Part 50 (2/2)

As if so many deaths were not acknowledgment enough.

”Oh, h.e.l.l.” Bitterly she looked around at the battlefield, the crushed and splattered bodies of the Cavewights. ”Sure. Of course.” This, too, was her doing. ”There's nothing left for them here. We can always get more corpses.”

They had threatened to attack the Woodhelvennin Her spirit also had been torn. But she resembled Esmer more than samadhi Sheol: she was appalled by what she had become.

She needed Thomas Covenant to make her whole.

In response, Stave's manner became more formal. ”Then they are done with you. You are not the ur-Lord. You did not defeat or compel Nom. But you are the last of his companions. In grat.i.tude for the quality of mind which they now possess, they answered your summons. They will not do so again.”

Linden nodded, too weary and aghast to find words. She hardly understood what Stave was saying.

He lowered his voice. ”There is darkness in them, Chosen. Rent, samadhi Sheol's spirit yet clings to Corruption. They have beheld majesty in the Raver's visions of Doriendor Corishev, of kings and queens and rule. They have learned a hunger for suzerainty. In the Land, samadhis thoughts a.s.sure them, they will know what it means to hold sway.

”They avow that if you oppose them, they will crush you as ferociously as they slew these Cavewights, and with the same joy.”

”I don't care.” Linden started to turn away. ”I just want them to do their crus.h.i.+ng somewhere else.”

But then she stopped. Impulsively she suggested, ”Try telling them where Doriendor Corishev is.” Let them follow Doom's Retreat to the Southron Waste; away from the Land. She trembled to imagine what would happen if a host of Sandgorgons struck at Revelstone. ”If they want to 'hold sway,' they can start there. No one has held that region for thousands of years.”

Doriendor Corishev's rulers had made a wilderland of their kingdom. But the Sandgorgons were born to deserts, formed for harsh landscapes. They might like the Southron Waste.

Perhaps the fragmentation of samadhi Sheol's memories would prevent the Raver from directing the Sandgorgons elsewhere.

”Or if that doesn't work,” she added. ”tell them about the skurj. Tell them that those monsters are more powerful than they can imagine.” Perhaps the Sandgorgons could be taunted into defending the Land. ”If they want to rule here, they'll have to deal with Kastenessen's creatures.”

For a moment, Stave regarded her as if her advice surprised him. Then he turned back to the Sandgorgons.

Leaving him to be as persuasive as he could, Linden headed toward the tree-dwellers again.

While she stumbled among the bodies, however, the Ramen caught her attention. Unfortunately Mahrtiir was conscious. Linden wished him a respite from the enormity of his hurts. With the Staff, she might have imposed a little sleep on his wracked body and mind. But his life was in no immediate danger. Bhapa tended him diligently while Pahni did what she could for the Ranyhyn. And some of the Woodhelvennin had worse injuries. Simple triage required her to conserve her scant resources.

Liand, the Humbled, and a few villagers had emerged from the wreckage of the banyan-grove bearing bundles of garments for bandages. Three or four of them carried cook pots which could be used to heat water. In a moment, Liand rejoined the Ramen.

Although she ached for Mahrtiir, Linden pushed herself back into motion.

The Manethrall stopped her with a ragged croak. ”Ringthane.”

In spite of his agony, his health-sense enabled him to discern her presence.

”I'm here.” Linden's voice resembled his. ”You shouldn't try to talk. You've lost a lot of blood. And there isn't much that I can do about your pain right now.”

He shook his head as if he were wincing. ”My hurts are naught.” The shattered mess of his eye sockets wept slow drops of blood. ”I rue only that I am made useless to you.”

She tried to say, Mahrtiir, stop. But she could not force her mouth and throat to form words.

”Many needs press upon you,” he continued, wrenching speech past his wounds. ”I ask but one boon. There is no other Manethrall here, and a witness is required. I ask you to stand in the stead of those who lead the Ramen.”

A moment pa.s.sed before Linden realized that Bhapa was whispering as if he were horrified. ”No. No. No.”

With an effort that felt like anguish, she managed to repeat, ”I'm here.” She may have been making another promise that she would be unable to keep.

