Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (38 page)

Wearily she trailed behind Jeremiah as he followed Covenant, the Theomach, and Damelon out of the tent; away from needs that she could comprehend toward an unfathomable encounter with the dangers of time.

While she and her companions passed between Berek and Inbull, the Warhaft glared hatred at them. If he feared Berek’s wrath, he did not show it. Either he was too stupid to recognize his own peril, or he knew Berek better than she did.

As she had earlier, Linden walked along aisles of warriors who had

gathered to catch sight of the strangers. They all had their own wounds, their own ailments, their own yearning for restoration. But they kept their wonder and pain to themselves while she and her companions were led and warded by Damelon.

Berek’s tent was a frayed and soiled stretch of canvas supported by a single central pole. When Damelon ushered his charges inward, Linden found herself in a space large enough to hold

twenty or thirty warriors standing.

In every respect, Berek’s quarters were as rudimentary as the tents of the wounded. His pallet and blankets resembled the bedding of the fallen. Apart from a low table on which rested an old longsword in a plain scabbard and a wooden chest that-she could only guess-might hold maps, the tent had no other furnishings. Two small oil lamps hanging from the tent pole cast a dim yellow illumination that seemed

to shed no light, reveal nothing: the whole space was full of uncertainty like implied shadows. And scraps of ice still glazed the dirt floor. Her breath plumed as she looked around. She did not know how long she had labored at healing; but midnight had surely passed, and winter had sunk its teeth into every vulnerable instance of warmth.

After ushering Berek’s guests into the tent, Damelon ducked past the flaps to

call for braziers, honeyed wine, cured meat, dried fruit. When he returned, he said, “My lady, I crave your pardon. Our rude comforts are no true measure of our gratitude. The day will come when we stand again within the walls of Doriendor Corishev. Mayhap then you will permit us to celebrate your benisons in a more seemly manner.”

He may have been taught to speak so, with confidence and conviction, by his father’s knowledge of despair.

Linden sighed. “Don’t worry about it, please.” Barred from using the Staff, she had no defense against the cold except her cloak. And she was so tired-Already she had begun to shiver again. “We can only imagine what you’ve suffered. If you can give us heat and food, we’ll be all right.”

‘“All right,- Covenant muttered sourly. “Sure. Why not?”

The Theomach turned to him as if in

warning; but Damelon ignored both of them. Instead he studied Linden like a man who wanted to imprint her on his thoughts. “You are gracious, my lady. I will not question you. That is my lord Berek’s task. But warmth and viands you will have.” More softly, he said. “Soon you will be able to rest.”

Perhaps his own percipience had begun to awaken.

Moments later, the tent flaps were

pushed aside, and a pair of warriors entered, bearing a blackened metal brazier between them. It was full of coals and fire, so hot that it had to be carried on the shafts of spears. More warriors followed until the tent held four flaming pans. Then Berek’s people brought ironwood stands to support the braziers. By the time the men and women left, heat began to bless the air.

Then other warriors brought hard clay urns of warmed wine, its acidulous

aroma softened with honey. A tray laden with meat and fruit arrived. Linden, Covenant, and Jeremiah were given flagons: wine was poured for them. But the Theomach refused with a bow. Nor did he touch the food. Apparently he lived on some form of nourishment entirely his own.

For a long moment, Linden held the Staff in the crook of her arm and simply cupped her flagon with both hands, savoring its heat and its sweet

scent. Then she sipped gently. She had felt frozen for so long, in spite of her own efforts and Covenant’s to fend off the cold. If he and Jeremiah had not been somehow more than human, they would have suffered from frostbite.

Questions swirled around her, but she was too tired to sift them into any kind of order. What did the Theomach want with Berek? Why had Covenant lied about his vulnerability to Berek? How had Berek failed to discern lnbull’s

betrayal? And how could she and her companions hope to reach 11,Wenkunbn Skyweir? She had seen for herself that Berek would be able to offer them nothing except starving horses, tattered blankets, and a little food.

How much power did Jeremiah have? And how in God’s name could Linden try to learn the truth-any truth-when she had to guard against the possibility that some action or inaction of hers

might threaten the integrity of the Arch?

