Part 19 (2/2)

The outrider remained caught in indecision for a moment longer. Then she shook it off. She was a fighter, uncomfortable with doubt and hesitation.

”Accept my mount, Linden Avery,” she said as if she were sure. Her hand released Linden's arm. ”If you are indeed able to feel the wounded and dying, you will have no difficulty discovering where they lie. Should any seek to thwart you, reply that you act by Yellinin's command. Epemin and I will escort your comrades to the Warhaft. If I have erred, I will bear his wrath, and Lord Berek's.”

”I don't believe it,” Covenant growled under his breath. ”Here she is, completely lost, with no idea what's at stake-and total strangers still do what she wants.”

”That's my Mom,” Jeremiah sighed glumly. He sounded like a boy who had resigned himself to an unjust punishment.

But Linden ignored them now. As soon as Yellinin let her go, she strode to the woman's mount; grabbed at the reins.

When she had found the stirrup, she heaved herself into the saddle.

”Thank you,” she said to the outrider. ”You're not going to regret this.” Then she called, ”Jeremiah! I'm counting on you!” She did not trust Covenant. ”Don't make these people sorry that they helped me.”

No one responded-and she did not wait. Digging her heels inexpertly into the horse's sides, she headed for the top of the rise as swiftly as her shambling mount could carry her.

G.o.d, she loathed war.

The Stuff of Legends Her mount was no Ranyhyn, and the beast was frail. It stumbled under her whenever a hoof skidded on the glazed ice. She could feel its heart strain against its gaunt ribs. But as soon as she was thirty or forty paces beyond her companions, Linden began to draw Earthpower from the Staff, using its vitality to nurture her horse as well as to warm her numb skin, her cold-stiff limbs. Surely she would not endanger Covenant and Jeremiah now, when her mount increased the distance between them with every stride?

Gradually the horse grew stronger. Its gait increased toward a gallop as she fed it with the substance of life.

Then she crossed the crest of the rise, and Berek's camp appeared like a tapestry woven of fires and tents and wagons; picket lines and latrines; gritted pain, exhaustion, and graves.

The encampment seemed huge, although she knew that it was not. The surrounding dark dwarfed it. Nevertheless it was all that the night contained. The larger host of Berek's foes lay beyond the reach of her senses. Even the stars were lessened by the human mult.i.tude of the camp's fires.

As she crossed the ridge, she was already near enough to see individual figures; dim tottering shapes that moved among the tents and campfires. Most of the tents were small, hardly big enough for two or three warriors to share their meager warmth. But a few were larger: mess tents, perhaps, or command posts. One of these occupied the center of the encampment. Linden guessed that it was Berek's. However, three of the tents were the size of pavilions, and their burden of suffering drew her toward them immediately. Enclosed by thick cl.u.s.ters of wagons, they had been erected along the northern edge of the encampment, as far as possible from any attack; and they called out to every dimension of her health-sense, beseeching her for succor. There the most grievously wounded of Berek's army carried on their faint and fading struggle for life.

Linden was an unskilled horsewoman, but she knew enough to turn her mount's head so that the beast directed its lengthening strides toward the pavilions. At the same time, she urged more power from the Staff to protect the horse from slipping on the treacherous slope. In that way, she gathered her own strength as well as her mount's, so that she would be able to bear what lay ahead of her.

Her haste attracted attention at several points along the edge of the camp. And as she approached the light, her open cloak, red s.h.i.+rt, and stained jeans marked her as a stranger; a likely threat. Shouts rose against her. At least half a dozen warriors ran for their horses, plainly intending to intercept her.

In response, she summoned fire like a shout from the end of the Staff and kicked awkwardly at her mount's sides, trying to compel more speed.

Her display made the men and women racing for their mounts hesitate. More shouts scattered through the camp, dragging warriors urgently away from their ch.o.r.es and cookfires. Doubtless Berek's forces were acquainted with theurgy. The King whom they had opposed had been counseled by a Raver. They had felt black malevolence from the east, and knew their Lord's unforeseen might. A few of them had witnessed the salvific rampage of the FireLions. Nonetheless it was likely that none of them had ever seen Earthpower in thetic fire. And apparently most of them had not yet felt the first stirrings of health-sense. They could not look at Linden's emblazoned rush and recognize that she wielded the same Law which had brought the FireLions to Berek's aid.

Commanders yelled orders. A few warriors flung themselves onto their mounts, followed by others-and by still others. As Linden reached level ground and sped toward the tents of the wounded, holding aloft her pennon of power, a thickening barricade of riders surged into formation across her path.

She could not fight them. Nor could she bear to be stopped. In her ears, the need of Berek's wounded and dying was as loud as a wail, and as compulsory as blood. Even the men and women who rode out to refuse her were rife with injuries.

Mustering fire, she called in a voice of flame, ”By Yellinin's command! I'm a healer! Let me pa.s.s!”

Again Berek's warriors hesitated. Some began to rein in their mounts: others veered aside. But an older veteran, hardened and glaring, yelled back, ”Yellinin's command does not suffice! Halt and answer!”

Linden swore to herself. If she could elude the riders, she suspected that her mount would be able to outdistance them. Its energy was the Staffs. But they were mere heartbeats away. And the prospect of delays and argument was intolerable.

Shouting, ”In Lord Berek's name!” she mentally stamped one heel of her Staff against the frozen ground. With Earthpower and Law, she sent a concussion like the tremor of an earthquake rolling under the hooves of the advancing horses.

