"It may be so," Handir admitted after a moment's silence. "We have not yet determined our stance toward you. But we have become the Masters of the Land, and the import of the Unbeliever's presence among us is plain. Lords whom the Bloodguard honored believed that Thomas Covenant was Berek Earthfriend come again. They sacrificed much in his name, trusting that he would save rather than d.a.m.n the Land. And he has twice justified their faith.

"We know nothing of the rebirth of ancient legends. But we are Haruchai and will not turn aside from ourselves. Therefore we also will place our faith in the Halfhand. Where he is concerned, we discount the warning of the Elohim, for they are arrogant and heartless, and their purposes are often cruel."

"All right." Linden looked away from the sound of Handir's voice. "You didn't hear Cail, you didn't hear Stave, and you won't hear me." You'll have to make them listen to you, but that was not her task. "You've made that obvious enough." When she directed her attention past him and the gra.s.s-cloaked rim of Revelstone, she could feel the distant moiling of the Demondim. Through the rain, she tasted their opalescence and vitriol, their ravenous hunger for harm, as well as their wary defenses and apparent confusion. "But were still your guests, and Covenant didn't command you to stop me. So unless you have something else to say, I want to get started before those monsters notice me."

Even if the Demondim could not feel her presence, they might detect the proximity of the Staff of Law.

Handir appeared to hesitate. Then Linden felt rather than saw him move until he no longer stood between her and the horde.

Do something they don't expect.

At once, she dropped to her hands and knees as if she were sinking back into herself; into her concentration and dismay. She no longer regarded Handir and Galt, or her friends, or the clammy grasp of the rain on her back. If anyone spoke to her, she did not hear. By touch, she crawled through the drenched gra.s.s toward the extreme edge of Revelstone's promontory. She did not know what the limits of the Vile-sp.a.w.n's perceptions might be; but she hoped to expose as little of herself as possible.

Then she found it: the outermost rim of the cliff, where the gra.s.s and soil of the plateau fell away from their foundation of stone. With little more than her head extended beyond the edge, she cast her health-sense downward.

At first, the rain seemed to plunge past her into a featureless abyss, black and primitive as terror. But as she focused her percipience, she saw with every sense except vision the shaped, deliberate surface of Revelstone's prow directly below her; the walled and open courtyard; the ma.s.sed bulk of the watchtower. For a moment, she distracted herself by noticing the presence of Masters within the tower. Then she looked farther.

The crown of the watchtower partially blocked her view of the Demondim. However, only a small portion of the horde was obscured: in spite of the rain and the darkness, she could discern most of the forces gathered beyond the Keep's outer gates. When she had attuned herself to the roil and surge of the horde's hatred, its dimensions became clear.

Veiled by rainfall, fiery opalescence seethed in chaotic waves and spatters from edge to edge of the Demondim formation. And through the stirred turmoil of the monsters' might, amid the randomness of their black vitriol, she caught brief hints and glimpses, as elusive as phosphenes, of the dire emerald which emanated from the II!earth Stone. That evil was m.u.f.fled, muted; banked like embers in ash. But she knew it intimately and could not be mistaken.

Yet of the caesure which the Vile-sp.a.w.n used to reach the II!earth Stone, she saw no sign.

To her taut nerves, the confusion and uncertainty of the monsters seemed as loud as the blaring of battle-horns. But as she studied what she felt and heard and tasted-seeking, seeking-she began to think that their display of bewilderment was too loud. Surely if such lorewise creatures were truly baffled, chary of destruction, their attention would resemble hers? They would search actively for comprehension and discernment. Yet they did not. Rather their behavior was like the wailing of confounded children: thoughtless; apparently incapable of thought.

Galvanized by a small jolt of excitement, Linden pushed her perceptions further, deeper. As she did so, she became certain that the Demondim were putting on a show of confusion, that their obvious disturbance was a ruse. It was one of the means by which they concealed their doorway to the II!earth Stone.

According to Covenant, he had put a crimp in their reality. I made us look like bait. But Linden was no longer convinced that the Vile-sp.a.w.n feared an ambush. They had some other reason for withholding their attack.

