“However, it is of Hile Troy that I would speak, rather than of Caer-Caveral.”
The Manethrall murmured his approval. Liand and the Cords listened as they had since the tales began, rapt and troubled.
With his usual flatness, Stave said, “She who invoked him, Atiaran Trell-mate, perished when she had completed his summons. By the common understanding of the Lords, the death of the summoner ended the summons. So it transpired three times for the ur-Lord, the Unbeliever. Yet when Atiaran Trell-mate died in fire, Hile Troy remained.
“The Council of Lords believed that his summons was not undone because in his own world his death preceded that of his summoner. Therefore his spirit could not return to its former life, and his place in the Land was fixed.
“I cannot know if Hile Troy’s example is pertinent to the plight of the Chosen and her son. Their summoner yet lives, though she is tormented and possessed.
“Nonetheless,” the Haruchai stated with an air of increased concentration. “there is hope in Hile Troy’s tale. The woman Joan wields wild magic. With High Lord Loric’s krill, the Chosen may be able to confront her, and yet remain among us. If so, the Land will be spared much, and perhaps Linden Avery’s son also.”
The Giants considered Stave’s assertion for a long moment. Then their leader chuckled grimly.
“You are cunning as well as valorous, Stave of the Haruchai. Indirectly you seek to allay both our doubts and those of the Humbled. At another time, perchance, my comrades and I will applaud your service to Linden Giantfriend. For the present, however, we can do no more than acknowledge that the magicks which rule the passage between worlds lie beyond our comprehension.”
The Ironhand’s expression tightened as she continued. “Of other foes and powers, we know only that they do not appear to threaten us here. But the peril of Kastenessen and his skurj is immediate and urgent. If Linden Giantfriend seeks the krill, Kastenessen must oppose her. And I do not doubt that he will strike with all the ferocity he may command.”
He hasn’t brought very many of them down from the north yet. But he can get more whenever he wants them. Roger had lied about any number of things—but occasionally he had told the truth.
A score of those monsters would devour Linden’s entire company as easily as breathing.
“By my reckoning,” said Coldspray. “Andelain lies perhaps eight or nine leagues distant. But we cannot know whether Andelain has been overrun with skurj. If the krill has been neither taken nor unmade, it stands beyond the Soulsease. And Salva Gildenbourne’s abundance hinders us. I foresee frantic battle and desperate flight ere we may hope to approach our goal.”
And while the company fought, Longwrath would strive for Linden’s death. Two or three Giants would have to guard him at all times, regardless of the scale of Kastenessen’s attacks.
“Linden Avery,” the Ironhand pronounced formally. “Chosen and Giantfriend, you have spoken of white gold. We have no other clear hope. If we cannot trust to the Staff of Law, then only wild magic may preserve us.”
Linden felt the focused attention of the Giants. Even Longwrath paused to listen. While her friends watched, she reached under her shirt and drew Covenant’s ring into the firelight.
Trying to be precise, she said, “It isn’t literally true that Covenant gave this to me, but it’s probably fair to say that he left it for me. I’ve certainly claimed it.” And used it. “You might think that I already have enough power to accomplish almost anything. God knows I’ve astonished myself—” She still did not understand how she had saved herself and Anele from the collapse of Kevin’s Watch. “But it doesn’t come easily. I have to work hard for it.
“Maybe I’m afraid of it.” Covenant had taught her that wild magic tended to surge out of control; that with each use it grew more rampant and ungovernable. “Or maybe I don’t really have the right to wield it.” According to Roger, only the person to whom white gold truly belonged could call forth its full strength. “All I know is that I can’t chance it when I’m holding the Staff. Apparently Law and wild magic are antithetical.”
She believed this even though she had once exerted both argent fire and Earthpower. With Covenant’s ring, she had melded Vain and Findail to form a new Staff of Law; her Staff. Then she had wielded both wild magic and Law to remain in the Land while she ended the Sunbane, began healing its ravages, and restored her friends. And since that time, her Staff had been annealed in EarthBlood; refined with runes. Caerroil Wildwood had granted her new possibilities which she did not fully comprehend.
