The Runes of the Earth

Holding Anele’s blind gaze as the stone held his mind, she reached into herself for argence-

– and could not find it.

Covenant’s ring hung inert against her sternum; uninvoked. Though her entire being cried out in mute and sudden anguish, she felt no power anywhere within her. Three times before, Covenant’s vast fire had answered her needs. Yet now, with Anele’s life, and Stave’s, and Liand’s in her hands, her desperation called up no response from the hard metal.

The exertion of wild magic had never been a conscious choice for her. Without the guidance of her health- sense, she did not know how to transcend the constraints of her thinking mind.

Before her dismay could find its voice, however, a concussion like the shattering of tremendous bones shook the rift and a blackness more fathomless than ebony and midnight blossomed between the cliffs. It had the force of a great conflagration: in spite of its blackness, it shed illumination like flame, silent and blazing, and as ruddy as magma.

At the first touch of the blast, she feared that the storm which had threatened Mithil Stonedown had found her; that ruin had begun to thunder down. For an instant, all of the cleft around her shone, etched out of shadows until every bulge and edge and cranny seemed to blaze with fire. Stave and Liand and even Somo stood erect in the blare of heat and flame as if they had been transformed.

At once, the advance of the kresh collapsed onto itself in bestial panic. Taken unprepared, momentarily blinded, they flinched and shied away, stumbled under each other’s paws, wedged themselves between rocks. Terrified, they lashed out with fangs and claws, trying to drive back the strange violence which had fallen upon them.

Then the red light was quenched, and darkness swept back down the rift, redoubled by the sudden cessation of fire. The wolves might have vanished: only a tumult of snarls, yelping, and fear remained to define their presence.

Holding her breath, Linden braced herself on Anele’s voice and waited to regain her sight.

“They loved me dearly,” he insisted as if he were deaf to the kresh, blind to fear, “Sunder and Hollian. They shared with me the glory and loveliness of the Land, which they made new from the devastations of the Sunbane:”

Gradually the sky’s afternoon glow macerated the darkness.

“When I came to manhood, they taught me all that they had learned of the Law and the Staff.”

First one and then another, the kresh took form from the shadows.

“It was always their purpose that I should inherit their task when they had grown old and weary, and they taught me with all their hearts.”

Then a shudder seemed to run through the pack. Between one heartbeat and the next, the wolves reclaimed the scent of their prey.

“Also they had learned much from the Haruchai, and from the far-sojourning Giants, and this as well they granted to me as my birthright.”

Hurtling up from the rocks, the leading kresh launched themselves in pursuit again.

Now Linden knew that she was powerless. Her hope of wild magic had failed her: she had no time to learn its use. But she also knew that she and her companions were no longer alone. She had recognised the force of that concussion. Earlier a similar force had enabled her to escape from the Masters, and had damaged only empty

Some lore-wise being or beings had fired this blackness to delay the hunt. So that help could reach her-?

Without warning, men and women appeared among the stones as if they had reshaped themselves like Elohim from within the granite itself.

“Alas for the Land!” groaned Anele softly. His past gripped him, and he regarded nothing else. “Loving me as they did, my parents did not understand that I had learned to be astonished”

Ten of them, or more: as many as twenty? Men and women, short, slim, with swift lines to their limbs and dark hair sweeping like wings about their heads. Some of them stood between Linden’s companions and the pack: others rose up among the wolves.

Knotted in their hands they held lengths of thin rope like garrotes.

Tears streamed from Anele’s eyes. “Returned to life in Andelain, I was born of flesh and Earthpower:’

They were too small. None of them stood more than three hand spans taller than the kresh; and the wolves carried more weight. Bits of rope could not master fangs and claws: fewer than twenty men and women could not oppose so many of the great beasts. Yet the newcomers attacked without hesitation.

“I knew my nature, for my own strength answered to the strength of the Staff, and all the Land sang to me of its vitality and grandeur.”

Liquid with swiftness and precision, each man and woman flipped rope around the neck of a wolf, then leaped past it. Linden expected to see the kresh shrug off their assailants. But the newcomers used the wolves’ bulk and momentum to augment their own. Some of the beasts went down, writhing against strangulation. Others heard their own necks snap as they died.

“Nevertheless I had been astonished beyond bearing, amazed to the core of my spirit.”

Again the rush of the pack collapsed in turmoil. Wolves collided with each other in their frenzy to rend their assailants. They sprang to attack, and their jaws closed on fur rather than human flesh. All of the men and women disappeared under a thrashing chaos of wolves-

“I knew beyond doubt or appeal that I could not equal the example of my parents.”

– and re-emerged riding the backs of kresh, their garrotes cutting into the necks of their ravening mounts.

“Though I laboured at emulation eternally, I would never rise to the greatness of their deeds.”

Linden wanted to shout Stave’s name. Neither he nor Liand had moved. Liand’s inexperience might have done more harm than good; but Stave, at least, should have joined the newcomers. He was Haruchai: surely he could have slain wolves with his bare hands?

“And in time I grew to understand that I required a different path.”

Instead, however, the Master turned away. Striding up the exposed gutrock, he approached Linden. “Beware, Chosen!” he called through the struggle of fangs and ropes. “The evil has been roused. We are assailed!”

With one hand, he pointed up the rift behind her.

Behind her?

“The wolves-!” she protested. In moments, her unexpected defenders would all be dead. Kresh would surge past the fallen to leap on Liand and Somo.

Nevertheless Stave’s manner compelled her. Releasing Anele, she looked back over her shoulder.

At once, the old man fell silent. Perhaps he had recognised this new threat, in spite of his blindness. Or perhaps he could not speak without Linden’s attention to anchor him.

Down the broken slope like a wave of dark chrism flowed a compact wedge of black forms, barking to each other in guttural voices.

They resembled creatures she had once known, the Waynhim that had defended Covenant’s quest amid the ice and cold of the Northron Climbs. Like the Waynhim, these beings had long, hairless torsos and short limbs, better formed for running on all fours than for walking upright. Pointed ears perched atop their bald heads. And they had no eyes. Instead moist gaping nostrils filled their faces above the cruel slits of their mouths.

But these creatures were much larger than the Waynhim. Their skin was an unilluminable black, the colour of obsidian and murder. And they carried knives of bitter iron: knives like fangs, with blood-red blades which seethed like vitriol.

Their wedge seemed to concentrate their power. The creature at its tip held a short iron staff, almost a sceptre, pointed like a spike at one end. With this instrument the leading creature could wield the force of the whole formation.

The sceptre seemed to splash acid over the rocks as the wedge swept downward. Its power hit hard against Linden’s last percipience; struck sparks into the sudden tinder of her fear.