Gritting his teeth, Covenant followed Stonemage with Linden, Jeremiah, and Stave. Among them, Branl strode along like a man whose uncertainties had become faith.
This passage also ascended and dipped as it wandered; but now each rise took the company higher into the mountain. Covenant had no idea where he was in relation to the ancient Heart of Thunder. His human memories of the catacombs were confused by the dangers which he and his companions had faced then. Surrounded by this darkness, this weight of stone, he could not imagine how far he still had to go.
Tired as he was, the erratic climb felt long. The vagaries of the rough corridor blocked his view in both directions: he could not see beyond the krill. Like the Giants ahead of him, those behind seemed insubstantial, as if they had faded from the world. Only Linden and Jeremiah were real. Branl, Stave, and Onyx Stonemage.
But then the tunnel angled downward so sharply that Covenant had to lock his knees to keep his balance. When he was free to look up again, he saw the end of the passage, an opening into a wider space. From his perspective, that space resembled a pit, black and bottomless. But the figures walking into and through it demonstrated that it was not deep.
As he followed Branl into the cave, he found his companions gathering near its center. The Ironhand and Cirrus Kindwind. Four of Stoutgirth’s sailors. And Masters—
Their number confused him until he realized that more Haruchai had joined the company. They bowed to the Giants, gazed with closed faces at Covenant and Linden. Then they spread out around the space, leaving only scarred Canrik with Rime Coldspray.
The cave was vaguely circular, with walls that looked natural rather than hewn, and a knuckled ceiling like an array of clenched fists. The floor was a complex jumble of fallen rocks on sunken patches where the underlying granite had contracted or cooled, sending a fretwork of narrow cracks through the surface. Four more tunnels opened like throats at irregular intervals around the walls: gullets choked with darkness where the light did not penetrate. In pairs, the Masters moved to stand guard at each entrance.
“Thomas?” Linden asked softly. “Where are Pahni and Bhapa?”
“They’ll come.” Covenant tried to sound sure. The Wightwarrens were vast; but when the mental communion of the Haruchai reached enough of their people—
When or if.
She frowned. “We need them. The Masters seem to think that I can answer their questions, but I probably can’t.” She fell silent briefly. Then she added like a sigh, “I want to see Pahni and Bhapa again.”
“Me, too,” he muttered. He had already lost too many friends—and he was going to lose more. He did not know how to avoid it.
He and Linden greeted Coldspray and Kindwind, acknowledged Wiver Setrock and the other sailors. Covenant scowled at Canrik, thinking, Be careful what you say. Be very careful. But he did not warn the Master aloud. Instead he turned to watch the Anchormaster and the remaining sailors enter the cave.
Both Furledsail and Blustergale were helping Baf Scatterwit now. She had torn open the stump of her ankle trying to walk as if she had not lost her foot, and every step left smears of blood. Nevertheless she grinned hugely as she rejoined her comrades.
A few moments later, Grueburn, Bluntfist, and five Masters entered the small cavern. They arrived at a trot, but they slowed when they saw the rest of the company. Carmine streaks stained their limbs, their tunics and cataphracts; but little of the blood was theirs. They did not move like people with injuries. The two Swordmainnir approached their Ironhand. Dast, Ard, and Ulman joined the Haruchai keeping watch at the entrances. Vortin and Samil took places with Canrik.
Rime Coldspray’s jaws worked as if she were chewing curses. “Here the Masters require answers,” she grated, “though every delay serves our foes.”
“We do,” said Canrik, impervious to her indignation. “We comprehend exigency. Nonetheless we will await the coming of the Voice of the Masters, and of the Ramen Cords. Our thoughts have reached out to other Masters, and thence to more distant kinsmen. Handir and those with him now hasten toward us. They will stand in the presence of the ur-Lord before the end. They will demand sooth from Linden Avery, who has brought the Worm upon us, and has given rise to falsehoods.”
Covenant beat his fists together, punching the hard circle of his wedding band to control his ire. Linden was right. He repeated that to himself again and again. She was right. He could do nothing against Lord Foul if the Masters refused him. Five Swordmainnir, eight Giants from Dire’s Vessel, Stave, and Branl were not enough to oppose thousands of Cavewights, never mind Roger and moksha Jehannum and any other force that the Despiser summoned.
