The Runes of the Earth

not. When they reached Handir’s side, Galt moved forward to confront Stave.

They faced each other in silence, as poised as predators, and as relaxed. They might have been living statues, motionless except for the subtle flex of their respiration; sculptures positioned to form a tableau of arcane and ambiguous intent. Then, without warning, Galt lashed a kick at Stave’s chest.

Stave made no move to defend himself. Only a hard flat exhalation indicated that he was prepared for the blow. He stood like stone to receive it.

The kick drove him backward a step; two. Linden could see its impact jolt through him, forceful as a sledgehammer. But then he regained his poise. Only a brief accentuation of his breathing betrayed that he had been struck.

“Heaven and Earth!” Liand cried. Whipping his garrote from his hair, Mahrtiir launched himself at Galt’s back with the suddenness of a panther. At the same time, Bhapa and Pahni leaped to their feet and rushed forward.

“No!” Linden gasped after the Manethrall. “Stop!”

An arm’s length from Galt, Mahrtiir halted; wheeled to face her.

She seemed to feel the power of Galt’s kick in her own chest. She could hardly choke out words.

“This is between them.” She understood Galt’s attack. Long ago she had watched the Haruchai pass judgment on Cail. She had feared that their violence would kill him. “Stave has to do this. You know how he feels about help.”

Unwitting flames licked along the surface of the Staff. Grimly she quenched them.

Mahrtiir hesitated. His desire for battle burned like the fires which lit the Close. But he heard Linden-and respected her judgment. Growling, “Sleepless ones,” as though the words were an obscenity, he returned to her side. With a brusque wave of his hand, he motioned the Cords back to their seats.

“Linden,” protested Liand under his breath, “they are Masters. They may be able to slay him.”

Through her teeth, she repeated, “This is between them.” She could not forget how Esmer had torn into Stave, delivering millennia of rage despite the Haruchai’s best efforts to defend himself. “He’s already been shamed enough.”

Galt did not renew his attack. Instead he withdrew; and Clyme came forward to take his place.

Again the two Masters faced each other in stillness. They may have been sparring mentally, probing each other’s mind for openings or weakness. When Clyme exploded into motion, he did not kick or punch. Rather he leaped high into the air, driving down at Stave’s shoulder with his elbow and all of his weight.

The Master was trying to cripple Stave-

Once again, Stave made no effort to defend himself. This time, however, he shifted slightly at the last instant so that Clyme’s elbow struck muscle rather than bone. The blow almost drove him to his knees; but it broke nothing.

Like Galt, Clyme withdrew, and the last of the Humbled advanced to challenge Stave.

Apparently Branl had decided to try for surprise by attacking immediately. Before Stave could set aside the pain in his shoulder, Branl hooked a vicious punch to the left side of his face: the blind side. Branl’s knuckles dug deep into the puckered flesh of Stave’s scar, pounding against the damaged tissue and bone beneath it.

Stave’s head rocked as if he had been clubbed: he barely kept his balance. But he did not repay the blow. The flat stare of his right eye suggested an acceptance more profound than resignation.

Branl may or may not have been satisfied. Linden could not tell. Sympathetic hurts ached in her chest, her shoulder, her cheek. But the Humbled stepped aside without hesitation.

Slowly the Voice of the Masters stepped in front of Stave.

Linden’s restraint broke. “Oh, come on!” she snapped, although she knew that Stave did not desire her intervention, and would not approve. “How much longer are you going to do this? There’s just one of him, for God’s sake! How much of your self-righteousness do you think he can stand?”

Neither Handir nor Stave answered her. But the Voice of the Masters may have been tired of her objections. Instead of probing mentally, he addressed Stave aloud.

“You have set yourself against the will of the Masters, when that will has not yet been decided. Indeed, you have endeavoured to impose your will upon us, shaming us with your words and your example. But the Masters are not shamed. We will not be shamed.

“We will consider your words and your example when we are ready to determine our path. But we will no longer heed you. Henceforth you are severed from the Masters, as from all of the Haruchai. When the rite of our disapproval has been completed, no hand will be raised against you. If you speak as I do now, you will be answered. But you are excluded from the true speech of the Haruchai, and if you call out you will not be heard. Nor will you be permitted to return to your home among the mountains. There will be no place for you. You have declared your allegiance. Now you must abide its outcome.

“This is my word. I will not alter it.”

So suddenly that Linden hardly saw him move, Handir attacked.

Like the Humbled, he struck only once. Unlike them, however, he used just the palm of his hand. And his blow seemed easy and fluid, hardly more than a light thrust. Yet Stave burst backward as though he had been kicked by a Ranyhyn. He tumbled through the air; slammed helplessly to the rough stone. For a heartbeat or two, he lay motionless.

Before Linden could start toward him, however, he raised his head. When he had braced his hands on the floor, he climbed slowly to his feet. Bright blood pulsed from the corner of his mouth as he resumed his stance. She could not imagine where he found the strength to remain standing.

The Voice of the Masters held Stave’s gaze for a long moment. Then he turned to Linden. “Be content,” he told her stolidly. “The rite has been completed.”

Blood splashed the front of Stave’s tunic, staining the ochre fabric with darkness. He did not deign to wipe it away.

“You’re wrong,” Linden panted. “It’s not over.” She needed all of her resolve to withhold fire from the Staff. “It’ll never be over. Someday you’re going to understand that you’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Handir replied with a slight shrug. When she fell silent, still panting, he said in the same tone, “There is much here which the Masters must consider. We will not choose our response in haste. Nevertheless our debate must now be curtailed.

“Certain of our scouts seek to return. They run before the host of the Demondim, calling to forewarn us as they ride. And they are not alone. They have retrieved two”- he paused and glanced away as if consulting the air, then met Linden’s gaze again- “two strangers from the path of the Vile-spawn.” Complex intentions seemed to undermine the flatness of his gaze. “They hasten toward us, pursued by the Demondim.

“We are summoned to greet the approach of our scouts, and of the strangers with them, as well as to answer an imminent siege.”

Linden scowled bitterly; but before she could pose a question, Handir announced, “This much I may grant, however. The madman Anele we release to you. Let it be upon your head if harm should befall the Land through any deed or inaction of his.

“All else which lies between us must remain unresolved until events permit consideration and decision.”

Expressionless and impenetrable, the Voice of the Masters strode past Linden toward the uneven slope leading up to the entrance of the Close. As one, the Humbled and the other Haruchai followed after him, leaving only Stave behind to guide Linden and her companions.

She would have sworn at his back if she could have thought of a curse harsh enough to breach his dispassion.

As soon as Handir and the other Masters had passed, she hurried toward Stave. “Are you all right?” His bleeding filled her with shame. She felt an almost unbearable yearning to cleanse it from him; to heal him. “Do you want my help?”

He shook his head. “Hurts of the flesh have no significance. The severance from my people is a deeper wound, beyond your succour.” His eye held her stricken gaze without flinching. “In their place, I would have done as they have.”

“But, Stave-“ She tried to protest, but her dismay surpassed her.