For a time, uncertainty eroded her concentration, and her sense of the horde became blurred, indefinite; as vague and visceral as the wellsprings of nightmares. Instead of continuing to search for some glimpse of the caesure, she felt Kevin's Dirt overhead, high among the clouds. Independent of wind and weather, it spread a smear of doubt across her health-sense; numbed her tactile connection to the Land's true life.

If Covenant had lied Mahrtiir had a.s.sured her that Kevin's Dirt could not blind her while the effects of her immersion in Glimmermere lingered. Stave had implied that he held the same belief. Nevertheless she seemed to grow weaker by the moment, losing focus; drifting out of tune with the recursive emanations of the horde. She would never be able to identify the Fall unless she awakened the fire of Law to sharpen her perceptions.

Two days ago, the Masters had been able to descry the caesure's presence because the Demondim had not yet adopted their tactics of concealment. If she had been aware then of any Fall other than her own-and if she had been stronger- She had missed that opportunity. It would not come again.

Surely it was Covenant who had told her that she needed the Staff of Law?

Yet any premature use of Earthpower would trigger the defenses and virulence of her foes.

Trust yourself. You're the only one who can do this.

Her time with Thomas Covenant long ago had taught her to ignore the dictates of panic.

All right, she told herself. All right. So she could not guess how the Demondim had decided on their present stratagems. So what? She had come to the rim of Revelstone to attempt a kind of surgery; and surgery demanded attention to what was immediately in front of her. The underlying motivations of the monsters were irrelevant. At this moment, under these circ.u.mstances, Kastenessen's and even Covenant's designs were irrelevant. Her task was simply and solely to extirpate the cancer of the horde's access to the II!earth Stone. For the surgeon in her, nothing else mattered.

With a.s.siduous care, Linden Avery the Chosen reclaimed her focus on the manipulative masque of the Demondim.

She had spotted quick instances of the Stone's green and lambent evil earlier: she saw more of them now. But they were widely scattered throughout the horde; brief as single raindrops; immediately absorbed. And they were in constant motion, glinting like fragments of lightning reflected on storm-wracked seas. When she had studied them for a time, she saw that they moved like the whirling migraine miasma of a caesure.

Then she understood why she could not discern the Fall itself. Certainly the Demondim concealed it with every resource at their command. Behind their feigned confusion, they seethed with conflicting energies and currents, seeking to disguise the source of their might. But still they exerted that might, using it to obscure itself. Each glimpse and flicker of the II!earth Stone was so immediate, immanent, and compelling that it masked the disruption of time which made it possible.

Linden understood-but the understanding did not help her. Now that she had recognized what was happening, she could focus her health-sense past the threat inherent in each individual glint of emerald; and when she did so, she saw hints of time's enabling distortion, the swirl of instants which severed the millennia between the horde and the Stone. But those hints were too brief and unpredictable. Their chaotic evanescence obscured them. They were like hemorrhaging blood vessels in surgery: they prevented her from seeing the precise place where her scalpel and sutures were needed.

There she knew the truth. The task that she had chosen for herself was impossible. She was fundamentally inadequate to it. The tactics of the Demondim were too alien for her human mind to encompa.s.s: she could not find her way through the complex chicanery and vehemence of the monsters. She would not be able to unmake the caesure unless she found a way to grasp what all of the Demondim were thinking and doing at every moment.

Therefore Groaning inwardly, she retreated a little way so that she could rest her forehead on the wet gra.s.s. She wanted to console herself with the sensation of its fecund health, its fragile and tenacious grip on the aged soil of the plateau; its delicate demonstration of Earthpower. Even the chill of the rain contradicted in some fashion the hurtful machinations of the Demondim, the savage emerald of the Stone, the quintessential wrong of the caesure; the impossibility of her task. Rain was appropriate; condign. It fell because the earth required its natural sustenance. Such things belonged to the organic health of the world. They deserved to be preserved.

She could not cut the caesure away as she had intended. Therefore she would have to approach the problem in a less surgical-and far more hazardous-manner. She would have to risk a direct a.s.sault on the monsters, hoping that they would strike back with the force of the II!earth Stone. Then, during the imponderable interval between the instant of their counterattack and the moment when she was incinerated, she would have to locate the horde's now-unveiled Fall; locate and extinguish it. If she survived long enough-She had no reason to believe that she could succeed. The challenge would be both swift and overwhelming. And if she effaced the caesure, she would be no closer to rescuing Jeremiah or relieving the Land's other perils. If she failed, she might not live long enough to see Revelstone destroyed because of her.