Distinctly Jeremiah said, “You don’t know Mom.” His eyes looked blank, as if he were thinking about something else. From his hands, black power ran like oil through the Staff’s runes. “Why would she lie? She isn’t afraid of you.”
Just for an instant, Linden’s features crumpled. Then she covered her face with her hands. When she lowered them again, her expression had hardened, and the gaze that she fixed on Canrik was bleak.
As if he were choking, Covenant asked the Master, “How long do you expect us to just stand here?”
Canrik regarded him gravely. “The pursuing Cavewights have been slain. No others gather within reach of our discernment. We conclude that they do not know where to seek for us. No assault is imminent.” He glanced around at the Giants. “And your companions must welcome any respite.”
He appeared to believe that his reply would content Covenant.
Covenant said nothing. In spite of his weak sight, he could see that the attitudes of the Masters had changed. They had recovered from their initial surprise. Now they conveyed more anger. They appeared to feel betrayed, not by Covenant himself, but by the fact of his presence. And they blamed Linden—
Days ago, they had been misled by an image of Covenant. When Roger had ridden disguised by glamour into Revelstone with Jeremiah and the croyel, the Masters had failed to discern the truth. They had reason for doubt.
Nevertheless Covenant wanted to yell at them. Linden had already endured too much from Handir and the other Masters. She did not deserve more.
Uncharacteristically brusque, Stoutgirth Anchormaster told his crew to distribute food and water. Before they could comply, however, more Masters began to arrive. In groups of four, they entered the cave from various passages: a score of Haruchai; then two score. To the Giants, they bowed impassively. To Linden and Covenant, they gave flat stares as fierce as castigations. Jeremiah they seemed to ignore. Then they spread out to form a cordon around the company; but whether they did so to defend Covenant, Linden, and Jeremiah, or to defend against them, Covenant could not tell.
Handir had once threatened to wrest Linden’s implements of power from her.
I won’t stand for it, Covenant told himself. I can’t.
But he could not make the Masters’ decisions for them. The necessity of freedom belonged to them, as it did to everyone else.
Still pressures rose like water within him. Soon he would have to start raging at somebody, anybody, for no better reason than because he needed an outlet.
He bit down on his tongue to stifle a shout when Handir finally strode into the cave.
The silver of Handir’s hair, and the scars which seamed his visage and forearms like emblems, testified to his years and stature. He was the Voice of the Masters, accustomed to authority.
Three of his people accompanied him, but they were not alone. Among them, they escorted Manethrall Mahrtiir’s Cords, Bhapa and Pahni.
At the sight, Covenant’s anger fell away like a wave from a cliff. He could see that the Cords had changed. The Pahni whom he had known might have forgiven Linden for refusing to attempt Liand’s resurrection. That girl might have run to hug Linden; might have shed tears of gratitude and relief. And brave, diffident Bhapa would have stood back only because he did not consider himself important enough to demand attention.
Not now. Somehow both of the Ramen had inherited Ma
hrtiir’s spirit. Pahni swept forward like a striking raptor, and her eyes were bright with vindication, keen as whetted iron. Bhapa approached more slowly, but not because he was reluctant or daunted. Rather he walked with the firm tread of a man who had been flensed of his weaknesses.
The two of them gave the impression that they had brought the Masters from Revelstone by force of will.
Pahni offered the Ironhand a Ramen bow. The Cord’s gaze flicked among the Swordmainnir, counted their losses. Then she bowed again more deeply, acknowledging their fallen. But she did not greet Covenant. Although her eyes widened when she saw the Staff in Jeremiah’s hands, her attention did not linger on him.
The look that she fixed on Linden was simultaneously proud and defiant. She seemed to dare Linden to tell her that she had done wrong.
Linden started toward the girl, then stopped herself, biting her lip. Her eyes were bruises.
Bhapa’s manner was more reserved. He honored Coldspray and her comrades formally. To Covenant, he bowed as well, saying only, “Timewarden.” His brows lifted as he regarded Jeremiah; but he, too, did not pause for wonder. In a voice as tight as a rope, he said, “Some tidings we have received from Handir. We have been assured that Manethrall Mahrtiir has not fallen. For that we are grateful. But the tale of his transformation we must hear at another time.” Then the Cord came to stand in front of Linden.
