The gates of the Sandhold were closed; but at a shout from Rire Grist they opened outward, operated by forces or Guards within the walls. Honninscrave and the First entered with the Caitiffin. Clenching her fists, Linden followed.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, Rire Grist began speaking. “As you have perhaps heard, this is the First Circinate of the gaddhi's Sandhold.” They were in a forecourt or mustering-hall large enough for several hundred people. The ceiling was lost in shadow far above the floor, as if this whole space had been formed for the explicit purpose of humbling anyone admitted to the Sandhold. In the light which streaked the air from huge embrasures high above the gates, Linden saw two wide stairways opposite each other at the far end of the forecourt. "Here are housed the Guards and those like myself who are of the gaddhi's Horse.“ At least a score of the hustin stood on duty around the walls; but they did not acknowledge either the Caitiffin or the company. ”And here also are our kitchens, refectories, laving-rooms, training-halls. We number fourscore hundred Guards and fifteenscore Horse.“ Apparently, he sought to reassure the company by giving out information freely. ”Our mounts themselves are stabled within the Sandwall. Such was the Kemper's foresight that we do not yet fill this place, though our numbers grow with every passing year."
Linden wanted to ask him why the gaddhi- or the gaddhi's Kemper-required such an army. Or, for that matter, why Bhrathairealm needed all the warships she had seen in the Harbour. But she set those questions aside for another time and concentrated instead on understanding as much as possible of the Sandhold.
While he spoke, Rire Grist walked toward the stairway on the right. Honninscrave asked him a few seemingly disinterested questions about foodstores, water-supplies, and the like; and the Caitiffin's replies took the company as far as the stairs.
These led in a long sweep to the Second Circinate, which proved to be a smaller and more luxuriously appointed version of the First. Here, according to Rire Grist, lived all the people who comprised the gaddhi's Chatelaine-his attendants, courtiers, advisers, and guests. There were no Guards in evidence; and the forecourt into which the stairways opened was bedecked and tapestried like a ballroom. Light came from many windows as well as from flaming cruses as big as cauldrons. The inner walls held balconies for spectators and musicians; sculpted stone tables stood ready to bear refreshments. But at the moment the hall was empty; and in spite of its lights and accoutrements, it felt strangely cheerless.
Again, two wide stairways arced upward from the far end. Strolling in that direction, the Caitiffin explained that the company would be given chambers here, granted time for rest and sustenance in privacy, once they had been presented to Rant Absolain.
Honninscrave continued to ply their guide with easy inquiries and comments. But the First wore a glower as if she shared Linden's apprehension that the Sandhold would be difficult to leave. She carried her shield on her back like an assertion that she would not cheaply be made captive. But the swing of her arms, the flexing of her fingers, were as imprecise as a cripple's, betraying her bereavement of her broadsword.
No other voice intruded on the hollow air. Covenant shambled forward in Brinn's grasp like a negative image of Seadreamer's muteness. The Haruchai bore themselves in poised silence. And Linden was at once too daunted by, and too busy studying, the Sandhold to speak. With all the frayed attention she could muster, she searched the gaddhi's donjon for signs of evil.
Then the company ascended from the Second Circinate and found themselves in the Tier of Riches.
That place was aptly named. Unlike the lower levels, it was structured in a warren of rooms the size of galleries. And each room was resplendent with treasure.
Here, Rire Grist explained, the gaddhi kept the finest works of the artists and artisans of Bhrathairealm, the most valuable weavings, artifacts, and jewels gained by the Bhrathair in trade, the most precious gifts given to the Sandhold's sovereign by the rulers of other lands. Hall after hall was dedicated to displays of weaponry: rank upon rank of sabres, falchions, longswords; rows of jerrids, spears, crossbows, and innumerable other tools for hurling death; intricate engines of war, such as siege-towers, catapults, battering rams, housed like objects of worship in magnificent chambers. Other rooms contained gemwork of every conceivable description. Dozens of walls were covered with arrases like acts of homage, recognition, or flattery. Several chambers showed finely wrought goblets, plate, and other table service. And each was brightly lit by a chandelier of lambent crystal.
