Read Online Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant by Stephen R. Donaldson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
Ads: Link
sure that he had returned to her present. He may have sought to avoid
the pain of his conflicting purposes by remaining in the Land’s past; in a time when he could no longer serve either Cail’s devotion or Kastenessen’s loathing.
Hell, as far as she knew, he had arrived to aid and betray her outside the cave of the Waynhim before his own birth. And he had certainly brought the Demondim forward from an age far older than himself. But his strange ability to go wherever and whenever he
willed reassured her obliquely. It was another sign that the Law of Time retained its integrity.
No matter which era of the Earth Esmer chose to occupy, his life and experience remained consecutive, as hers did. His betrayal of her, and of the Waynhim, in the Land’s past had been predicated on his encounters with her among the Ramen only a few days ago. If he came to her now, in his own life he would do so after he had
brought the Demondim to assail her small company. The Law of Time required that, despite the harm which Joan had wrought with wild magic.
Even if he did hear her, however, he had given her no cause to believe that he could be summoned. He was descendedalbeit indirectlyfrom the Elohim; and those self-absorbed beings ignored all concerns but their own. Linden was still vaguely surprised that they had troubled to send warning
of the Land’s peril.
Nevertheless Esmer’s desire to assist her had seemed as strong as his impulse toward treachery. The commitments that he had inherited from Cail matched the dark desires of the merewives.
He might yet come to her.
She was not willing to risk banishing Covenant and Jeremiah with the Staff.
And she was not desperate enough to chance wild magic. But she had found her own strength in Glimmermere. She had felt its cold in the marrow of her bones. When a score of heartbeats had passed, and her call had not been answered, she raised her voice to a shout.
“Esmer, God damn it! I’m keeping score here, and by my count you still owe me!” Even his riven heart could not equate unleashing the
Demondimand the Illearth Stone with serving as a translator for the Waynhim. “Cail was your father! You can’t deny that. You’ll tear yourself apart. And the Ranyhyn trust me! You love them, I know you do. For their sake, if not for simple fairness!”
Abruptly she stopped. She had said enough. Lowering her head, she sagged as if she had been holding her breath.
Without transition, nausea began squirming in her guts.
She knew that sensation; had already become intimately familiar with it. If she reached for wild magic now, she would not find it: its hidden place within her had been sealed away.
She felt no surprise at all as Esmer stepped out of the sunlight directly in front of her.
He was unchanged; was perhaps incapable of change. If she had glimpsed him from a distance, only his strange apparel would have prevented her from mistaking him for one of the Haruchai. He had the strong frame of Stave’s kinsmen, the brown skin, the flattened features untouched by time. However, his gilded cymar marked him as a being apart. Its ecru fabric might have been woven from the foam of running seas, or from the clouds that fled before a thunderstorm, and its
gilding was like fine streaks of light from a setting sun.
But he stood only a few steps away; and at this distance, his resemblance to his father vanished behind the dangerous green of his eyes and the nausea he evoked as though it were an essential aspect of his nature. His emanations were more subtle than those of the Demondim, yet in his own way he seemed more potent and ominous than any of the Vile-spawn.
By theurgy if not by blood, he was Kastenessen’s grandson.
For a moment, nausea and perceptions of might dominated Linden’s attention. Then, belatedly, she saw that he was not alone.
A band of ur-viles had appeared perhaps a dozen paces behind him: more ur-viles than she had known still existed in the world; far
the pain of his conflicting purposes by remaining in the Land’s past; in a time when he could no longer serve either Cail’s devotion or Kastenessen’s loathing.
Hell, as far as she knew, he had arrived to aid and betray her outside the cave of the Waynhim before his own birth. And he had certainly brought the Demondim forward from an age far older than himself. But his strange ability to go wherever and whenever he
willed reassured her obliquely. It was another sign that the Law of Time retained its integrity.
No matter which era of the Earth Esmer chose to occupy, his life and experience remained consecutive, as hers did. His betrayal of her, and of the Waynhim, in the Land’s past had been predicated on his encounters with her among the Ramen only a few days ago. If he came to her now, in his own life he would do so after he had
brought the Demondim to assail her small company. The Law of Time required that, despite the harm which Joan had wrought with wild magic.
Even if he did hear her, however, he had given her no cause to believe that he could be summoned. He was descendedalbeit indirectlyfrom the Elohim; and those self-absorbed beings ignored all concerns but their own. Linden was still vaguely surprised that they had troubled to send warning
of the Land’s peril.
Nevertheless Esmer’s desire to assist her had seemed as strong as his impulse toward treachery. The commitments that he had inherited from Cail matched the dark desires of the merewives.
He might yet come to her.
She was not willing to risk banishing Covenant and Jeremiah with the Staff.
And she was not desperate enough to chance wild magic. But she had found her own strength in Glimmermere. She had felt its cold in the marrow of her bones. When a score of heartbeats had passed, and her call had not been answered, she raised her voice to a shout.
“Esmer, God damn it! I’m keeping score here, and by my count you still owe me!” Even his riven heart could not equate unleashing the
Demondimand the Illearth Stone with serving as a translator for the Waynhim. “Cail was your father! You can’t deny that. You’ll tear yourself apart. And the Ranyhyn trust me! You love them, I know you do. For their sake, if not for simple fairness!”
Abruptly she stopped. She had said enough. Lowering her head, she sagged as if she had been holding her breath.
Without transition, nausea began squirming in her guts.
She knew that sensation; had already become intimately familiar with it. If she reached for wild magic now, she would not find it: its hidden place within her had been sealed away.
She felt no surprise at all as Esmer stepped out of the sunlight directly in front of her.
He was unchanged; was perhaps incapable of change. If she had glimpsed him from a distance, only his strange apparel would have prevented her from mistaking him for one of the Haruchai. He had the strong frame of Stave’s kinsmen, the brown skin, the flattened features untouched by time. However, his gilded cymar marked him as a being apart. Its ecru fabric might have been woven from the foam of running seas, or from the clouds that fled before a thunderstorm, and its
gilding was like fine streaks of light from a setting sun.
But he stood only a few steps away; and at this distance, his resemblance to his father vanished behind the dangerous green of his eyes and the nausea he evoked as though it were an essential aspect of his nature. His emanations were more subtle than those of the Demondim, yet in his own way he seemed more potent and ominous than any of the Vile-spawn.
By theurgy if not by blood, he was Kastenessen’s grandson.
For a moment, nausea and perceptions of might dominated Linden’s attention. Then, belatedly, she saw that he was not alone.
A band of ur-viles had appeared perhaps a dozen paces behind him: more ur-viles than she had known still existed in the world; far
Similar Books
