One Tree (37 page)

With an effort, she asked, “What did that Caitiffin say to the Harbor Captain?”

Slowly Honninscrave replied, “Its purport was no other than the words he addressed to us—a strong reproof for trespass upon the
gaddhi
’s will to welcome us. Yet his vehemence itself suggests another intent. In some way, this welcome is not merely eager. It is urgent. I suspect that Rire Grist has been commanded not to fail.”

Linden looked away. She had been hoping for some clearer revelation. Dully she murmured, “We’ve already made this decision—when we chose to come here in the first place.” Her attention kept slipping away toward the Sandhold. Immense powers lay hidden within those blank walls. And powers were answers.

The Giants regarded each other again. When the First nodded grimly, Honninscrave straightened his shoulders and turned to Sevinhand. “Anchormaster,” he said quietly, “I leave Starfare’s Gem in your hands. Ward it well. Our first requirement is the safety of the Giantship. Our second, stone for Pitchwife’s wiving. Our third, replenishment of our stores. And you must contrive means to send warning of any peril. If you judge it needful, you must flee this Harbor. Do not scruple to abandon us. We will essay to rejoin you beyond the Spikes.”

Sevinhand accepted the command. His lean and weathered face showed no hesitance. Risk and decision were congenial to him because they distracted him from his old melancholy.

“I will remain with Starfare’s Gem,” Pitchwife said. He looked uncomfortable at the idea. He did not like to leave the First’s side. “I must begin my wiving. And at need Sevinhand will spare me to convey messages to the Sandhold.”

Again the First nodded. Honninscrave gave Pitchwife’s shoulder a quick slap of comradeship, then faced toward the afterdeck. In a clear voice, he said, “Storesmaster, you may release the Harbor Captain. We will accept the
gaddhi
’s gracious hospitality.”

Above the ships, the crows and gulls went on calling as if they were ravenous.

Linden followed Honninscrave, the First, and Seadreamer down from the wheeldeck to rejoin the Caitiffin. She was trying to decide whether or not she should make an effort to prevent Brinn from taking Covenant to the Sandhold. She was instinctively leery of that place. But the haze on her thoughts blurred her thinking. And she did not want to be parted from him. He looked so vulnerable in his slack emptiness that she yearned to stand between him and any danger. Also, she was better able than anyone else to keep watch over his condition.

The Harbor Captain had already escaped over the side of the
dromond
, his dignity in disarray. Rire Grist delivered himself of several graceful assurances concerning the
gaddhi
Rant Absolain’s pleasure at the company’s acceptance of his welcome; and Honninscrave responded with his own grave politesse. But Linden did not listen to either of them. She was watching Vain and Findail.

They approached the gathering together as if they were intimately familiar with each other. However, Vain’s ambiguous blackness formed an acute contrast to Findail’s pale flesh, his creamy raiment and expression of habitual misery. The erosion of his face seemed to have worsened since Linden had last looked at him; and his yellow eyes conveyed a constant wince, as though Vain’s presence were a nagging pain to him.

Clearly they both intended to accompany her and Covenant to the Sandhold.

But if Rire Grist felt any surprise at the strangeness of these two beings, he did not show it. Including them in his courtesies, he started back down to the pier. The Giants made ready to follow him. The First gave Pitchwife a brief intent farewell, then swung over the side after the Caitiffin. Honninscrave and Seadreamer went next.

Supporting Covenant between them, Brinn and Hergrom paused at the railing as if to give Linden a chance to speak. But she had nothing to say. The lucidity oozed from her thoughts like the sweat darkening the hair at her temples, Brinn shrugged slightly; and the
Haruchai
lowered Covenant past the rail into Seadreamer’s waiting grasp.

For a moment longer, she hesitated, trying to recover some clarity. Her percipience read something covert in Rire Grist: his aura tasted of subtle ambition and purposive misdirection. Yet he did not appear evil. His emanations lacked the acid scent of malice. Then why was she so uneasy?

She had expected Vain and Findail to follow Covenant at once; but instead they were waiting for her. Vain’s orbs revealed nothing, perhaps saw nothing. And Findail did not look at her; he seemed reluctant to confront her penetration.

Their silent attendance impelled her into motion. Walking awkwardly to the rail, she set her feet on the rungs of the ladder and let her weight pull her down to the pier.

