White Gold Wielder (57 page)

Yet it closed the last light out of the world, leaving Linden in darkness.

She lay outstretched on the turf. All will and movement were gone from her. She had no wish to lift her head, to stir from her prostration. The crushing weight of what she had learned deprived her of the bare desire to breathe. Her eyes accepted the rain without blinking.

The drizzle made a quiet stippling noise on the leaves and grass, a delicate elegy. She thought that it would carry her away, that she would never be asked to move again. But then she heard another sound through the spatter of drops: a sound like the chime of a small, perfect crystal. Its fine note conveyed mourning and pity.

When she looked up, she saw that Andelain was not altogether dark. A yellow light shed streaks of rain to the grass. It came like the chiming from a flame the size of her palm which bobbed in the air as if it burned from an invisible wick. And the dancing fire sang to her, offering her the gift of its sorrow.

One of the Wraiths of Andelain.

At the sight, pain seized her heart, brought her to her feet. That such things would be destroyed! That Covenant meant to sacrifice even Wraiths and Andelain on the altar of his despair, let so much lorn and fragile beauty be ripped out of life! Instinctively she knew why the flame had come to her.

“I’m lost in this rain,” she said. Outrage rose behind her clenched teeth. “Take me back to my people.”

The Wraith bobbed like a bow: perhaps it understood her. Dancing and guttering, it moved away through the drizzle. Droplets crossed its light like falling stars.

She followed it without hesitation. Darkness crowded around her and through her; but the flame remained clear.

It did not mislead her. In a short time, it guided her to the place where she had left her companions,

Under the Gilden, the Wraith played for a moment above the huge, sleeping forms of the First and Pitchwife. They were not natives of the Land. Unappalled by personal revenants, they slumbered in the peace of the Hills.

The flitting flame limned Vain briefly, sparked the rain beading on his black perfection so that he seemed to wear an intaglio of glisters. His ebon orbs watched nothing, admitted nothing. His slight smile appeared to have no meaning.

But Covenant was not there.

The Wraith left her then as if it feared to go farther with her. It chimed away into the dark like a fading hope. Yet when her sight adjusted to the cloud-closed night, she caught a glimpse of what she sought. In a low hollow to the east lay a soft glow of pearl.

She moved in that direction, and the light became brighter.

It revealed Thomas Covenant standing among his Dead. His wet shirt dung to his torso. Rain-dark hair straggled across his forehead. But he was oblivious to such things. And he did not see Linden coming. All of him was concentrated on the specters of his past.

She knew them by the stories and descriptions she had heard of them. The Bloodguard Bannor resembled Brinn too closely to be mistaken. The man in the grave and simple robe had dangerous eyes balanced by a crooked, humane mouth: High Lord Mhoram. The woman was similarly attired because she also was a former High Lord; and her lucid beauty was marred—or accentuated—by a prophetic wildness that echoed Covenant’s: she was Elena, daughter of Lena. And the Giant with laughter and certainty and grief shining from his gaze was surely Saltheart Foamfollower.

The power they emanated should have abashed Covenant, though it was not on the same scale as Kevin’s. But he had no percipience with which to taste their peril. Or perhaps his ruinous intent called that danger by another name. His whole body seemed to yearn toward them as if they had come to comfort him.

To shore up his resolve, so that he would not falter from the destruction of the Earth.

And why not? In that way they would be granted rest from the weary millennia of their vigil.

Must
, Linden thought. The alternative was altogether terrible. Yes. Her clothes soaked, her hair damp and heavy against her neck, she strode down into the gathering; and her rage shaped the night.

Covenant’s Dead were potent and determined. At one time, she would have been at their mercy. But now her passion dominated them all. They turned toward her and fell silent in mingled surprise, pain, refusal. Bannor’s face closed against her. Elena’s was sharp with consternation. Mhoram and Foamfollower looked at her as if she cast their dreams into confusion.

But only Covenant spoke. “Linden!” he breathed thickly, like a man who had just been weeping. “You look awful. What’s happened to you?”

She ignored him. Stalking through the drizzle, she went to confront his friends.

