Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (95 page)

“You presume much, Linden Avery,” growled the Giant; but she did not sound vexed. Rather she conveyed the impression that she was grinning fiercely. “How do you conclude that we

may be inclined to aid you?”

Thinking of Giants who grinned and laughed, Linden grew calmer. “Because you know who I am. The Giants of the Search were my friends. Grimmand Honninscrave and Cable Seadreamer died protecting Thomas Covenant and me. The First and Pitchwife went into the Wightwarrens of Mount Thunder with us. Remembering them gives me hope.

“You saved my life. And if that isn’t enough, one of you just tried to kill me.” She had mentioned Seadreamer. After a severe blow to the head, he had gained what his people called “Earth-Sight,” a vision of a terrible danger abroad in the world. The mad Giant had also been hit hard. Now he wanted her dead. If he, too, were guided by Earth-Sight-Weakly she finished, “The way I see it, that makes you responsible for me.”

The Giant barked a harsh laugh. “We are too well known to you. All doubt that you are in good sooth Linden Avery, Chosen and Sun-Sage, is thus dispelled. Accept my name in token that Longwrath’s sufferings do not define our goodwill. I am Rime Coldspray, the Ironhand of the Swordmainnir. Though I am far from the mightiest among us, I am so honored”-again her tone suggested a grin-“for my many years as for my low cunning.”

The Giants guarding the madman chuckled as if Rime Coldspray had made a familiar jest. Apparently his name was Longwrath.

In response, Mahrtiir proclaimed, “The giving of your name honors us. I am Mahrtiir, a Manethrall of the Ramen. Two of those who draw nigh are my Cords. Though we are unknown to you, we have some knowledge of you. In the distant past of our race, we were acquainted with your lost kindred, the

Giants of Seareach. They were much loved, for they were mirthful and kind, leal and compassionate, in spite of their bereavement.

“I have no eyes, yet I behold you well, Rime Coldspray, Ironhand. I do not hesitate to avow that you will find naught but friendship among the Ramen.”

His stern courtesy dignified the darkness. Hearing him, Linden felt

obliquely reproached. He may have been trying to compensate for her comparative impolitesse.

We are likewise honored by the gift of your name,” replied the Giant. “Having known Giants, you are doubtless aware that we find much pleasure in courtesies. Nor do we turn aside from fulsomeness in praise or thanksgiving.” The lronhand’s companions chuckled again; but she continued darkly. For the present, however, we must delay

further joy. Your followers arrive, and our circumstances require haste.”

As Coldspray spoke, Linden heard her friends. The Cords and the Humbled did not make a sound in the dense undergrowth; but Liand stumbled occasionally, and Anele shuffled his feet as if he were feeling his way, reluctant to come near the dead skurj.

As the group emerged from the trees above the watercourse, Linden tasted

Liand’s astonishment, Anele’s

confused apprehension and relief. The wonder of the Cords was vivid as they saw ancient tales come to life before them. But Mahrtiir did not allow them an opportunity for questions or explanations.

“Cords, guide us,” he commanded. “We require a path suitable for Giants. We must proceed toward Andelain, but more urgent is our need to elude the coming skurj.” With an edge of asperity

in his voice, he added, “Doubtless the Humbled will guard our passage. Their caution will suffice.”

Without hesitation, Bhapa swallowed his amazement and disappeared back into the forest, heading south and west from the stream. Pahni was younger; too young to contain her emotions so promptly. After a moment, however, she turned to follow Bhapa.

To Rime Coldspray, the Manethrall

said gruffly, The Ramen are skilled in this. Their guidance will speed us. And the arrogance of the Masters is matched by their discernment and prowess. They will do much to ensure our safety.”

Galt, Branl, and Clyme appeared to consult with each other. Then they withdrew into the night on both sides of Bhapa’s heading. If they took offense at the attitude of the Ironhand, or at Mahrtiir’s assumption of command,

they did not show it.

At a gesture from Coldspray, the Swordmainnir guarding Longwrath pulled him to his feet. Others retrieved the bundles and bedrolls dropped by Linden’s companions. Two matters remain,” the Ironhand told Linden and Mahrtiir roughly. “Shackled, Longwrath cannot hasten. Yet I dare not unbind his legs with the target of his madness so near at hand. Five of us will accompany him at his pace, both to

ward him and to preserve you, Linden Avery. The rest will follow the Manethrall’s Cords more swiftly.