Covenant and Jeremiah had withstood worse when she had closed the caesure of the Demondim. The Theomach might not protect them; but they had risked too much: they would not allow themselves to be banished now.

Instinctive animal terror cleared her pa.s.sage. Some of the beasts stumbled, pitching their riders. Others s.h.i.+ed; reared; wheeled away. Their panic forced the riders behind them to struggle for control.

Through the momentary turmoil, Linden's mount raced like Hyn, pounding the ice and dirt toward the tents of the wounded. Followed by shouts of rage and alarm, she ran for her destination.

She was now little more than a hundred paces from the edge of the encampment. When she dismounted, she would be within twenty or thirty steps of the nearest pavilion. But during her dash at the camp, Berek's commanders had readied a wall of swords and spears to resist her. Warriors stood clenched against their fear. d.a.m.n it: this was the cost of her haste. She had left behind anyone who might have spoken for her. Now she seemed to have no choice except to fight or fail.

But she had seen too much death and could not do otherwise than she had done.

She began to pull on her mount's reins, slowing the beast so that the warriors ahead of her would see that she did not mean to hurl herself onto their weapons. While riders swept toward her, she eased the horse to a canter; to a walk. Then she slipped down from the beast's back and left it.

A heartbeat later, horses clattered to a halt behind her. But she did not turn toward them. Striding directly at the wall of warriors, she let the Staffs fire die away. She wanted Berek's people to recognize that she had no wish to harm them. Then she said as calmly as she could, knowing that she was close enough to be heard, ”By Yellinin's command, and in Lord Berek's name, let me pa.s.s. Please. I would beg you, but I don't have time. Your friends are dying in those tents.”

Still the points of the spears and the edges of the swords confronted her. Berek's forces had grown accustomed to fear and death: they may not have been capable of heeding her.

”I'm a healer.” She walked straight at the barricade of warriors. ”I intend to help. Either cut me down”-she did not raise her voice-”or let me pa.s.s.”

No one answered her. She heard no order given; felt no conscious decision reached. Yet something in her tone or her manner, her strangeness or her steady stride, must have inspired conviction. When she drew near enough to spit herself on the first of the spears, it lifted out of her path. Abruptly several men and women lowered their swords. More spears followed the example of the first. The warriors stared at her with fierce concentration: their eyes held every shade of apprehension and doubt. Nevertheless they parted so that she could walk between them.

For a moment, tears blurred her sight. ”Thank you,” she murmured unsteadily, ”thank you,” as she moved unhurt into the encampment.

Men and women formed an aisle for her, a gauntlet, all with their weapons held ready-and all motionless in spite of their uneasy tension. Here and there, firelight reflected in their eyes, or on the battered metal of their breastplates. Many of them wore hardened leather caps in lieu of helmets; leather vambraces and other protection. All were variously clad in blood and bandages. As individuals, they ached with weariness and old wounds, entrenched loss and desperation. Together they hurt Linden's senses like a festering abscess. Yet she caught only hints of hopelessness or despair. Berek's people were sustained by their deep belief in him. It kept them on their feet.

She loathed war and killing. At times, she did not know how to accept humankind's readiness for evil. But she was already starting to admire Berek, and she had not yet met him. His spirit preserved his people when every other resource failed. And he was the reason-she was sure of this*that they had refrained from slaying her. She had invoked his name. They strove to prove themselves worthy of him.

Roughly she rubbed away her tears.

Without hesitation, she followed the aisle and her raw nerves toward the nearest pavilion.

As she approached the heavy canvas, torn and filthy from too much use, her perceptions of distress acc.u.mulated. The naked human suffering ahead of her was worse than any she had faced before.

She had spent years preparing for such crises. Nothing in that tent was more severe than the mangled cost of car wrecks or bad falls; the outcome of drunken brawls and domestic abuse; the vicious ruin of gunshots. Berek's people were not more severely damaged than Sahah had been, or others of the Ramen, or the Masters who had opposed the Demondim.

But there were so many of them-And they were being given such primitive care-During the last strides of her approach to the pavilion, she felt three of them die. More than a score of them lingered on the absolute edge of death, kept alive only by simple unbending steadfastness; by the strength of their desire not to fail their Lord. Before long, they would slip away, some stupefied by their wounds, others in pure agony. And this was only one tent: there were two more.

Never before had Linden faced bleeding need on this scale: not by several orders of magnitude. The grim frantic hours that she and Julius Berenford had spent in surgery after Covenant's murder were paltry by comparison.

And her nerves were raw; too raw. She felt every severed limb and broken skull, every pierced abdomen and slashed joint, as if they had been incused on her own flesh. Nevertheless she did not falter. She would not. Confronted with such pain, she would allow nothing to prevent her from doing what she could. Trust yourself.

As if she had forgotten her own mortality, she thrust the stiff fabric of the opening aside and strode into the tent.

She hardly noticed that no one entered behind her.

The tent was supported by four heavy poles, each more than twice her height. And the interior was illuminated by oil lamps, at least a score of them. Nevertheless she could scarcely descry the far wall. The whole place was full of smoke, a heavy brume so thick and pungent that her eyes watered instantly and she began to cough before she had taken two steps across the dirt floor.

G.o.d d.a.m.n it, she might have shouted, are you trying to suffocate them?

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