It might have belonged to Thomas Covenant. The last two fingers had been cut away, leaving a ragged scar in their place. Its smooth pallor suggested that the mutilation had been performed long ago, perhaps in Galt's youth-or his childhood.

At the sight, she flinched, stung by a sudden host of memories. With his maimed right hand, Covenant had drawn her toward sunlight and love aboard Starfare's Gem. He had worn his wedding ring on the last finger of that hand. And she herself had cut away two of Jeremiah's fingers in order to save the rest.

Beware the halfhand. Covenant and Jeremiah.

Now she had found another among the Masters.

"Linden?" Liand asked anxiously. She could not conceal her reactions from him. He had begun to know her too well; or his proximity to the Staff preserved the vestiges of his healthsense.

But she ignored his concern. The inferences which she had drawn about Anele seemed to carry her further.

Now she saw implications, portents, too complex for her to articulate. Hugging the Staff to her chest, she asked brusquely, "Tell me about your hand."

The Master did not deign to glance down at his missing fingers. "I am honored to be among the Humbled."

She swallowed curses and waited for him to go on.

"When the Haruchai determined to take upon themselves the burdens of Mastery," Galt said flatly, "they recognized their peril. It is the peril of Korik, Sill, and Doar.

"Their tale is surely known to you. Ruled by the Illearth Stone, they were made to serve Corruption.

First they were maimed to resemble the Halfhand, ur-Lord Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever. Then they were sent to bear battle and despair against the Council of Lords. Thus was the Vow of the Bloodguard tarnished, and their service brought to an end."

Linden knew the story: she had heard it from Stave only a few days ago. Still it filled her with dread.

Without haste or emphasis, Galt stated, "The fault of Korik and Sill and Doar lay in this, that they allowed their ire at the destruction of the Unhomed to sway them. They believed that the outrage in their hearts would raise them to the stature of terrible banes and deathless malice. From their example, the Haruchai learned the peril of such passions. When we determined to become the Masters of the Land, we determined also that we would commit no similar fault.

"Therefore in each generation three among us are selected to be the Humbled, so that the Masters will not neglect their resolve, or set it aside. Our hands are severed to resemble Korik's, and Sill's, and Doar's.

Among our people, we embody the error which destroyed the service of the Bloodguard. While the Humbled live, the Masters will not forget their peril."

Linden stared at him in dismay. The judgments of the Haruchai continued to appall her. Again you have shamed me with your healing. Stave believed that he deserved the consequences of his failure to defeat insurmountable odds. And Galt considered his mutilation an honor Her voice nearly failed as she asked, "How did they pick you?"

"Chosen," he replied, "I challenged others of my people, and was not defeated."

Linden winced. "You wanted this? You wanted to be maimed?"

He regarded her gravely. "There is no higher place among us. Only the Voice of the Masters commands greater deference, and even he will accede when the Humbled speak as one."

Commands greater deference-Abruptly new suggestions swept through her; hints of insight like a glimpse into the secret hearts of the Masters. Hardly aware of what she did, she closed the door on Galt.

Then she leaned her forehead against the cool stone.

He had given her what she needed.

Now she knew how she would argue for Anele's release. The Haruchai had founded their Mastery of the Land on a profound misapprehension.

Perhaps she would be able to postpone making use of the old man's madness a little longer.

When the rush of inferences had passed, she turned back to Liand and the Mahdoubt. The older woman was looking at her, apparently studying her; and for the first time Linden could see the mismatched color of her eyes. Her left was the rich blue of violets, but her right held a startling orange which gave the impression that it was about to burst from her head.

In spite of her strangeness, however, the Mahdoubt emanated a comfortable kindness that appealed to Linden. With the last of her dwindling percipience, she saw both solid health and untroubled beneficence in the woman. In response, she felt unexpectedly protective of the Mahdoubt. At the same time, she yearned to be protected by her.

Before either the older woman or Liand could speak, Linden asked, "You're a servant? Why do you do it?

Let the Masters wait on themselves. Why should it be your job to make their lives easier?"

Liand nodded his agreement.

But the question did not ruffle the Mahdoubt. Indeed, she appeared to occupy a space beyond the reach of disturbance. "Pssht, lady," she replied. "Fine sentiments, assuredly. The Mahdoubt sees that your heart is great. Upon occasion, however, it misleads you.

"There is no dishonor in service. The Mahdoubt labors here, assuredly, and her tasks are weary. Yet by her efforts she is fed and clad and warmed. At night she sleeps beyond harm in a kindly bed, with no rough words.

