As far as she knew, the other Ramen and the Humbled were already dead.
While she transformed creatures into living, screaming firewood, a Cavewight hurled a bludgeon at her from a distance of no more than six or seven paces. She barely saw it before Hynyn sprang in front of Hyn, and Stave snatched the massive club out of the air. Using the weapon’s velocity, he swung his arm to fling the bludgeon back at the Cavewight.
This time when Liand shouted her name, Linden looked at him; saw him pointing toward the Woodhelvennin.
They had been standing at some distance, watching in comparative safety. Now they were running toward the battle. They appeared to be yelling, although she could not hear them through the din. For an instant, she thought that they meant to join the fight; that the destruction of First Woodhelven had inspired them to strike back.
But then she saw a huge pack of kresh sweeping down on the villagers from the north. Easily the great yellow wolves leapt over or splashed through the brook. Men, women, and children fled slaughter in the only direction open to them. The wolves would have run them down in moments if they had turned to either side.
Nevertheless they were caught between the battle and the kresh. Soon all of them would die.
The two Masters-the only defenders of the Woodhelvennin-had already thrown themselves at the pack. But they were only two. And their mounts were merely horses, not Ranyhyn. They would be engulfed almost immediately.
Despite the turmoil and frenzy around her, Linden felt the presence of a Raver among the kresh.
She knew that malign spirit welclass="underline" it had once possessed her, seeking to desecrate her love for Covenant. It was moksha Jehannum, and it ruled the wolves, goading them until they were rabid for bloodshed.
She did not pause for thought. She had no time. An Elohim had warned the Land of merewives and skurj and croyel. He had spoken of a shadow upon the hearts of his people. He had foretold the threat of the halfhand.
And he had mentioned Sandgorgons
Linden had seen his other prophecies fulfilled. Why not this one?
Distance has no meaning to such power.
Hardly aware of her own actions, she cried. “Nom! We need you!” Then she sent Hyn hurtling into the collision of theurgies, pounding through cataclysm toward the panicked villagers.
Instantly Stave and Liand joined her, and Pahni and Anele followed at her back, as if they-or their mounts-had known what she would do.
When Thomas Covenant had summoned Nom against the Clave, the Sandgorgon had taken some time to respond. The creature had been compelled to cross nameless oceans and uncounted leagues from Bhrathairealm and the Great Desert. If the same delay occurred now-assuming that Nom answered Linden at all-every human and horse in the valley, and perhaps every Demondim-spawn as well, would be dead before the creature appeared. Nevertheless she did not turn aside or look back. The straits of the Woodhelvennin drove her. For their sake, and to confront moksha, she could resolve the contradictions within her. With Law and Earthpower, she opened a passage through the battle. At Hyn’s best speed, she raced northward.
She did not see the Harrow blanch as if he were appalled at what she had done. She only heard him call wildly. “I am able to convey you to your son!”
He may have intended to break her heart.
Still she did not falter. She could not: at that moment, the need of the villagers outweighed every other consideration. Even her friends-Concentrating on the kresh, she felt rather than saw the Insequent allow his defences to collapse. Only her nerves recognised what was happening as he wrapped himself and his destrier in a different kind of knowledge and vanished.
Deprived of his immediate target, Roger gave a howl of rage. But he had other prey: he, too, did not pause. Whirling, he aimed lava and loathing at Linden’s back.
She did not care. He had become incidental to her; a mere annoyance. At that moment, Gallows Howe and Caerroil Wildwood were incarnate in her. Like the Forestal, she had precious lives to defend. She only needed the Woodhelvennin to make way for her. If they did not-if they impeded her charge-
The kresh and the Raver were almost upon them.
Roger’s first blast fell short, intercepted by roiling blackness: the ur-viles and Waynhim had adjusted swiftly to counter him. A heartbeat later, he was attacked by half or more of the surviving Demondim-spawn. The rest threw their lore against the Cavewights in an attempt to prevent Roger’s army from following Linden.
But he was ecstatic with Kastenessen’s power. In this time, his given hand could draw directly on its source: Kastenessen’s savagery exalted him. The concussions and vitriol of his attackers he slammed aside with scornful ease. And his efforts to strike at Linden coerced them to spend their force in her defence rather than against him.
Then the Demondim-spawn themselves were assailed. In spite of his injuries and weakness, Esmer sent shocks through the ground to disrupt the formations of the Waynhim and ur-viles. He slew none of them; but his interference exposed them to the cruder force of the Cavewights. While Roger aimed his viciousness at Linden, his creatures hacked brutally at her defenders.
Almost screaming, Linden shouted the Seven Words until her Staff shone like an avatar of the sun’s fire. Frantic men and women dashed out of her path, snatching their children after them. Pahni’s young voice in a Ramen war-cry echoed the brilliance of Liand’s orcrest. Stave’s implacable mien promised death. Anele had awakened; but with the caesure gone, he clung to Hrama’s neck and did not hinder the Ranyhyn or his friends.
The huge fierce wolves had already begun to tear down and rend the slowest of the villagers when Linden and her last companions crashed into the pack.
The Cavewights were thinking creatures: the kresh were not. The Raver was worse than any beast or creature. And the Woodhelvennin were as helpless as trees. They had children with them, children, and could not defend themselves. As if she had become mindless herself, she sent great waves and breakers of flame at the wolves, burning them by the score to misshapen lumps of flesh, charred and reeking.
But she barely saw individual kresh: she paid no attention to what became of them. She sought moksha Jehannum. If she could do it, she meant to light a conflagration that would end the Raver’s cruelty forever.
Roger might have killed her then. She had no desire to defend herself-and no power to spare. In addition, Esmer had broken apart the wedges of the Demondim-spawn. Most of the ur-viles and Waynhim were fighting for their lives in small clusters: only a few remained to oppose Roger’s scoria. While she rampaged among the kresh, she left herself as vulnerable as the villagers.
But Roger did not send his puissance against her. He could not. Before he could hurl another blast, half a dozen Sandgorgons smashed into the rear of his army.
Crushing Cavewights with ease, three of the Sandgorgons wrought havoc among Roger’s forces while the rest attacked him directly.
Their strength dwarfed that of the Cavewights. Alone, Nom had once shattered Revelstone’s inner gates; had gouged out a passage for Glimmermere’s waters to quench the last of the Banefire. With Grimmand Honninscrave’s help, Nom had shredded samadhi Sheol’s spirit. Given time, half a dozen Sandgorgons could have levelled Lord’s Keep entirely.
The weapons and desperation of the Cavewights could not wound them. The ur-viles and Waynhim scattered before them. And Esmer did not turn his power against them. Instead he quelled his spouts of dirt and stone, his tremors in the ground, as if he had acknowledged defeat-or achieved victory. Panting blood, he seemed to fold the air around him as he disappeared.