In her son's name, she had twice risked absolute ruin. But now the question of his survival had become far more complex. In spite of the fact that he remained Lord Foul's prisoner, he was here. He had regained his mind. And Covenant, whose every word disturbed her, had averred that his own plans would free Jeremiah at last- Covenant was concerned that an a.s.sault by the horde might prevent him from carrying out his designs. If she confronted the Demondim directly, she might do more than cause a catastrophe for the Land: she might cost her son his only real chance to live.

And yet-and yet The Demondim were here. The power of the II!earth Stone was here. Kastenessen and the skurj were already at work, seeking the destruction of the Land. And somewhere the Worm of the World's End awaited wakening. How could she turn her back on any immediate threat when she did not understand Covenant, and the Masters had no effective defense?

Trapped in her dilemma, she was conscious of nothing except the ravening powers of the horde and the extremity of her hesitation. She did not feel the rain falling on her back or the dampness of the gra.s.s. And she did not sense Stave's approach. Until he said. "Attend, Chosen," she had forgotten that she was not alone.

He had said those exact words twice before, both times in warning-and both because either Esmer or the urviles had taken her by surprise.

Dragging herself up from the gra.s.s, she braced her doubts on the Staff of Law and climbed to her feet.

As if without transition, Liand reached her side and took hold of her arm so that she would not stumble or fall as she turned to find herself peering dumbly into the black face of the urviles' loremaster.

The creature's nostrils gaped, scenting her through the rain. Behind the storm-clouds, dawn had reached the Upper Land, and the sun drove a dim illumination into the dark; just enough light to reveal the dire shape of the loremaster. Now that she was aware of the creature, she felt rain spatter against its obsidian flesh, run down its torso and limbs-and hiss into steam as droplets struck the blade of molten iron gripped in its fist.

Behind the larger creature stood a packed wedge of Demondim-sp.a.w.n, as black as ebony and midnight, and as ominous. Even the Waynhim scattered among them seemed as dark as demons. As far as she could tell, those few creatures that had accompanied her here had joined the larger force which Esmer had delivered beside Glimmermere. And they all seemed to be muttering imprecations as they crowded close to each other and Linden, aiming their combined might through the loremaster and its hot blade.

When it smelled her attention, the loremaster lifted its free hand and held its ruddy knife over its palm, apparently offering to cut itself on her behalf.

This same creature had behaved in the same fashion when she was preparing herself for her first experience of a caesure; when she had been sick with fear and the aftereffects of the horserite. At that time, a much smaller wedge of ur-viles had healed her, giving her the strength to find her way through Joan's madness; to reach the Land's past and the Staff of Law.

Now the loremaster appeared to be making a similar offer- Yesterday Esmer had said to her, have enabled their presence here, and they have accepted it, so that they may serve you. They will ward you, and this place*Revelstone-with more fidelity than the Haruchai, who have no hearts.p> have enabled their presence here, and they have accepted it, so that they may serve you. They will ward you, and this place*Revelstone-with more fidelity than the Haruchai, who have no hearts.p> Covenant had jeered at Esmer's a.s.sertion. He had warned her that the manacles of the ur-viles were intended for him. They've been Foul's servants ever since they met him. And she had her own reasons for wondering what secret purpose lay behind the a.s.sistance of the ur-viles. Esmer's involvement cast doubt in all directions.

"Linden"-the rain m.u.f.fled Liand's voice-"your distress is plain. You fear that you will fail. But here is aid. Few of these creatures are those that have served you with both lore and valor. Yet those ur-viles are here, and the Waynhim with them. It may be that they will strengthen you to succeed."

He gave his faith too easily-Covenant would have mocked him for it.

Out of the dim dawn, Mahrtiir added, "The Ramen have long known some few of these ur-viles. They have acted for our benefit. And they have succored Anele."

Stave said nothing. He had felt Esmer's fury and might therefore suspect the motives of the ur-viles.

