One Tree (48 page)

For a moment, the company was silent. Linden heard nothing except the cool plashing of the fountain. Then Brinn said flatly, “The
Elohim
speaks truly.”

At that, the First stiffened. “Aye,” she growled, “the
Elohim
speaks truly. And Hergrom expended his life for us, though you deem it failure. I am prepared to hazard somewhat in the name of Ceer’s hurt.” Without waiting for a response, she swung toward the Caitiffin, calling as she moved, “Ho, Rire Grist! Our companion is sorely injured. We must have medicaments.”

“Instantly,” he replied. He could not conceal the relief in his tone. He spoke rapidly to his aide, sent the man running toward the Sandhold. Then he said to the First, “All you require will await you in your chambers.”

Honninscrave and Seadreamer followed the First; and Linden went with them, giving Brinn and Cail no choice but to do the same. Vain and Findail brought up the rear.

The two Guards stepped aside. Either they were now able to identify the
gaddhi
’s guests, or they had been given new orders. Together the company passed through the Sandwall, hastened as best they could over the sand toward the entrance to the Sandhold. Linden clinched herself against the moment when she might break and forced herself to match the First’s pace.

Within the high forecourt of the First Circinate, the old gloom lurked, momentarily concealing everything beyond the direct light from the gates. Before her eyes adjusted, Linden received a confusing impression of Guards and people—and of another presence which surprised her.

For a fleeting moment, she was aware of the people. They were servants, but not the comely and graceful servitors who had waited on the Chatelaine the day before. Rather they were the menials of the Sandhold, men and women who were too aged or unbecoming to please the eye of the
gaddhi—
or of the Kemper. And the wealth of
Bhrathairealm
clearly did not extend to them. Dressed in the tattered habiliments of their impoverishment, they were on their hands and knees, cleaning up after the horses which had been exercised here earlier. Linden wondered how many of them had once been courtiers or Favored.

But then her senses cleared, and she forgot the servants as her heart bounded toward Pitchwife.

Several
hustin
stood around him, holding him where he was but not threatening him. Apparently they had been instructed to make him wait here for his friends.

At the sight of the First and her companions, relief stretched his misshapen features. But Linden read the nature of his tidings in the hunching of his shoulders and the unwonted darkness of his gaze.

The sudden softening of the First’s features revealed how keenly she had been yearning for her husband. Pitchwife started toward her as if he could not wait to embrace her.

His mien brought back the company’s peril to Linden. Deliberately she keyed her voice to a pitch and timbre which compelled the attention of the Giants. “Don’t say anything. Kasreyn hears everything the Guards hear.”

Indirectly she watched the Caitiffin. His face flushed as if he were suppressing apoplexy. In the privacy of her mind, she permitted herself a severe grin. She wanted the Kemper to know that she knew at least this much about him.

With one hand, Cail brushed her arm like a reminder of the marks he had left in her flesh. But she ignored him. She knew the risk she had taken.

Pitchwife’s face clenched as he bit back his native volubility. The First tensed in recognition of Linden’s ploy, shot a glance at
Honninscrave. The Master dropped a shutter of blandness over his visage as he resumed his role as spokesman for the company; but the knotting of his jaw made his beard jut like belligerence. Smoothly he introduced Pitchwife and Rire Grist to each other. Then he urged the Caitiffin to make haste for the sake of Ceer’s leg.

Rire Grist appeared glad to comply, unintentionally eager for haste, as if he felt a personal need to finish this duty so that he would be free to consult with his master, ask for new instructions. Without delay, he led the company up out of the First Circinate, through the back ways of the Second to the guesting rooms. Then he stood as if his kneecaps were quivering while he waited for the company to let him go.

In the sitting-room across from the bedchambers, the questers found Rire Grist’s aide and an assortment of medical supplies: a large brass urn of boiling water; various dippers and cutting-implements; bolts of clean linen for bandages; an array of balms and unguents in small stoneware pots. While Linden inspected what he had brought, the aide asked her if she required the services of one of the Sandhold’s chief surgeons. She refused—would have refused even if she had wanted such help. She and her companions needed a chance to talk freely, unheard by any spying ears.

When she nodded to the Giants, Honninscrave dismissed the Caitiffin and his aide. Linden took a grim satisfaction from the promptitude of their departure.

