Against All Things Ending (31 page)

“Listen!” Covenant panted in the
croyel
’s ear. “Pay attention.” Every word was a rasp of pain. “You know I can’t kill you without killing Jeremiah. I don’t have the right kind of power to keep him alive while I cut your throat. You know that. I know that. But you don’t know
me
. You don’t know how far I’m willing to go. If
you
had this knife, you would kill me in a heartbeat. So don’t try me.” Through his teeth, he repeated, “
Don’t try me
.”

Linden saw terror bubbling like a witch’s brew in the background of the creature’s stare.

As Covenant spoke, the gem of the
krill
began to shine more brightly. Soon its blaze seemed to efface the creature’s terrified eyes, its ready fangs, its malice. Exposed by incandescence, Jeremiah’s bones became visible through his vulnerable flesh. The heat flooding into Covenant stretched his face in a scream which he refused to utter.

Scowling as if they, too, were in agony, Galt and Clyme kept Covenant from falling; kept the
croyel
from pulling away.

Finally Linden’s cracked knee failed. If Bhapa and Pahni had not caught her arms, she would have prostrated herself on the wreckage of the floor.

She only knew that Esmer had returned amid a swarm of ur-viles and Waynhim because she felt like vomiting.

10.

By Evil Means

Kept upright only by the Cords, Linden stood like a ruin of herself; a crumbling edifice overgrown with consequences. The possibilities that she had surrendered to the Harrow had been restored. The warmth of the Staff lingered in her hands. While he lived, Stave would return Covenant’s ring to no one but her. But she had no idea what to do with such powers now. The cost—

The cost was of her own making, and it was too high.

She had exposed all of her friends to the source of Kevin’s Dirt. She had allowed Liand to be broken, perhaps killed. She had seen Stave nearly crippled by acid; had witnessed the Harrow’s murder. Helpless to stop either of them, she had watched Esmer transport Roger to safety or destruction. She had fought and fought, battling forces which surpassed her.

Because of her, Covenant’s hands—

This was the result. The Harrow’s remains lay, acid-bitten and melting, among the cracks and rubble of the floor. And Esmer had returned. She had no defense against him. The fact that the last ur-viles and Waynhim had arrived in his wake did not comfort her at all.

She had not slept since her first night in Andelain; had eaten nothing since her last meal of treasure-berries. Her emotional condition resembled her shirt: ripped along one hem to patch the Mahdoubt’s gown; plucked and snagged in headlong flight through Salva Gildenbourne; pierced by lead and death. The stains on her jeans mapped her fate:—
written in water
, the green sap of grass. Unexpressed tears filled her heart.

Leaning on one leg to spare her damaged knee, she could still feel the tremors of Esmer’s power in the marred stone.

On either side, Bhapa and Pahni supported her. Unlike Mahrtiir, the older Cord did not appear to feel diminished by crushing leagues of gutrock, beyond any prospect of open skies and plains and Ranyhyn. Accustomed to self-doubt, his concern was for his Manethrall and his companions, not himself. But Pahni was not merely daunted by powers and perils which other Ramen had never experienced. She was also terrified for Liand.

“Ringthane,” she breathed urgently. “Ringthane, heed me. Liand is grievously hurt. He nears death. Ringthane—Linden Avery—I love him. I implore your healing.”

Linden understood. Liand needed her. As did Stave. And perhaps Branl as well, although the Master would refuse her aid. The burns of the Giants tugged at her attention. But her heart wept for Jeremiah, who stood like a limp manikin in the
croyel
’s grasp. His bones shone as if they were on fire. She regarded the keen edge of the
krill
at the creature’s throat, and the killing brilliance of the gem, and Covenant’s unbearable courage, and could not move.

Covenant alone gave her any hope. With Loric’s blade, he had found a way to control the
croyel
. But he was failing. Joan’s power had done him irremediable harm, and it burned brighter with every passing moment—

God, Joan must hate him! Or perhaps he represented everything that she loathed in herself. Even
turiya
Herem’s possession hardly sufficed to account for her focused vehemence now. The Raver could only keep her alive, and fan the fires of her rage, and blaze with delight. He had not caused her long years of self-inflicted anguish.

Linden did not know why Covenant had not already screamed and fallen. To some extent, his leprosy shielded him. His proximity to the source of Kevin’s Dirt accentuated his affliction. The essential pathways of agony had been killed or cauterized. But still—

Was that his secret? The keystone of his impossible valor? Had alienation and numbness somehow made him more than human?