When she joined the company, the other four soldiers dismounted, and the Caitiffin offered their destriers to her and her immediate companions. At once, Brinn swung up behind one of the saddles. Then Hergrom lifted Covenant to sit between Brinn’s arms. Ceer and Hergrom each took a mount, leaving one for Linden and Cail. Now she did not let herself hesitate. These beasts were far smaller and less threatening than the Coursers of the Clave. Though she had no experience as a
horsewoman, she put a foot in the near stirrup, grasped the pommel with both hands, and climbed into the seat. In an instant, Cail was sitting behind her.

While Rire Grist mounted his own beast, his cohorts took the reins of their destriers. Honninscrave and the First positioned themselves on either side of the Caitiffin; Seadreamer moved between the horses which bore Covenant and Linden. Ceer and Hergrom followed, with Vain and Findail behind them. In this formation, they left the pier and entered the town of
Bhrathairain
like a cortege.

The crew shouted no farewells after them. The risk the company was taking invoked a silent respect from Starfare’s Gem.

At Rire Grist’s command, the throng on the docks parted. A babble of curious voices rose around Linden in tongues she did not know. Foremost among them were the brackish accents of the
Bhrathair
. Only a few onlookers chose to express their wonder in the common language of the port—the language Linden understood. But those few seemed to convey the general tenor of the talk. They claimed to their neighbors that they had seen sights as unusual as Giants before, that the
Haruchai
and Findail were not especially remarkable. But Linden and Covenant—she in her checked flannel shirt and tough pants, he in his old T-shirt and jeans—were considered to be queerly dressed; and Vain, as odd a being as any in this part of the world. Linden listened keenly to the exclamations and conversation, but heard nothing more ominous than surprise.

For some distance, the Caitiffin led the way along the docks, between the piers and an area of busy shops which catered to the immediate needs of the ships—canvas, caulking, timber, ropes, food. But when he turned to ascend along narrow cobbled streets toward the Sandhold, the character of the warerooms and merchantries changed. Dealers in luxury-goods and weapons began to predominate; taverns appeared at every corner. Most of the buildings were of stone, with tiled roofs; and even the smallest businesses seemed to swarm with trade, as if
Bhrathairain
lay in a glut of wealth. People crowded every entryway and alley, every street, swarthy and begauded
Bhrathair
commingling with equal numbers of sailors, traders, and buyers from every land and nation in this region of the world. The smells of dense habitation thickened the air—exotic spices and perfumes, forges and metalworks, sweat, haggling, profit, and inadequate sewers.

And all the time, the heat weighed against the town like a millstone, squeezing odors and noise out of the very cobbles under the horses’ hooves. The pressure blunted Linden’s senses, restricting their range; but though she caught flashes of every degree of avarice and concupiscience, she still felt no hostility or machination, no evidence of malice.
Bhrathairain
might try to trick strangers into poverty, but would not attack them.

At intervals, Honninscrave interrupted his observation of the town to ask questions of the Caitiffin. One in particular caught Linden’s attention. With perfect nonchalance, the Master inquired if perhaps the welcome accorded Starfare’s Gem had come from the
gaddhi
’s Kemper rather than from Rant Absolain himself.

The Caitiffin’s reply was as easy as Honninscrave’s question. “Assuredly the
gaddhi
desires both your acquaintance and your comfort. Yet it is true that his duties, and his diversions also, consume his notice. Thus some matters must perforce be delayed for the sake of others. Anticipating his will, the
gaddhi
’s Kemper, Kasreyn of the Gyre, bade me bid you welcome. For such anticipations, the Kemper is dearly beloved by his
gaddhi
, and indeed by all who hold the
gaddhi
in
their hearts. I may say,” he added with a touch of the same irony which lay behind Honninscrave’s courtesy, “that those who do not so hold him are few. Prosperity teaches a great love of sovereigns.”

Linden stiffened at that statement. To her hearing, it said plainly that Rire Grist’s allegiance lay with Kasreyn rather than the
gaddhi
. In that case, the purpose behind the Caitiffin’s invitation might indeed be other than it appeared.

