The Runes of the Earth

Ranyhyn.

Embarrassed, she lowered the Staff, muttering, “Oh, get up. Please. I don’t want to be treated this way.” Again she explained, “It’s temporary. Kevin’s Dirt is still there. But I can renew it as often as we need. And eventually we’ll figure out how to get rid of the cause.”

Obediently the Ramen rose to their feet. Now a palpable current of pleasure flowed between Pahni and Liand; and Bhapa gazed at Linden with gratitude in his clear eyes. But Mahrtiir turned away to glare fiercely down at the waiting Masters.

“Sleepless ones,” he called out in a voice that rang with scorn, “your purpose here has no meaning. Doubtless you will require the Ringthane to defend her actions and intentions. Stave has promised a reckoning, has he not? And you will attempt to account for your mistreatment of sad Anele, who harms no one. But your words and your choices are empty.

“The Ranyhyn have accepted the Ringthane. More, they have honoured her, bowing their heads when they have never bowed to any living being. And in her name they have likewise accepted all of her companions, not excluding Anele. Indeed, at their will they have been ridden by Ramen, a thing which no Raman has ever done before.

“Sleepless ones, Bloodguard, you who have ridden so many Ranyhyn to their deaths, there is no more to be said. No more! All of your doubts and arrogance have been answered. If you will not serve the Ringthane, then you must set aside your Mastery, for you have declared your infidelity to the Land!”

From the floor of the Close, the Masters regarded Mahrtiir in silence. Linden could not read their reactions. Nevertheless their flat stoicism conveyed the impression that they did not consider Mahrtiir’s indignation worthy of a response.

Their lack of affect vexed Linden. It was no wonder, she thought grimly, that the Haruchai spoke to each other mind to mind. They were too enclosed, too deeply immured within themselves, for any other form of communication.

Snarling, Mahrtiir turned back to Linden. “Ringthane, do you choose to submit to this false council?”

“Submit?” Her tone resembled his. “No. But I’ll hear what they have to say, and I’ll answer it. I need them, Manethrall. The Land needs them. I can’t turn my back on that.”

He held her gaze, apparently searching for some flaw in her determination. Then he nodded once, brusquely. “Very well. The Ramen will stand beside you, whatever befalls.

“But heed my warning. These Masters”- he spat the word- “will not treat honestly with you.”

Summoning her professional detachment, she replied, “I’ll take that chance.”

The Haruchai would not deign to lie; not under any compulsion. Not unless they had first lied to themselves.

When she started down into the Close, Liand and Mahrtiir walked at her sides, and the Cords arrayed themselves behind her. Followed by Galt, and deliberate as a cortege, they descended the hurt stone. At the bottom of the pit, however, she paused to see how the gathered Masters would greet her arrival.

For a moment, Stave regarded her with his remaining eye as if he wished to measure her against his shame. Then he bowed as he had often done before, impassive in his respect. But Handir merely inclined his head. He might have done more to acknowledge one of the servants of Revelstone.

The rest of the Masters only gazed at her and waited.

Now Linden was near enough to see that both of Anele’s guards had lost the last two fingers of their right hands. Like Galt, they were the Humbled.

She swallowed a curse; refused to allow herself that show of emotion. As Mahrtiir had just demonstrated, the Masters would not be swayed by outrage.

If they could be swayed at all.

Standing passively between the Humbled, Anele did not react to Linden’s presence. He may have been lost in the labyrinth of his dismay; unaware of her.

“Chosen,” Handir began when she looked toward him again, “you have been made welcome in Revelstone. Yet the Manethrall your companion conceives that he has cause to denounce us. Do you also fault our purpose here? If so, speak plainly, and you will be plainly answered.”

Mahrtiir stiffened at Linden’s side, but did not retort. He had committed himself to her service, and remained silent.

Linden faced the Voice of the Masters squarely. “You know why I’m here. Anele is under my protection. I want you to let him go. And I hope I can convince you to help me. The Land needs you. What you’ve done so far isn’t enough anymore-if it ever was.

“As for your welcome, the Mahdoubt took good care of me. And she did the same for Liand.” The Stonedownor nodded. “We have no complaints.”

Handir held her gaze. “Then I bid you a further welcome to the Close of Revelstone, where in ages long past the Council of Lords gathered to consider the perils of their times. We have selected this to be our meeting place because it has been harmed by despair and Earthpower.

“When the first Staff of Law had been destroyed, the former Bloodguard Bannor sojourned to Revelstone to discover what had befallen the Lords. From his tales of that time, the Haruchai learned that here Trell Atiaran-mate performed a Ritual of Desecration which nearly brought about the ruin of Lord’s Keep. The outcome of his mad grief is written in this wounded stone.

“Here you may behold clearly the reasons which have led us to assume the Mastery of the Land. You stand upon the consequences of mortal power and passion. Here you may see explained the purposes of the Masters, if your eyes are open, and your heart is not inured to pain.

“It is here,” Handir concluded inflexibly, “that you will be accused. Here you will make answer as you are able. And here the judgment of the Masters will be rendered.”

“Accused”? Liand objected in surprise. “Do you jest?”

“It is as I have said, Ringthane,” snarled Mahrtiir. “The sleepless ones have grown too haughty to be endured. Do they welcome us? Then let us depart, that they may no longer be constrained. We have no need of their judgment.”

But Linden gestured both of them to silence. Behind her chosen detachment, she seethed with indignation; yet she exposed none of it. She had expected something like this. Stave had promised her a reckoning. And in some sense she was ready for it.

“All right,” she told Handir quietly. “Accuse away. I’m eager to hear what you think I should have done differently.” Then she let a flick of anger into her voice. “But make no mistake about it. I am going to answer you. And when I’m done, you will by God answer me.

She had earned that right.

The Voice of the Masters studied her for a moment. Then he pronounced, “Let it be so.”

At his word, most of his people left the bottom of the pit to position themselves like sentinels or judges around the lower slopes. Only Handir, Stave, and the Humbled, with Anele among them, remained facing Linden.

Firmly she turned her back on the Masters and stepped aside to sit on a bulge of stone at the edge of the bottom. Placing the Staff across her knees, she beckoned for her companions to join her.

Reluctantly Mahrtiir and Liand sat on either side of her, while the Cords placed themselves behind her. “Linden,” Liand whispered at once, “I mislike this. The Masters do not relent. Permitting them to accuse you, you grant them a credence which they do not merit.”

“The Stonedownor speaks truly,” Mahrtiir put in more loudly. “You are beyond these Bloodguard. Your heed does them too much honour.”

“And there is no fault in what you have done,” added Liand. “Why then should they be suffered to speak against you?”

Linden did not glance at either of them. Nor did she meet Handir’s gaze. Instead she focused her attention on Stave.

“Trust me,” she answered softly. “This has to be done.” Anele’s plight required it-as did Jeremiah’s. “They may call themselves Masters, but they’re still Haruchai,” men so moved by the grandeur of the Old Lords that they had surrendered love and sleep and death to their Vow of service. “They can be