"Lady, the Mahdoubt has lived too many years to find pleasure in the tending of sheep and cattle. The endless labors of crops and farming exceed her old bones. She and others-pssht, lady, there are many others-are grateful to end their days in the service of Revelstone.

How otherwise should they provide for themselves?"

The older woman's orange eye appeared to flare briefly. "Is there some miscomprehension here?" she asked herself. "Assuredly.

"Lady, the Mahdoubt does not 'wait' upon the Masters. They are who they are, and require no care.

Her labors serve the great Keep and all those within it who lack the sufficiency of Masters."

Comforted by the Mahdoubt's answer, Linden found herself smiling at last. "I'm sorry." She could hardly remember the last time she had smiled at all. "I shouldn't jump to conclusions like that. I'm just frustrated by all this Haruchai purity and absolutism.

After a while, I can't help assuming the worst."

Again Liand nodded.

"Assuredly, lady," muttered the Mahdoubt.

"Assuredly. Think no more on it. Is the Mahdoubt affronted? She is not. Indeed, the days when aught vexed her are long past."

In the same tone, she added, "Does the wonder of my gown please you?" She indicated her jarring robe.

"Are you gladdened to behold it? Yes, assuredly, it must be so. How should it be otherwise? Every scrap and patch was given to the Mahdoubt in gratitude and woven together in love."

Linden smiled again. "It's extraordinary." She did not know what else to say. Certainly she had no wish to deny the older woman's pride in her garment.

Liand cleared his throat. "That it is woven in love cannot be mistaken," he remarked politely. "If I may say so without offense, however, the gratitude is less plain to me. Will you not speak of it, that I may see your gown more clearly?"

The Mahdoubt faced him with her plump fists braced on her hips. "Foolish boy, you must not tease the Mahdoubt so." Her tone suggested tart amusement.

"Matters of apparel are the province of women, beyond your blandishment. The lady grasps the presence of gratitude. And if she does not"-her blue eye flicked a quick glance at Linden-"yet she will. Oh, assuredly. It is as certain as the rising and setting of the sun."

Before he could respond, she turned for the door.

"You must have food. And then you must sleep.

Assuredly. Your need for both is great.

"The Mahdoubt will return with a second tray."

At once, she bustled out of the room as if her movements were as irresistible as tides.

As the door closed, Liand met Linden's gaze with a perplexed smile. "That," he said in bafflement, "is an unforeseen woman. I suspect that I should be wary of her, yet I feel only fondness. She has comforted me, Linden." He sighed. "I do not understand it."

Linden frowned. "Makes you want to curse Kevin's Dirt, doesn't it." Because her percipience had dwindled, she had felt unable to see deeply into the Mahdoubt.

A grin quirked Liand's mouth. "Assuredly." But then his humor fell away. "It is as you say. The loss of my senses is bitter to me. Until we sojourned among the mountains, and all the Land was reborn in my sight, I did not comprehend evil. It has become plain to me now." Sadness darkened his eyes as he spoke. "Beyond question the Falls are a great evil. Yet I deem them a little wrong beside the deprivation imposed by Kevin's Dirt. It has blinded the people of my home, and perhaps all the folk of the Land, to the meaning of their lives."

The lament in his words touched Linden. "Maybe there's something I can do about that," she said grimly. "This is the Staff of Law, for God's sake." She held its reassuring clarity close to her heart. "Once I've slept for a while," and had some food, "I intend to find out just how powerful Kevin's Dirt is."

Liand replied with a dark grin of anticipation. In the brief time that she had known him, he had become a man who wanted to fight; to strike blows in the Land's defense, although he had no power, and could not hope to stand against Lord Foul.

The change in him affected her like the Mahdoubt's strange aura. She had relied on his protection from the first. And in turn she ached to protect him. But she did not know how.

he and Liand shared the contents of the Mahdoubt's tray in silence. His desire for talk was palpable; yet tact or empathy kept him quiet. Wordlessly he seemed to recognize that Linden needed to be left in peace.

She valued his consideration. For the most part, however, her thoughts had shifted, leaving him in the background. Galt had evoked memories which she was too weary to suppress. With the last of her waning strength, she clung to images of Jeremiah, and tried to think clearly.

Years before she had met him, Thomas Covenant had once refused the Land for the sake of a snakebitten girl. Linden understood his decision. She would do the same for Jeremiah, if she could find no other way to save him. But in his place the Masters would not have made the same choice. For them, the Land's peril would outweigh the suffering of one lost child.

She knew, however, that she was not being fair to them. Her situation, and theirs, differed from Covenant's in one important respect. He had refused the Land's distant plight for the sake of a child in immediate peril. For Linden and the Masters, the immediate peril was the Land's: the distant plight, Jeremiah's.