Ripples-As far as she knew, she had not altered the essential nature of Berek’s struggle, or the outcome of his war. Not yet. Otherwise the Theomach would have intervened. But even her trivial knowledge of the Land’s history could be fatal. With a word, she might affect Berek’s actions, or Damelon’s, altering the flow of cause and effect for generations.

The Theomach was right: she had to let him speak for her as much as she could-and to pray that Covenant would do the same in spite of his resentment.

She was not conscious of hunger; but she forced herself to chew a little tough meat and dried fruit, washing them down with honey and acid. She had to be able to think clearly, and could not imagine doing so.

Lost in questions, she ignored

Damelon’s departure. But then he returned, bearing a bowl of hot water and some relatively clean scraps of cloth. These he offered to Linden, suggesting that she tend to Jeremiah’s injury.

“I can’t,” she muttered before she could catch herself. “He doesn’t want me to touch him.”

The Hand gave her a perplexed frown.

While he hesitated, however, the Theomach stepped forward. “Nonetheless, my lord Damelon,” he said smoothly. “the cleansing of her son’s wound will comfort the lady.” Turning to Jeremiah, he inquired, “Will you permit me?”

“I don’t need-” Jeremiah began, but a fierce glare from Covenant stopped him. “You’re right,” he told the Theomach with a shrug. “It’ll make Mom feel better.”

Covenant kept his right hand grimly in his pocket.

Saluting as he had to Berek, the Theomach accepted the bowl and rags from Damelon’s mystified hands. His manner suggested pity as he moistened a cloth, then reached out carefully to stroke drying blood away from Jeremiah’s cheek and eye.

That task should have been Linden’s. For a moment, her grief became a kind

of rage, and she trembled with the force of her desire to extract real answers from her companions. But she contained herself. There was too much at stake for anger. Her emotions would exact too much from those who needed her.

For a moment, the Theomach continued to wash Jeremiah’s wound assiduously. Jeremiah suffered the Insequent’s ministrations with glum resignation. And Covenant took long

draughts of the harsh wine with an air of outrage, as if he were swallowing insults. Then Linden felt Berek approaching: his aura of Earthpower, compassion, and grimness preceded him like a standard-bearer.

Damelon seemed to become aware of his father’s nearness almost as soon as Linden did. Bowing to her, the Hand murmured. “My lady,” and left the tent.

When Berek entered, he came like a

man wreathed in storms. Indignant lightnings flickered in the depths of his eyes, and his expression was a thunderhead. Linden might have flinched if she had believed, even for an instant, that his ire was directed at her; or at Jeremiah and Covenant. But she grasped instinctively that he would not have been so unguarded if any of his guests had angered him.

“What have you done about Inbull, my lord?’ she asked without thinking.

“He’s betraying you. You must know that?’

The Theomach stiffened, but did not speak. Instead he dabbed at Jeremiah’s eye as if he had heard nothing to alarm him.

Berek took a moment to compose himself. He poured wine into a flagon, drank a bit of it, grimaced ruefully. When he faced Linden’s question, he had set aside his personal storm.

“The Warhaft has betrayed us. He betrays us still. Therefore he is of use.

“It is well that you did not accuse him in his presence. He believes himself unsuspected. Rather I have encouraged him to consider that he is secretly valued for his harshness. This night, I have strengthened his

misapprehension.” The memory brought back Berek’s anger and disgust, although he did not unleash them. “He has contrived a means to

communicate with the commander of our foes. Warmark Vettalor is a man with whom I am well familiar. We served together before my Queen broke with her King. I know his method of thought. Through Inbull, I am able to supply the Warmark with lies”-Berek snarled the words-“which he will credit. While the Warhaft’s falseness remains unexposed, I hold an advantage which Vettalor does not suspect.

“I loathe such deceit,” the first Halfhand admitted bitterly. “But my forces do not suffice to defeat Vettalor’s. And I have no source of supply apart from the battlegrounds where I prevail, and the food which I scavenge from needy villages, while Vettalor retreats ever nearer to the wealth of Doriendor Corishev. It would be false service to my Queen, and to my warriors, and to my oath, if I declined the benefits of Inbull’s treachery.”

