The Runes of the Earth: The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant - Book One by Stephen R. Donaldson Page B

Linden after Covenant’s death while she had formed her new Staff of Law and unmade the Sunbane; begun the restoration of the Land. And when she had faded away, returned to her old life, they had carried with them the hope that she and Covenant had made for all the Earth.
    Thinking of the First and Pitchwife reminded her that her worries were like the difficulties of caring for Jeremiah, or of working at Berenford Memorial: transient things which could not disturb the choices she had made.
    She would have gone on, drawing solace from her memories; but an unexpected idea stopped her. Perhaps it would be possible to hide Joan from Roger. If the nurse on duty, Amy Clint’s sister Sara, moved Joan to another room—no, to a spare bed in County Hospital—Roger might not be able to find her. Certainly he would not be able to search for her without attracting attention. Bill Coty or one of his men—or even Sheriff Lytton—would have time to intervene.
    Then what would Roger do? What could he—?
    He would have no difficulty discovering Linden’s address.
    The phone’s shrill ring startled her so badly that she dropped her cup. It hit the floor as if in slow motion and bounced once, apparently held together by hot peppermint tea splashing past its rim: then it seemed to burst in midair. Shards and steaming tea spattered around her feet.
    None of her friends called her at home. Neither did her colleagues and staff. They all knew better. When they wanted or needed to get in touch with her, they dialed her pager—
    The phone rang again like an echo of the shattered cup.
    Roger, she thought dumbly, it was Roger, someone must have given him her number, it was unpublished, unlisted, he could not have found it out unaided. He meant to impose his insistence on the private places of her heart.
    And then: no, it was not Roger. It was about him. He had done something.
    Something terrible—
    The phone rested on an end table in the living room. She pounced for it as it rang a third time. Snatched up the handset; pressed it to her ear.
    She could not make a sound. Fright filled her throat.
    â€œDr. Avery?” a voice panted in her ear. “Linden? Dr. Avery?”
    Maxine Dubroff, who volunteered at the hospital.
    â€œI’m here.” Linden’s efforts to speak cost her a spasm of coughing. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œDr. Avery, it’s Bill—” Maxine’s distress seemed to block the phone line. What she needed to say could not get through. “He’s—Oh, dear God.”
    Linden’s brain refused to work. Instead it clung to the sound of Maxine’s voice as if it needed words in order to function. Still coughing, she managed to croak out, “Slow down, Maxine. Tell me what happened.”
    Maxine sucked in a harsh breath. “Bill Coty,” she said in pieces. “He’s dead.”
    The room around Linden seemed to veer sideways. Of course Maxine knew Bill: she knew everyone. But if the old man had collapsed at home—
    Linden had asked him to protect Joan.
    â€œShot.” Maxine’s voice came through the handset, jagged as chunks of glass. “In the head. By that—that—” She paused to swallow convulsively, as if her throat were bleeding.
    â€œMaxine.” Linden fought down more coughing. “Tell me what happened.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Doctor.” Now Linden heard tears in Maxine’s voice. “I’m just so upset—I should have called you sooner. I came as soon as I heard the sirens”—she and Ernie lived only a block and a half from Berenford Memorial—“but it didn’t occur to me that somebody hadn’t already called you. I wanted to help. Ernie told me you were worried about trouble. Bill called him about it. But I never expected—
    â€œThat young man. The one who was here this morning. He shot Bill Coty.”
    Ice poured along Linden’s veins. Her