Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
Again her health-sense caught hints of She Who Must Not Be Named. Here they were stronger. The spilth of theurgies as old as the mountain—as old as the Land—stained the lake wherever she looked. Implied carrion-eaters tasted her skin.
Distracted by noisome things, she was slow to notice that the Feroce were gone.
Gone?
“Thomas?” The silence seemed to seal her throat. She had to swallow several times before she could say more than his name. “The Feroce? Where did they go?”
Rime Coldspray and her comrades scanned the cavern, the lake. Covenant gazed past or through Linden like a man who had lost his sight. “Into the water.” His voice sounded preternaturally distinct: precise and defiant. It should have raised echoes. Instead it fell stillborn. “I don’t know why. They didn’t say anything.”
“I am loath to believe,” remarked Branl, “that they have forsaken us.”
“As am I,” Stave agreed. “They heed their High God.”
The Ironhand coughed, cleared her throat. “Without them—”
As if she had summoned them, delicate green flames appeared on the surface near the spot where the cavern’s leftward sweep interrupted Linden’s view. Untroubled by the waters, the creatures arose under their fires, lifted emerald from the lake. Their passing left no mark on the water’s black sheen as they climbed the rocks.
“Why do you tarry?” Their damp voice scaled into the heights. “You must hasten. There is peril, much peril. Are you deaf to majesty? Blind to wonder? You must hasten.”
Tensions ran among the Giants. They prepared to move. But Rime Coldspray stood where she was. From her clasp, Covenant called to the Feroce, “What’s going on? You picked a hell of a time for a swim. Did you wake something up?”
Studying the lake, Linden saw nothing, heard nothing. She felt only the noxious tickling of centipedes, tentative and eager.
“Will you not hasten?” the creatures urged. “We are merely the Feroce. There is no peril for us. Your lives are forfeit.”
Covenant appeared to freeze for an instant, startled into incomprehension. Then he snapped to the Ironhand, “Go!”
At once, Coldspray surged ahead over the hazardous stones. Behind her, Giants followed as swiftly as they could. But Baf Scatterwit’s cracked knee slowed her. Grueburn waved her free arm, urged Halewhole Bluntfist and the trailing sailors to pass her. Then she drew her longsword; kept pace with Scatterwit. Cirrus Kindwind did the same, bracing Jeremiah with her maimed forearm. Holding Cabledarm’s longsword, Stave positioned himself between them and the water.
Linden did not glance at her son. The lake seemed to grip her. There were too many centipedes, more and more of them. Spiders. Maggots. Worms avid to feast on her sins. Only Jeremiah’s tendrils of Earthpower and Law shielded her.
A bulge appeared in the water.
No, not a bulge: a
body
. A stone’s throw long. A double arm span wide. Lithe as a serpent, flowing up to bend the surface and then sliding back down endlessly. As dark as the lake, but rife with strength. If it had a head or a tail, Linden did not see them. No slight ripple or splash defined the immense monster’s glide.
From the rocks ahead of Covenant, the Feroce confessed abjectly, “We sought to gaze upon our High God’s god. We have done so. Its thoughts are broken. They lack glory. Only ruin remains. It will slay you all.”
“Hellfire,” Covenant rasped. “I suppose even the lurker had to come from somewhere. If that’s its mother, I’ve seen enough. I don’t want more.”
Branl stood at the waterline, poised with the
krill
and Longwrath’s flamberge. Linden felt a throb of wild magic from Covenant’s ring. Reflexively her wedding band answered his attempt to prepare himself. Imminent heat and argent chased away the things that scurried across her skin. The long arc of the monster’s body continued to flow. If it felt the company’s presence, its awareness was hidden in the depths.
Linden tried to focus her attention on her ring, seeking to support Covenant; to dismiss the bane’s touch. But she was too close to the Staff. Jeremiah’s power seemed to block her, or she blocked herself. Wild magic and Law conflicted.
Coldspray and then the Anchormaster rounded the curve. Dire’s Vessel’s crew hurried after them, crowding close to the cavern wall. Weapons ready, both Stonemage and Bluntfist had taken positions like Branl’s near the water’s edge, guarding the rear of the company. Scatterwit whimpered as if she feared to be left behind.
The Feroce had disappeared again. Had they gone ahead? Linden did not know. She struggled to breathe. A moment passed before she realized that the company’s alarm had pierced Jeremiah’s concentration. He needed help.
