The Runes of the Earth

him.

But the Despiser had taken her son. And Anele’s madness was defended by Earthpower. Unconsciously he had shaped his birthright into a bulwark for his insanity. She could not succour him without committing an act of violence against the choices which he had made for himself.

And his plight did not outweigh Jeremiah’s. It could not; not with her. The old man had friends: Liand and the Ramen; Linden herself; even the ur-viles to some extent. He had episodes of sanity which enabled him to articulate his dilemma. And his heritage of Earthpower protected his underlying identity from the ravages of his possessors. Jeremiah had none of those things.

He had only Linden. If she did not redeem him from Lord Foul, there would be no limit to his agonies.

Therefore-

She hid her face in her hands.

– she had no choice. If she could find no alternative, no other way to reach her son, she would have to make use of Anele. To manipulate his madness so that it served her needs.

The prospect dismayed her; but she did not shrink from it. She had already risked the Arch of Time in the same cause.

Good cannot be accomplished by evil means.

She understood that. But such convictions, like the beliefs of the Masters, were too expensive. She could not afford them.

She might have remained where she was for some time, warming her weariness by the fire, and considering possibilities which shamed her. Before she could remember that she was hungry, however, or that she needed sleep, she heard a muted knock at her door.

Sighing, she uncovered her face and rose to her feet.

Her clothes were still too damp to wear. After a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped a couple of towels tightly around her, then retrieved the Staff and carried it with her as she went to unlatch the door.

The door was stone, and massive as a cenotaph, yet it swung easily on its hinges. It must have been counterbalanced in some way, perhaps by weights within the walls. Lord’s Keep had been wrought by Giants, and they were wizards of stonework.

In the corridor outside her chambers stood Liand, Galt, and a woman whom she had never seen before. The woman held a wicker tray laden with dried fruit, dark bread, cheese, and a steaming bowl of soup.

Liand smiled uncertainly. “Linden.” He seemed reluctant to enter; unsure of his welcome. “This is the Mahdoubt.” He indicated the woman. “I glean that she is the Mahdoubt, though I do not presume to know what the title may signify. When she brought food to my rooms, I inquired of you, and she replied that she had not yet served you. Wishing to ascertain that you are well, I craved her leave to accompany her.”

“Yes. Assuredly.” The woman plainly did not doubt her own welcome. Bustling past Linden, she swept into the room: a short dowdy figure apparently well past middle age, with a crow’s nest of hair askew on her head, plump flesh hanging from her arms, and features which might have been sculpted by an unruly child during a tantrum. About her she wore a robe of astonishing ugliness, a motley patchwork of scraps and swaths seemingly selected for their unsuitability to each other, and stitched together at random.

“The Mahdoubt, indeed,” she pronounced as she bent to place her tray on the low table. “Assuredly. Who else?” She may have been speaking to herself. “Meagre fare for two. Does the Mahdoubt comprehend this? She does. But this flirtatious young man”- she indicated Liand- “has mazed her with blandishments, and so she did not return to the kitchens for a second tray.

“A long trudge, that,” she remarked to the air. “Long and weary. And the Mahdoubt can no longer recall her first youth, though she has been shamelessly charmed.”

For a moment, she studied her tray. Then she bent again and adjusted its position until it occupied the exact centre of the table. When she straightened her back, her manner suggested satisfaction.

“Pssht. It is no matter,” she informed the room. “One tray may feed as many as two, if it be kindly shared.”

In an effort to make herself stop staring, Linden turned to Galt. “‘The Mahdoubt’?” she asked unsteadily.

The Master replied with a Haruchai shrug, at once subtle and expressive. “She is a servant of Revelstone. The name is her own. More than that we do not know.”

A servant-Linden scowled reflexively. Well, of course, she thought. If the Land had Masters, it naturally required servants as well. Men and women who had been born here for uncounted generations had been reduced to waiting on the Haruchai.

What fun.

Riding a wave of renewed irritation, she beckoned Liand into the room and started to close the door on Galt. But then she caught herself. Facing the Master past the edge of the door, she demanded, “Wait a minute. I know you’re here to guard me, but I assume you’re also going to at least pretend that I’m a guest. So tell me something.”

Galt lifted an eyebrow. “Chosen?”

“The gates.” She held him with her glare. “I’m tired of waiting for answers. Where did you get them?”

He cocked his head, apparently consulting his kinsmen. Then he shrugged again. “Very well. As you have heard, the gates were wrought by the Giants of the Search. It transpired thus.

“When the First of the Search and Pitchwife, her mate, had borne the Staff of Law to Sunder and Hollian, they returned to The Grieve. There they awaited some word of what had befallen Starfare’s Gem and the other Giants of the Search.” Covenant, Linden, and their companions had left the Giantship far to the north in the Sunbirth Sea, half crippled among floes of ice. “But when at last the dromond gained Coercri, the Giants did not then return to their homeland. Rather the First led them to Revelstone, that they might behold the handiwork of their lost kindred, the Unhomed.”

At first while Galt spoke, Linden simply listened, glad to hear what had become of her long-dead friends. When she was satisfied that he would indeed answer her question, however, she began to study the Master himself. Distracted by other concerns, she had paid no attention to him in the forehall. And she had seen little of him except his back during their ill-lit trek to her rooms. Now she looked at him as if they had never met before.

He appeared to be less than Stave’s age. The characteristic flat cheeks and brown skin of the Haruchai resisted the definition of years. But Galt’s lack of scars made him seem untried; therefore young.

“You are aware,” he continued, “that the Giants are a deliberate folk, hasty in neither speech nor deed. Though they had been long absent from their Home, they remained in the Land for several years. At first their efforts were dedicated to the restoration of Starfare’s Gem, which had been sorely damaged. Later, however, their hearts turned toward Revelstone, for Lord’s Keep also had known harm.

“They admired greatly the craft of the Unhomed, who had lived and perished in Seareach. In addition, they wished to honour the valour of all those who had striven against the Sunbane. And they desired to express their gratitude for the caamora which the ur-Lord Thomas Covenant granted to the dead of The Grieve. Therefore they determined to offer what they named a “small” restoration to Revelstone.

“They professed that many of the hurts which the Keep had suffered lay beyond their skill. However, the fashioning of gates did not surpass them. Here the Giants of the Search laboured long and mightily so that Revelstone might once again withstand its foes.”

Linden lowered her eyes to mask her own gratitude. Instinctively she did not want the Master to see what his explanation meant to her.

She was about to ask him if her friends had ever found their way Home; but when she looked down, she noticed his right hand.

It might have belonged to Thomas Covenant. The last two fingers had been cut away, leaving a ragged scar in their place. Its smooth pallor suggested that the mutilation had been performed long ago, perhaps in Galt’s youth-or his childhood.

At the sight, she flinched, stung by a sudden host of memories. With his maimed right hand, Covenant had drawn her toward sunlight and love aboard Starfare’s Gem. He had worn his wedding ring on the last finger of that