But Honninscrave remained carefully bland. “Then Kasreyn of the Gyre yet lives among you, after so many centuries of service. In good sooth, that is a thing of wonder. Was it not this same Kasreyn who bound the Sandgorgons to their Doom?”

“As you say,” Rire Grist responded. “The Kemper of the
gaddhi
Rant Absolain is that same man.”

“Why is he so named?” pursued Honninscrave. “He is far-famed throughout the Earth—yet I have heard no account of his name.”

“That is easily answered.” The Caitiffin seemed proof against any probing. “ ‘Kasreyn’ is the name he has borne since first he came to
Bhrathairealm
. And his epithet has been accorded him for the nature of his arts. He is a great thaumaturge, and his magicks for the most part manifest themselves in circles, tending upward as they enclose. Thus Sandgorgon’s Doom is a circle of winds holding the beasts within its heart. And so also is the Sandhold itself of circular formation, ascending as it rounds. Other arts the Kemper has, but his chief works are ever cast in the mold of the whirlwind and the gyre.”

After that, the Master’s questions drifted to less important topics; and Linden’s attention wandered back into the crowded streets and scents and heat of
Bhrathairain
.

As the company ascended the winding ways toward the Sandwall, the buildings slowly changed in character. The merchantries became fewer and more sumptuous, catering to a more munificent trade than the general run of sailors and townspeople. And dwellings of all kinds began to replace most of the taverns and shops. At this time of day—the sun stood shortly past noon—the streets here were not as busy as those lower down. There was no breeze to carry away the cloying scents; and the dry heat piled onto everything. Whenever a momentary gap appeared among the people, clearing a section of a street, the cobbles shimmered whitely.

But soon Linden stopped noticing such things. The Sandwall rose up in front of her, as blank and sure as a cliff, and she did not look at anything else.

Rire Grist was leading the company toward the central of the three immense gates which provided egress from
Bhrathairain
and access to the Sandhold. The gates were stone slabs bound with great knurls and studs of iron, as if they were designed to defend the Sandhold against the rest of
Bhrathairealm
. But they stood open; and at first Linden could see no evidence that they were guarded. Only when her mount neared the passage between them did she glimpse the dark shapes moving watchfully behind the slitted embrasures on either side of the gates.

The Caitiffin rode through with Honninscrave and the First beside him. Following them while her heart labored unsteadily in her chest, Linden found the Sandwall to be at least a hundred feet thick. Reaching the sunlight beyond the gate, she looked up behind her and saw that this side of the wall was lined with banquettes. But they were deserted, as if
Bhrathairealm
’s prosperity had deprived them of their function.

That gate brought the company to the smooth convex surface of another wall. The Sandhold was enclosed within its own perfect circle;
and that wall was joined to the defenses of
Bhrathairain
by an additional arm of the Sandwall on each side. These arms formed two roughly triangular open courts, one on either hand. And in the center of each court arose one of
Bhrathairealm
’s five springs. They had been fashioned into fountains by ornate stonework, so that they looked especially lush and vital against the pale walls. Their waters gathered in pools which were kept immaculately clean and from there flowed into underground channels, one leading toward
Bhrathairain
, the other toward the Sandhold.

In the arm of the Sandwall which enclosed each court, a gate stood open to the outer terrain. These provided the
Bhrathair
with their only road to their scant fields and three other springs.

Two more gates facing the fountains gave admittance to the fortifications of the Sandhold. Rire Grist led the company toward the gate in the eastern court; and the fountain made the atmosphere momentarily humid. Confident that they were in no danger, crows hopped negligently away from the hooves of the horses.

As her mount traversed the distance, Linden studied the inner Sandwall. Like the defenses of
Bhrathairain
, it was as uncompromising as the Kemper’s arts could make it; but over the gate its upper edge rose in two distinct sweeps to form immense gargoyles. Shaped like basilisks, they crouched above the entrance with their mouths agape in silent fury.

The portals here were similar to those of the town. But the guards were not hidden. A squat muscular figure stood on either side, holding erect a long razor-tipped spear. They were caparisoned in the same manner as Rire Grist and his cohorts; yet Linden perceived with a visceral shock that they were scarcely human. Their faces were bestial, with tiger-like fangs, apish hair, porcine snouts and eyes. Their fingers ended in claws rather than nails. They looked strong enough to contend with Giants.