The Runes of the Earth

overwhelmed.

The Staff of Law should have made Kevin’s Dirt impossible.

Opening her eyes, she scanned the hills. There might be a stream somewhere among them. If there were not, she should be able to reach the Mithil River. As for food-

Surely treasure-berries still throve in the Land, in spite of caesures and Kevin’s Dirt? Long ago the Sunbane had been unable to quench them: they had endured its depredations even without the beneficent influence of the original Staff. At times she and Covenant, Sunder and Hollian, had lived on aliantha alone, and had grown stronger. If the gnarled shrubs had not been destroyed somehow, they should be easy to locate now.

Groaning at her bruises, Linden forced herself to her feet.

Anele remained rooted to the grass with his head on one side and moist distress in his moonstone eyes. He still wept, although he no longer spoke. Tears spread streaks through the grime on his cheeks into his ragged beard. His mouth worked in silence, forming imprecations or appeals which made no sound.

“Come on,” she breathed to him wearily. “If you’re done threatening me, let’s go find water. And food.” Touched by his mute distress, she added, “I’ll start crying myself if I don’t at least get something to drink soon.”

Perhaps he would comprehend that she did not intend to abandon him, and would take heart.

In a cracked whisper, he replied, “You have delayed too long. The Masters are here.”

The Masters-?

Quickly she glanced around at the wide tumble of rock, and the hills beyond; the rolling slopes on either side of her. But she saw no one, no movement of any kind-

Facing Anele again, she asked, “Where? I don’t see anyone.”

“Then you are blind,” Lord Foul retorted while Anele’s features twisted in fear, “as you should be.” The old man’s chest heaved for air as if he were choking.

Linden raised a hand toward him, made her tone as soothing as she could. “Try to stay calm. I said I would protect you. Just tell me where they are, if you can. Or point them out.”

Anele chuckled between painful breaths, but did not respond.

She started to turn away, then froze as a figure dropped out of the sky and landed on the grass half a dozen paces from her.

He must have leaped from the edge of the bulge behind Anele, nearly a stone’s throw above her. Nevertheless the newcomer landed with feline grace and an easy flex of his legs, and stood facing her like a man who had spent long moments waiting patiently to be noticed.

After her first fright, Linden felt a jolt of recognition. He was one of the Haruchai.

Panting, Anele plunged to his knees as if his tendons had been cut.

Relief nearly undid her as well.

The Haruchai- Thank God!

She had not known them when they were the Bloodguard, the guardians of the Lords: faithful beyond sorrow or sleep. She had first met them as the victims of the Clave, sacrificed to feed the Banefire with their potent blood. After that, however, they had served Thomas Covenant-and Linden herself-with a severe and absolute fidelity.

For a long time, they had not trusted her. Committed to their own certainty, they had not endured her internal conflicts graciously. Nevertheless she had learned to consider them friends. They were men who kept their promises. And they had the strength to give their promises substance.

They demanded of themselves commitments more strict than anything that they required from others.

Friends, she told herself again. Answers. Anele feared the Haruchai, that was plain; but she did not doubt that they would aid her against Lord Foul.

Their name for the Despiser was Corruption. He was their antithesis, their sovereign foe.

The man before her had the characteristic features of his kind: a stocky and muscular frame; a flat, undecipherable countenance that seemed impervious to time; brown skin; dark curly hair cropped short. Above his bare feet and legs, he wore a short tunic made of a material that resembled vellum dyed ochre. A sash of the same hue cinched the tunic to his waist.

A ragged scar, long healed, marred the skin under his left eye.

If the Haruchai had not changed since she had known them, this man was a fearsome warrior, full of great force, prodigious skill, and uncompromising judgment. Even to her truncated senses, he seemed impenetrably solid, weighty enough to have gouged holes in the hillside when he landed.

“Protect!” Anele gasped in his own voice. “Oh, protect. You swore. You swore! “

The Haruchai glanced toward Anele. “She cannot protect you,” he stated with an awkward inflection. “We have sought you long and arduously. Now you are done. You will no longer threaten the Land.”

For her companion’s sake, Linden moved to stand between him and the Haruchai. “Wait a minute,” she said unsteadily. “Wait. Let’s not rush into anything. I don’t understand any of this.

“I know you. I mean I knew you. A long time ago. Back then, the Haruchai were another name for faithfulness. Don’t you know me? I was hoping that your people would remember-”

She sagged into silence, momentarily defeated by the man’s lack of expression.

“How can we know you?” countered the Haruchai. “You have not spoken your name.”

Of course, Linden thought. She should have realised-Too much time had passed.

As clearly as she could, she announced, “I’m Linden Avery the Chosen. I was with Thomas Covenant when he fought the Clave and the Sunbane. I don’t know how long ago that was. Time”- she rubbed a blur of memory from her eyes- “moves differently here.” Then she added, “Some of your people helped us search for the One Tree. Don’t you remember?”

The Haruchai stared at her inflexibly.

She stood her ground. “This poor old man is terrified of people he calls “Masters”, I promised I would protect him. I won’t let you hurt him.”

The newcomer continued to stare at her. After a moment, however, he replied, “We remember, though many centuries have passed. We remember the Lords before the Ritual of Desecration. We remember the destruction of the Staff of Law, and the slaughter of the Unhomed. We do not forget the malevolence of the Clave. The name you have given is known to us.”

The edge of discomfort in his tone reminded Linden that among themselves the Haruchai communicated mind to mind. They did not naturally express themselves aloud.

“It is spoken with respect,” he went on. “And your raiment is strange. The same is said of the white gold wielder, ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, and of his companion, Linden Avery the Chosen. It may be that you speak the truth. Later we will grant you opportunity to persuade us that we must honour you.”

Then the Haruchai glanced at Anele. “But the old man is ours. He has eluded us for many years. We are indeed the Masters of the Land, and we do not permit freedom to such as he.”

She regarded the Haruchai in dismay. The Masters-?

Damn you, Foul, what have you done?

The people whom she had known here had never sought to rule any aspect of the Land. Only the Despiser and his servants nurtured such ambitions.

Certainly the Haruchai had displayed no interest in sovereignty. They had defined themselves by their devotion to people whom they deemed greater than themselves; to causes which they considered worthy of service. Linden remembered vividly those who had accompanied the Search for the One Tree, Brinn and Cail among them. In her experience, no one had ever matched their fierce rectitude.

She would have been proud to call them friends.

Now they were the Masters of the Land-?

But the Haruchai before her had not finished speaking. “Do not fear for him. He