Hoa.r.s.ely Mahrtiir said, ”I am no longer able to bear the burdens of a Manethrall. Among the Ramen, those who have been blinded do not command the deeds of those who see. Cord Bhapa must a.s.sume my place. We cannot now perform the full ceremony of Maneing, but your witness will suffice.

”I ask Liand of Mithil Stonedown to remove the garland from my neck and set it upon Bhapa's.” His woven necklace of yellow flowers, amanibhavam in faded bloom, was splashed with blood. It hung in tatters, but had not been severed. ”Then he will take his long delayed place among the Manethralls, and I will serve him and you as I do the Ranyhyn, until my last breath.”

In dismay, Liand flung a look of appeal at Linden. He did not move to touch Mahrtiir's garland.

Mahrtiir, no. Linden could not find her voice. Please. I can't do this right now. I can't let you do it. If she had been able to speak, she might have said, This can wait. Then she might have turned away.

But Bhapa rushed to his feet. Softly, as if he were in tears, he cried. ”No, Manethrall. No. I will not. I am not fit for Maneing. And I cannot abide-”

Abruptly he wheeled toward Linden. His eyes were dry, but every line of his face resembled sobbing.

”Ringthane,” he said, pleading with her, ”do not permit this. It was not my tarnished sight-the sight which you have healed-that caused me to remain a Cord when others of my years had become Manethralls. It was my hesitancy. I bear uncertainties and doubts which consort ill with decision and command. I follow willingly. I am not suited to lead.”

Linden stared at him. She herself had uncertainties and doubts enough to cripple a legion. But she did not mean to let Jeremiah's suffering continue unopposed-or unpunished.

However, Bhapa seemed to need no answer from her. At once, he turned back to Mahrtiir.

”And you cannot so lightly set aside your tasks,” he told the Manethrall, ”or your yearning to be worthy of tales. You are merely hurt and blinded. You are not unmade. You are a Manethrall blood and bone. It determines you.

”Nor may you set aside the geas that was placed upon you.” The Cord's pa.s.sion mounted. ”You were informed that you must go far, seeking 'your heart's desire.' And you were urged to return when you had found it, for the Land has need of you. Those words were not granted to me. They were for you alone.”

Anele had spoken to Mahrtiir on the rich gra.s.s of Revelstone's plateau. Linden believed that her friends had heard Thomas Covenant's voice through the old man.

Bhapa and Pahni had been given a different message. In some way, you two have the hardest job. You'll have to survive. And you'll have to make them listen to you.

”Manethrall Mahrtiir,” Bhapa concluded, ”I have obeyed you in all things. In this I will not.”

Mahrtiir bared his bloodied teeth. For a moment, he appeared to struggle with imprecations. An involuntary groan wrenched his chest. When he spoke, his voice was taut and raw.

”Then be Ramen, if you will not be Manethrall. Aid Pahni among the Ranyhyn. The needs of the great horses come foremost.”

Briefly he coughed, splas.h.i.+ng his chest with arterial droplets. But Liand called up light from the orcrest and touched it to Mahrtiir's sternum. By degrees, Mahrtiir relaxed.

”And Liand tends me well,” he said: a brittle rustling like the sound of dried leaves in a breeze. ”I will not impose my garland upon you by peris.h.i.+ng.”

Shamed in spite of her exhaustion, Linden found somewhere enough gentle fire to stop the Manethrall's bleeding and grant him sleep. For years, she had wept too easily. She wanted to weep now. But she could not. Her stone heart held no tears.

The Sandgorgons departed a short time later; pelted avidly into the east as if they were eager for more destruction. Presumably they were returning to their host. And when they were gone, Esmer reappeared.

He still wore his wounds and his shredded raiment. Perhaps his many powers did not include the ability to heal himself.

He did not approach Linden. He spoke to no one. Indeed, he seemed unaware that anyone watched him as he sent waves of force through the ground to gather up corpses: Cavewights and kresh; slain villagers. Intimidated by powers beyond their comprehension, the Woodhelvennin did not object.

Whrany's body he took as well: he made no distinctions among the fallen.

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