The Last Dark (79 page)

Turning, he saw Bluff Stoutgirth rise to his feet with Hurl’s body across his shoulders.

“No,” repeated Coldspray, furious or grieving. “Anchormaster, no.”

“One I lost to the
skurj
,” Stoutgirth replied like a lament. “For him, I have been granted a
caamora
. But three were slain here, and two fell beyond the reach of sorrow.” He bared his teeth through his veil of blood. “All were in my command, and their guerdon was death. I will not forsake Hurl to the feeding of rats.”

“You
will
,” countered the Ironhand. “I do not gainsay your bereavement. Nonetheless you are the Anchormaster of Dire’s Vessel, and you have not been relieved of command. Storms do not abate when a Giant falls from the rigging. Nor is our peril eased by the loss of comrades precious among us.

“The world’s ending will be
caamora
enough for any woe. You will not hazard your life for a corpse.”

“Will I not?” Stoutgirth did not meet her gaze. “Is this your word, Rime Coldspray? Do you speak thus, you who have lost five of your Swordmainnir, and have seen the purpose of your striving across the seas fail? Ironhand, your heart is stone. Mine is water.”

Coldspray clenched her fists: anger glared in her eyes. Before she could retort, however, he jerked up his head, laughed like a loon. Two strides took him to the edge of the chasm. There he crouched, braced his arms under Hurl’s body, and heaved it into the depths.

Laughing or crying, he said, “Hurl I give to the river. May it bear my heart to the surcease of seas, as it does him.”

His wracked mirth rose until it seemed to fill the crevice: a broken man’s threnody for the world’s fallen. But he did not permit his rue to hold the company back from the ropes.

hen Covenant reached the higher ledge, he had to sit down. Freed from his knotted cradle, he collapsed against one wall of the crude tunnel leading away from the crevice; drew his knees to his chest and hugged them urgently; hid his face. He felt unmanned by vertigo, by impossible demands and contradictions. He had barely known Hurl. He could not even remember the names of the other slain sailors, Giants who had lost their lives without striking a blow in their own defense. And his decisions had led them to ruin. It was his responsibility to make their deaths worthwhile.

It could not be done. Nothing that he ever did would assuage Lord Foul’s countless victims. Nothing would suffice to honor the valor of those who still struggled for the Earth.

Still Covenant had to try. He had to close his ears to the siren song of dizziness and futility. He had to believe—

There is no doom so black or deep that courage and clear sight may not find another truth beyond it.

He was a leper. Surely he could believe whatever he chose? As long as he was willing to pay the price?

Fortunately he was not alone. In the Land, he had seldom been alone; but this time he had been given more than companionship and aid. Linden was coming toward him. He did not need health-sense to recognize the love in her eyes, the raw concern. Jeremiah followed behind her, clutching the Staff of Law as if his sanity depended on it. Stave brought the light of Loric’s
krill
into the tunnel. Branl had gone to extremes that still appalled Covenant. Two Masters—Ard and Ulman?—stood on the ledge, helping with the ropes. And there were still Giants.

God, Giants—Five of Rime Coldspray’s comrades: four of the Anchormaster’s sailors: all gone, as lost to the world as Lostson Longwrath. Nevertheless those who remained outnumbered the dead.

And two hundred Masters had come to the Wightwarrens. Two
hundred
—

If Covenant’s ability to choose what he would and would not believe was one side of being a leper, this was the other: he did not know how to bear such abundance. He had spent decades in one world and millennia in another learning how to stand alone.

Yet he could not pretend that he was not grateful. When Linden sat down beside him and slipped her arm over his shoulders, he found that he was able to meet her gaze.

“It isn’t all bad,” he said roughly. “At least we’re still together. Some of us made it.”

He meant, I love you, Linden Avery.

Her hug seemed to say that she understood.

Blinking uselessly, he looked around. “How are we doing?” Shadows and stark silver confused the shapes gathering around him. “We can’t stay here.”

“We’ll be ready soon,” she told him. “Some of the Giants need help.” Cirrus Kindwind and Onyx Stonemage. Baf Scatterwit. Squallish Blustergale. Etch Furledsail. “They’re being hauled up now. That only leaves Canrik and Dast.”

Of course, Covenant thought. Naturally the Masters would insist on coming last.

Two hundred of them were in the Wightwarrens somewhere. Against how many Cavewights? He had no idea. Roger had had plenty of time to summon every living creature in Mount Thunder. And
moksha
Raver remained a threat. He might still be able to command any number of Lord Foul’s servants. Covenant was not sure that two hundred
Haruchai
would be enough.

And in spite of what he had said to Jeremiah, he was not confident that he could count on their help.
The Masters have been given lies
. He did not know what those lies were. Therefore he could not guess how the Masters would react to the truth.

Together, Kindwind and Stonemage were heaved onto the ledge. When the last sailors and
Haruchai
had been pulled upward, Canrik strode among the Giants toward Rime Coldspray.

“Ironhand,” he said at once, “we must not tarry in this passage.”

Coldspray looked down at him. “Aye. Our foes are certain of our presence. They will surely come against us. And here we cannot retreat. We will perish—we must—if we do not discover a choice of headings. Are you able to guide us?”

Canrik nodded. “Our older knowledge of the Wightwarrens is slight, but we have not forgotten our path hither. And as we rejoin with our kinsmen, our knowledge will increase.

“What do you seek? Where do you hope to discover Kastenessen”—he cast a caustic glance at Linden—“if it remains your intent to confront one deranged
Elohim
while the Land and the Earth are unmade?”

