“Thank you,” she said gravely. “That helps.” Then she faced Stave. “And thank you. I need to know anything that you can tell me. Even if it makes me crazy.” She grimaced ruefully. “But Mahrtiir is right. I can’t think about everything right now. We have too many problems. I need to take them as they come.
“We’re running out of time. I know that. Those Demondim aren’t going to wait much longer.” And when they resumed their siege, they would unfurl the full virulence of the IIIearth Stone from its source in the deep past. “But I can’t worry about them yet.” She knew what she had to do. “First I need to talk to Covenant and Jeremiah.”
The gloom on the upland continued to darken as storm clouds hid the sun.
“I hope that you’ll forgive me,” she told Stave. “There might be things that I can’t talk about in front of you.” Not until she knew more about the Unbeliever and her son-and about where she stood with them. “If you can still hear the Masters’ thoughts, I have to assume that they can hear yours. And if they even half believe that Jeremiah is a threat- ” She swallowed a lump of distress. “I can’t take the chance that they’ll get in my way.”
Stave faced her stolidly. “No forgiveness is needful. I do not question you. The Masters are indeed able to hear my thoughts-should they deign to do so. Speak to me of nothing which may foster their opposition.”
Mutely Mahrtiir gave the former Master a deep Ramen bow. And Linden squeezed his shoulder. She wanted to hug him-to acknowledge his understanding as well as his losses-but she did not trust herself. Her emotions gathered like the coming storm. If she could not emulate his stoic detachment when she confronted Covenant and her son-and if they still refused her touch-she would be routed like a scatter of dry leaves.
Millennia ago, Covenant had promised that he would never use power again. But he was using power now: he was folding time. He might ask for his ring. Why else had he come so unexpectedly? He might demand-
And somehow Jeremiah had obtained his own magic.
If either of them accepted Linden’s embrace now, she would certainly lose control of herself. And she feared the costs of her vulnerability.
At the end of the long tunnel down into the ramified convolutions of Revelstone, Linden, Stave, and Mahrtiir were met by Galt of the Humbled. He greeted them with a small inclination of his head, hardly a nod, and announced that he would guide the Chosen to speak with ur-Lord Thomas Covenant.
Linden paused to address Mahrtiir and Stave again. “I have to do this alone.” Her voice was tight with trepidation. “But I hope that you’ll stay nearby, Stave.
“Mahrtiir, it might be a good idea to take Liand and the others to Glimmermere. Drink the water. Go swimming. Anele won’t, but the rest of you will be better off.” Unnecessarily she added, “There’s a storm coming, but it doesn’t feel like the kind of weather that can hurt you.”
When the Manethrall had bowed to her and walked away, she returned her attention to Galt.
“All right,” she said softly. “Let’s do this. I’m tired of waiting.”
Saying nothing, the Humbled led her and Stave into the intricate gutrock of Revelstone’s secrets.
The way had been prepared for her, by the Masters if not by Revelstone’s servants. Torches interspersed with oil lamps lit the unfamiliar halls, corridors, stairs. Some of the passages were blunt stone: others, strangely ornate, elaborated by Giants for reasons entirely their own. But the inadequate illumination left the details caliginous, obscure.
As Galt guided her downward and inward, she sensed that he was taking her toward the Keep’s outer wall where it angled into the northwest from the watchtower. The complications of his route-abrupt turns, ascents instead of descents, corridors that seemed to double back on themselves-might have confused her; but her refreshed percipience protected her from disorientation. Concentrating acutely, she felt sure that she was nearing her destination when the Humbled steered her into a plain hallway where there were no more lamps or torches after the first score or so paces.
Beside the last lamp, a door indistinguishable from the one to Linden’s quarters defined the wall of the corridor. She wanted to pause there, rally her courage, before she faced the uncertain possibilities behind the door. But when Galt knocked, a stone-muffled voice called promptly, “Come in.”
Even through the barrier of rock, she seemed to recognise Covenant’s stringent tone; his harsh commandments.
Without hesitation, Galt pressed the door open and gestured for Linden to enter.
Even then she might have faltered. But from beyond the doorway, she heard the faint crackle and snap of burning wood, saw firelight reflect redly off the stone. And there was another glow as welclass="underline" not the flame of lamps or torches, but the tenebrous admixture of the fading day.
Such homely details steadied her. Very welclass="underline" Thomas Covenant and her son were still human enough to want a fire against the residual chill of the stone, and to leave their windows open for the last daylight. She would be able to bear seeing them again.
Even if they still refused her touch-
For a brief moment, she braced herself on Stave’s inflexible aura. Then she left him in the corridor. Biting her lip, she crossed the threshold into the chambers that the Masters had made available to Covenant and Jeremiah.
As she did so, Galt shut the door. He remained outside with Stave.
She found herself in a room larger than her own small quarters. A dozen or more people could have seated themselves comfortably around the walls: she saw almost that many stone chairs and wooden stools. Among them, a low table as large as the door held the remains of an abundant repast-bread and dried fruit, several kinds of cured meat, stew in a wide stoneware pot, and clay pitchers of both water and some other drink which smelled faintly of aliantha and beer. The floor was covered to the walls by a rough flaxen rug raddled to an ochre like that of the robe of the old man who should have warned her of her peril.
A large hearth shining with flames occupied part of the wall to her left. Above it hung a thick tapestry woven predominantly in blues and reds which must have been bright until time had dimmed their dyes. The colours depicted a stylised central figure surrounded by smaller scenes; but Linden recognised nothing about the arras, and did not try to interpret it.
Four other doors marked the walls. Three of them apparently gave access to chambers that she could not see: two bedrooms, perhaps, and a bathroom. But the fourth stood open directly opposite her, revealing a wide balcony with a crenellated parapet. Beyond the parapet, she could see a sky dimmed by late afternoon shadows.
On this side, Revelstone faced somewhat east of north. Here the cliffs which protected the Keep’s wedge and the plateau cut off direct sunshine. From the balcony, the fields that fed Revelstone’s inhabitants would be visible. And off to the right, along the wall toward the southeast, would be at least a glimpse of the massed horde of the Demondim.
Then Thomas Covenant said her name, and she could no longer gaze anywhere except at him-and at her son.
Her pulse hammered painfully in her chest as she stared at Covenant and Jeremiah. They were much as she had seen them in the forehall; too explicitly themselves to be anyone else despite their subtle alterations. Jeremiah sprawled with the unconsidered gracelessness of a teenager in one of the stone chairs, grinning with covert pleasure or glee. Although Lord Foul must have tortured him-must have been torturing him at this moment-his features retained their half-undefined youth. But the imminent drooling which had marked his slack mouth for years was gone. An insistent tic at the corner of his left eye contradicted his relaxed posture.