The Runes of the Earth

him, she might not have been able to contain her own anguish.

Later the old man left her to use the lavatory. When he returned, he sat beside her again, his shoulder touching hers like a recognition of companionship. For that she was grateful.

Eventually a hesitant scratching came to the outer curtain; and the stocky frame of a Stonedownor ducked inward with a large stone bowl cupped in each hand. “Anele?” he asked uncertainly. “Linden Avery? You wished to speak with me? I was told-”

His voice faded into doubt. Unsure of himself, he stooped to set his bowls on the floor.

Without hesitation, Anele rose to cross the room and drink from one of the bowls.

Linden struggled to rouse herself. She had asked to speak to a Stonedownor, but she no longer remembered why. Nothing that he might say would enable her to help her son.

The man waited for a long moment, indecisive. Then he made an attempt to pull up his dignity.

“I see now that I was mistaken. Pardon my intrusion.”

With the constrained light behind him, his face lay in shadows. Yet his eyes found a way to appeal to her. Somehow he conveyed the impression that he had come, not because a Master had requested it, but because he wanted to.

“Wait,” Linden murmured hoarsely. “I’m sorry. Wait.”

Somewhere she found the strength to gain her feet.

“I don’t mean to be rude.” Her own voice seemed to reach her from a great distance. “I’m just”- her throat closed convulsively- “just scared.”

She took a step or two forward. While the Stonedownor waited for her, she rubbed her hands across her face; pulled her hair back over her shoulders.

“There’s something I didn’t tell the Masters.” She sounded too far away from herself to speak coherently. “The Haruchai.

“It’s my son-”

Unable to go on, she stopped, hoping that her visitor would reach out to her in some way.

He seemed to swallow conflicting responses. After a last hesitation, he said, “I am Liand son of Fostil. The Master did not say that you wished to speak to me. He said only that you wished to speak to a Stonedownor. I presumed to offer myself.”

As if he understood that she needed an explanation-a chance to gather herself-he continued. “My duties are among the horses rather than in the fields, and horses are easily tended. They are few in any event, and not needed today. Having no other demands upon me, I often accompany the Masters, or do their bidding.

“I was-” Sudden embarrassment made him falter. “I had concealed myself nearby when they took you and your companion. I helped them to bear you here.

“Since that moment, I have wished to speak with you. You are strange in the South Plains, and to me, and I am hungry to learn of new things.”

While he spoke, Linden rallied her resources. She felt the delicacy of his manner, the instinctive consideration: his unprompted account of his presence gave her time to prepare. He may have felt awkward, but he did not appear so to her. Instead he seemed spontaneously kind.

That contrast with Stave and the Haruchai encouraged her to gather her courage.

“Thank you, Liand,” she said when she could breathe more easily. “I’m glad you’re willing to talk to me.”

Anele turned his back, dismissing the Stonedownor, and moved to sit once again against the far wall.

“Oh, I am willing in all truth.” Liand’s voice was an intent baritone, full of concentration and interest. “Your speech is foreign to my ears, and your raiment is unlike any I have beheld.” Frankly he admitted, “I am eager to offer whatever I may.”

“Thank you,” she said again. Inadvertently she had provided herself with an opening, an approach to her immediate concerns. As she considered how she might proceed, she tried to see his face more clearly. However, the gloom shrouded his features, blurring their definitions. Tentatively she asked, “Can you let in more light? The Masters won’t release Anele, and I promised not to leave him. But I want to be able to look at you.”

“Surely.” Liand reached at once to the side of the doorframe, located a hook which must have been formed or attached for the purpose, and hung the curtain there. “Will this suffice?”

The sunlight did not stretch far into the chamber; but enough reflected illumination washed inward to brighten the room considerably.

“It will”- Linden smiled wanly- “as soon as we sit down.” Easing herself to the floor, she indicated a spot for him inside the doorway. “Anele and I had a rough time yesterday,” she explained as neutrally as she could. “I haven’t got my strength back yet.”

When Liand complied, the light revealed him plainly. He was a young man, perhaps half her age, with broad shoulders and sturdy, workman’s hands, wearing a jerkin and leggings of rough wool dyed the hue of sand. Thick leather sandals protected his feet. His features reminded her distantly of Sunder, the only Stonedownor whom she had known well: he had Sunder’s blunt openness without the bereavements and guilt which had complicated her friend’s native simplicity. And he was characteristically brown-skinned, brown-eyed. Above his square jaw, imprecise nose, and eager gaze, his loose hair and eyebrows were a startling black, as dark as crow’s wings.

His mouth seemed made for smiles; but he was not smiling now.

“I witnessed your capture,” he told Linden gravely. “The Masters were not gentle with you. And I cannot conceive what you must have endured in the fall of the Watch. Indeed, I cannot conceive how it is that you yet live.”

Dropping his eyes, he observed noncommittally, “The Masters may comprehend that wonder, but they answer inquiries rarely-and never when what has transpired surpasses our experience. To justify your captivity, they say only that Anele requires their care, and that you opposed them.”

He did not need to add that he was eager to hear a better explanation. His excitement was plain in the feigned relaxation of his posture, the quick clench and release of his hands. However, she was not ready to put him in peril. Anything that she revealed might turn the Haruchai against him. Hell, they might decide to treat him like they did Anele. She could not take that kind of chance with him: not yet.

And she did not know if he were truly as guileless as he appeared. The health-sense which she had regained and lost again would have discerned his essential nature. Without it, she had to be more careful.

“Maybe we can talk about that later,” she answered. “There’s a lot at stake, and right now I don’t know who I can trust and who I can’t.” To forestall an interruption, she went on more quickly, “I was here once before, but that was a very long time ago. I gather my name doesn’t mean anything to you?”

The Stonedownor shook his head.

“Thomas Covenant?” she continued. “Sunder son of Nassic, the Graveler of Mithil Stonedown? Hollian eh- Brand?”

The First of the Search? Pitchwife?

Liand shook his head again. “This is Mithil Stonedown. These other names I have never heard.” He hesitated, then asked, “What is a “Graveler”?

Linden swallowed indignation. Those damn Masters had suppressed everything. If the people of the South Plains had forgotten the lore on which their lives had once depended-

Controlling herself with difficulty, she told Liand, “You see my problem. Too much time has passed. If you don’t even know what a Graveler is-” She sighed. “I can’t tell you who I am, or what I’m doing here. You wouldn’t understand unless I explained the whole history of the Land first.”

Liand leaned forward, undaunted by her response. “But you are able to explain that history. The Masters do not speak of such things. If they are asked, they do not answer.

“Linden Avery, I would do anything that might serve you, if in return you would share with me the Land’s past. I know naught beyond the small tale of my family and Mithil Stonedown for a few generations only, a few score years. Yet I have-”

Abruptly he stopped; pulled himself back from his enthusiasm. “My heart speaks to me of greater matters,” he said more warily. “Simple fragments of the Land’s lost tale would content me. There is little that I would not do