Nonetheless Esmer and Stave together had assured her that no ordinary flesh could withstand such forces. In Kiril Threndor, when she had taken up Covenant’s ring, his spirit had protected her. His love and her own grief had enabled her to perform feats which should have been impossible. And her summons to the Land had already been half undone: she had not been entirely corporeal. Now her health-sense insisted that she was simply inadequate—too human and frail—to contain or manage Earthpower and white gold simultaneously.
Like her struggles under Melenkurion Skyweir, the Forestal’s runes had not made her strong enough to overcome the hindrance of Kevin’s Dirt.
“On top of that,” she finished bitterly. “I’m helpless whenever Esmer decides to put in an appearance. I don’t know how he does it, but his presence blocks me. I can’t touch wild magic while he’s around.”
Abruptly Anele spoke from the cradle of Coldspray’s armor. Stroking the rock, he murmured. “This stone is unaware that Kevin’s Watch has fallen. The knowledge is too recent—and too far removed. The stone believes. It will hold, ignorant of ruin.”
With Liand and Pahni, Linden stared at the old man. She wanted him to say more—and to say it so that she could understand him. Seek deep rock. Only there the memory remains. But he ignored her yearning. Nestled in the cataphract, he lapsed into incoherence again.
Oh, hell. With a sigh, Linden turned back to face Coldspray.
The Ironhand was grinning, but her eyes were empty of humor as she said, “Take no umbrage, Linden Giantfriend, when I observe that you do not nurture confidence. Considering your many uncertainties, do you yet insist that you must gain Andelain and the krill?”
Linden glared up at the Swordmain. “Lord Foul has my son. I’m certain of that.” She had been fused to her purpose: her heart held no room for doubt. “If you don’t want to risk it, I’ll go by myself.”
For the second time, Coldspray and her comrades laughed joyfully. Linden might have thought that they were mocking her; but they were Giants, and their laughter held rich affection rather than scorn.
“Ah, risk,” the Ironhand said as she subsided. “Linden Avery, life is risk. All who inhabit the Earth inhale peril with each breath. Though some hazards inspire more alarm than others, the truth remains, as sure as stone and sea. We are Giants and adore life. We do not baulk at mere risk.”
Comforted, Linden sighed again. “I know. I just forget sometimes. Covenant might say something about laughing yourselves to death. Me, I’m just glad that you’re here.”
At that moment, Longwrath’s desire for her blood seemed a small price to pay for the warmth and aid of Giants.
Later Liand and the Cords opened the bedrolls so that Linden’s company could try to find a little sleep before dawn. As she stretched out in her blankets, however, the Stonedownor squatted beside her. “I wish rest for you, Linden,” he said softly. “but I also fear it. The Giants are mighty, and they fill me with gladness. But if we are assailed by more than two or three skurj together—
“Why do they not attack now? If Kastenessen directs them, does he not grasp that delay is perilous to him? Surely he must harry us while we remain far from the krill.”
In the background of his voice, Linden heard that his concern was more for Pahni than for himself. Like Linden’s, his passage through Salva Gildenbourne had been comparatively easy, while Pahni’s efforts had tested her Ramen toughness.
“I don’t know, Lian
d.” Linden lay holding the Staff, although it did not reassure her. “He’s waiting for something, but I have no idea what.” Roger and Cavewights? Moksha Raver and kresh? Sandgorgons? “Maybe he just needs time to gather more skurj.” Or maybe Lord Foul had other plans for Kastenessen. She had been given hints which revealed nothing. “I can’t worry about it right now. I’ll just paralyze myself.”
Face it, Covenant had once told her. Go forward. Give yourself a chance to find out who you are. But he had also said to Liand through Anele, I wish I could spare you. Yet Liand was more afraid for Pahni, Linden, and the others than for himself.
His courage was less conflicted than Linden’s.
For a while, he considered her and the campfire and the sharp night. Then he said through his teeth, “Indeed.” A moment later, he surprised her by adding, “When our need is upon us, I pray that you will entrust the Staff of Law to me, as you did when we fled through time to counter the Demondim.”
