Liand winced, and Pahni stifled a sigh. But they said nothing. Like Linden, they were held by the Giant’s tale.
“You have beheld the extent of his wound.” An undercurrent of self-recrimination troubled Coldspray’s tone. “At that time, we did not. We saw only that the bone of his visage had been broken. Therefore we tended him. Of necessity, the Swordmainnir study healing as well as warcraft. And Giants are hardy. We were grieved by the severity of his wound, but we did not fear for his life. Nor did Filigree and Gladbirth dread that he would perish, though they were likewise grieved.
“Now we have learned that death would have been a gentler fate.”
The Ironhand accepted a few aliantha from Galesend; ate them without haste; discarded the seeds. Then she resumed.
“His recovery was slow and arduous, and even in delirancy he did not speak. Remembering Cable Seadreamer, whose gift or affliction of Earth-Sight resulted from a similar wound, and who was rendered mute by visions, we considered that perhaps Exalt Widenedworld would also display signs of Earth-Sight. But he did not. Rather he arose one day from his bed, seemingly without cause or alteration, and announced his intention to ‘slay’ some nameless ‘her.’ Then he struck down or forced aside the Giants tending him and hastened toward our harborage, apparently seeking a vessel to bear him.
“The Swordmainnir captured him. What else might we have done? And when we discovered that we could not relieve his purpose—that no strength or kindness, no speech or expression of love, no medicament or diamondraught, calmed his violent resolve—we bound him. We had no recourse. Unrestrained, he harmed all who warded him. Again and again, he sought the harbor, and his mad wrath was terrible to those who opposed him.
“At first, his only words were, ‘Slay her.’ Later he inquired if we were fools. And no binding held him. Mere rope he parted as though it were twine. So great was his strength that he sundered hawsers. Fetters of wood became kindling on his limbs. Finally we were compelled to fashion shackles of heavy granite. Unwilling to end his life or cripple him, we knew no other means to contain his fury.
“Thereafter we gathered in Giantclave to choose what we must do. And while we debated together, he whom none now called Exalt Widenedworld shattered his bonds. With his fists, he battered senseless Soar Gladbirth his father and caused the death of Filigree his mother. When his escape was discovered, he had already taken to the sea in a small craft, a tyrscull, apparently intending to sail alone to the ends of the Earth in search of the ‘her’ whom he desired to ‘slay.’”
Mahrtiir’s hands clenched each other as though he gripped his emotions in a garrote. Stave listened without expression.
“We recaptured him. Again we bound him in stone, he raving, ‘Slay her!’ all the while, and, ‘Are you fools?’ Only Swordmainnir stood guard over him, risking no other Giants.
“Now the disputes of the Giantclave had ceased to be, ‘How may we relieve his madness?’ They had become simply, ‘How may we prevent further harm?’ And our dilemma was this. We are lovers of stone. We are not cunning in ironwork. We disdain none of the metals of the Earth. Much we have acquired in trade and seafaring. But our hearts are turned elsewhere. Yet it had been made plain that we required iron to bind Lostson Longwrath. We could conceive of no other means to constrain his wildness.
“Therefore we resolved to convey Longwrath to the land of the Bhrathair, where iron is artfully forged—and commonly traded, for the Bhrathair meet the many needs of their inhospitable home with commerce. We ten of the Swordmainnir were given a compact dromond which we christened Dire’s Vessel. A crew was chosen so that we need not be distracted from Longwrath’s care. Grieving and baffled, we set our sails for Bhrathairealm.”
Linden held her breath without realizing it. She felt neither the chill of the night nor the warmth of the fire. Long ago, she had visited Bhrathairealm with Covenant and the Giants of the Search. Kasreyn of the Gyre had tried to destroy them. Both Hergrom and Ceer had been slain.
“I will not consume the night with tales of our voyage,” Rime Coldspray promised, “though it was much beleaguered, and for a time we wandered, helpless, in the toils of the Soulbiter. I am content to say that at last we found our course to known seas. Among the fading storms of summer, we gained shelter in Bhrathairain Harbor.
“Our sojourn there was protracted for several causes. The shackles which we required could not be quickly fashioned. And the Bhrathair bargained stringently, perceiving the scale of our need. Their need also was great, for a fearsome calamity—or perchance an extraordinary redemption—had befallen them.
“Some centuries past, the eldritch prison of Sandgorgons Doom had frayed and failed. By unguessed means, the Sandgorgons of the Great Desert had achieved their freedom. Yet their bestial savagery was but rarely turned toward Bhrathairealm. Against all likelihood, the Bhrathair were left in peace for decades together. When they were struck, the damage was slight.