Here she could not call upon the Staff without touching it. The throb and itch of her ring interfered. Trepidation interfered. Leaning away from Grueburn’s arms, she reached for Kindwind and Jeremiah; but she could not stretch far enough. Then Grueburn shifted closer to Kindwind, and Linden gripped the Staff by one iron heel.
She did not take it. Instead she added her will to her son’s disturbed resolve, reinforced his intentions with her own.
He gave her a quick glance of thanks. Relieved, he settled back into himself. The pressure of poisons in her lungs eased. All of the Giants seemed to move more quickly. Even Scatterwit’s pace improved.
“Attend!” Branl called calmly. “The water rises.”
Linden twisted her head to look.
Oh, shit. Branl was right. Still motionless, still silent, the midnight lake had begun to devour its borders, fed by some source beyond her discernment. It did not lap or splash against the rocks. It simply covered them.
Led by the
Haruchai
, Grueburn, Kindwind, and Scatterwit passed the curve at the rear of the company. At once, Branl ran ahead, carrying light. Now Linden saw that the cavern narrowed in this direction. The walls leaned closer to each other until they met in a sheet of running water. At first, the sheet appeared sheer, a straight waterfall thinned by its own width. It would be impossible to climb. And there were no slopes leading up to the tunnel that opened three or four Giant-heights above the lake. The Feroce stood facing the cul-de-sac as if they had been thwarted.
But then Linden saw that the pour of water reflected argent and emerald in a cascade of spangles. Under the waterfall, the stone was broken in scores or hundreds of places, pitted and interrupted wherever erosion and toxins had found flaws.
Surely it would still be impossible to climb? The stone would be slick—
The lake rose. The added water should have drained away as fast as it came, but it did not. Somehow the lurker’s mad god heaved the entire surface higher. Grueburn, Kindwind, and Scatterwit were forced to pick their way closer to the wall.
Without explanation, Stave sprinted away. Inhumanly sure-footed, he caught up with the Humbled, moved among the Giants. He handed Cabledarm’s sword to the Anchormaster. Linden heard him ask for rope.
Favoring her knee, Baf Scatterwit stumbled into the edge of the lake. Her right foot went under. The impact of her weight had no effect on the water’s massive lift.
Linden had no idea what would happen then. The lake’s power defied her senses. But Scatterwit scrambled out again. She tried to limp faster.
Linden clung to the Staff’s heel, struggled to help Jeremiah clean the air.
From a sack of supplies, a sailor produced a coil of rope as thick as Stave’s arm. He looped one end twice over his shoulder, secured it by tucking it under itself. Immediately he approached the swift sheet of the cul-de-sac. As if the difficulties were trivial, he began to ascend.
Water pounded onto him. It splashed past him without affecting the eerie surface of the lake. He was drenched in ancient corrosives, distilled residues. But they did him no apparent harm. His flesh spurned the mountain’s taints.
“Giantfriend,” Grueburn rasped: a harsh scrape of sound. With her sword, she gestured at Scatterwit.
Linden glanced in that direction, saw Scatterwit limping more heavily than before. Far more heavily. With every step, she lurched to the right, toward the lake, as if she had lost her balance. She seemed to recover by force of will.
God—
Baf Scatterwit’s right foot had been cut away, severed at the ankle. A clean slice: clean and cauterized. There was no blood. She seemed unaware that her foot was gone. She moved as if only her damaged knee pained her.
Linden started to shout a warning at the Giants; but Grueburn stopped her. Through her teeth, the Swordmain snarled, “They know.” Abruptly she slapped her sword back into its scabbard. With her free hand, she supported Scatterwit so that the woman could hurry without toppling.
Panic and Grueburn’s rush broke Linden’s hold on the Staff. Earthpower and black flame faltered. The air dug a knife into Linden’s chest. But Jeremiah tightened his grip a moment later, took up the slack. Complex stresses gleamed on his cheeks and forehead.
Between one urgent breath and the next, Linden saw Stave rise higher than Rime Coldspray’s head. His fingers and toes gripped the damaged stone like claws. Another breath, and he had climbed more than halfway. Then he gained the lip of the tunnel and passed out of sight, trailing the rope behind him.
Now, Linden thought. Now he has to secure it.
There was nothing that she could do for Scatterwit.