Before she could respond, he left her and went to lie down on his own blankets beside Pahni.
She could not read his thoughts, but she recognized the character of his emotions. He had reached a decision, one which resembled his determination to offer health-sense to the Woodhelvennin.
He had conceived of another extravagant use for his orcrest.
That prospect troubled her until weariness overcame her, and she drifted into an anxious sleep, fretful and unresolved.
Dawn came too early: Linden was not ready for it. But she forced herself to arise when Stave spoke her name. Jeremiah needed her. All of her companions needed her. Befogged by too little rest and too many dreams, she stumbled toward the campfire to warm the chill from her bones.
The Giants must have kept the flames burning all night.
She had made no attempt to wield wild magic since she had created the caesure which had carried her to Revelstone after she had recovered her Staff. Now she was not sure that she knew how to find the pathway to power hidden within her.
The Swordmainnir were all awake and moving, as were the rest of Linden’s friends. Under Mahrtiir’s blind supervision, Bhapa, Pahni, and Liand prepared all of their remaining viands so that the Giants could each have one or two mouthfuls to supplement their breakfast of aliantha. While Linden rubbed her hands over the fire in the dim, grey morning, Stave informed her that the Humbled had discerned no danger during the night. Kastenessen was still waiting—She nodded inattentively: her thoughts were elsewhere. She could feel her health-sense leeching from her, sucked away by Kevin’s Dirt.
As always, she felt an almost metaphysical pang of bereavement. Without percipience, she could not gauge the condition of her companions. And she could not see into herself. She had never tried to wield wild magic under the bale of Kevin’s Dirt. She might be entirely unable to access Covenant’s ring. She would certainly not be able to control its force.
But if she restored herself with Earthpower, she would attract the skurj.
When she had eaten a few treasure-berries, and their tonic vitality had begun to lift the brume of fatigue and dreams from her mind, Linden looked around for Rime Coldspray.
The Ironhand was with Longwrath. While Onyx Stonemage and another Giant held him, shackled but ungagged, Coldspray interrupted his harsh demands by pushing aliantha into his mouth. He chewed the berries reflexively, swallowing the seeds as well as the fruit. They seemed to feed his rage.
Beckoning for Stave to join her, Linden approached Coldspray through grass heavy with dew. As soon as the Ironhand greeted her, she said. “Coldspray, we need to talk.”
Without hesitation, Coldspray asked another Giant to take over her task. Then she faced Linden and Stave, towering over them like a buttress against uncertainties and fears.
“I didn’t ask you last night,” Linden began. “Have any of your senses changed since you came to the Upper Land? Do they seem diminished?”
Coldspray shook her head. “They do not. I behold your concern, Linden Giantfriend. I see that it swells within you, though I cannot hear its name. And we retain our acuteness to the evil of the skurj.”
“Good. You’re like the Haruchai. Kevin’s Dirt doesn’t affect you. But the rest of us—” Linden dropped her gaze, irrationally ashamed of her weakness. “We’re being numbed. All of our senses are fading. And it’s getting worse. Soon we’ll be”—she fumbled for an adequate description—“stuck on the surface of everything. We won’t be able to see anything that isn’t right in front of us.”
“We will preserve you,” Coldspray replied gruffly. “Stave and the Humbled will do the same.”
Linden shook her head. “I know you will. That’s not the point. The point is that I can’t use power,” any power. “without my health-sense. Liand can’t use his orcrest. The Ramen will lose some of their effectiveness as scouts.”
Coldspray started to object, then stopped herself and waited for Linden to go on.
With an effort, Linden raised her head again. “We can solve the problem. Temporarily, anyway. But we can’t do it without Earthpower—and that draws the skurj.” Bracing herself on granite, she concluded. “Before we put you in any more danger, you should have a chance to think about it. If you have a better idea—”
Her voice sank away like water in sand. She could not imagine any response to the threat of Kastenessen and his creatures except wild magic.