Which explained his ire and disgust, Linden mused. It explained why despair clung to him in spite of his salvation by the FireLions and his subsequent victories. By his severe standards, he bartered away his self-respect to purchase victory.

The Old Lords were all about despair. It gave them some of their greatest victories. To that extent, at least, Covenant had told her the truth. It’s what saved Berek.

With an effort, Linden said quietly, “I see the problem.” She wanted to cry out, He hit my son! But larger considerations-Berek’s as well as her own-restrained her.

Whatever the Theomach’s motives might be, he had given her good advice.

Nevertheless she pushed Berek further. “What did you tell Inbull about us?” She wanted some indication,

however oblique, of where she and her companions stood with the future High Lord.

Drinking again, Berek replied, “Naught. His uncertainty concerning you will serve me well. I have merely”-his voice carried a sting of repugnance- “assured him privily that I find worth in his brutality.”

Flourishing his arm in an obvious attempt to attract Berek’s attention, the

Insequent finished cleaning Jeremiah’s wound. With the blood and grime gone from her son’s face, Linden saw to her surprise that he had already begun to heal. Despite the swelling, he could slit open his left eye. To her ordinary senses, his eye itself appeared bloodshot, but essentially undamaged.

When Berek voiced his approval of the Theomach’s care, the wrapped man replied, “My lord, it suffices that I have been of service. If I may say so without

disrespect, however, greater matters than this boys hurt or lnbull’s betrayal lie between us. We would do well to speak of them while we may.”

“Perhaps.” Berek’s worn sound grated against the Theomach’s light assurance. “Certainly you are strange to me. And your offer of aid is disquieting, for it appears to be given without cause. We will speak of it. If my many needs compel me to endure lnbull’s betrayals, I can refuse no other

assistance. But the queries which fill my heart pertain chiefly to the lady Linden.

“Of her companions, I ask nothing. She has vouched for them, and her word contents me. To them I say only”-now he turned to Linden’s son and the Unbeliever-“Jeremiah, Covenant, I regret that my use of Inbull has harmed you. If you wish any boon that I may grant in my present straits, you need merely name it.”

Jeremiah ducked his head; said nothing. Glowering with the heat of embers in his eyes, Covenant muttered, “Just give Linden whatever she wants so we can leave. Were in a hurry. We shouldn’t be here at all.”

“My lord Berek,” the Theomach put in insistently, “you do well to accept the lady’s word. And the man suggests truly that his only desire is to depart. Will you not accept my word also? The powers which this man and this boy

aye, and the lady also-command have no meaning here. Her purpose, and that of her companions, lies at a great distance from all that you do. It will in no wise affect you. For the sake of your many needs, you must speak to me.”

Berek folded his arms across his thick chest. In a voice as heavy as his hands, he announced. “Stranger, I do not accept your word. Yet we will speak, since you would have it so. If

you seek to be heeded, tell me what you are.”

“My lord,” the Theomach replied promptly, “I am three things. First, I am a seeker after knowledge. My people live in a land too distant to be named, for its name would convey nothing. We have no concern for the small affrays of the Earth. Yet we wander widely-though ever alone-questing for knowledge wherever it may be gleaned. My questing has brought me to you.”

While the Insequent answered, Linden crossed the tent to align herself with Covenant and Jeremiah. They had brought her here. Although she did not trust Covenant, he and her son were her only defense against Berek’s probing.

“Second,” the Theomach continued, “I am a warrior of considerable prowess. At your leisure, you may test my claim in any form that pleases you. For the present, I will state plainly that none of

your foes can stand against me in battle.”

Whispering in the hope that only Covenant and Jeremiah would hear her, Linden asked. “Is that true?”

Perhaps Berek did not hear her. If he did, he kept his attention and his deep gaze fixed on the Theomach.

But Covenant was less discreet. “Hell, yes,” he growled. “You have no idea.

You’ve seen that knowledge he’s so proud of in action. Think about what he could do in a fight.”

If the Theomach were able to step between moments, he could strike as often as he wished without being seen or opposed—

Still he spoke as if he and Berek were alone. “Third,” he continued, “I am a teacher. Much has occurred to you and within you that remains unexplained. I