The Runes of the Earth

Swallowing blood, he continued, “We must witness the approach of the Demondim and these strangers.” A lift of his undamaged shoulder seemed to indicate the silence in his mind. His voice held an added stiffness like a hint of denied bereavement. “If we do not, we will be ignorant of what transpires.”

Still Linden wanted to weep for him; rail at the Masters; demand their acquiescence with fire. But there had been something in Handir’s tone when he had mentioned strangers-Although she could not read him, she had felt a change in his demeanour; a slippage behind his impassivity.

He had recognised the newcomers-

She remained motionless for a moment while her mind wheeled, grasping at possibilities which she could not define. Then she sighed. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

In spite of his injuries, the Haruchai turned at once to lead the way.

When she looked toward her friends, Liand nodded in spite of his chagrin. Glowering, Mahrtiir beckoned for his Cords to join him; and together Pahni and Bhapa brought Anele, encouraging him gently.

As she began the ascent to the entryway, Linden’s sense of loss grew. She felt that she was treading across Trell’s pain; that her boot heels wounded the twisted stone. When she reached the entrance, her mouth had gone dry; and the air beyond the chamber smelled of smoke and ashes, as if something more essential than lamp oil and torches were being consumed.

Now she wished that she had asked Liand to bring water as well as bread and cheese from her quarters. She had gained Stave’s support and freed Anele. The Staff in her hands reassured her. But the price-Revelstone was threatened by Demondim and the Illearth Stone because she had dared the past. The ur-viles and Waynhim had been decimated in her name, and many Haruchai had died. Her defiance had alienated the Masters. And because he had declared himself, Stave had suffered a hurt far more profound than the beating he had received from Esmer. She wanted water to wash down the taste of what she had accomplished.

Nevertheless she trudged onward, following her guide into the unmapped complications of Revelstone.

At first, she and her companions walked the unfamiliar passages in silence. This part of the Keep had not been prepared for guests: there were no lamps, and the torches were far apart, leaving only a faint tang of smoke in the air. But Stave knew the way and did not hesitate.

However, Liand emitted a growing disquiet, and his need to speak soon became palpable. Clearing his throat, he began awkwardly, “Stave-” Then he admitted, “I know not how to address you. I have considered you a Master, but now that title seems”- he faltered briefly- “false.”

I am Stave,” the Haruchai replied. “I need no other name.”

“Very well Liand tried again. “Stave. I wish to say-” For a moment longer, he struggled. Then he took on the dignity which Linden had first seen in him during their flight from Mithil Stonedown. In a firmer voice, he announced, “I regret that I have thought ill of you. Yes, and spoken ill as well. Your courage shames me.”

Stave may have shrugged. “We are all shamed, you no more than I”- he glanced at Linden- “and neither of us more than the Chosen, who should not have been subjected to the disapproval of the Masters.”

He waited until he had led his companions through the intersection of several corridors. Then he assured the Stonedownor, “Yet you need have no fear of me. I have claimed a place at the side of the Chosen, and will not withdraw from it.”

“I do not doubt you,” Mahrtiir put in gruffly. “You have won my esteem as well, Stave of the Haruchai. The Ramen will never again err by demeaning you.”

Stave nodded, but made no other reply.

I have claimed-Again Linden fought back tears. She feared that she would never be done with weeping. She had only been in the Land for a few days, and already she needed so much forgiveness-

Even Anele had refused to let her heal him.

They walked on; and Linden’s thirst increased; and the passages of Revelstone seemed to have no end. Eventually, however, they reached a broad stair which appeared to curve up indefinitely into the dark rock of the Keep. And at the foot of the stair they found a stout figure waiting for them.

The nearest torch was some distance away. In spite of the gloom, however, Linden soon recognised the Mahdoubt. The comfortable complacency of the older woman’s aura was unmistakable.

Still shadows seemed to trail about the Mahdoubt like wisps of fog. But then she faced Linden with her startling eyes; and at once every scrap and tatter of obscurity dissipated, evaporated by her oblique warmth. Now she became more vivid to Linden’s health-sense than any of her companions; more distinct than the stone of the halls. The Mahdoubt’s presence shone in the dimness, lambent with abundance and implications. She appeared to command a personal dimension which was at once more ordinary and more numinous than any other place in the Keep.

Apparently Mahrtiir had not encountered the Mahdoubt before. He started forward to place himself between Linden and the older woman. But Liand caught his arm and explained quickly, “She is the Mahdoubt. She serves Revelstone. And she has cared for us kindly.”

Mahrtiir peered through the dimness. “She serves?” He sounded surprised. “Yet she is-” He hesitated. “There is that about her which-” Then he shook his head. “Perhaps I am mistaken.” To the Mahdoubt, he added, “I crave your pardon. My concerns have misled me.”

Stave said nothing. However, he bowed to the older woman as he had to Linden, acknowledging her worth in spite of his injuries.

The Mahdoubt ignored all of the men. “The lady is thirsty,” she huffed as if to reprove some fault in Revelstone’s hospitality-or in Linden. “She neglects her own needs. Is the Mahdoubt pleased? She is not. Oh, assuredly. Yet it is her burden and her gift to supply care where it is found lacking.”

From within her miswoven robe she produced a flagon of water which she thrust unceremoniously at Linden.

As Linden accepted it, the Mahdoubt continued, “The lady must not delay. Peril awaits her. Peril and pain, most assuredly. Yet the Mahdoubt will hinder her a moment. A little moment.”

The woman stepped closer. “Heed her, lady,” she urged, whispering. “The Masters know not what they do.” She appeared to believe that Stave and the others could not hear her. “Nor does the lady.” She sighed lugubriously. “Nor does the Mahdoubt, alas.”

Then she breathed with an air of intensity, “This, however, she knows assuredly. Be cautious of love. It misleads. There is a glamour upon it which binds the heart to destruction.”

Linden stared at her. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

The Mahdoubt did not answer. Instead she turned and walked away. As she moved, she appeared to wrap herself in shadows so that she slipped from sight almost at once.

Be cautious of love?

“Strange-” Mahrtiir murmured, gazing after the woman. “For a momenta moment only-I seemed to see another in her place. Yet the seeming was brief. It mystifies me.”

“Stave-?” Linden asked without knowing how to put her question into words.

“She is the Mahdoubt,” he replied stolidly. “She serves Revelstone. Naught else is certain of her.”

With one hand, he gestured toward the stair, urging his companions to ascend.

Linden eyed the heights. She was too tired for this-and understood too little. But the Mahdoubt had given her water, and when she drank deeply she began to feel somewhat stronger. Handing the flagon to Liand, she said with a sigh, “All right. I’m ready. This can’t go on forever.”

With her companions, she followed Stave up the stairs.

They seemed to ascend for a long time; but when the Haruchai at last guided his small company into a side passage, the way became easier. And soon Linden saw more light ahead: not the flickering of torches, or the yellow glow of lamps, but the bright illumination of day.

Stave had brought them to a balcony in the prow of the Keep, a walled projection overlooking the courtyard above the inner gates. From a gap in the ramparts, a narrow bridge of wooden slats hung suspended between the Keep and the watchtower, supported by ropes as thick as hawsers. More ropes served as railings and handholds on either side of the span.

Stave strode out onto the slats without hesitation. After a moment, Linden followed, balancing herself with the Staff, and trusting the ropes to keep her safe.

When she and her companions had crossed the span, Stave led them past tall piles of firewood and clay