The Runes of the Earth

“I have said,” Lord Foul answered, “that the Haruchai serve me, albeit unwitting, That is sooth. Also it is sooth that they will imprison you.

“Whether you partake in them or no, my designs will be fulfilled. Forces have been set in motion which will shatter the Arch of Time, putting an end to the Earth, and to all that I abhor. If you are imprisoned, however, certain aspects of what will ensue re, ill not main clouded to my sight. On that path, I cannot determine that my Enemy will not again find means to snare me.

“But if you remain free, apt and able to satisfy me, my release is assured, Your attempts to oppose me will secure it. The Arch will be torn asunder, and I will reclaim my rightful place among the eternal Heavens. My Enemy will be unable to thwart me.”

Cunningly the rank voice added, “There is more, but of my deeper purpose I will not speak.”

Then the Despiser stated brusquely, “It must therefore be plain that I do not desire your capture. And it must surely be plain as well that you will fail to evade the Haruchai if you are not restored to your fullest strength. You require hurtloam. The Haruchai have ensured that no lore remains which might aid you. Only Earthpower will suffice”

Linden stared at him, momentarily horrified and transfixed. Forces have been set in motion-But then she fought down her dismay. Gritting her teeth, she demanded, “Stop it. Don’t be so damn cryptic. It’s petty. And you’re wasting time.

“Just tell me what you’ve done.”

Anele’s mouth twisted, although his trapped soul made no sound. “Done?” the Despiser chortled. “I?” His delight wrung Anele’s scrawny frame. “Naught. Apart from the claiming of your vacant son, I have merely whispered a word of counsel here and there, and awaited events.

“The caesures are none of mine. Also I had no hand in your blindness, for I did not utter the fine riposte of Kevin’s Dirt. If you fear what has been done, think on the Elohim and feel despair. They serve me as do the Haruchai, unwittingly, and in arrogance.”

Linden muttered a curse. “And you expect me to believe you? You didn’t send that storm?”

Anele’s hands jerked to his head, pulled at his scraps of hair. “Shame upon you, woman. Shame and excruciation! You undervalue my enmity. That pitiable assault serves me well enough, but it is too crude, far too crude. I would not deign to raise my hand for such an unsubtle ploy.”

Not? Shaken by uncertainty, Linden fell silent. In this, at least, she did believe her foe* Lord Foul was not one to refuse credit for his actions. He enjoyed his own malice too much.

Yet if he did not send the storm-

She was weak; too weak. She could not summon strength which she did not possess.

– who did?

How many enemies did Mithil Stonedown have?

For a moment longer, Anele squirmed as though his guts were being torn. Then he whirled away, sprinting for the Mithil.

As he ran, Lord Foul called back at her, “Refuse me and be damned! That you will be captured is certain! Then you will be helpless while your son remains in my hands!”

She had been holding her fears at bay: now they broke past her restraint. She had so little power, and had lost so much time. The river might be her only chance to avoid the Masters.

Stiffly she let the slope carry her downward after Anele.

Ahead of her, the old man sprawled on his belly at the edge of the watercourse. His head stretched past the rim of the grass: he might have been searching for his lost mind among the ripples and eddies of the river. From her angle, the current appeared to twist past within reach of his face.

One step at a time, she closed the gap; jerked to a stop at his side. “What now, Foul?” she panted heavily. “Do you tell fortunes by staring into riverbeds?”

“More than you know, fool,” retorted the Despiser. “Men commonly find their fates graven within the rock, but yours is written in water.”

Then his arm flapped, pointing downward. “There,” he announced, “as I promised.” An undercurrent of distress or loathing marred his glee. “Hurtloam.”

Ah, shit. The last of Linden’s resistance leaked away, and she folded to her knees. Hurtloam, is it? She felt herself falling into a defeated weariness. Now what was she supposed to do? Trust the Despiser?

Yet Anele’s distress was terrible to behold. He needed to be healed of his vulnerability, freed from madness, more than he needed anything else in life; perhaps more than he needed to live.

That would never happen while the Haruchai kept him, and she remained blind.

She had promised to protect him. And he was her only link to her son. The old man was possessed by Lord Foul, who also held Jeremiah. Whenever the Despiser taunted her through Anele, he connected her, however tenuously, to her son. If she could see, she might be able to reach Jeremiah-

In fact, Anele might be the only link she would ever have.

Below her, the Mithil complicated the air with whispers of escape. Her panting silence seemed to make her companion frantic. Grimaces and revulsion clenched his features as he pointed downward again. “There!” His eyes glistened with white terror. “Are you mad as well? It is hurtloam, I tell you.”

You require healing.

Half hypnotised by his intensity, Linden looked over the riverbank; but she saw nothing to account for his insistence. Absorbed by its own concerns, the river moiled past little more than an arm’s length below the grassy rim of its bank. Where Anele pointed, in a notch between slick stones at the lapping edge of the water, lay a roughly triangular patch of fine sand. She could not distinguish it from other patches of sand nearby, among similar stones.

The murmuring of the water filled her head.

“There!” Lord Foul repeated; but it might have been Anele who pleaded with her. “This doddering cripple is rife with Earthpower, which I loathe. In this he cannot be mistaken.”

He had told her that hurtloam would renew her health-sense. Without it, she might never learn how to use Covenants ring. Only percipience offered her any hope-

The Despiser sought harm and freedom. If hurtloam could truly restore her, then her foe had something to gain by offering it to her: something virulent and dangerous.

But she also might gain something. She might be able to turn his designs against him.

Do something they don’t expect.

Holding her breath to contain the clamour of her heart, Linden stretched her arm over the rim of the bank as if she had at last become sure of herself.

With her palm, she touched the damp triangle of sand-and felt nothing.

Anele had squeezed his eyes shut. His head bobbed furiously, signalling lunatic assent.

Carefully she pushed her fingers into the sand; scooped up a handful.

For a moment, she felt only cool moisture against her skin.

Her companion rolled over onto his back; covered his face with his gnarled hands. He made whimpering sounds that she could not hear.

Then Linden saw a faint gleam like a spark in the sand. She nearly winced in surprise as spangles of light began to tingle over her palm. Glints of gold seemed to catch the sunlight, swirling like cast embers or the tiny reflections of Wraiths.

As they swirled, they spread a sparkling sensation into her hand. Bits and motes of vitality soaked her fingers and palm, then swept along her forearm to her elbow and shoulder. Involuntarily, hardly aware of what she did, she raised the sand closer to her face so that she could peer into it; and gleaming like a taste of renewal expanded into her chest, wiping away weariness and exertion as though they had never touched her.

Soon the exuberant tang of Earthpower, numinous and ineffable, thronged throughout her senses, lifting her into a realm of perception as keen as crystal, as vibrant as the language of the sun.