Free Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant by Stephen R. Donaldson Page A

instant, he gave her the impression that he was engaged in a fierce battle with himself. Then he resumed his scorn.
    God, she wished that the DemondimŹspawn would shut up—
    “It is your assertion that I am in your debt,” Esmer said as if he were jeering. “I concur. Therefore I have gathered these makings from the past, for their
    kind has perished, and no others exist in this time. They retain much of the dark lore of the Demondim. They will ward you, and this place”—he nodded in the direction of Revelstone—”with more fidelity than the Haruchai, who have no hearts.”
    Covenant had said that he did not expect the horde to attack for another day or two. Could so many ur-viles and Waynhim working together contrive a viable defense? If she ended the threat
    of the II!earth Stone?
    She had already made her decision about the Stone. Its powers were too enormous and fatal: she could not permit them to be unleashed. Nonetheless she shook her head as though Esmer had not affected her.
    That tells me what they can do,” she replied through the tumult of barking. It doesn’t tell me why you brought them here. With you, everything turns
    into a betrayal somehow. What kind of harm do you have in mind this time?”
    He gave her another exaggerated sigh. “Wildwielder, it is thoughtless to accuse me thus. You have been informed that ‘Good cannot be accomplished by evil means,’ yet you have not allowed the ill of your own deeds to dissuade you from them. Am I not similarly justified in all that I attempt? Why then do you presume to weigh my deeds in a more exacting
    scale?”
    Linden was acutely aware that the “means” by which she had reached her present position were questionable at best: at worst, they had been actively hurtful. She had used Anele as if he were a tool; had violated Stave’s pride by healing him; had endangered the Arch of Time simply to increase her chances of finding her son. But she did not intend to let Esmer deflect her.
    She met his disdain with the fierceness of Glimmermere’s cold and strength. “All right,” she returned without hesitation. “We’re both judged by what we do. I accept that. But I take risks and make mistakes because I know what I want, not because I can’t choose between help and hurt. If you want me to believe you, answer a straight question.”
    She needed anything that he could reveal about Covenant and Jeremiah;
    needed it urgently. But first she had to break down his scorn. It protected his strange array of vulnerabilities. He would continue to evade her until she found a way to touch his complex pain.
    “You don’t want to talk about what you’ve just done,” she said between her teeth. “That’s pretty obvious. Tell me this instead.
    “Who possessed Anele in the Verge of Wandering? Who used him to talk to
    the Demondim? Who filled him with all of that fire? Give me a name.”
    Covenant and Jeremiah had been herded—If she knew who wished them to reach her, she might begin to grasp the significance of their arrival.
    The abrupt silence of the Waynhim and ur-viles seemed to suck the air from her lungs: it nearly left her gasping. Their raucous clamor was cut off as if they were appalled. Or as if
    Trying to breathe again, she swallowed convulsively.
    —as if she had finally asked a question that compelled their attention.
    Now Esmer did not merely flinch. He almost appeared to cower. In an instant, all of his hauteur fled. Instead of sneering, he ducked his head to escape her gaze. His cymar fluttered about him, independent of the breeze, so that its sunset gilding covered him in
    disturbed streaks and consternation.
    Together all of the Demondim-spawn, those behind him as well as those with Linden, advanced a few steps, tightening their cordon. Their wide nostrils tasted the air wetly, as though they sought to detect the scent of truth; and their ears twitched avidly.
    When Esmer replied, his voice would have been inaudible without the silence.
    “You