“However-” She surveyed Linden and Mahrtiir, Liand and Anele. “Giants are not formed for stealth. Yet we pass with ease over or through obstacles which would deter you. And the clamor of our movements does not attract the were-menhirs, the skurj. They appear deaf to ordinary sound.

“Linden Avery, Manethrall Mahrtiir, will you permit us to bear you and your companions?”

Perhaps out of courtesy, she did not mention Mahrtiir’s blindness, or Anele’s.

“Linden-?” asked Liand in a congested voice.

Linden had nearly exhausted herself against the skurj. On foot, she would

not have been able to keep pace with Liand and Anele and Stave. The Giants would leave her far behind.

She looked at Stave. When he nodded, she said to the Ironhand. If you don’t mind. That’s probably a good idea.”

Rime Coldspray gestured again; and four Giants strode forward. As one, effortlessly, they swept Linden, Mahrtiir, Liand, and Anele into their arms, holding her and her companions

upright so that they sat on the forearms of the women. In that position, they could lean against the Giants’ chests and watch where they were going.

Anele may or may not have understood what was happening. But he appeared comfortable in his seat. Perhaps the well-meaning strength of the Giants reassured him.

Skirting the ground polluted by the skurj, Coldspray led her Swordmainnir

out of the watercourse and into the jungle while the remaining Giants gathered to herd Longwrath along more slowly. Stave joined the Ironhand, trotting smoothly through the brush.

At first, Linden felt helpless; vaguely vulnerable. She did not know how to hold the Staff so that it would not catch on branches or vines. But gradually the oaken steadiness of the Giant calmed her. Coldspray was right: the Swordmainnir were not stealthy. They

crashed through brush and boughs, leaving a tumult of frightened birds and animals in their wake. However, they were protected from thorns and jutting branches by armor and tough skin. In addition, they seemed to need as little illumination as the Haruchai or the Cords. And Bhapa and Pahni guided them well. In relays, so that one led the way while the other searched ahead, the Cords found a relatively clear route. The Giants were able to move with surprising speed.

-deaf to ordinary sound. Linden considered the idea. The skurj were creatures of the Earth’s deep lava. What need did they have for organs of hearing? They had other senses.

Certainly Kastenessen did. So why had he sent just one of his monsters against her? To be sure of her location? Probe her power? Measure the effectiveness of Kevin’s Dirt? In every case, the outcome of his gambit would please him. And his next attack

would be more vicious—

Aiding Linden, the Giants had accepted a greater hazard than they knew.

At present, however, she caught no hint of Kastenessen or the skurj, or of any malevolence. And the solidity of the woman who carried her inspired a familiar trust. The mere presence of the Swordmainnir comforted her. By degrees, the pressure in her chest loosened.

While Giants and Ramen and Haruchai cared for her and her friends, Linden sank into herself. Resting, she tried to think about the challenge of finding the elusive mental or spiritual door which opened on wild magic.

She knew now that she could not confront the skurj with her Staff and live: not unless she first freed the Land from Kevin’s Dirt. As matters stood, she needed Covenant’s ring.

Time passed, undefined except by the long strides of the Giants, the sharp breakage of branches and undergrowth. Pahni and Bhapa guided the company with unflagging stamina and woodcraft. No one spoke until Rime Coldspray asked abruptly, “Why do you accompany me, Master? Your comrades ward our way. Why do you not join their vigilance?”

Breathing easily in spite of the pace, Stave replied. “You have honored us with your name, Ironhand. Intending honor, I offer mine. I am Stave of the Haruchai, outcast by the Masters of the Land for my service to Linden Avery the Chosen.

“The others are the Humbled, maimed to resemble the ur-Lord, Covenant Giantfriend. It is the task of the Humbled to affirm and preserve the commitments of the Masters. They

ward us because they mistrust the Chosen. They consider that her powers and needs may compel her to commit Desecration. I do not. For that reason, I have been spurned by my kindred.

“I accompany you because I have claimed a place at her side, as have the Ramen and the Stonedownor-and also the old man, after his fashion.” The Giants of the Search had known Sunder and Hollian. Presumably these Swordmainnir would recognize Stave’s

term for Liand. “I have learned to fear many things, but I no longer oppose any deed or desire of the Chosen’s.”