Her arms lifted to him, but he did not grant her an embrace. Instead he sank to the stone; prostrated himself before her as if she had become his suzerain, as honored as a Ranyhyn.
“Bhapa—” Linden’s voice broke. “Oh, Bhapa.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “What are you doing? What’s happened to you?”
Severely the Cord rose to his knees. After studying her face for a moment, he stood. Dampness softened his gaze, but his manner did not relent. He spoke as if he were offering a pledge.
“Linden Avery, Ringthane and Chosen, I cry your pardon. I will account for my deeds. But I must first assure you that Cord Pahni is innocent of fault. She spoke as she did at my command. The blame of the outcome is mine and no other’s.”
Clarion as a whinny, Pahni announced, “He has become my Manethrall. He has honored my life with service. Where he leads, I follow gladly.”
God in Heaven, Covenant thought. What have you done?
Linden bit her lip again, struggling to contain a torrent of emotions.
Just for an instant, Jeremiah looked like he wanted to put his arms around her. But he caught himself, stepped back. He had known Bhapa and Pahni only for a short time—and only through the veil of the croyel’s derision. He did not know how to interpret what was happening.
Frowning, Handir had contained himself while the Cords preceded him. Now he spoke.
“I am Handir,” he said in an astringent tone, “by right of years and attainment the Voice of the Masters. Much lies between us. It must be answered.
“We have learned to our cost that our discernment cannot pierce the glamour of Corruption’s servants. Here we behold one who appears to be the ur-Lord, yet we have seen his like before. We require some assurance that he is indeed the ur-Lord rather than a new display of glamour.”
Linden flinched. Disapproval spread among the Swordmainnir. Branl allowed himself a scowl. Stave’s mouth tightened.
But Covenant responded first. Handir’s challenge brought back his anger in a rush.
“Oh, stop,” he snarled. “Branl must have told you who I am. Are you so sick with suspicion that you can’t even trust one of the Humbled? The last of the Humbled?
“Here, I’ll show you.”
Fiercely he stamped toward Jeremiah. To Jeremiah’s surprise, Covenant slapped his halfhand onto the black wood, gripped it for a moment. Then he wheeled to face Handir again.
“Do you remember the test of truth? I thought you remembered everything. When Roger was pretending to be me, he didn’t let Linden use the Staff. Hell, he didn’t even let her touch him. Now she’s my wife. My wife, do you understand?”
The Haruchai were passionate about their mates—
Through his teeth, Covenant gritted, “I don’t know what’s bothering you people. I don’t really care. You want answers? If you keep this up, you’ll all answer to me.”
Then he stopped. Handir’s evident satisfaction silenced him. Now he realized that Handir’s demand had served an oblique purpose. Inadvertently Covenant had just confirmed Handir’s authority; his right to judge.
It was possible that Handir had not doubted Covenant’s identity—
The idea made Covenant reel. What had Bhapa and Pahni told the Masters?
With a defiance of his own, Stave said impassively, “Be at ease, Timewarden. The Masters crave stone, yet they stand upon quicksand. They are indeed misled. Uncertain of his devoir, Handir masks his deeper apprehensions.”
The Voice of the Masters did not react to Stave’s assertion.
“Then get to it,” Covenant told Handir. “At least one of us will by God answer your questions.”
Deliberately Vortin and Samil moved to stand beside their leader. They appeared to ask or expect Branl to join them; but the Humbled remained with Covenant and Linden, Jeremiah and Stave.
Sensitive to the tensions in the cave, Bluff Stoutgirth took his crew aside; out of the way. Glowering, Rime Coldspray did the same with her comrades, although the Swordmainnir plainly wanted to defend their friends. The cordon of the Masters tightened around them all. Within it, Pahni remained nearby, apparently waiting. But Bhapa stood with his back to Handir, facing Covenant and Linden. Again Covenant felt the force of the former Cord’s new demeanor, his earned severity.
“Cord,” Handir said harshly: a reprimand or a warning.
Bhapa ignored him.