Good cannot be accomplished by evil means.

She could not use Covenant's example to explain or excuse her decisions.

At last, Liand rose to his feet and announced that he would leave: he must have been able to see that she was about to fall asleep in her chair. She thanked him wanly and let him go.

Trapped in her thoughts, she had not realized how badly she wanted sleep.

But possible horrors followed her into the bedroom.

When she had unwrapped the towels and stretched herself out among the rough blankets, she feared that she would not be able to relax. Then she feared that she would, and that ghouls would ride her dreams, tormenting her with sorrow.

Rising to use the bathroom a short time later, however, she found that the daylight filtering through the shutters over her window had become darkness, and the fire in her hearth had died to embers. Somehow night had fallen without her notice.

And in her front room a tray mounded with food had replaced the one which she and Liand had emptied.

The Mahdoubt must have slipped into her quarters while she slept.

Linden had forgotten to latch the door when Liand left.

Nevertheless this evidence of the older woman's care released knots of tension in her. The Mahdoubt's kindliness seemed to dismiss nightmares and doom.

Hardly aware of what she did, Linden set the latch, tossed more wood into the fireplace, and extinguished all but one of the lamps. Then she toppled like a felled tree back into bed and slept again.q~_e ./Casters jtIe Lane Later she heard Covenant calling her name. "Linden,"

he said, and again, "Lin .L den," insistently, warning her of imminent danger.

She knew that she ought to heed him, rouse herself; make choices which her companions could not gainsay or refuse. But instead she endeavored not to hear him, thinking that if she could make herself deaf he would go away. Perhaps he would cease to exist, and then all of her woes would end at last.

Nevertheless he continued to insist. For reasons which she could not explain, he shone a flashlight into her eyes. He commanded an illumination which pierced her, made her squirm.

A muted thudding accompanied it, a sound like the distant drumbeat which heralded the collapse of worlds.

But when she tried to blink away the dazzle and coercion, she found herself squinting into a fine slit of sunlight which struck her face between the slats of the shutter above her bed. The voice intruding on her dreams was Liand's, not Covenant's: less strict than Covenant's; and anxious for her. At intervals, he knocked on her door, attempting to urge her awake.

With a groan, Linden hauled herself out of bed.

How long had she slept? She had no idea. She felt sodden with sleep, waterlogged with dreams: she had soaked up too much rest to reach wakefulness easily.

"Coming," she muttered, although she knew that her muffled voice would not be heard through the heavy door. "Damn it, I'm coming. Let me get some clothes on."

Even in the worst emergencies, her former life had not required her to leave home without clothes.

By the time she had pulled on her jeans, however, and buttoned her shirt, the familiar urgency of sudden awakenings had caught up with her. God, what could have happened? Had the Demondim broken into Revelstone?

Why had they taken so long? They had the Illearth Stone Still barefoot, she padded to the door and opened it on Liand's concern and Galt's impassivity.

"What?" Her voice was rough with alarm. "What is it?"

Then she stopped, silenced by the abrupt realization that her healthsense was now entirely gone. She could not discern the extent or nature of Liand's concern.

The polished stone of the Keep was closed to her, lifeless as a sepulcher.

Although she had expected the loss, it hurt her nonetheless.

"Linden," the Stonedownor murmured as if he were embarrassed. "I crave your pardon. I was loath to awaken you, but the Master would have done so if I did not. The Voice of the Masters has summoned you.

The time has come to speak of Anele's imprisonment"- he dropped his gaze uncomfortably-"and of other matters."

She waved a hand to dismiss his apology. "Don't worry about it." She could not afford to grieve over the effects of Kevin's Dirt. "I should have been awake hours ago."

How had she slept so long? She would not have believed that her fears and frustrations would allow her to rest so deeply.

Turning to the Humbled, she asked, "What are the Demondim doing? Are we under attack?"

Without her healthsense, she would not have known it if the Vile-spawn had torn down the watchtower and shattered the gates.

Galt regarded her without expression. "It is strange, Chosen," he admitted as though the information did not interest him. "Yesterday they arrayed themselves as they would in preparation for a siege. During the night, however, they withdrew. There is now no sign of them within sight of Lord's Keep. Scouts have been sent to determine if they have truly abandoned their intent against us. Those Masters have not yet returned."

Linden stared at him. "They're gone? Is that even possible?" The horde had seemed so single-minded in its hunger for bloodshed. "Kevin's Dirt doesn't affect you. Do you mean to tell me that you can't even sense the Illearth Stone?"

What had Anele's possessor said to the Demondim?

What did that fiery being want? And why were its desires heeded by the Demondim?