Without pausing for thought, Covenant surged to his feet. “Kastenessen?” he snapped. Lies? “Where did you get that idea? Didn’t you feel it when Kevin’s Dirt faded? What did you think that meant? Kastenessen gave up days ago.”

Clearly the Masters knew that the Worm of the World’s End had been roused—

“We are not blind, ur-Lord,” retorted Canrik. “We are aware that Kevin’s Dirt has ended. But we were misled, Stave does not speak to us, and Branl is”—the Master appeared to search for words—“strangely reluctant. We cannot divine your purpose.”

Covenant made an effort to swallow his anger. The Masters were not his enemies. He was simply outraged that they thought ill of Linden.

“I have to get to Kiril Threndor,” he rasped. “If that’s not too much to ask. I want to find the Despiser. And Cavewights aren’t our only problem. My son is here somewhere. He’s scared enough to try anything. Plus there’s
moksha
Jehannum. He’s probably mad as hell.

“I don’t know what’s bothering you, but it’s trivial. We don’t have time for it.”

For a moment, Canrik stood as if he had been silenced. Slowly a frown settled onto his forehead. Then he stated, “Our questions must be answered.”

Without waiting for a reply, he strode down the tunnel.

Coldspray glanced sharply at Covenant; but she did not delay. Hailing her Swordmainnir, she sent Halewhole Bluntfist and Frostheart Grueburn after Canrik. Then she followed him herself, taking Cirrus Kindwind with her, Ard and Ulman; leaving Onyx Stonemage with Covenant, Linden, and Jeremiah.

A subdued Anchormaster marshaled his crew. His uninjured sailors—Wiver Setrock, Spume Frothbreeze, Keenreef, Far Horizoneyes—he sent ahead. With Scatterwit, Blustergale, Furledsail, and Dast, he trailed the rest of the company.

Instinctively Covenant took Linden’s hand, rested his halfhand on Jeremiah’s shoulder. Accompanied by Stave and Branl, they started along the passage.

Jeremiah did not resist, but he walked with his head down, paid no attention to where he put his feet. His hands tightened and relaxed on the Staff, urgent as heartbeats. At intervals, he jerked up his head and glared around him. But he did not speak; did not appear to notice Covenant or Linden.

Maybe Roger had the right idea. Maybe we should all try to become gods.

The notion made Covenant’s stomach burn as if he had swallowed acid. He refused to believe—

Linden studied her son for a moment. Then her eyes flinched away. She looked at Covenant, pleading like a woman who had no language for her needs. Almost at once, however, she turned her attention to Stave.

In a low voice, she asked, “What’s bothering the Masters? Did Pahni and Bhapa reach them?”

She might have asked, Do they think that Pahni and Bhapa lied? They can’t believe that. If they do, why did they come?

“Chosen,” replied Stave, “I must accord to our people the respect which I will require of them.” His tone suggested that he was keeping his distance. “They will speak of their doubts and indignations when we have evaded immediate pursuit. It is their right to be who they are, and to determine what they will become.

“Yet I am free to acknowledge that the Masters have heard and questioned the Cords. True to his service, the Ardent delivered Bhapa and Pahni to the vicinity of Revelstone. Their words gave the Masters cause to come in search of you, Chosen.” He gave a subtle emphasis to Linden’s title. “Now the Cords accompany the Masters. If our foes and our fate permit it, you will be reunited with them.

“More than that I will not disclose.”

“Damn it, Stave,” Linden muttered. “That’s not enough. How could they not know that Covenant is alive? Didn’t Bhapa or Pahni tell them?”

How had the Cords goaded the Masters into action at last, if not by insisting that the ur-Lord needed them, the Unbeliever, the man who had twice defeated Corruption?

“We’ll hear about it soon enough,” Covenant put in. He did not have the heart to challenge Stave’s scruples. Instead he tightened his grip on Linden’s hand, trying to reassure her. “Or we’ll spend what’s left of our lives fighting, and we won’t hear anything at all. Either way, it doesn’t matter. They aren’t just Masters. They’re
Haruchai
. Eventually they’ll help us, even if they think we did something terrible behind their backs. They have to. They’re too ashamed to do anything else. They’ve already passed up two chances to face Lord Foul with me, not to mention once with Kevin. They don’t know how to live with it.”

Stave nodded like a shrug. Branl did not offer his opinion.

For a long moment, Linden studied the ungiving stone ahead of her. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that Covenant barely heard her.

“Don’t let them get in my way. This is my last chance. We can’t stop the Worm. It’s my fault, but I can’t do anything about it. That’s why I have to—”

Abruptly she stopped.

“I know,” Covenant sighed. “We’re all in the same boat. The only thing that might be worse than facing our fears is not facing them.”

Linden did not reply; did not lift her head. She clung to his hand as if she were drowning.

Covenant knew the feeling. He believed that she would find the courage she needed. A woman who could do what she had done would be able to do more. But he was not at all sure how he would bear losing her.

The sheer scale of his anger at the Despiser was becoming a liability. Often it had kept him going when he should have failed. But now he needed a better answer—and his anger threatened to blind him.

That was the paradox of his leprosy. In order to confront Lord Foul, he positively required numbness. He had to be untouchable: immune to every affront; impervious to the extremes of wild magic. Unaffected by the implicit betrayal of Roger’s allegiance. Yet numbness might also leave him impotent. It had done so before.

When Linden left, she would take his heart with her. If he allowed fury to fill that great hole in his chest, he was sure to fail.