Around Linden, the rest of her companions gathered. Galesend bore Anele, who had fallen asleep again. Latebirth still carried Mahrtiir, while Onyx Stonemage cradled Liand’s unconscious form. Limping on gnawed legs, in feral pain which he refused to acknowledge, Stave preceded the Ardent. Wreathed in ribbands, the Insequent approached unsteadily. Stifling his confessed fears, he forced himself to join Linden’s friends. In a knot of cloth, he gripped Liand’s
orcrest
.

Among the Giants, ur-viles and Waynhim stood upright, or braced themselves on all fours, barking quietly: a low clamor of objurgation or alarm. The Ironhand gripped her stone glaive, poised to cut, against Esmer’s neck. But Esmer ignored her as if her great size and strength were trivial; meaningless. Distress seethed in his gaze: he seemed to weep like Linden’s heart.

He did not move—and Rime Coldspray did not. Her eyes were fixed on Jeremiah and Covenant and the
krill
.

Hoarsely Mahrtiir asked, “Do we confront the
croyel
?” Apparently the Staff in Linden’s hands had restored a portion of his health-sense. “Does this malice possess the Ringthane’s son?”

No one answered him. Like Pahni, Esmer studied Linden. The Ardent watched Cail’s son fearfully. Everyone else seemed transfixed by Covenant’s struggle to withstand Joan.

His hands would never be healed.

His scar reflected argent like a scream cut into the flesh of his forehead. His silver hair resembled flames of wild magic: his mind may have been on fire. In spite of his illness, he was wracked by so much pain—

As if he did not expect anyone to hear him, he gasped, “Joan knows what I’m doing.” His voice implied a wailing defeat. “Or
turiya
does. She’s stronger now. I’m not protecting the Arch. I can’t hold on.”

Linden would have been willing to maim herself for his sake; but she did not know how to block Joan’s madness. She had never known.

Covenant held the
croyel
. Clyme held Jeremiah.

Clarion and commanding, Stave demanded, “Branl! Galt!”

The Humbled must have heard Stave’s thoughts, understood his instructions. Striding forward quickly, Branl wrenched a wide band of ochre cloth from the hem of his tunic. Then he took Galt’s place supporting Covenant, gave the fabric to Galt.

At once, Galt folded the cloth over his right hand and reached to remove the
krill
from Covenant’s grasp; to assume Covenant’s threat against the
croyel
.

Linden caught her breath, bit her lip. She feared that Covenant’s hands were too badly burned to open. She expected his flesh to peel off the bones when he tried to unclose his fingers—or when Galt pried them loose. Unaware that she had moved, she stood at Covenant’s shoulder with the kind fire of Earthpower flowering from the Staff. While Galt extended his hand to replace Covenant’s, she sent rich flames to curl around Covenant’s forearms, fill his veins, save his fingers.

For the moment, she ignored the horror of her son’s straits. Instead she concentrated utterly and solely on the challenge of preserving Covenant’s hands so that he would be able to let go.

The effort tore a cry past Covenant’s restraint: a shocking howl. But Galt nudged gently at his fingers while Linden laved his suffering with Earthpower. One joint at a time, he released his grasp.

Immediately Branl pulled Covenant aside while Galt claimed High Lord Loric’s
krill
; accepted the task of restraining the
croyel
. With his left hand, Galt gripped Jeremiah’s shoulder so that Clyme could step away.

As soon as Covenant’s touch was withdrawn, Joan’s savagery faltered. She or
turiya
Raver must have sensed his absence: her efforts were useless now. Flickering, the gem faded to its more ordinary radiance. The
krill
’s heat remained, but it did not wound Galt’s wrapped hand.

Through the silence of the company, and the raw residue of acid in the air, Stave said flatly, “Well done.”

The Humbled appeared to ignore his approval.

Branl kept Covenant on his feet; but Linden closed her arms around him nonetheless, enfolding him in Earthpower and gratitude. How had he known that she needed him? That his own son had come to preserve Jeremiah’s victimization? She could not imagine how or why Covenant had responded. Yet somehow he had found his way through the maze of his memories as well as the bewildering wonders of the arcane palace for her sake, or for Jeremiah’s.