Stave consulted the rising dawn. “The Humbled distrust any exertion of Earthpower. However, they can offer no alternative. They are certain that stealth alone will not ward us from our foes. And they remain in doubt concerning your purpose. They have not yet opposed you. They will continue to refrain.”
“And you, Stave of the Haruchai?” asked Coldspray with a glint of morning or humor in her eyes. “What is your counsel?”
The former Master gave a slight shrug. “I have said that I no longer oppose the Chosen’s deeds and desires. Also there is this to consider. Some use of orcrest or the Staff of Law may provoke a premature reply. Should Kastenessen strike before his forces have been fully prepared, he will grant us an advantage which we could not obtain otherwise.”
The Ironhand chuckled. “My friend,” she said, slapping Stave lightly on the shoulder. “your cunning grows ever more evident. If it should chance that you weary of being Haruchai, know that you will be made welcome among the Swordmainnir. Lacking the good fortune—and also the stature—of our blood and bone, you will become a Giant by acclamation rather than by birth.
“Linden Avery,” she continued more seriously, “my thoughts follow Stave’s. We cannot hope to conceal our presence from the discernment of an Elohim. Therefore we lose naught, and may gain much, if Kastenessen answers the cleansing of your senses.”
Linden ducked her head again. When she raised her eyes, she tried to smile. “Thank you,” she said unsteadily. “I must have spent too much time alone. I keep forgetting what it’s like to have friends. Stave and Liand and the Ramen are doing their best to teach me, but I’m out of the habit.”
Coldspray and the Giants around Longwrath replied by laughing as though they were delighted. “Linden Giantfriend,” the Ironhand explained, “that tale is too sad for tears. ‘Out of the habit.’” She laughed again. “And its dolor is made more cruel by brevity. We are Giants. If we do not laugh, we will be compelled to insist upon the full tale of your years and loneliness. The very blood in our veins will require it.”
“Slay her,” remarked Longwrath. “Slay. Her.” For the moment, at least, he sounded strangely casual. He may have been affected by aliantha. Or perhaps the mirth of his people eased his turmoil.
“Oh, well,” Linden sighed, feigning sorrow or disappointment while her heart lifted. “I haven’t forgotten everything. I do remember Giants.” Then she called over her shoulder. “Liand! Are you ready?”
At once, the Stonedownor bounded to his feet. “I am.” His piece of Sunstone was already in his hand, and his face was bright with eagerness.
Quiescent, his orcrest seemed
both translucent and empty, as if it formed a gap in the substance of his palm.
An oblique memory caught Linden. Millennia ago among the Dead in Andelain, High Lord Mhoram had urged Covenant to remember the paradox of white gold. Covenant had described that occasion to Linden days later, after he had rescued her from the Clave. There is hope in contradiction.
In Garroting Deep, the Mahdoubt had said the same thing. Upon occasion, ruin and redemption defy distinction.
Then Liand tightened his grip; and the Sunstone began to shine. Its light was whiter, purer, than the argent cast of wild magic. And it did not burn or flame: it simply emitted an immaculate radiance. Soon it filled the glade.
While the Giants watched in wonder, Liand bathed Pahni in whiteness until she, too, shone as if she had been transfigured.
Linden knew that the young Cord was afraid for Liand: Pahni dreaded the implications of his power or his fate. Nevertheless she made no attempt to conceal her gladness as her health-sense was renewed.
Linden ached to share in that restoration. Her nerves hungered for it.
Fortunately experience had made Liand adept. Although his people had been denied their true birthright for millennia, his entire being responded to the Sunstone. He needed only a few moments to cleanse Mahrtiir’s perceptions, and Bhapa’s. Then he turned his light on Linden as if it were chrism.
Earthpower could not heal her emotional hurts. It could not relieve her anguished yearning for Jeremiah—or for Thomas Covenant. Still it made her feel whole again; capable in spite of her many limitations. When Liand was done, she was once again the Linden Avery who had beaten back Roger and the croyel; the Linden who could tear open time—
Trust yourself. Do something they don’t expect.
I can’t help you unless you find me.
The Giants observed in mute joy, as if they were witnessing an exaltation. Then as one they began to cheer.
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