“Mom,” Jeremiah objected: he sounded frightened. And Covenant muttered, “Bloody hell, Linden. Just when I think you’ve run out of terrible ideas.”
Her son’s alarm tugged at her as Covenant’s vexation did not. But she kept her back to them; hardened her heart. Her attention was fixed on the injuries of Berek’s people, and her gaze focused her appeal on Yellinin. If she had not been so tightly clenched to her purpose, she might have said, Please. I beg of you.
“Wisdom, as I have proclaimed,” the Theomach announced. “Lady, I am both pleased and gratified.”
The mounted woman leaned down from her saddle, trying to study Linden’s face in the dim glow of the camp. “You ask much, Linden Avery,” she replied severely. “If I judge wrongly-or if Krenwill’s hearing has misled him-you may cause great woe.”
“And if I’m telling the truth,” Linden countered. “you’ll save lives.” She did not slow her strides to accommodate Yellinin’s uncertainty.
After a moment, the outrider said slowly, feeling her way. “It was the one whom you name Jeremiah-was it not? — who wielded theurgy against Basila and her comrades? If you are parted from him, he will be unable to ward you.”
Her tone added, And in your absence, he will be free to wreak any harm which he may desire.
“Yes,” Linden answered at once. “it was. But I don’t need his protection.” If she had been a different woman, she could have challenged Berek’s foes for him; perhaps routed them. “He won’t use his power again unless Covenant tells him to-and Covenant won’t do that.” Covenant had accepted the path which the Theomach had laid out for him. Linden was confident that he would not risk Berek’s enmity: not in the Theomach’s presence. “I can’t promise that your Warhaft will like their answers. But they won’t fight him.”
“Assuredly I will not,” the Theomach offered lightly. “And I will watch over your companions.”
“Linden.” Covenant’s voice was harsh with warnings or threats. “You know what can go wrong here.”
“Sure,” she replied over her shoulder. Disturbances in the integrity of Time, lethal discontinuities. And she had been warned that Berek held enough Earthpower to erase Covenant and Jeremiah- “But you know what we have to gain. You’ll be all right without me for a while.”
Abruptly Yellinin dismounted. Leaving her horse, she came to Linden. In spite of her obscured features, her sword and cuirass, and her warrior’s bearing, she radiated concern rather than suspicion as she grasped Linden’s arm and pulled her away from her companions.
Softly, tensely, Yellinin said, “Linden Avery, if you choose to part from your comrades, I must inform you that Warhaft Inbull is not known for gentleness. Lord Berek endeavours to restrain him, but he has suffered much in this war-lost much, endured much-and has become cruel. Upon occasion, he has refused Krenwill’s aid because he desires to discover truth with pain.
Is it truly your wish that your son should be delivered to the Warhaft?”
For the first time since she had become aware that she was needed, Linden faltered. Instinctively she looked at the pleading on Jeremiah’s face. He, Covenant, and the Theomach had stopped: they stood watching her; waiting for her. She could not read Covenant or her son; but the meaning of Covenant’s scowl was obvious, and Jeremiah’s open chagrin seemed as poignant as a cry.
— has become cruel.
He’s full of Earthpower. If he so much as touches us, this whole ordeal will be wasted.
But the call of the wounded was too strong. She was a physician, and could not refuse it.
Like Covenant and the Theomach, Jeremiah had resources which surpassed her ability to measure them.
Deliberately Linden turned back to Yellinin. “My companions don’t mean any harm.” She made no effort to conceal the pressure rising in her. “They won’t cause any trouble. I keep saying that. But they can protect themselves if they have to. Right now, people are dying. Your people.” She could feel them: they were as vivid to her as the ravages of the Sunbane. “The sooner I get to work, the more of them I can help.”
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.
God, she loathed war.
Chapter Eight: 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 multitude 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 meagre warmth. But a few were larger: mess tents, perhaps, or command posts. One of these occupied the centre 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 clusters 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 succour. There the most grievously wounded of Berek’s army carried on their faint and fading struggle for life.