“Linden.” Covenant’s voice was a mere husk of sound. His pain ached in her arms. “Help Liand. We need him.” He was too weak and damaged to move. Nevertheless he seemed to push her away from him. “We need him.”

I wish I could spare you
.
But I can’t see any way around it
.

Pahni tugged as firmly as she dared at Linden. “Ringthane, I beseech you.” She may have been weeping. “If you will not heed me, harken to the Timewarden. Liand must have healing.”

Mahrtiir said something to Pahni—a reprimand? an admonition?—but Linden could not hear him. He was too far away; or her senses were deafened by Covenant’s extremity and the
croyel
’s thwarted ferocity and Jeremiah’s helplessness.

Abruptly Esmer blared, “Wildwielder, this is madness! Is it nothing to you that I have come, or that these Demondim-spawn have pursued me to their doom in your name? Will you waste the remnants of your life thus, accepting the ruin which my betrayals prepare for you? Is this death your heart’s true desire?”

The Ironhand pressed her sword against the side of Esmer’s neck. “Be still,
mere
-son,” she rasped through her teeth. “Some respite Linden Giantfriend must have. Many of us who name ourselves her friends have failed her. We will grant her this brief pause.

“I do not doubt that you are proof against my blade. But if I cannot have your life, I will have your silence.”

Esmer did not grant Coldspray the courtesy of a glance. “By my hand and your own folly,” he told Linden, “the slaughter of all whom you hold dear is imminent. Soon none of this company will remain to lament the ravage of the Earth. Will you condone this outcome merely because I propagate futility? Are you now content that all love and life must perish?”

Cursing, the Ironhand lowered her sword and raised her fist. With all of her bulk and muscle, she punched Esmer in the face.

She was a warrior: she had a warrior’s instincts.

Linden heard the sodden smack of knuckles on bone. Esmer’s head jerked back; snapped forward again. Blood oozed from a deep contusion on his cheek. The muscles at the corners of his jaw bunched and released, bunched and released, as if he were withholding a thunderstorm. But he did not acknowledge Rime Coldspray with so much as a flick of his eyes.

Nevertheless he fell silent.

Linden sagged as if she had suffered a new defeat.—
see any way around it
. The thought of leaving Covenant’s wounds without further care rent her. She had only begun—Still she compelled herself to step away.

Now she did not look at Jeremiah and Galt, the
croyel
and the
krill
. Help Liand. We need him. She wanted to hold Jeremiah in her arms before the world ended. She had come for that when she had failed or sacrificed every other purpose. But she could not touch him: not while the
croyel
ruled him. In this one respect, her health-sense was a weakness. The creature’s evil was too intimate: it would sicken her. And the
croyel
might extend its mastery into her if she embraced her son.

He may be freed only by one who is compelled by rage, and contemptuous of consequence
. Berek’s pronouncement seemed to refer to Jeremiah as much as to Lord Foul.

Will you condone this outcome—

Flagellating herself with dread and woe, she passed among the muttering ur-viles and Waynhim toward Onyx Stonemage. The Harrow’s corpse she ignored. Accompanied by Pahni’s anxiety, she approached Liand.

—merely because I propagate futility?

She would never forgive the old man in the ochre robe, the prophetic figure who should have warned her that she and Jeremiah were in danger. By his abandonment, he had betrayed her. If he had warned her, she would have fled, taking Jeremiah to a place where Roger could not find him. Every atrocity that had occurred since then—every abomination that Jeremiah and the Land had suffered, every crime that she herself had committed—would have been forestalled.

With each step, the pain in her knee increased. Her burned cheek seeped fluids. The nausea of Esmer’s presence galled her. She had to be stronger than this. Because she was needed, she used her Staff to soothe her stomach, relieve the burn on her cheek, seal her cracked kneecap. Then she forgot her own condition in order to focus on Liand.

He hung limp in Stonemage’s arms. Blood still pulsed from the corner of his mouth: a dwindling stream. His impact with Jeremiah’s construct may have broken his back. Certainly he had shattered ribs, ruptured his pleural membrane—and perhaps his lungs. And his head had hit the wall hard. Linden imagined cerebral hemorrhage and edema in addition to his other traumas. Brain damage. Coma.

“Liand.” Pahni murmured his name over and over again, beseeching him to live. “Liand.”

Stonemage offered to set him down. Linden shook her head. If any residue of the slain
skest
touched him—