward the great horses. Pahni took charge of Anele so that Liand could stay with Linden. And behind them came the Waynhim in formation, chanting rhythmically the rituals of their lore.

However, the creatures did not ascend the slope. Instead they positioned themselves below the Ranyhyn, with the tip of their wedge pointing downward and somewhat to the east. There they awaited the attack.

A warm breeze drifted into Linden’s face. The air had cooled little since sunset, and baked shale, loose dirt, and sparse grass held the heat. The minor exertion of climbing toward the Ranyhyn drew sweat from her temples, made her shirt cling to her back.

Two or three of the horses whinnied softly in greeting. Others tossed their manes or stamped their hooves as if they were eager to run. Linden could not see clearly enough to tell them apart; but Hyn came to her and nuzzled her shoulder, urging her to mount.

With the Staff in her hands, Linden relied on Stave to boost her onto the mare’s back. As he did so, the strained muscles in her legs protested. And she felt Hyn’s disquiet at once. It spoke to her nerves, flesh to flesh: a visceral quiver like a harbinger of panic. The great horses were not easily frightened, but Hyn was afraid now, champing for movement.

When Linden touched the mare’s flank with the Staff, however, Hyn calmed herself, and her quivering subsided.

Around them, the other riders went to their Ranyhyn. Pahni needed Liand’s help to seat Anele on Hrama: the old man had not relaxed his concentration northward, and made no effort to assist them. But the Master mounted Hynyn unaided, and Mahrtiir appeared to glide up onto his horse’s back. When Pahni had given Liand a subtle lift, she sprang lightly onto Naharahn. In moments, Whrany alone remained unridden.

Still Bhapa had not returned.

A silence spread around them, punctuated only by the restless movements of the horses and the low, focused barking of the Waynhim. No night birds called: no insects chirred or whined. The darkness seemed to be holding its breath, and the moon’s yellow light illumined little, as though it winced away from what it might witness. Linden felt an old malice gather among the slopes below her as if it welled up from within the ground. She did not know how to reply to it.

“Chosen,” Stave pronounced suddenly, “be warned. It is dire. We did not know that this evil still endured. The old tellers have said that the ur-Lord destroyed it utterly.”

As he spoke, Linden felt pressure rise against her percipience. At the limit of its reach, her health-sense decried malevolence swelling into the night.

A moment later, she saw a distant flash of emerald like a flaring instance of sickness, an ignition of pure