Power That Preserves

  Covenant was deeply tired himself, but he ached to aid her. When she stumbled for the third time, and could hardly regain her feet, he demanded breathlessly across the wind, “Pietten, we’ve got to rest. We need fire and shelter.”

  “You are not hardy, Ringthane,” Pietten gibed. “Why do so many people fear you?”

  “We can’t go on like this.”

  “You will freeze to death if you stop here.”

  Painfully Covenant mustered the strength to shout, “I know that! Are you going to help us or not?”

  Pietten’s voice sounded oddly cunning as he replied, “We will be safer—beyond the river. It is not far.” He hurried on before Covenant could question him.

  Covenant and Lena made the effort to follow him and found that he had spoken the truth. Soon they reached the banks of a dark river flowing eastward out of the hills. It lay forbiddingly across their way like a stream of black ice, but Pietten jumped into it at once and waded straight to the opposite bank. The current was stiff, but did not reach above his knees.

  Cursing Covenant watched him go. His weariness multiplied his distrust; his instinctive leper’s caution was yowling inside him like a wounded animal. He did not know this river, but he guessed it was the Roamsedge, Ra’s northern boundary. He feared that Bannor and Foamfollower would not expect him to leave the Plains—if they were still alive.

  But he still had no choice. The Woodhelvennin was their only chance.

  “Will you halt there?” Pietten scoffed at them from the far bank. “Halt and die.”

  Hellfire! Covenant snarled to himself. He took Lena’s arm despite her angry efforts to pull away, and went down the bank into the river.

  His feet felt nothing of the cold, but it burned like numb fire into his lower legs. Before he had waded a dozen yards, his knees hurt as if his calves were being shredded by the river. He tried to hurry, but the speed of the current and the unevenness of the river bottom only made him trip and stagger brokenly. He clung to Lena’s arm and plowed onward with his gaze fixed on the bank ahead.

  When he stumbled up out of the river, his legs ached as if they had been maimed. “Damn you, Pietten,” he muttered. “Now we have got to have a fire.”

  Pietten bowed sardonically. “Whatever you command, Ringthane.” Turning on his heel, he ran lightly away into the low hills north of the river like a sprite enticing them to perdition.

  Covenant lumbered in pursuit, and when he crested the hill, he saw that Pietten had already started a fire in the hollow beyond it. Flames crackled in a dry patch of brambles and bushes. As Covenant and Lena descended toward it, the fire spread, jumping fiendishly higher and higher as it ran through the dead wood.

  They hastened fervidly to the blaze. Lena’s legs gave way at the last moment, and she fell to her knees as if that were the only way she could prevent herself from leaping into the flames. And Covenant spread his arms to the heat, stood on the very verge of the fire and threw open his jacket like an acolyte embracing vision. For long moments they neither spoke nor moved.

  But when the warmth melted the ice to make itself felt against Covenant’s forehead, started to draw the moisture in steam from his clothes, he stepped back a pace and looked about him.

  Pietten was leering at him mercilessly.

  He felt suddenly trapped, cornered; for reasons that he could not name, he knew he was in danger. He looked quickly toward Lena. But she was absorbed in the fire, oblivious. Unwillingly he met Pietten’s gaze again. That stare held him like the eyes of a snake, trying to paralyze him. He had to resist it. Without thinking, he growled, “That was a damn stupid thing to do.” He indicated the fire with a jerk of one hand. “A fire this big will throw light over the hill. We’ll be seen.”

  “I know.” Pietten licked his lips.

  “You know,” Covenant muttered mordantly. “Did it occur to you that this could bring a pack of marauders down on us?” He snarled the words thoughtlessly, but as soon as he had spoken them, they sent a stammer of fear through him.

  “Are you not grateful?” Pietten grinned maliciously. “You command fire—fire I provide. Is that not how men show their devotion to the Ringthane?”

  “What are we going to do if we’re attacked? She and I are in no condition to fight.”

  “I know.”

  “You know,” Covenant repeated. The upsurge of his trepidation almost made him stutter.

  “But no marauders will come,” the Woodhelvennin went on immediately. “I hate them. Pah! They slay Ranyhyn.”

