The Runes of the Earth

I believe you, Anele.” The stone on which he stood would not have permitted falsehood. “Now I know the truth. You said it yourself. You’re the Land’s last hope.”

There was no one else who could even attempt to locate the Staff again.

Chapter Ten: Aided by Ur-viles

When Linden said it, she knew it to be true, although she could not have explained how she knew-or how it could be true. She was in no condition to question herself. Anele’s need for forgiveness had nearly exhausted her.

He knew where the Staff had been lost.

She could not continue to support him. Fortunately something in her voice roused him a little. He lifted his head from her chest, made an attempt to straighten his legs.

“Did I? It maybe so. Why otherwise am I precluded from death?”

He was the son of Sunder and Hollian-which made him three and a half thousand years old.

Unless-

Intuitive perceptions hunted for clarity within her, but she was too tired to concentrate on them.

“Old man,” Stave put in without warning, “hear me. Linden Avery has granted you credence. The Haruchai do not.”

In response, all of the ur-viles began to bark at once, apparently reacting to what they had heard. Their voices meant nothing to Linden, however: their speech resembled no language she knew. She turned a questioning look toward the Manethrall; but the woman shook her head.

“They comprehend us, but cannot form words in our tongue, and we know not how to grasp theirs.”

Stave ignored the exchange. “Have you made search?” he asked Anele. “Have you returned to your cave?”

Linden wanted to sigh, Oh, leave him alone. Don’t you think he’s been through enough? But the old man rallied before she could reply.

“What else have I ever done,” he answered like a spatter of gall, “since the accursed day of my failure?” He had grown sane enough to feel affronted. “The cave remains. I have searched it over upon occasions without number. I wander from it in despair, and in despair I return. Every span of its stone and dirt I have probed with my eyes and touched with my hands, even tasted with my tongue. The Staff is not there. No hint or memory of it is there. It passed out of knowledge when the Land I knew was erased by the evil of the Fall.”

Then he turned to face up the rift. “You will betray me,” he muttered. “I must not abide your presence.” A moment later, he shuddered. “And these creatures”- he indicated the ur-viles- “are harsh to my distress.”

In Mithil Stonedown, he had spoken of Lost things, long dead, creatures that had forced him to remember-

Gathering strength by the moment, as though he had left his frailty in Linden’s hands and was no longer hampered by it, he strode up the bare rock and began once again to climb the rubble.

Stave started upward as well, clearly intending to reclaim the old man. But the Manethrall stopped him with a frown. “Two days you have granted us, Bloodguard. We will ensure that your prey is not lost to you.”

At her word, the Haruchai nodded and let Anele go.

Linden’s health-sense was gone: she could no longer read her companions. Even the power of the ur-viles had faded from her nerves. Their blades had become mere lambent iron, eldritch and undefined. The Ramen might have been honest or treacherous, and she would not have known the difference.

Gazing after the old man, she asked the Manethrall, “You’ve met him before. How much do you know about him?”

“Little or naught,” replied the woman. Her tone remained stern, but her severity seemed to be directed at Stave rather than Linden. “We only pity him. Therefore when by chance our paths have crossed, we have given him what succour we may. However, he accepts little, and trusts less. He flees when he has been fed or healed. For that reason, we have not comforted him as we wish.”

“Will he be all right,” Linden continued, “climbing by himself? I don’t want to lose him. He’s too important-”

She had only begun to grasp how important.

“Do not fear for him,” the Manethrall responded. “He is accustomed to this place. And we will watch over him. Since you wish it, and because I have given my word to the sleepless one, he will be returned to you at need.”

Her kindness brought another moment of tears and blurring to Linden’s eyes. If these Ramen had treated Anele so, she would trust them for a while. Apparently their convictions and purposes were more humane than Stave’s.

“I’m sorry,” she told the Manethrall. “You and your people saved our lives, and I haven’t even thanked you. I’m Linden Avery. Stave calls me “the Chosen” because that’s what I was called the last time I came to the Land.”

The woman used her rope to tie back her hair, then bowed as she had not bowed to Stave, with her hands before her head and her palms turned outward, empty of danger. “Linden Avery,” she said in the nickering voice she had used earlier, “Ringthane, be welcome among us. I am Manethrall Hami of the Ramen, and they”- she indicated her companions where they tended their injured- “are my Cords.

“Your words suggest a tale which we will hear eagerly. However, we will not burden You with the telling of it until we have gathered at the Verge of Wandering, according to the word that I have given the Bloodguard. For the present, you are weary and in need. Before we ascend, we would offer you what aid or comfort we may.”

Linden hardly knew how to ask for what she needed. Help me find Jeremiah. Lead Me to the Staff. Tell me why you distrust Stave. None of that would enable her to do more climbing. Instead she answered indirectly, “You know Anele and Stave.” Well enough, anyway. “This is Liand son of Fostil, from Mithil Stonedown.” She nodded toward the young man. “Anele was a prisoner there. He helped us escape.”

As if for the first time, she noticed the streaks of blood on his left arm. They leaked from under his slashed sleeve: she could not see how badly he was hurt. But the tearing of his sleeve suggested claws.

Infection, she thought dully. Sepsis. If his wounds were not treated-Without percipience, she could not guess how grave the harm might be.

The Manethrall granted Liand a gracious bow, which he returned, emulating her movements awkwardly. He had already shared dangers and seen wonders far outside his experience, and his eyes sparkled with excitement.

“You honour me, Manethrall Hami. The Ramen are unknown in Mithil Stonedown, but you are doughty and generous, and would be made welcome”- he glanced pointedly at Stave- “if the Masters permitted it.”

She frowned at this reference to Masters. “Thank you, Liand of Mithil Stonedown. We will trust your welcome, if not that of the Bloodguard.”

Fearing that Stave might take offense, Linden put in, “With your permission, Manethrall, I want to look at your injured. Where I come from, I’m a physician. I don’t have any drugs or supplies with me, but I might be able to do something for them.” Uncertainly she added, “You lost lives for us. I want to help, if I can.”

Hami shrugged. “As you will, Ringthane. But your aid is not necessary. The Ramen are hardy, and I have taught my Cords the care of such wounds. Also”- a fierce grin twisted her lips- “our grievance against all kresh is ancient and enduring, ill-measured in mere centuries. Had you not been threatened, we would have assailed them still.”

Linden wanted to ask, And the ur-viles? Would they have joined you? But she was too weary for such questions. Murmuring, “Thanks,” she gestured for Liand to join her as she crossed the gutrock to join the Cords who were treating their hurt comrades.

They nodded to her courteously when she squatted among them, but did not pause in what they were doing.

They were nine, and none unmarked by the battle. However, they had suffered only scrapes and scratches,