Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (102 page)

That certainty remained deep in her, as unshaken as buried stone. As long as she did not dwell on her inadequacies,

she would be able to fight for what she loved; oppose what she loathed. She would find a way.

She had done so after the destruction of First Woodhelven.

Resting in Grueburn’s arms, Linden searched herself for scraps of Covenant’s power.

Gradually the walls of the ravine slumped away, releasing the company

into a wide valley bordered on the south by an overgrown escarpment, high and thick with trees. Glimpsed through the jungle, the skyward thrust of the scarp looked too sheer to be climbed. But Bhapa and Pahni found a path upward by angling across the rise, bracing themselves on tree trunks and clinging to bushes. The roots of the trees and brush were deeply knotted in the escarpment’s fissured bones: they held the Swordmainnir as easily as the Ramen. Linden’s company made the

ascent with less difficulty than she would have thought possible.

Beyond the crest, Salva Gildenbourne lost elevation by slow increments; and the Giants quickened their pace. Here the soil lay more thinly over its bedrock. Wider spaces separated the trees: undergrowth no longer clogged the ground. At irregular intervals, rocks mantled with grey-green lichen jutted among Gilden, sycamore, and oak. For the first time since dawn, Linden could

look around her and see all seven of the Swordmainnir. When she glanced at Liand, he smiled to reassure her.

Pahni remained out of sight ahead, hidden by broad-boughed trees and the heavy shoulders of the Giants; but now Linden caught hints of the Cord with her other senses. Although Pahni moved fluidly down the gentle slope, she emanated an unmistakable pang of fatigue. Linden could feel the Cord’s muscles trembling.

Soon, Linden thought. Bhapa would have to find a place that suited Mahrtiir soon.

Abruptly Stave’s head jerked. An instant later, he announced to Coldspray, “The skurj, Ironhand. Galt has discerned them.”

Fear clutched at Linden as the Swordmain asked, “Is he able to count their number?”

He cannot. They blur at the limit of his senses. However, they advance as though they are certain of us. And their pace exceeds ours. Soon Galt will endeavor to number them.”

Coldspray glanced back at Mahrtiir and Linden. “Shall we run, then? Is there hope in flight’?”

Presumably the Giants could carry Pahni and Bhapa.

“Galt deems that there is not,” replied Stave flatly. “Trees and terrain do not hinder the skurj. And they appear capable of great speed. Can you outrun them at need? Can you do so until we have gained Loric’s krill?”

The Ironhand shook her head. “We have run too much. Already weariness weighs upon us, though we are Giants, and proud of our strength. If it can be done, we must abide by the Manethrall’s counsel.”

“Then my Cords must be forewarned,” growled Mahrtiir. “They cannot hear the minds of the Humbled.”

“Cabledarm!” Coldspray called to one of the Giants. “This falls to you. Overtake the Cords. Aid them in their search.”

“Aye,” Cabledarm responded. “Who else?” She bared her teeth in a willing grin. “When wisdom and cunning exhaust themselves, simple strength

must prevail.

“Observe and learn, Linden

Giantfriend!” she shouted as she broke into a run. “It is with good cause that Cabledarm is acknowledged as the mightiest of the Swordmainnir!”

Assisted by the slope, she seemed to bound after Pahni.

“Mightiest, ha!” muttered Grueburn to her comrades. “I claim that title. Free

my arms, and I will ‘acknowledge’ any might that strives to prove itself against me.”

Several of the Giants chuckled; but Coldspray commanded sternly, “Quicken your strides, Swordmainnir. Haste now may earn a measure of respite ere the skurj assail us.”

The women picked up their pace. Linden expected them to race after Cabledarm, but they did not. Instead

the Ironhand held them to a swift walk. After a moment, Linden realized that Coldspray did not want to overrun the Cords’ search for an abundance of loose stones—the ancient litter of scarps and tors-When-or if-Bhapa found a place that satisfied Mahrtiir’s requirements, Coldspray wished to head toward it without needing to double back.

Trembling as if she, too, had run for leagues, Linden touched her pocket to

confirm that she still had Jeremiah’s racecar. Then she drew out Covenant’s ring.