  “What do you mean, they won’t come? You said”—he searched his memory—“you said they weren’t far behind. How in hell do you expect them to miss us in all this light?”

  “I do not want them to miss us.”

  “What?” The fear taking shape within him made him shout. “Hellfire! Make sense!”

  “Ringthane,” Pietten shot back with sudden vehemence, “this night I will complete the whole sense of my life!”

  The next instant he had returned to scorn. “I desire them to find us, yes! I desire them to see this blaze and come. Land friends—horse servants—pah! They torment the Ranyhyn in the name of faith. I will teach them faith.” Covenant felt Lena jump to her feet behind him; he could sense the way she focused herself on Pietten. In the warmth of the fire, he finally noticed what had caught her attention. It was the smell of blood. “I desire the Giant my benefactor and Banner the Bloodguard to stand upon this hillside and witness my faith.”

  “You said that they are dead! “Lena hissed. “You said that we would not see them again.”

  At the same time, Covenant croaked, “It was you!” His apprehensions burst into clarity. “You did it.” In the lurid light of the fire, he caught his first sure glimpse of his plight. “You’re the one who betrayed all those coverts!”

  Lena’s movement triggered him into movement. He was one step ahead of her as she threw herself at Pietten.

  But Pietten was too swift for them. He aimed his spear and braced himself to impale the first attack.

  Covenant leaped to a stop. Grappling frantically, he caught Lena, held her from hurling herself onto Pietten’s weapon. She struggled for one mute, furious moment, then became still in his grasp. Her bedraggled white hair hung across her face like a fringe of madness. Grimly he set her behind him.

  He was trembling, but he forced himself to face Pietten. “You want them to watch while you kill us.”

  Pietten laughed sourly. “Do they not deserve it?” His eyes flashed as if a lightning of murder played in back of them. “If I could have my wish, I would place the entire Ramen nation around this hollow so that they might behold my contempt for them. Ranyhyn servants! Pah! They are vermin.”

  “Render!” Lena spat hoarsely.

  With his left hand, Covenant held her behind him. “You betrayed those coverts—you betrayed them all. You’re the only one who could have done it. You killed the sentries and showed those marauders how to get in. No wonder you stink of blood.”

  “It pleases me.”

  “You betrayed the Ranyhyn!” Covenant raged. “Injured Ranyhyn got slaughtered!”

  At this, Pietten jerked forward, brandished his spear viciously. “Hold your tongue, Ringthane!” he snapped. “Do not question my faith. I have fought—I would slay any living creature that raised its hands against the Ranyhyn.”

  “Do you call that faith? There were injured Ranyhyn in that covert, and they were butchered!”

  “They were murdered by Ramen!” Pietten retorted redly. “Vermin! They pretend service to the Ranyhyn, but they do not take the Ranyhyn to the safety of the south. I hold no fealty for them.” Lena tried to leap at Pietten again, but Covenant restrained her. “They are like you—and that Giant—and the Bloodguard! Pah! You feast on Ranyhyn-flesh like jackals.”

  With an effort, Covenant made Lena look at him. “Go!” he whispered rapidly. “Run. Get out of here. Get back across the river—try to find Bannor or Foamfollower. He doesn’t care about you.
He won’t chase you. He wants me.”

  Pietten cocked his spear. “If you take one step to flee,” he grated, “I will kill the Ringthane where he stands and hunt you down like a wolf.”

  The threat carried conviction. “All right,” Covenant groaned to Lena. “All right.” Glowering thunderously, he swung back toward Pietten. “Do you remember ur-viles, Pietten? Soaring Woodhelven? Fire and ur-viles? They captured you. Do you remember?”

  Pietten stared back like lightning.

  “They captured you. They did things to you. Just as they did to Llaura. Do you remember her? They hurt her inside so that she had to help trap the Lords. The harder she tried to break free, the worse the trap got. Do you remember? It’s just like that with you. They hurt you so that you would—destroy the Ranyhyn. Listen to me! Foul knew when he started this war that he wouldn’t be able to crush the Ranyhyn unless he found some way to betray the Ramen. So he hurt you. He made you do what he wants. He’s using you to butcher the Ranyhyn! And he’s probably given you special orders about me. What did he tell you to do with my ring?” He hurled the words at Pietten with all his strength. “How many bloody times have you been to Foul’s Creche since this winter started?”