As Rire Grist guided the company through the nearest rooms, Linden was amazed by the extent of the gaddhi's wealth. If these were the fruits of Kasreyn's stewardship, then she was not surprised that no gaddhi had ever deposed the Kemper. How could any monarch resent the servant who made the Tier of Riches possible? Kasreyn's hold upon his position did not arise only from great age and thaumaturgy. It also arose from cunning.
The First's eyes gleamed at the display of swords, some of which were large and puissant enough to replace her lost blade; and even Honninscrave was struck silent by all he saw. Seadreamer appeared to be dazzled by splendour. Apart from Vain and Findail, only the Haruchai remained untouched. If anything, Brinn and his people became more watchful and ready than ever, tightening their protection around Linden and Covenant as if they felt they were nearing the source of a threat.
In the Tier, the company met for the first time men and women who were not soldiers or Guards. These were members of the gaddhi's Chatelaine. As a group, they appeared uniquely handsome and desirable. Linden saw not one plain face or figure among them. And they were resplendently dressed in velvet gowns encrusted with gems, doublets and robes that shone like peacock-feathers, gauzy cymars which draped their limbs like the attire of seduction. They saluted Rire Grist in the tongue of the Bhrathair, gazed at the company with diversely startled or brazen curiosity. Yet their faces wore brightness and charm as vizards; and Linden noted that although they moved around the Tier like appreciative admirers, they did not give their attention to the displayed wealth. From each of them she felt a vibration of tension, as if they were waiting with concealed trepidation for an event which might prove hazardous-and against which they had no defence except their grace and attire.
However, they were adept at concealment. Like the Caitiffin, they betrayed no disquiet which would have been apparent to any senses but hers. But her percipience told her plainly that the Sandhold was a place ruled by fear.
One of the men gave her a smile as superficially frank as a leer. Servants moved noiselessly through the rooms, offering goblets of wine and other courtesies. The First could hardly draw herself away from a particular glaive which hung at an angle in its mounts as if it were leaning toward her. With an inward shiver, Linden realised that the Tier of Riches had been designed for more than the gaddhi's gratification. It also acted as bait. Its very luxuriance was dangerous to people who had reason to be wary.
Then a tremor passed through the air, pulling her to a halt. A moment passed before she understood that no one else had felt it. It was not a sound, but rather a presence that altered the ambience of the Tier in a way only she was able to perceive. And it was moving toward the company. As it drew closer, the susurrus of voices rustling from chamber to chamber fell still.
Before she could warn her companions, a man entered the gallery. She knew who he was before Rire Grist's bow and salutation had announced him as the gaddhi's Kemper. The power which poured from him was as tangible as a pronouncement. He could not have been anyone other than a thaumaturge.
The aura he radiated was one of hunger.
He was a tall man, stood head and shoulders above her; but his frame was so lean that he appeared emaciated. His skin had the translucence of great age, exposing the blue mapwork of his veins. Yet his features were not ancient, and he moved as if his limbs were confident of their vitality. In spite of his reputed longevity, he might have been no more than seventy years of age. A slight rheum clouded his eyes, obscuring their
colour but not the impact of their gaze.
In a flash of intuition, Linden perceived that the hunger shining from him was a hunger for time — that his desire for life, and more life, surpassed the satiation of centuries.
He was dressed in a gold-coloured robe which swept the floor as he approached. Suspended by a yellow ribbon, a golden circle like an ocular hung from his neck; but it held no lens.
A leather strap enclosed each shoulder as if he were carrying a rucksack. Linden did not see until he turned to answer the Caitiffin's greeting that the burden he bore was an infant swaddled in yellow samite.
After a brief word with Rire Grist, the Kemper stepped toward the company.
“I am pleased to greet you.” His voice revealed a faint quaver of age; but his tone was confident and familiar. "Permit me to say that such guests are rare in Bhrathairealm- thus doubly welcome. Therefore have I desired to make your acquaintance ere you are summoned before the Auspice to receive the gaddhi's benison. But we need no introduction. This worthy Caitiffin has already spoken my name. And in my turn I know you.