When she did not respond, the Stonedownor turned to Handir. "You speak for the Masters," he said more strongly. "What is your word now? I have learned that in their time your kind fought long and bitterly against such creatures. Also the Unbeliever desires the Chosen to desist. Will you permit her to be aided now'?"

For a long moment, Linden heard nothing except the harsh invocations-or imprecations-of the Demondim-sp.a.w.n. Then Handir replied dispa.s.sionately, "From Stave, we have received one account of these creatures, and from the ur-Lord, another. We cannot discern the sooth of such matters. Yet here we need make no determination. Waynhim now stand among the ur-viles. In the name of their ancient service to the Land, we honor the Waynhim as we do the Ranyhyn. While they partic.i.p.ate in the actions of these ur-viles, we will not hinder them."

Covenant had discounted the Waynhim as though their long devotion meant nothing.

Still the loremaster extended its open palm; poised its blade to shed its own blood.

Trust yourself.

Until now, she had accomplished almost nothing that had not been made possible by the ur-viles-and the Waynhim.

Holding her breath, Linden opened her hand and proffered it to the loremaster.

Swift as a striking snake, as if it feared that she might change her mind, the creature flicked at her with its eldritch dagger, slicing a quick line of blood across the base of her thumb. Then the loremaster cut itself and reached out to clasp her hand so that its acrid blood mingled with hers.

Involuntarily all of her muscles clenched, antic.i.p.ating a rush of strength and exaltation that would lift her entirely out of herself; elevate her doubts to certainty and power.

In the Verge of Wandering, the loremaster's ichor had changed her, transcending her sickness and dread; her sheer mortality. It transformed her again now-but in an entirely different way. The wedge in front of her, more than a hundred creatures all chanting together, had called a new lore to her aid; had given her a new power. Instead of strength like the charging of Ranyhyn, she felt an almost metaphysical alteration, at once keener and more subtle than simple health and force and possibility. The creatures had not made her stronger: they had augmented her health-sense, increasing its range and discernment almost beyond comprehension.

Now she could have pierced the closed hearts of the Masters, if she had wished to do so. h.e.l.l, she could have possessed any one of them-Or she could have searched out the mysteries locked within the Demondim-sp.a.w.n themselves. They had given her the power to lay bare the complex implications of their Weird. Or she might have been able to discern the causes of Covenant's strangeness, and Jeremiah's. Certainly she could have identified the nature of her son's unforeseen power- But she found that she had no desire for any of those things; no desire and no time. The same given percipience which made them possible also made her aware that her enhancement would be ephemeral. She had perhaps a dozen heartbeats, at most two dozen, in which to exercise her whetted perceptions.

And she was already able to descry every single one of the Demondim far below her. The ur-viles and Waynhim had been formed by Demondim: they understood their makers. They had given her the capacity to penetrate all of the defenses which the horde had raised against her.

That was enough. She did not need more.

With Stave and Liand beside her, she turned to face the cliff and the siege again. There she raised the Staff high in both hands, gripping her own blood and that of the loremaster to the surface of the incorruptible wood.

Now she beheld plainly all that was required of her. The opalescent surges and crosscurrents of the monsters'

subterfuge were clear, as etched and vivid as fine map-work. And they were transparent. Through them, disguised and concealed by them, she found the means by which the Demondim deployed the II!earth Stone. With all of her senses, she watched baleful green glints swirl and spit, many thousands of them, outlining precisely the mad hornet-storm of time that allowed the horde to exert the Stone's evil.

While her heart beat toward the instant when her transcendental percipience would fail, she reached through the veil of emerald to the horde's caesure.

It was as obvious to her now as the Fall which Esmer had summoned to the Verge of Wandering on her behalf; as unmistakable as the chaos which she herself had ripped in time. Fed by the insight, lore, and vitriol of the wedge at her back, her health-sense at last recognized the exact location and shape, as specific as a signature, of the monsters' Fall. Each piece of time that Joan shattered with wild magic had its own definitive angles, texture, composition; its own place in the wilderland of rubble at Joan's feet. With the telic power of the ur-viles and Waynhim in her veins, Linden was able to name unerringly the unique substance which Joan had destroyed to form this particular caesure.

