The Runes of the Earth

Master. “I mean, seriously. I can’t outrun them. I can hardly walk. It’s been too long-”

She lifted Covenant’s ring out of her shirt and closed it in her fist. “You can’t protect us. You said so. Maybe I can.” She had no idea how. “If I can’t-” She shrugged. “We weren’t going to survive anyway.”

But Stave immediately wrapped one hand over her fist. “Do not,” he urged her. His hard eyes and the scar high on his left cheek seemed to call out to her through the gloom. “Linden Avery, I forbid you. Old evils inhabit these mountains. You will rout them, or draw them down upon us. Better the threat of fangs and claws than some darker peril.”

Finally Liand finished with Somo’s packs. At once, he hauled the pinto into motion, half-dragging the beast up the slope.

Linden stared back at Stave, floundering within herself. Old evils-? She could not imagine what he meant; but he was Haruchai and commanded belief.

And she did not know how to summon wild magic. It arose according to laws or logic she had not yet learned to understand. Without percipience to guide her-

“Linden, come!” Liand cried as he laboured upward. “You do not know the ferocity of these kresh! They will devour us flesh and bone. We must find some shelter which we are able to defend.”

“Then it’s up to you.” She faced Stave as squarely as she could. “I’m too weak.”

For a brief moment, no more than a heartbeat, Stave appeared to hesitate. He may have realised that there was more at stake between them than simple frailty and flight. His people remembered her as the Chosen, the Sun-Sage; worthy of service. But he could not simultaneously aid her and recapture Anele. Every step upward would carry him farther away from the driving convictions of his people.

An instant later, however, he surged at Linden, swept her into his arms, and began to spring easily up the rocks.

His feet were bare, yet he crossed the sharp edges and splinters of the rubble as though mere stone had no power to hurt him. In a dozen strides, he caught up with Liand and Somo; passed them. When Linden glanced up the rift, she saw that he was gaining on Anele, in spite of the old man’s frenetic haste.

An inestimable distance above Anele, the glow of the sky lit the place where the fallen rock met the rims of the cliffs. Those slopes might or might not provide a route onto the higher mountainsides: Linden was too far away to see them clearly.

Too far away to reach them at all.

Below her the wolves had not yet appeared. If they had gained the scree, or even the rift, they were still hidden by the rise behind which she had rested. How far was half a league? A stone’s throw? For a Giant? More? She should have known: she had travelled leagues by the hundreds during her earlier time in the Land. But she could not remember.

Anele’s pace appeared too headlong and frantic to be sustained; but she did not fear for him. He has no friend but stone. He had endured for decades in and around these mountains. Even now he might well outlast her.

When she glanced down at Stave’s feet, their swift certainty frightened her. If he tripped he would fall to the jagged stones atop her. To ease the strain of his task, she honked her arm over his neck. Then she watched behind her for the first glimpse of the kresh.

In his arms, she mounted the slope as if she were moving backward through time. With every step, Stave’s feet touched memories which only Anele could perceive. The Haruchai carried her up over broken pieces of song, fragments of lamentation.

No wonder Anele was mad. Such music might have fractured anyone’s mind.

Covenant’s ring bounced on its chain outside her shirt. It seemed to reproach her with its mystery and power. Its true owner would have known how to use it; save his comrades. She had seen him in the apotheosis of the Banefire, mastering the source and fuel of the Sunbane even though his veins were full of Lord Foul’s venom. In spite of his self-doubt, he had found within himself the passion and control to quench long generations of bloodshed.

But afterward he had foresworn power. He had refused to defend himself against Lord Foul.

In her dreams, he had told Linden to trust herself-and yet she did not believe that she could raise enough flame to hold back a pack of wolves. When minutes had passed, and the kresh did not appear, she caught Covenant’s ring in her free hand and put it back under her shirt. He had left it to her, but she could not claim it as her own.

Liand tried to match Stave’s pace, but could not. Somo slowed him. The beast was a mustang, bred to mountains; but the scree demanded great care.

Jostled in the cradle of the Haruchai’s arms, Linden panted, “Wait for Liand. We have to stick together.” With kresh on her scent, she would not have left even a Master behind.

She did not expect Stave to heed her. So far he had shown little regard for her wishes. Yet he slowed his strides for Liand’s sake. Apparently he and his people took their guardianship of the Land seriously.

When Liand and Somo had drawn level with him, Stave suited his pace to theirs. Ahead of them, Anele was able to maintain his lead. In that formation, they climbed as if they were ascending into recollections of the One Forest. To Linden, it seemed that the old man’s tale drew them upward.

She peered back at the horizon of the rubble below her. Stave had carried her perhaps a quarter of the way up the rift; possibly less. Still she saw no sign of any wolves. However, she did not doubt that the kresh would soon surge past the rise.

Liand may have felt otherwise. Breathing easily in spite of his exertions, he guided Somo closer to Stave and Linden. “I am disturbed, Master,” he said tensely. “You name yourselves the guardians of the Land. And you have recognised Linden Avery from had forgotten past.” His distrust reached through the dim light to Linden’s nerves. He had left his diffidence toward the Haruchai behind. “Yet you have come alone to her aid.

“You conceal many truths. Will you reveal one here, in the Chosen’s presence? Why have you come alone to ward her?”

Stave made a sound like a snort. Linden felt his strength flow; and for a moment he surged ahead of Liand. Irredeemable crimes passed beneath his feet. But then he seemed to reconsider. “Do not presume to challenge us, Stonedownor,” he retorted flatly. “You do not suffice. Inquire of the Chosen whether the word and the honour of the Haruchai have worth.”

Together humankind and Ravers had decimated a vast and marvellous intelligence. With the Sunbane Lord Foul had completed their cruel work.

Stave paused, apparently waiting for Linden to speak. When she did not, however, he added, “Yet I will acknowledge that we were unprepared for her flight.” His tone conveyed a two-edged disdain: for Liand’s disapproval as for Linden’s escape. “The Linden Avery who is remembered among us would not have done so. Rather she would have borne the white ring to the Stonedown’s defence. Therefore we were taken unaware.”

His words stung her. In his dry tone, she heard a criticism with which she was intimately familiar. Often in the past, the Haruchai had made no attempt to conceal their scorn for her doubts and hesitations.

He may have been right. Perhaps she should have remained to fight for the Stonedown. But Covenant had told her, Do something they don’t expect. And Stave knew nothing of Jeremiah.

If she had stayed behind, she would not have heard Anele’s tale.

The Master continued to answer Liand. “Nor could we estimate the direction of her flight. The Chosen has repudiated our knowledge of her. For that reason, we separated when the storm had passed, so that we might search more widely.

“We could conceive of no purpose which would impel her here, but we feared that she might attempt these mountains in ignorance, thinking them a sanctuary. Thus it fell to me to ride southward, while Jass and Bornin hastened to consider more likely paths.

“I found no sign to guide me. Almost I turned aside. But then I saw kresh gather among the hills beyond the Mithil. I saw the direction of their hunt, and was concerned that the Chosen had