Cail placed himself on guard outside the door, which Brinn left open as a precaution against the kind of subterfuge the Lady Alif had practiced earlier. Seadreamer had laid Ceer gently down among a pile of cushions. While Linden bent to the task of Ceer’s knee, Pitchwife and the First confronted each other.

“Stone and Sea!” he began. “I am gladdened by the sight of you—though it wrings my heart to discover you in such straits. What has become of Hergrom? How has such harm befallen Ceer? Surely this tale—”

The First interrupted him softly. The edges of her tone frayed as if she would have wept if she had been alone with him. “What word do you bring from Starfare’s Gem?”

All the feigned politesse was gone from Honninscrave’s face. His eyes lanced at Pitchwife. But Seadreamer had turned away from them. He knelt opposite Linden to assist her if he could. His old scar was vivid with apprehension.

Carefully Linden bathed Ceer’s mangled leg. Her hands were deft and certain. But another part of her mind was focused on Pitchwife and the First.

The malformed Giant winced. But he shouldered the burden of his tidings. His voice wheezed faintly in his cramped chest.

“An attempt has been made upon the Giantship.”

Honninscrave hissed a sharp breath. Seadreamer knotted his hands in a pillow; but it was too insubstantial to steady him. With an effort, the First held herself as still as the
Haruchai
.

“After your departure”—his tale made Pitchwife awkward—“the Harbor Captain complied with Rire Grist’s commands. Stores were opened to us—food, water, and stone in abundance. Ere sundown, our holds were replenished, and with my pitch I had wived the side of Starfare’s Gem, restoring it to seaworthiness—though much labor awaits me to repair the other damages.” He had to struggle against his instinctive desire to describe his work in detail. But he coerced himself to relate the pith of his tidings, nothing more. “No harm or suggestion of harm was
offered to us, and even the Harbor Captain swallowed some measure of his affronted pride.

“But it is well for us that Sevinhand Anchormaster holds caution in such esteem. At day’s end, watches were set at all points, both within and upon the
dromond
. In my folly, I felt secure, for the moon rose nigh to fullness above
Bhrathairain
, and I conceived that no hurt could accost us unseen. But moonlight also cast a sheen upon the waters, concealing their depths. And while the moon crested above us, the watch which Sevinhand had set within Starfare’s Gem heard unwonted sounds through the hull.”

Removing Ceer’s splint, Linden finished cleaning his wounds. Then she turned her penetration to the medicaments Rire Grist’s aide had provided. Clearly the
Bhrathair
had a wide-ranging medical knowledge—the fruit of their violent history. She found cleansing salves, febrifuges, narcotic balms; drugs which promised effectiveness against a variety of battle hurts. They appeared to have been produced from the various sands and soils of the Great Desert itself. She chose an unguent for antisepsis and a balm for numbness, and began applying them to Ceer’s leg.

But she did not miss a word of Pitchwife’s tale.

“At once,” he said, “Sevinhand asked for divers. Galewrath and Mistweave replied. Quietly entering the waters, they swam to the place the watch indicated, and there with their hands they discovered a large object clinging among the barnacles. Together they wrested it from the hull, bearing it with them to the surface. But Sevinhand instantly commanded them to discard it. Therefore they cast it to the pier, where it became an exploding fire which wrought great damage—though not to Starfare’s Gem.”

In grim irony, he continued, “To my mind, it is somewhat odd that no man or woman from all
Bhrathairain
came to consider the cause of that blast.” Then he shrugged. “Nonetheless, Sevinhand’s caution was not appeased. At his word, Galewrath Storesmaster and others explored all the outward faces of the Giantship with their hands, seeking further perils. None were found.

“In the dawn,” he concluded, “I came in search of you. Without hindrance I was admitted to the First Circinate. But there I was given to understand”—he grimaced wryly—“that I must await you.” His eyes softened as he regarded the First. “The wait was long to me.”

Honninscrave could not contain himself. He stepped forward, required the First to look at him. “We must return to Starfare’s Gem.” He was urgent for his ship. “We must flee this Harbor. It is intolerable that my
dromond
should fall prey to these
Bhrathair—
and I here helpless.”