When she was utterly certain of what she saw, she called forth a blaze as bright and cleansing as sunfire from the Staff. In an instant, she had surrounded herself with brilliance and flame, lighting the proud jut of Revelstone as if she had effaced the storm and the gloom, the shroud of rain; as if she had pierced with Earthpower and Law even the vile fug of Kevin's Dirt.

For perhaps as long as a heartbeat, she considered hurling her fire directly against the II!earth Stone. Through the open door of the Fall, she could have striven to excise the Stone's perversion at its source. Then she rejected the idea. If she failed-if she proved inadequate to that unfathomable contest-she would lose her opportunity to unmake the Fall. And if she did not fail, she would alter the Land's past so profoundly that the Arch of Time itself might break.

Instead, risking everything, she took a moment to search through the rampant insanity of the caesure for Joan, hoping somehow to soothe that tormented woman. In spite of the danger, she spent precious seconds seeking to send care and concern through the maelstrom created by Joan's pain.

Then she had to stop. She had no more time.

Relinquishing thoughts of Joan, Linden exerted all of her bestowed percipience to concentrate the energies of the Staff. And when she had summoned enough conflagration to reach the heavens, she sent a prodigious wall of fire crashing down like a tsunami on the horde's Fall.

That caesure was huge, even by the measure of the one which she had created. And it had been nurtured as well as controlled and directed with every resource of cunning and lore that the Demondim could command. It was defended now by the entire virulence and will of the monsters. The woman whom she had been before the loremaster had shared its blood with her would not have been able to overcome such opposition.

As the bestowed potency of her health-sense faltered and failed, however, she heard the horde's feigned confusion become a feral roar of rage; and she knew that she had succeeded.

"I know what to do"

Sinking under a sudden wave of exhaustion, Linden might have fallen if Stave and Liand had not caught her, upheld her. As rain and faint dawn returned to the promontory of Lord's Keep, their gloom filled her heart: as damp as tears, and blocked from the sun by the receding storm.

She felt a kind of grief, the consequences of self-expenditure, as though her success were a complex failure. She had missed her chance to learn the truth about the Demondimsp.a.w.n. More than that, she had let slip an opportunity to understand the changes in Jeremiah and Covenant. If only the gift of the wedge had lasted longer-She had sacrificed her own concerns for the safety of Revelstone. The loss of augmented percipience and blazing Law seemed to blind her.

Nevertheless a grim and satisfied part of her knew what she had accomplished, and how. That was aid, she thought as she blinked at the rain. Out of the Land's past, Esmer had brought ur-viles and Waynhim to serve her in the truest sense of the word.

So where was his betrayal? How did the presence and a.s.sistance of the Demondim-sp.a.w.n endanger her, or the Land? Had Esmer simply intended to repay a perceived debt? Was that possible?

Linden could not believe that he had come to the end of his self-contradictions.

Still the ur-viles and Waynhim had given her more help than she could have expected or imagined. And in so doing, they had made themselves vulnerable to her. While their bestowed percipience had endured, she could have probed their deepest and most cherished secrets. They had trusted her-She did not comprehend what motivated them; but she was no longer able to doubt them. Esmer's intentions were not theirs. When he betrayed her, he would do so through his own deeds, not through the presence or purposes of the Demondim-sp.a.w.n.

Until her first rush of weariness pa.s.sed, she did not notice that Liand was speaking to her, murmuring his astonishment.

"Heaven and Earth, Linden." His voice was husky with wonder. "I know not how to name what you have wrought. Never have I witnessed such fire. Not even in the course of our flight from the Demondim-" She felt his awe through his grasp on her arm. "For a moment while you dazzled me, I seemed to stand at the side of the Land's redemption."

Earlier he had told her, You have it within you to perform horrors. But she had not done so here: of that she was certain. Instead she had struck an important blow in Revelstone's defense.

Sighing to herself, she began to struggle against her fatigue. So much remained to be done "You have extinguished the Fall," Stave announced as if she had asked for confirmation. "The bale of the II!earth Stone is now absent from this time." Then he added, "Thus the Demondim are enraged. Already they a.s.sail the Keep. If the Masters wish to preserve Revelstone, a long and arduous battle awaits them. Yet you have made it conceivable that they will prevail."