Irregular splashes of sunshine caught the small metal circle as the sun rose toward midday. Whenever Covenant’s wedding band flared silver in her hand, Linden winced involuntarily. Please, God, she prayed without hearing herself. Please. The ring looked puny against the pale skin of her palm; too little to encompass either hope or

contradiction.

Wild magic is only as powerful as the will, the determination, of the person it belongs to. The rightful white gold wielder.

With it, Covenant had mastered Nom; faced Kasreyn of the Gyre; denatured the virulence of the Banefire. Wielded by the Despiser, its savage ecstasy had exalted Covenant’s spirit to secure and sustain the Arch of Time. And Linden

herself had caused a caesure. In the wrong hands, it’s still pretty strong. Nevertheless this immaculate instance of white gold was not hers.

It doesn’t really come to life until the person it belongs to chooses to use it.

Roger could have been lying; but she did not think so. Too much of what he had said matched her memories, her experiences.

Damn it. She clenched her fist around the ring. She had created one caesure: she could form another; catch the skurj in a mad whirl of instants and send them hurtling toward an imponderable future. If she were willing to take the risk—

When she had asked Roger about Falls, he had replied, Eventually they’ll destroy everything.

On that subject as well, she could

believe that he had told the truth.

All right, she promised herself grimly. No more caesures. I’ll try something else.

But she did not know what she would be able to attempt.

In the distance ahead, she felt Cabledarm reach Pahni; felt the Giant sweep Pahni into her arms and go on running. They sought Bhapa, but they

passed beyond Linden’s range without finding him.

Moving at Coldspray’s side, Stave spoke so that Linden and the Manethrall could hear him. “Branl reports no threat. It appears that Longwrath and his escort will not be assailed. And Clyme also descries no presage of harm. Therefore he and Branl come to join our defense.

“Galt will do likewise. However, he

intends first to number the skurj. At present, he perceives less than a score. If he discovers no increase in their force, he will endeavor to learn if they may be made to turn aside.”

Linden flinched. One of those monsters could swallow Galt whole-

“Then he is a fool,” snapped the Ironhand.

Stolidly Stave replied, “He is Haruchai

as well as Humbled, neither slow of wit nor weak of limb. He will not sacrifice himself except in our direct aid. Rather he will seek only to determine whether the skurj may be slowed or diverted.”

Coldspray started to respond, but a distant shout interrupted her. Muffled by trees and foliage, Cabledarm’s bellow was barely audible.

“A place is found! Alter your heading somewhat eastward!”

Eastward-Closer to the skurj.

The Ironhand stopped; turned to face Mahrtiir. “Manethrall,” she said tensely. our esteem for the Ramen grows ever greater. To say that your Cords have served us well is scant praise. We cannot delay for true gratitude. Know, however, that we are honored to claim the friendship of a people who possess such fortitude and skill.”

Before he could answer, she spun

away and began to run. At once, her comrades followed, angling slightly to the left as they rushed between the trees.

Linden did not know how far they ran. Fears confused her. Repeatedly she caught herself holding her breath. Nevertheless the pace of the Giants made it obvious that Salva Gildenbourne’s verdure was growing thin. As the soil lost its richness, it exposed new sheets of stone and older

outcroppings of bedrock stained by weather and time and lichen. Few shrubs and saplings obstructed the strides of the Swordmainnir. Gilden, ancient oaks, and occasional, brittle birches stood farther apart, allowing swathes of sunlight to reach the ground. The Giants flashed through incursions of brightness as if they flickered in and out of predictable reality.

Ahead of them, the trees opened

briefly. Through the gap, Linden spotted a rocky tor, high and rounded like the burial-mound of a titan. Then the Giants ran into full sunshine, brilliant as Staff-fire; and she found herself staring at a formation like a volcanic plug so immeasurably ancient that the eons had worn it down to rubble.

It seemed tall to her: she could not have thrown a pebble to reach its crown. Yet it stood lower than the

surrounding trees. Without Bhapa’s guidance, and Pahni’s, the Giants might easily have missed it.

Boulders as big as dwellings supported its sides, but the rest of the mound was composed of broken rocks in all sizes and shapes. From Linden’s perspective, the crest looked wide enough for all of the Giants to stand together and wield their weapons.

Mahrtiir’s eagerness suggested that the

for was exactly what he wanted. But Linden was not convinced. If her companions chose to defend themselves atop the mound, they would have no line of escape.