Coldspray strode forward sternly for a moment. Then she said. “Permit me to comprehend you, Stave of the Haruchai. Have I heard you aright? Were the choice yours, would you welcome the return of Giants to the Land’?”

In response, Stave made a sound that

was as close as Linden had ever heard him come to laughter. “Rime Coldspray,” he answered, “Ironhand of the Swordmainnir, since the Chosen’s coming I have been humbled both profoundly and often. I no longer deem myself wise enough to discourage the friendship of Giants.”

To Linden’s ears, Stave seemed to be indulging in a peculiarly Haruchai form of humor.

“Then, Stave of the Haruchai,” replied the Ironhand gravely. “I am indeed honored by the gift of your name. Among us, the tales of the Haruchai are many and admirable. We have long been grieved by the dissuasion of the Masters, for we love friendship wherever it may be found. Take no offense when I ask if these Humbled are trustworthy to watch over us.”

Stave did not hesitate. “While they encounter no discrepancy among their

commitments, they remain Haruchai. They will preserve any life with theirs, if doing so does not betray their opposition to Corruption, or to the corrupting use of Earthpower.”

Coldspray considered his answer. “And is this force which the Chosen wields not a ‘corrupting use of Earthpower’?”

“The Masters are uncertain. Therefore the Humbled guard against her, but do not demand the surrender of her

powers. In our present straits, they will grant to her-and to you-their utmost service.”

-Powers,- Coldspray mused. But she did not question Stave further.

The Giants of the Search must have taken back to their people stories of Covenant’s victory over Lord Foul, of Linden and her Staff-and of white gold. The First and Pitchwife had seen Covenant exert wild magic. They had

seen Linden claim his ring when he was gone. Rime Coldspray and the other Swordmainnir would know everything that their ancestors had done and witnessed.

Longwrath must have learned that history as well. It may have shaped his insanity—

Linden sighed to herself. At least she would not have to explain how she intended to fight the skurj.

- - -

Belatedly she realized that she did not know the name of the woman who carried her. Weary and fearful, and troubled by her unpredictable relationship with Covenant’s ring, she had paid scant attention to the people around her.

One way or another, their lives were in her hands.

But she could not think of a way to address the woman without sounding

brusque and graceless; too stilted to be polite. Like the courtesies of the Ramen, those of the Giants exceeded her.

While she groped for an approach, the dense canopy of Salva Gildenbourne opened unexpectedly. By starlight and percipience, she saw that Bhapa and Pahni had guided the Giants into a small glade. For some reason, the quality of the soil here discouraged trees. Instead wild grasses and brush

flourished, interspersed with the

piquant promise of aliantha.

The Cords awaited the Giants in the center of the glade. There Clyme had joined them. When Coldspray and her comrades stopped to consider their surroundings-unrelieved jungle on all sides, dark as midnight-the Master said, “Even Giants rest betimes, though their hardiness is beyond question. Ranging widely, we have found no sign of peril. If you will accept

our counsel, you will abide here until the dawn. And if you will not sleep, mayhap you will find succor in your tales.”

The lronhand’s posture stiffened. “The Masters mislike our tales,” she said coldly: an old grievance.

“For the present,” replied Clyme impassively, “we find no harm in them.” His lack of inflection seemed to suggest that he did not expect Linden

or her companions to live long enough to speak of what they heard.

Coldspray glared at him for a moment. Then she turned to Stave. “What is your word, Stave of the Haruchai?”

His manner conveyed a shrug. In this the Humbled counsel wisely. The Chosen and the Stonedownor require rest-aye, and the Ramen as well, though it would be foolish to doubt their fortitude or resolve. And we would be

well served by an exchange of tales.”

Rime Coldspray looked at Linden. “Linden Avery’?”

Linden nodded. “Please.” She was tired of being a burden. “I need time to think. And we really have to talk. I want to know what you’re doing here,” at this precise point in Lord Foul’s machinations, with a deranged man who craved her death. “You may not realize how much trouble you’re in.

“If we rest for a while,” she added. “the others can catch up with us.”

Then she said quickly, “But be careful with Anele.” She pointed at the old man. “Strange things happen to him when he stands on grass. This glade isn’t like any place that we’ve been before.” The grasses were wilder, tasseled like wheat, with thin, sawing blades. “Blankets seem to protect him, but stone would be better.”