Dully Linden tried to think of some other way that she might oppose the horde. In spite of Stave's attempt to rea.s.sure her, she was not confident that his kinsmen could hold off the Demondim for long. But she had already spent all of her resources. Only the support of her friends and the nourishing touch of the Staff kept her on her feet. And Covenant wanted her to meet him near Furl Falls: a walk of, what, close to two leagues? If she did not rally soon, her friends would have to carry her.

Long ago, the Unhomed had designed Revelstone to withstand the enemies of the Old Lords. In her weakness, Linden could only hope that the ancient granite would prove to be as obdurate as the men who warded it.

With an effort, she turned her attention outward; toward the people and creatures gathered around her.

She was not surprised to find that most of the Demondim-sp.a.w.n had already dispersed, leaving no trace of themselves in the dawn or the rain. But she felt a small frisson of antic.i.p.ation when she saw that the loremaster still stood nearby with a wedge at its back. The formation held no more than half a dozen creatures-but they were all Waynhim.

The loremaster's knife had disappeared. Instead with both hands the black creature offered her an iron bowl.

As soon as she heard the muted guttural voices of the Waynhim, and caught the dust-and-mildew scent of vitrim, her heart lifted. The creatures understood the effects of their earlier gift. Now they sought to restore her. The Waynhim chanted, summoning and concentrating their lore, in order to multiply the lenitive potency of the liquid in the bowl.

At once, she reached for the bowl, eager for sustenance; for any theurgy which might revive her.

As she swallowed the dank fluid in long gulps, she recognized its distilled virtue. It was stronger than any vitrim she had ever tasted. In an instant, it seemed to spangle like sunshine through her veins and along her nerves as if it were a form of hurtloam. It was not, of course: it was not organic or natural in any useful sense. Like the ur-viles and Waynhim themselves, the beverage had been created of knowledge and might which were alien to Earthpower or Law. Nonetheless it met her needs. It did more than give back the energy and courage which she had expended against the horde's caesure: in some fashion, it restored her sense of her self.

With grat.i.tude in her eyes and appreciation in her limbs, she bowed deeply as she returned the bowl to the loremaster. Then she looked as closely as she could at the creature and its companions. Earlier she had given no consideration to the chance that her efforts against the horde might harm the Demondim-sp.a.w.n. Now she felt chagrin at her thoughtlessness. A few short days and several millennia ago, she had seen that the Waynhim were damaged by their stewardship of the Staff-Once again, they had aided her in spite of their own peril.

The artificial nature of the creatures confused her health-sense. Yet she detected no injury in the loremaster, or in its small wedge. The att.i.tudes of the Waynhim suggested fatigue and strain, but nothing more.

Perhaps they had been protected by the fact that every aspect of her power had been directed away from them.

"Thank you," she said to the loremaster's eyeless face and slitted mouth. "I don't know why you turned your back on Lord Foul. I'll probably never understand it. But I want you to know that I'm grateful. If you can ever figure out how to tell me what you need or want from me, I'll do it."

The loremaster gave no sign that it had heard her. It had put its bowl away somewhere within itself. The Waynhim behind it had stopped chanting. A moment after she fell silent, the creatures loped away, taking no apparent notice of Handir and Galt, or of the Ramen and Anele. Soon they seemed to dissolve into the dark air and the rain, and Linden lost sight of them.

She no longer needed Stave's support, or Liand's. She was strong enough to face her friends-and almost eager to meet with Jeremiah and Covenant. Briefly she considered expending some of her new vitality against the Demondim. Then she shrugged the idea aside. She did not know what Covenant's intentions might require of her, or how much power she would be asked to wield.

She had done what she could for Revelstone. The Masters would have to do the rest.

When she looked toward Mahrtiir and his Cords, they bowed in the Ramen style. "That was well done, Ringthane," said Mahrtiir gruffly. "Your tale grows with each new deed-and will doubtless expand in the telling. We are honored that it has been granted to us to accompany you."

Bhapa nodded his earnest agreement, and Pahni smiled gravely. Yet it seemed to Linden that the young woman's attention was fixed more on Liand than on her.

Without warning, Anele remarked. Such power becomes you."