That night, Linden did not expect to sleep. The rocks on which she lay seemed full of memories and fears, as legible to her flesh as they were to Anele’s peculiar sight. They jutted against her like tangible reminders of all that she had gained and lost since she had first approached the Hills of Andelain with Covenant, Sunder, and Hollian. But she called a faint current of Earthpower from the Staff to soothe her taut nerves. Then she closed her eyes to rest them-and when she opened them again a moment later, dawn had come upon her, as stealthy and unforeseen as the results of every choice that she had ever made.
Her companions roused quickly, at once eager and apprehensive. Anele scented the air fretfully, as if he could smell trouble; but the fragmentation of his mind prevented him from describing what he sensed. Perhaps anticipating another battle, Liand frowned darkly. However, he could not conceal the growing excitement behind his concern. Salva Gildenbourne promised to be unlike anything that he had ever seen.
Pahni also may have wished to gaze upon the vast woodland: her only knowledge of the Land’s olden forests came from Ramen tales. Yet her anxiety for Liand dominated her. And Bhapa’s emotions were similar, although he worried for the Manethrall rather than Liand. As for Mahrtiir, his belief that he had lost much of his usefulness dulled his characteristic hunger for peril and striving. The role which he had chosen for himself resembled that of a sacrificial lamb.
Only Stave faced the new day as if it were like any other. His single eye and his flat mien suggested neither hope nor trepidation.
As soon as the companions had eaten, Pahni kissed Liand quickly. Then the Cords summoned their Ranyhyn and rode away to assume the responsibilities of the Humbled.
In moments, Stave and Liand had repacked the bedding and supplies. Hyn and Hynyn, Rhohm, Hrama, and Narunal answered Stave’s whistle almost immediately, as if they had their own reasons for excitement or alarm. With Anele between them, Liand and Linden followed Mahrtiir and Stave to meet the horses.
The early sky looked too pristine to hold any omens. As the sun mounted, it spread light and azure across the heavens, immaculate and unfathomable; absolved from taint. If Anele were indeed able to detect an ominous scent, Linden could not. She smelled only the freshness of a bright day after rain; the gentle pleasure of grasses and wildflowers and loam in springtime.
First at a canter, then a liquid run, the Ranyhyn bore their riders into the southeast, toward the last obstacle or opportunity between Linden’s company and Andelain.
Here the ground rose into a sequence of low ridges like striations across the landscape. Where the slopes were gradual, the horses confronted them directly, pounding upward without hesitation, and descending in a rush as smooth and secure as the surface of Glimmermere. But where the ridges jutted more steeply, Narunal angled across their sides; and the other Ranyhyn followed seamlessly, letting Mahrtiir’s mount lead them by a stone’s throw.
In the vale between the second and third ridge, Branl awaited Linden and her companions. At the same time, Galt approached them from the south. Although he rode at a full gallop, he conveyed no impression of haste or urgency. And Stave said nothing: apparently he heard no warning in the thoughts of the Humbled. While Hynyn and Narunal nickered a greeting to Bhanoryl, all of the Ranyhyn ran at the next rise as if it were level ground.
As Hyn kept pace with the other horses, still following Mahrtiir and Narunal, Linden looked around for Clyme. Presumably Bhapa and Pahni were far ahead, searching the air and the grass and the rumpled slopes for hints of ambush. But Linden wanted to see Clyme. He would come from the east, the most likely direction of attack.
Soon he appeared against the sky on the crest of the fourth ridge. Like Galt, he rode at speed, but without indicating the proximity of foes.
In the vale beyond that ridge-low ground as narrow as a barranca, but not as sheer, with a freshet from the previous day’s rain running through it-Clyme met Linden and her companions. At once, she asked the Manethrall for a halt. The morning was still early, and the stream between the ridges lay in shadow. But she did not need broad daylight in order to study the condition of the Humbled.
They were closer to wholeness than she had imagined; closer than she would have believed possible. Some of their cuts and gashes had already become scars. The rest were healing cleanly. And their cracked or broken bones were almost entirely mended.
Like their strength, the native resilience of the Haruchai was more than human. Hard riding had not harmed them. It had only slowed their recuperation.
Satisfied, Linden said quietly, “All right.” Doubtless the Humbled remained uncertain of her. Perhaps their suspicions had increased. “Let’s get going.” Nevertheless she trusted them with her life-and with the lives of her friends as well. “I’ve been waiting to see Andelain again for years.”
Without hesitation, the Manethrall headed along the vale until he reached a place where the Ranyhyn could surge up the sides of the next ridge. Slowly he increased his lead-or the other horses held back-until he rode a dozen strides or more ahead of Linden and her defenders.
Passing the crest, the riders ran out of shadow and down a gentle expanse of sunlit grass toward another rise. But it was little more than a line of low hillocks, and did not slow the Ranyhyn. Perhaps half a league beyond it stood a much higher ridge with more difficult slopes. Here and there, lichen-mottled fists and foreheads of bedrock jutted from the hillsides like buttresses. The horses were forced to pick a crooked and cautious way upward.
At the end of that ascent, however, Linden and her companions saw Salva Gildenbourne for the first time. As if involuntarily, they stopped to gaze at the forest’s immanent majesty.
It lay on the far side of a last ridge, a small interruption like a ripple in the earth. From the vantage of higher ground, Linden could see that Salva Gildenbourne was indeed vast. It stretched from the eastern horizon across her path and into the west, where it began to curve by slight degrees toward the south: a rich variegated green panoply bedecked at intervals with the ineffable gold of Gilden trees, and prodigal with the new growth of spring and rain; profligate with life and subtle Earthpower.
By her estimation, she was roughly fifteen leagues from Andelain. At this elevation, she might have been able to hope for a glimpse of the Hills which held the Land’s defining glory. But Sunder and Hollian had wrought well when they had brought forth Salva Gildenbourne. In addition, the forest had flourished for millennia on the overflow of Andelain’s fecundity. The woodland was too deep, dense, and tall to permit any faint emanation of the Hills to reach Linden’s senses.
Still she searched the southeast so avidly that moments passed before she felt the tension thick around her; the growing apprehension of her companions. Then she heard Liand say anxiously. “Linden,” and she saw him point toward the east.
The four Haruchai were gazing in that direction. Anele did the same in spite of his blindness. Mahrtiir had already ridden past the crest; but Narunal had halted when the other Ranyhyn did, and the Manethrall’s face also was turned to the east.
As soon as Linden saw the smoke seething out of the trees at the farthest limit of her sight, she wondered how she had failed to notice it immediately.
The smoke itself was black and fatal, but it was only smoke: it did not cry out to her health-sense. Natural fires were possible. Yet the season was spring. Showers had soaked the woods. Nonetheless Salva Gildenbourne was burning.
And there was more.
At that distance, she did not expect to see flames; but she discerned something worse. Rather than fire, she descried a kind of diseased Earthpower, an organic mystical energy distilled and polluted until it had become as fiery as a furnace, as hot as lava, and incandescent with hunger.