  For a moment, Pietten’s eyes lost their focus. Dimly he murmured, “I must take it to him. He will use it to save the Ranyhyn.” But the next instant, white fury flared in him again. “You lie! I love the Ranyhyn! You are the butchers, you and those vermin!”

  “That isn’t true. You know it isn’t true.”

  “Is it not?” Pietten laughed desperately. “Do you think I am blind, Ringthane? I have learned much in—in my journeys. Do you think the Ramen hold the Ranyhyn here out of love?”

  “They can’t help it,” Covenant replied. “The Ranyhyn refuse to go.”

  Pietten did not hear him. “Do you think the Bloodguard are here out of love? You are a fool! Bannor is here because he has caused the deaths of so many Ranyhyn that he has become a betrayer. He needs to betray, as he did the Lords. Oh, he fights—he has always fought. He hungers to see every Ranyhyn slain in spite of his fighting so that his need will be fed. Pah!”

  Covenant tried to interrupt, protest, but Pietten rushed on: “Do you think the Giant is here out of love? You are anile-sick with trust. Foamfollower is here because he has betrayed his people. Every last Giant, every man, woman, and child of his kindred, lies dead and moldered in Seareach because he abandoned them! He fled rather than defend them. His very bones are made of treachery, and he is here because he can find no one else to betray. All his other companions are dead.”

  Foamfollower! Covenant cried in stricken silence. All dead? Foamfollower!

  “And you, Ringthane—you are the worst of all. You surpass my contempt. You ask what I remember.” His spear point waved patterns of outrage at Covenant’s chest. “I remember that the Ranyhyn reared to you. I remember that I strove to stop you. But you had already chosen to betray them. You bound them with promises—promises which you knew they could not break. Therefore the Ranyhyn cannot seek the safety of the mountains. They are shackled by commitments which you forced from them, you! You are the true butcher, Ringthane. I have lived my life for the chance to slay you.”

  “No,” Covenant gasped. “I didn’t know.” But he heard the truth in Pietten’s accusation. Waves of crime seemed to spread from him in all directions. “I didn’t know.”

  Bannor? he moaned. Foamfollower? A livid orange mist filled his sight like the radiance of brimstone. How could he have done so much harm? He had only wanted to survive—had only wanted to extract survival from the raw stuff of suicide and madness. The Giants!—lost like Elena. And now the Ranyhyn were being driven down the same bloody road. Foamfollower? Did I do this to you? He knew that he was defenseless, that he could have done nothing to ward off a spear thrust. But he was staring into the abyss of his own actions and could not look away.

  “We’re the same,” he breathed without knowing what he was saying. “Foul and I are the same.”

  Then he became aware that hands were pulling at him. Lena had gripped his jacket and was shaking him as hard as she could. “Is it true?” she shouted at him. “Are they dying because you made them promise to visit me each year?”

  He met her eyes. They were full of firelight; they compelled him to recognize still another of his crimes. In spite of his peril, he could not refuse her the truth.

  “No.” His throat was clogged with grief and horror. “That’s only part— Even if they went to the mountains, they could still reach you. I—I”—his voice ached thickly—“I made them promise to save me—if I ever called them. I did it for myself.”

  Pietten laughed.

  A cry of fury and despair tore between her lips. With the strength of revulsion, she thrust Covenant from her, then started to run out of the hollow.

  “Stop!” Pietten barked after her. “You cannot escape!” He turned as she ran, following her with the tip of his spear.

  In the instant that Pietten cocked his arm to throw, Covenant charged. He got his hands on the spear, heaved his weight against Pietten, tried to tear the spear away. Pietten recoiled a few steps under the onslaught. They wrestled furiously. But the grip of Covenant’s half hand was too weak. With a violent wrench, Pietten twisted the spear free.

  Covenant grappled for Pietten’s arms. Pietten knocked him back with the butt of the spear and stabbed its point at him. Covenant threw himself to the side, managed to avoid the thrust. But he landed heavily on one foot, with the ankle bent under his weight.