They shone a ghostly silver that transcended moonlight. The rain fell through their incorporeal forms. Yet their eyes were keen with the life which Andelain’s Earthpower and the breaking of the Law of Death made possible for them. They stood in a loose arc before her. None of them quailed.

Behind her, Covenant’s loss and love and incomprehension poured into the night But they did not touch her. Kevin had finally opened her eyes, enabled her to see what the man she loved had become.

She met the gazes of the Dead one by one. The flat blade of Mhoram’s nose steered him between the extremes of his vulnerability and strength. Elena’s eyes were wide with speculation, as if she were wondering what Covenant saw in Linden. Bannor’s visage wore the same dispassion with which Brinn had denounced her after the company’s escape from
Bhrathairealm
. The soft smile that showed through Foamfollower’s jutting beard underscored his concern and regret.

For a fraction of a moment, Linden nearly faltered. Foamfollower was the Pure One who had redeemed the
jheherrin
. He had once walked into lava to aid Covenant. Elena had been driven into folly at least in part by her love for the man who had raped her mother. Bannor had served the Unbeliever as faithfully as Brinn or Cail. And Mhoram— Linden and Covenant had embraced in his bed as if it were a haven.

But it had not been a haven. She had been wrong about that, and the truth appalled her. In her arms in Mhoram’s bed, Covenant had already decided on desecration—had already become certain of it.
It is his intent to place the white ring into Lord Foul’s hand
. After he had sworn that he would not. Anguish surged up in her. Her cry ripped fiercely across the rain.

“Why aren’t you
ashamed
?”

Then her passion began to blow like a high wind. She fanned it willingly, wanted to snuff out, punish, eradicate if she could the faces silver-lit and aghast in front of her.

“Have you been dead so long that you don’t know what you’re doing anymore? Can’t you remember from one minute to the next what matters here? This is
Andelain
! He’s saved your souls at least once. And you want him to destroy it!

“
You
.” She jabbed accusations at Elena’s mixed disdain and compassion. “Do you still think you love him? Are you that arrogant? What good have you ever done him? None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t been so eager to rule the dead as well as the living.”

Her denunciation pierced the former High Lord. Elena tried to reply, tried to defend herself; but no words came. She had broken the Law of Death. The blame of the Sunbane was as much hers as Covenant’s. Stricken and grieving, she wavered, lost force, and went out, leaving a momentary afterglow of silver in the rain.

But Linden had already turned on Bannor.

“And
you
. You with your bloody self-righteousness. You promised him service. Is that what you call
this
? Your people are sitting on their hands in Revelstone when they should be
here
! Hollian was killed because they didn’t come with us to fight those ur-viles. Caer-Caveral is dead and it’s only a matter of lime before Andelain starts to rot. But never mind that. Aren’t you satisfied with letting Kevin ruin the Land once?” She flung the back of her hand in Covenant’s direction. “They should be here to
stop him
!”

Bannor had no answer. He cast a glance like an appeal at Covenant; then he, too, faded away. Around the hollow, the darkness deepened.

Fuming, Linden swung toward Foamfollower.

“Linden, no,” Covenant grated. “Stop this.” He was close to fire. She could feel the burning in his veins. But his demand did not make her pause. He had no right to speak to her. His Dead had betrayed him—and now he meant to betray the Land.

“And
you
. Pure One! You at least I would’ve expected to care about him more than this. Didn’t you learn anything from watching your people die, seeing that Raver rip their brains out? Do you think desecration is
desirable
?” The Giant flinched. Savagely she went on, “You could’ve prevented this. If you hadn’t given him Vain. If you hadn’t tried to make him think you were giving him hope, when what you were really doing was teaching him to surrender. You’ve got him believing he can afford to give in because Vain or some other miracle is going to save the world anyway. Oh, you’re Pure all right. Foul himself isn’t that Pure.”

“Chosen—” Foamfollower murmured, “Linden Avery—” as if he wanted to plead with her and did not know how. “Ah, forgive. The Landwaster has afflicted you with this pain. He does not comprehend. The vision which he lacked in life is not supplied in death. The path before you is the way of hope and doom, but he perceives only the outcome of his own despair. You must remember that he has been made to serve the Despiser. The ill of such service darkens his spirit. Covenant, hear me. Chosen, forgive!”