Bhapa stood, panting urgently, at the foot of the knuckled slope. But Cabledarm had carried Pahni up the tor. The Swordmain waved dramatically as her comrades emerged from the forest. “I recant my vaunt!” she crowed: a shout of delight. “Skill may

accomplish much which lies beyond the reach of muscle and thew! The Manethrall’s Cords have humbled me.
would not have stumbled upon this admirable redoubt!”p>

“It will serve,” muttered Mahrtiir,

peering at the mound with senses other than sight. “Here even Ramen may oppose Kastenessen’s vile beasts.”

Linden blinked in the sunlight; shook

her head. Bhapa’s condition alarmed her. He gasped as if he were still running, on the edge of exhaustion. Dehydration made his limbs tremble. Apparently he had not paused for treasure-berries or water while he searched. After the battle of First Woodhelven, he had refused Mahrtiir’s place as Manethrall. Perhaps in compensation, he had nearly prostrated himself to prove worthy of Mahrtiir’s trust.

By finding this tor? Linden did not understand. The skurj devoured granite. She had assumed that the Cords sought an open rock field where the Giants could dodge and strike and flee. If they mounted the rocks, they would be trapped.

But the Ironhand did not seem to share Linden’s concern. “Serve?” she retorted as if Mahrtiir had made a jest. “It will do more than serve. It will concentrate our foes where the

advantage of elevation and stone is ours. If Linden Giantfriend does not falter, we may yet hope for our lives.”

If Linden did not falter-

“Galt hastens toward us,” Stave announced. “The skurj pass beneath him. He has failed to deflect their course. Therefore he will endeavor to outrun them. He descries eighteen of the creatures. If others follow, he cannot yet discern them.”

“And the distance’?” asked Coldspray. “Less than a league.”

The Ironhand nodded sharply. “Then we must ascend now. Linden Avery may ready her power while we prepare ourselves.”

Coldspray’s comrades responded

quickly. As Grueburn and Stonemage confronted the piled boulders, the last unburdened Giant lifted Bhapa into her

arms and began to climb.

Supporting herself with her free hand, Grueburn worked her way upward. Time and weight had made the for more stable than it appeared. And the Giants were intimately familiar with stone in every manifestation. None of them slipped on their way to the crest of the mound.

There the rocks were jagged and dangerous. Cracked granite and slick

basalt protruded everywhere, as raw-edged as teeth: an invitation to twisted ankles, scraped shins, snapped bones. Combat would be difficult here. The Giants would have to watch where they placed their feet as closely as they studied their assailants. However, the crown formed a rough circle broader than Linden had guessed, perhaps thirty paces from edge to edge. Her defenders would have more than enough room to fight.

Grueburn set her down carefully. Bracing herself on uneven angles and splits, Linden looked at Pahni to gauge the young Cord’s condition. Like Bhapa, Pahni was close to the end of her strength-and seriously dehydrated. And she lacked his years of training and stamina. In spite of her Ramen pride, she sagged against Cabledarm.

As soon as Stonemage released him, Liand sprang over the rocks toward

Pahni. He seemed careless of the treacherous surface, but his Stonedownor heritage must have guided his feet. He reached her in a moment; caught her in his arms. When he had held her for a few heartbeats, he panted. “Water. She is hardy, but she must have water.”

“As must Cord Bhapa,” muttered Coldspray distantly. Her gaze searched the eastward expanse of Salva Gildenbourne as if she sought to see

past or through the trees. “We have none. And I will not risk one of my comrades to seek out a stream.” Then she glanced at Liand, smiling to reassure him. “Yet we would be abject indeed, unworthy of ourselves, if we had failed to secure some meager store of diamondraught.”

Liand stared, uncomprehending and frightened; but Linden’s anxiety for the Cords eased. She remembered diamondraught well. It was a potent

liquor distilled to suit Giants. But it had virtues in common with aliantha: it would restore Bhapa and Pahni for a while.

Grinning, Grueburn and Stonemage reached under their armor and brought out stone flasks that looked small in their massive hands. By some application of Giantish lore, the flasks had been fashioned flat and slightly curved so that they fit comfortably inside the shaped armor.

Grueburn gave her flask to Liand; let him care for Pahni while Stonemage tended to Bhapa.

Relieved, Linden turned to consider the state of her other companions.