The First replied darkly, “Yes.” But she retained her command over him. “Yet the Chosen is not done. Grimmand Honninscrave, relate to Pitchwife what has transpired among us here.”

For a moment, the Master’s visage knotted as if her order were cruel. But it was not: it gave him a way to contain his apprehension. He scowled like a fist, and his beard bristled with ire; but he obeyed. In words like the pieces of the
gaddhi
’s medallion, he told Pitchwife what had happened.

Linden listened to him as she had to Pitchwife and clasped her promises within her. While Seadreamer supported Ceer’s leg, she spread medicaments over his thigh and knee. Then she cut the linen into strips for bandages. Her hands did not hesitate. When she had wrapped his leg from mid-thigh to calf in firm layers of cloth, she reset the splints.

After that, she had Seadreamer lift Ceer into a sitting position while she strapped his shoulder to stabilize it. The
Haruchai
’s eyes were glazed with pain; but his mien remained as stolid as ever. When she was done with his shoulder, she lifted a flagon of diluted wine to his mouth and did not lower it until he had replaced a good measure of the fluid he had lost.

And all the time Honninscrave’s words reached her ears starkly, adumbrating Hergrom’s death until she seemed to relive it while she tended Ceer. The stubborn extravagance or gallantry of the
Haruchai
left her over-taut and certain. When the Master finished, she was ready.

Pitchwife was groping to take in everything he had heard. “This
gaddhi
,” he murmured in fragments. “As you have described him. Is he capable of enacting such a chicane?”

Linden rose to her feet. Though his question had not been directed at her, she answered, “No.”

He looked at her, strove for comprehension. “Then—”

“It was Kasreyn from the beginning.” She bit out the words. “He controls everything, even when Rant Absolain doesn’t realize it. He must have told the
gaddhi
exactly what to do. To get Hergrom killed. And he doesn’t want us to know it,” she went on. “He wants us to be afraid of Rant Absolain instead of him. He failed with Covenant once. He’s trying to get another chance. Maybe he thinks we’ll ask him to save us from the
gaddhi
.”

“We must flee this place,” Honninscrave insisted.

Linden did not look at him. She faced the First. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go to Rant Absolain. Ask his permission to leave.”

The First gauged Linden with her iron gaze. “Will he grant us that?”

Linden shrugged. “It’s worth a try.” She was prepared for that eventuality as well.

With an inward leap, the First made her decision. Pitchwife’s presence, and the prospect of action, seemed to restore her to herself. Striding out into the corridor, she shouted to the Guards that waited within earshot, “Summon the Caitiffin Rire Grist! We must speak with him!”

Linden could not relax the over-tension of her nerves. The bruises Cail had left on her upper arm throbbed like a demand.

When she met the First’s gaze again, they understood each other.

The Caitiffin returned shortly. Behind the desert-tan of his face lay a suggestion of pallor, as if he had not had time to consult with his master—or perhaps had been refused a hearing. His manner had ragged edges, betraying glimpses of strain.

But the First had recovered her certainty, and she met him with steady composure. “Rire Grist,” she said as if he had nothing to fear from her, “we desire an audience with the
gaddhi
.”

At that, his cheeks blanched unmistakably. Words tumbled out of him. “My friends, let me dissuade you. Assuredly the loss of one comrade and the injury of another are sore to you—but you are unwise to hazard further offense to the
gaddhi
. He is sovereign here, and jealous. You must not task him for what he has done. Having obtained the punishment he sought, he is now perhaps inclined to be magnanimous. But if you dare his ill-favor, he will take umbrage swiftly, to your cost.”

He began to repeat himself, then jerked to a halt. Clearly Kasreyn had not prepared him for this dilemma. Sweat spread around his eyes as he forced himself to meet the First’s scrutiny.

She was unruffled. “Caitiffin, we have taken decision among ourselves to respect the
gaddhi
’s right of punishment.” Linden felt the lie under the flat surface of the words, but she saw that Rire Grist did not. “We are grieved for our companions, but we will not presume to judge your sovereign.” The First permitted herself a subtle inflection of contempt, “Be assured that we will offer the
gaddhi
no offense. We desire merely to ask a frank boon of him—one easily within his grant and plainly honorable to him.”