Shedding gleams in fragments, he disappeared into the dark.

“Damnation!” Covenant rasped. “Damnation!” But now his curses were not directed at Linden. He seemed to be swearing at himself. Or at Kevin.

Transported out of all restraint, Linden turned at last to Mhoram.

“And you,” she said, as quiet as venom. “
You
. They called you ‘seer and oracle.’ That’s what I’ve heard. Every time I turn around, he tells me he wishes you were with him. He values you more than anyone.” Her anger and grief were one, and she could not contain them. Fury that Covenant had been so misled; tearing rue that he trusted her too little to share his burdens, that he preferred despair and destruction to any love or companionship which might ease his responsibilities. “You should have told him the truth.”

The Dead High Lord’s eyes shone with silver tears—yet he did not falter or vanish. The regret he emitted was not for himself: it was for her. And perhaps also for Covenant. An aching smile twisted his mouth. “Linden Avery”—he made her name sound curiously rough and gentle—“you gladden me. You are worthy of him. Never doubt that you may justly stand with him in the trial of all things. You have given sorrow to the Dead. But when they have bethought themselves of who you are, they will be likewise gladdened. Only this I urge of you: strive to remember that he also is worthy of you.”

Formally he touched his palms to his forehead, then spread his arms wide in a bow that seemed to bare his heart. “My friends!” he said in a voice that rang, “I believe that you will prevail!”

Still bowing, he dissolved into the rain and was gone.

Linden stared after him dumbly. Under the cool touch of the drizzle, she was suddenly hot with shame.

But then Covenant spoke. “You shouldn’t have done that.” The effort he made to keep himself from howling constricted his voice. “They don’t deserve it.”

In response, Kevin’s
Must
! shouted through her, leaving no room for remorse. Mhoram and the others belonged to Covenant’s past, not hers. They had dedicated themselves to the ruin of everything for which she had ever learned to care. From the beginning, the breaking of the Law of Death had served only the Despiser. And it served him still.

She did not turn to Covenant. She feared that the mere shape of him, barely discernible through the dark, would make her weep like the Hills. Harshly she replied, “That’s why you did it, isn’t it. Why you made the
Haruchai
stay behind. After what Kevin did to the Bloodguard, you knew they would try to stop you.”

She felt him strive for self-mastery and fail. He had met his Dead with an acute and inextricable confusion of pain and joy which made him vulnerable now to the cut of her passion. “You know better than that,” he returned. “What in hell did Kevin say to you?”

Bitter as the breath of winter, she rasped, “ ‘I’ll never give him the ring. Never.’ How many times do you think you said that? How many times did you promise—?” Abruptly, she swung around, her arms raised to strike out at him—or to ward him away. “You incredible bastard!” She could not see him, but her senses picked him precisely out of the dark. He was as rigid and obdurate as an icon of purpose carved of raw granite hurt. She had to rage at him in order to keep herself from crying out in anguish. “Next to you, my father was a hero. At least he didn’t
plan
to kill anybody but himself.” Black echoes hosted around her, making the night heinous. “Haven’t you even got the guts to go on living?”

“Linden.” She felt intensely how she pained him, how every word she spat hit him like a gout of vitriol. Yet instead of fighting her he strove for some comprehension of what had happened to her. “What did Kevin say to you?”

But she took no account of his distress. He meant to betray her. Well, that was condign: what had she ever done to deserve otherwise? But his purpose would also destroy the Earth—a world which in spite of all corruption and malice still nurtured Andelain at its heart, still treasured Earthpower and beauty. Because he had given up. He had walked into the Banefire as if he knew what he was doing—and he had let the towering evil burn the last love out of him. Only pretense and mockery were left.

“You’ve been listening to Findail,” she flung at him. “He’s convinced you it’s better to put the Land out of its misery than to go on fighting. I was terrified to tell you about my mother because I thought you were going to hate me. But this is worse. If you hated me, I could at least hope you might go on fighting.”

Then sobs thronged up in her. She barely held them back. “You mean everything to me. You made me live again when I might as well have been dead. You convinced me to keep trying. But you’ve decided to give up.” The truth was as plain as the apprehension which etched him out of the wet dark. “You’re going to give Foul your ring.”