“Ringthane and Timewarden,” the older Raman began, precise as a garrote, “the wrath of the Masters is mine to endure. You had no part in their misapprehension. Their umbrage rests, not upon a falsehood, but upon a withheld truth. For this, I again cry your pardon, Ringthane. The choice was mine. Cord Pahni spoke as she did at my command.”
“And would do so again,” declared Pahni. “I serve my Manethrall as I do the Ranyhyn.”
But Bhapa did not pause for her. “The dilemma of the Masters is this. They did not know of your return, Timewarden, because I did not permit them to know. They were informed of the rousing of the Worm. They were told of the Worm’s hunger for the Blood of the Earth. But naught was said concerning your resurrection, Timewarden. Your name was not spoken. I did not concede the knowledge that you were restored to us by the selfsame deed which awakened the Worm.”
In spite of their stoicism, Handir, Canrik, and the other Masters betrayed their indignation. Branl must have explained Covenant’s return. Nevertheless they were unprepared for Bhapa’s confession. Millennia ago, the Bloodguard had trusted the Ramen—
“Rather, Ringthane,” the older Cord continued to Linden, “I encouraged them in their belief that the blame for the world’s doom is yours.” His tone was a strangle-hold. “Speaking as I had instructed her, Pahni gave them cause to imagine that your sole purpose from first to last has been the restoration of your son, that you have given no heed to the havoc which you have unleashed. Therefore the Masters have come seeking retribution for the final crime of the Earth.”
Covenant listened with his mouth open, wordless and appalled. Linden stared as if Bhapa had betrayed her: a man who had sworn himself to her. The Giants cursed softly, gripping their weapons. Only Jeremiah did not react. Apparently images of the Worm had reclaimed him.
Then Handir barked, “Enough! Am I a child, that a Raman must assume my place?”
Swift as threats, Samil and Vortin approached Bhapa. They grasped him roughly, dragged him aside.
Linden looked like she might wail. To restrain her, distract her, Covenant said reflexively, “This is my fault.” Her distress was worse than his. She already blamed herself—“I should have told Bhapa and Pahni what to say. I didn’t because I thought the Ma
sters deserved a chance to make their own decisions. It never occurred to me—”
What had possessed the Cords?
Linden did not look at him. Her whole face seemed to plead with Bhapa.
Ignoring Handir’s indignation, Bhapa told her, “Faithful to his word, the Ardent delivered us to the vicinity of Revelstone. There we were able to speak privately ere the Masters greeted us. The burden of my wishes I gave to Cord Pahni because her need was plain. I prayed that her passion would prevail where my own ire might undermine me.”
He tried to say more; but Samil silenced him with a hand on his throat: a choke which nearly lifted him from his feet.
Without transition, Covenant’s wedding band burned. Sudden fire crowded his mind, straining for release.
The threat to the Cord was too much for the Swordmainnir. In an instant, Rime Coldspray reached Samil and Bhapa, her glaive in her hands. Frostheart Grueburn followed a step behind her.
Around them, the cordon of Masters closed like a noose. Giants brandished their weapons: swords and spears. Pahni’s garrote appeared in her fists.
“Handir!” Covenant snapped. “Handir!”
Handir’s jaws bunched. He nodded once.
Samil released Bhapa. Samil and Vortin stepped back.
Covenant took a deep breath, made an effort to quench his heart’s fire.
In a small voice like a cry, Linden asked, “Why, Bhapa? Why did you do that?”
Handir spoke over her. To the Ironhand, he said, “Withhold your blows. You cannot stand against us. For that reason, we will not strike. We scorn unequal combat. Samil sought only to impose silence upon the Cord.”
Reluctantly Coldspray sheathed her sword. Grueburn and the other Giants lowered their weapons. As they did so, the Masters relaxed their ring around the company.
Their Voice faced Linden. “We share your query, Linden Avery. We will hear it answered. But first we must have some confirmation of what has occurred.”
Before she—or Bhapa—could protest, Handir turned, not to Covenant, but to Branl.
“Are your thoughts sooth?” he demanded in the full light of High Lord Loric’s krill. “Stave has learned concealment. Therefore he is suspect. Concealment enables falsehood. Are you now likewise capable of falsehood?