Stave did not have time. With Grueburn’s help, Scatterwit joined the other Giants. Kindwind and Jeremiah came last. Bluff Stoutgirth gave Scatterwit a look of anguish, then jerked his head away. Other sailors chewed their silence as if they sought to break their teeth. They were all ready. Covenant now clung to Coldspray’s back, leaving her arms unencumbered. But the lake still rose. In a few heartbeats, no more, it would threaten the nearest feet. It would sever—
Stave’s line jerked. At a word from the Anchormaster, Wiver Setrock grabbed it, tested it. Carrying more rope, Setrock swarmed upward, a sailor adept at ratlines and hawsers. Unlike Stave’s, his feet slipped here and there; but those momentary skids hardly slowed him. If the corrupted water hurt him, he ignored the pain.
He reached the lip, vanished into the river’s tunnel. Moments later, his line snaked down to his comrades. Then Keenreef and Hurl were climbing, each with new ropes.
The lake crept higher. The waiting Giants squeezed closer to the wall. Some of them stood in the waterfall, breathing with their mouths covered. The Feroce watched from a short distance. The water came to their ankles, then to their knees; but they did not fear it. Green and silver shone in their limpid eyes.
Linden wanted to tell Coldspray and Kindwind to go next, take Covenant and Jeremiah to safety. But when she tried to speak, her voice failed. She could not imagine how Cirrus Kindwind would bear Jeremiah upward with only one hand.
From the Ironhand’s back, Covenant asked the lurker’s creatures, “What about you? We need you.”
“The Feroce are the Feroce,” they replied as if that answer sufficed. Sinking at every step, they began to back away. As they submerged, their fires flared briefly on the water, then went out.
“Hellfire,” Covenant muttered. “Bloody damnation.”
To Coldspray, the Anchormaster said, “In such straits, my will commands.” His tone held an unexpected edge of authority. “You and Frostheart Grueburn must ascend. Halewhole Bluntfist and Etch Furledsail will assist Cirrus Kindwind.” He hesitated for an instant, then growled, “Baf Scatterwit must hold the rear.”
Scatterwit responded with a laugh like the croak of a raven.
Of course, Linden thought bitterly. Scatterwit had been maimed. Therefore she was more expendable than her comrades.
Groaning to herself, Linden worked her way around Grueburn until she reached Grueburn’s back. The Swordmain would need both hands—
Abruptly Jeremiah’s power evaporated. “Sorry about this.” Tension thrummed in his voice. “I’ll get back to it.”
Lifted by Kindwind, he went over her shoulder to her back. As he shifted, he braced the Staff across her breastplate so that he could hold it with his arms on either side of her neck. There he hung, hugging the sides of her chest with his legs. Then he shut his eyes; began to exert Earthpower again. Black flame twisted upward in front of Kindwind’s face.
Four lines now dangled from the darkness of the tunnel. At once, the Ironhand, Onyx Stonemage, and two sailors hastened upward. As soon as they were clear, Grueburn started to ascend like a leap of fire. Through tainted torrents, Linden watched Bluntfist and Furledsail support Kindwind.
Somehow Jeremiah continued to pour out Earthpower while water hammered down on him.
The lake still rose. It was no more than an arm span away from the rest of the Giants. Only Branl stood between them and the fatal surface.
Resting his flamberge on his shoulder, the Humbled crouched at the water’s edge and prodded the tip of the
krill
into a stone. There he waited, studying the lake as if he were daring it to touch High Lord Loric’s blade.
A moment later, Grueburn carried Linden up into the tunnel into the deeper darkness of the river’s passage. At first, she saw nothing. Granite and black water filled her senses. But then Covenant’s ring began to emit a soft glow. Strain knotted his forehead, bared his teeth, as he strove to elicit wild magic without losing control. Gradually his conflicted, tenuous light revealed the surroundings.
Beyond its wide mouth above the cavern, the tunnel resembled a chute or flume angling sharply downward from somewhere far above. The diminished river filled its bottom, tumbling loudly over planes like shelves, gouged flaws, indurated obstructions. Covenant’s silver bled along the splashing and spray. The Ironhand, Stave, and a few Giants had waded upward, forcing their way against the downrush to make room for their comrades.
There were no protrusions or stable boulders where Stave and the sailors could have secured their ropes. Instead Keenreef, Hurl, and two comrades anchored the lines by sitting in the river and bracing their feet in cracks and potholes. By plain strength, they supported the Giants ascending through the waterfall.
Earlier Stave must have done the same—