“Grimmand Honninscrave,” he went on promptly as if to set the company at ease with his knowledge, “you have brought your vessel a great distance-and at some cost, I fear.”
He gave the First a slight bow. “You are the First of the Search-and very welcome among us.” To Seadreamer, he said, “Be at peace. Your muteness will not lessen the pleasure of your presence for either the gaddhi or his Chatelaine.”
Then he stood before Linden and Covenant. “Thomas Covenant,” he said with an avid tinge in his voice. “Linden Avery. How you gladden me. Among such unexpected companions”-a flick of one hand referred to the Haruchai, Vain, and Findail-“you are the most unexpected of all, and the most pleasurable to behold. If the word of the gaddhi's Kemper bears any weight, you will not lack comfort or service while you sojourn among us.”
Distinctly, as if on cue, Covenant said, “Don't touch me.”
The Kemper raised an age-white eyebrow in surprise. After a quick scrutiny of Covenant, his eyes turned toward Linden as if to ask her for an explanation.
She resisted his intense aura, trying to find a suitable response. But her mind refused to clear. He disturbed her. Yet the most unsettling aspect of him was not the man himself, not the insatiaty he projected. Rather, it was the child on his back. It hung in its wrappings as if it were fast and innocently asleep; but the way its plump cheek rested against the top of his spine gave her the inexplicable impression that it fed on him like a succubus.
This impression was only aggravated by the fact that she could not confirm it. Though the infant was as plainly visible as the Kemper, it did not impinge at all on the other dimension of her senses. If she closed her eyes, she still felt Kasreyn's presence like a yearning pressure against her face; but the infant disappeared as if it ceased to exist when she stopped gazing at it. It might have been an hallucination.
Her stare was too obvious to escape Kasreyn's notice. A look of calculation crossed his mien, then changed to fondness. “Ah, my son,” he said. “I bear him so constantly that upon occasion I forget a stranger might wonder at him. Linden Avery, I am uxorious, and my wife is sadly ill. Therefore I care for our child. My duties permit no other recourse than this. But you need have no concern of him. He is a quiet boy and will not trouble us.”
“Forgive me,” Linden said awkwardly, trying to emulate Honninscrave's detached politeness. “I didn't mean to be rude.” She felt acutely threatened by that child. But the Kemper's welcome might become something else entirely if she showed that she knew he was lying.
“Give no thought to the matter.” His tone was gently condescending. “How can it offend me that you have taken notice of my son?” Then he returned his attention to the Giants.
"My friends, much time has passed since your people have had dealings with the Bhrathair. I doubt not you have remained mighty roamers and adventurers, and your history has surely been rich in interest and edification. I hope you will consent to share with me some of the tales for which the Giants have gained such renown. But that must come later, as my service to the gaddhi permits.“ Abruptly, he raised a long, bony ringer; and at the same instant a chime rang in the Tier of Riches. ”At present, we are summoned before the Auspice. Rire Grist will conduct you to The Majesty." Without farewell, he turned and strode vigorously from the room, bearing his son nestled against his back.
Linden was left with a sense of relief, as if a faintly nauseating scent had been withdrawn. A moment passed before she realised how deftly Kasreyn had prevented her companions from asking him any questions. And he had not voiced any inquiry about Covenant's condition. Was he that incurious? — or was he capable of discerning the answer for himself?
Rire Grist beckoned the company in another direction. But Honninscrave said firmly, “One moment, Caitiffin.” His posture showed that he also had doubts about Kasreyn. “A question, if you will. I ask pardon if I am somewhat forward-yet I cannot but think that the gaddhi's Kemper is more than a little advanced in years to be the father of such an infant.”
The Caitiffin stiffened. In an instant, his countenance became the visage of a soldier rather than of a diplomat. “Giant,” he said coldly, “there is no man or woman, Chatelaine or Guard, in all Bhrathairealm who will speak to you concerning the Kemper's son.” Then he stalked out of the room as if he were daring the company not to follow him.