  Bones snapped. He heard them retorting through his flesh as he crashed to the ground, heard himself scream. Agony erupted in his leg. But he made himself roll, trying to evade the jabs of the spear.

  As he flopped onto his back, he saw Pietten standing over him with the spear clenched like a spike in both hands.

  Then Lena slammed into the Woodhelvennin. She launched her slight form at him with such ferocity that he fell under her, lost his grip on the spear. It landed across Covenant.

  He grabbed it, tried to lever himself to his feet with it. But the pain in his ankle held him down as if his foot had been nailed to the ground. “Lena!” he shouted wildly. “No!”

  Pietten threw her off him with one powerful sweep of his arm. She sprang up again and pulled a knife out of her robe. Rage contorted her fragile face as she hacked at Pietten.

  He evaded her strokes, backed away quickly for an instant to gather his balance. Then, fiercely, he grinned.

  “No!” Covenant shrieked.

  When Lena charged again, Pietten caught her knife wrist neatly and turned the blade away from him. Slowly he twisted her arm, forcing her down. She hammered at him with her free hand, but he held her. She could not resist his strength. She fell to her knees.

  “The Ranyhyn!” she gasped to Covenant. “Call the Ranyhyn!”

  “Lena!” Using the spear, he lunged to his feet, fell, tried to crawl forward.

  Slowly, inexorably, Pietten bent her backward until she lay writhing on the ground. Then he pulled his sharp wooden stave from his belt. With one savage blow he stabbed her in the stomach, spiked her to the frozen earth.

  Horror roared in Covenant’s head. He seemed to feel himself shattering; stricken with pain, he lost consciousness momentarily.

  When he opened his eyes, he found Pietten standing in front of him.

  Pietten was licking the blood off his hand.

  Covenant tried to raise the spear, but Pietten snatched it from him. “Now, Ringthane!” he cried ecstatically. “Now I will slay you. Kneel there—grovel before me. Bring my dreams to life. I will be fair—I will allow you a chance. From ten paces I will hurl my spear. You may dodge—if your ankle permits. Do so. I relish it.”

  With a grin like a snarl on his face, he strode away, turned and balanced the spear on his palm. “Do you not choose to live?” he jeered. “Kneel, then. Groveling becomes you.”

  Numbly as if he did not know what he was doing, Covenant raised the t
wo fingers of his right hand to his mouth and let out a weak whistle.

  A Ranyhyn appeared instantly over the hillcrest, and came galloping down into the hollow. It was miserably gaunt, reduced by the long winter to such inanition that only its chestnut coat seemed to hold its skeleton together. But it ran like indomitable pride straight toward Covenant.

  Pietten did not appear to see it coming. He was in a personal trance, exalted by blood. Obliviously he drew back his arm, bent his body until his muscles strained with passion—obliviously he launched the spear like a bolt of retribution at Covenant’s heart.

  The Ranyhyn veered, flashed between the two men, then fell tumbling like a sack of dismembered bones. When it came to rest on its side, both men saw Pietten’s spear jutting from its bloodstained coat.

  The sight struck Pietten like a blast of chaos. He gaped at what he had done in disbelief, as if it were inconceivable, unendurable. His shoulders sagged, eyes stared widely. He seemed to lack language for what he saw. His lips fumbled over meaningless whimpers, and the muscles of his throat jerked as if he could not swallow. If he saw Covenant crawling terribly toward him, he gave no sign. His arms dangled at his sides until Covenant reared up in front of him on one leg and drove a sharp Stonedownor knife into his chest with both hands.

  Covenant delivered the blow like a double fistful of hate. Its momentum carried him forward, and he toppled across Pietten’s corpse. Blood pumping from around the blade scored his jacket, slicked his hands, stained his shirt. But he paid no attention to it. That one blow seemed to have spent all his rage. He pushed himself off the body, and crawled away toward Lena, dragging his broken ankle like a millstone of pain behind him.

  When he reached her, he found that she was still alive. The whole front of her robe was soaked, and blood coughed thinly between her lips; but she was still alive. He gripped the spike to draw it out. But the movement drew a gasp of pain from her. With an effort, she opened her eyes. They were clear, as if she were finally free of the confusion which had shaped her life. After a moment, she recognized Covenant, and tried to smile.