Honninscrave looked at Linden and the First. Linden felt neither ready nor safe enough to do anything more than shrug; and the First said grimly, “Let us attend this gaddhi, All other reasons aside, it rends my heart to behold so many brave blades I may not touch.”
The Master's discomfort at the role he played showed itself in the tightness of his shoulders, the weight of his brows. But he led the company after Rire Grist.
They caught up with the Caitiffin two galleries later. By then, he had recovered his courtly politesse. But he offered no apology for his change of manner. Instead, he simply ushered the company onward through the Tier of Riches.
The chime must have included all the Chatelaine in its call. The sumptuously clad men and women were now moving in the same direction Rire Grist took. Their ornaments glittered in accompaniment to their personal comeliness; but they walked in silence, as if they were bracing themselves for what lay ahead.
Linden was briefly confused by the complexity of the Tier, uncertain of where she was headed. But soon the chambers debouched into a hall that took the thickening stream of people toward a richly gilt and engraved stairway which spiralled upward to pierce the ceiling.
Surrounded by the courtiers, she was more sure than ever that she saw shadows of trepidation behind their deliberate gaiety. Apparently, attendance upon the gaddhi represented a crisis for them as well as for the company. But their knurled cheeriness did not reveal the nature of what they feared.
The treads climbed dizzily upward. Hunger, and the fatigue of her legs, sent low tremblings through Linden's thighs. She felt too unsteady to trust herself. But she drew a mental support from Cail's hardness at her shoulder and trudged on behind the Giants and Rire Grist.
Then the stairs opened into The Majesty, and she forgot her weariness.
The hall into which she stepped seemed almost large and grand enough to fill the entire level. At this end, the air was only dimly lit by reflected light, and the gloom made the place appear immense and cavernous. The ceiling was lost in shadow. The hustin that lined the long, curving wall nearby looked as vague as icons. And the wall itself was deeply carved with huge and tormented shapes-demons in bas-relief which appeared to be animated by the dimness, tugging at the edges of Linden's sight as if they writhed in a gavotte of pain.
The floor was formed of stone slabs cut into perfect circles. But the gaps between the circles were wide, deep, and dark. Any misstep might easily break an ankle. As a result, the company had to advance with care in order to approach the light.
The rest of the hall was als
o designed to be daunting. All the light was concentrated around the Auspice: skylights, flaming vats of oil with polished reflectors, vivid candelabra on tall poles cast their illumination toward the gaddhi's seat. And the Auspice itself was as impressive as art and wealth could make it. Rising from a tiered plinth of stairs, it became a monolith which reached for the ceiling like an outstretched forearm and hand. Its arm was crusted with precious stones and metals, and the hand was an aurora of concentric circles behind the seat.
The Auspice appeared to be enormous, dominating the hall. But after a moment Linden realised that this was a consequence of the light and the hall's shape. The ceiling descended as it entered the light, enhancing the Auspice with an illusion of more size than it truly possessed. Spangled with lumination and jewel-work, the seat drew every eye as a cynosure. Linden had trouble forcing herself to watch where she put her feet; and her apprehension tightened another turn. As she strove to walk forward without stumbling into the gaps which marked the floor all the way to the Auspice, she learned to understand The Majesty. It was intended to make everyone who came here feel subservient and vulnerable.
She resisted instinctively. Glowering as if she had come to hurl revolt at the sovereign of Bhrathairealm, she followed the Giants, took her place among them when Rire Grist stopped a short distance from the plinth of the Auspice. Around them, the Chatelaine spread out to form a silent arc before the gaddhi's seat. Looking at her companions, she saw that the Giants were not immune to the power of The Majesty; and even the Haruchai seemed to experience some of the awe which had led their ancestors to Vow fealty to Kevin Landwaster. Vain's blankness and Findail's unimpressed mien gave her no comfort. But she found a positive reassurance in the uncowed distinctness with which Covenant uttered his empty refrain:
The One Tree t2cotc-2 Page 29