“But no more than a moon or two before our arrival, the Sandgorgons appeared to conceive an unprecedented assault. United by some unknown force, a considerable number attacked the Sandwall of Bhrathairealm in a bayamo of immeasurable strength.”
Remembering how Sandgorgons had slaughtered Roger’s Cavewights, Linden bit her lip until she tasted blood.
“The Bhrathair feared extermination. However, it transpired that the Sandgorgons had another purpose. They did not wage warfare. Rather they merely bludgeoned a path through an obstacle. When they had breached the Sandwall, maimed the Sandhold, and torn passage across the heart of Bhrathairain Town, they disappeared into the sea. To the wonder of the Bhrathair, an uncounted host of Sandgorgons had departed.
“Therefore the ironworkers of Bhrathairealm bartered greedily. They craved the service of Giants to restore the Sandwall, to secure the remnants of the Sandhold, and to clear the debris from Bhrathairain Town.
“Even discounting our need to bind Longwrath,” Coldspray admitted, “we would have aided the Bhrathair willingly, loving as we do both stone and friendship. But our stay among them was prolonged by another cause also. While we labored, awaiting the preparation of shackles, we found that we were unable to imprison Longwrath. His madness appeared daily to increase his might. Or mayhap he gained aid by some unknown theurgy. Time and again, he escaped the donjons of the Bhrathair and our own vigilance. Time and again, we recaptured him in Bhrathairain Harbor while he strove to claim a vessel.
“Still he would say only, ‘Slay her,’ and, ‘Are you fools?’”
“Aye,” muttered the Giant who tended the fire. “and we came to abhor the sound of those words in his mouth. We were not inured by repetition. Rather each utterance appeared to augment the meaning of his derangement. As by accretion, he acquired the authority of Earth-Sight.”
Coldspray nodded. “Soon the Bhrathair grew fearful of his violence. They hastened the making of his shackles. And when he was bound in iron, we thought him helpless at last. His bonds he could not break. While we watched over him, he remained passive. Therefore we attempted to complete our promised service. By increments, the Swordmainnir became complacent. I became complacent. Trusting iron, we joined the Giants of Dire’s Vessel in our agreed labors.
“However, we were indeed fools, as he had named us. During our absence from his donjon, he escaped his bonds, leaving them unopened and undamaged.”
Joan, Linden thought. Oh, God. For weeks, Covenant’s ex-wife had slipped repeatedly, impossibly, out of her restraints.
“And now he eluded us,” Coldspray stated grimly. “We found no sign of him, neither at the harbor nor aboard any ship, nor along the length of the Sandwall. We discovered only that he had breached the armory of the Sandhold, beating aside its sentries to claim a sword. Thereafter it appeared to us that he had disappeared into the sea, as the Sandgorgons had done.
“When all our searching had proven fruitless, we elected to depart, thinking Longwrath lost and our purpose unmade. Approval was granted without demur, for the Bhrathair had lea
rned to consider our presence costly. As the Harbor Captain escorted us aboard Dire’s Vessel, however, we found Longwrath there before us, though earlier we had sought him assiduously. He stood like a heading near the prow of the dromond with his new blade sheathed at his back. And he did not resist when we affixed his shackles. Yet he struggled frantically when we strove to move him from his place. When we attempted merely to withdraw his sword, he fell into frothing frenzy. Therefore we left him as he was, bound and armed and calmed, with his gaze fixed before him.
“Ere we set sail, the Harbor Captain informed us that Longwrath faced in the direction taken by the Sandgorgons.”
Of course, Linden sighed, bleak in the darkness. Of course. Hugging her Staff, she faced Rime Coldspray and tried to contain her apprehension. Lord Foul was calling in his allies.
Joan had become calmer, if not more reactive or accessible, when Linden had “armed” her by returning her ring.
“Linden Avery,” the Ironhand said with regret, “we were entirely mystified—and felt entirely witless. Though Earth-Sight occurs seldom among us, it has never taken the form of murderous rage. Yet we had failed to manage our charge. We had failed dramatically. Indeed, we could not in good sooth name him our prisoner, for his madness or his theurgy had exceeded us.
“Therefore we took counsel together, the Swordmainnir and the Giants of Dire’s Vessel. After much debate, we determined to put aside our opposition for a time. While we could, we would set our sails to the heading of Longwrath’s desire. Thereby we hoped to learn the meaning of his madness.
“Thus Lostson Longwrath became our lodestone.
“The season was now winter,” Coldspray explained as if she spoke for the gravid dark. “In those seas, the gales of winter possess a legendary virulence. Yet we were neither beset nor becalmed. Guided by Longwrath’s gaze, we encountered naught but favorable winds and kind passage. The shackles did not fall from his limbs. While he retained his sword, he accepted food and care, and offered no harm. And soon it became clear to even our crudest reckonings that his face was turned toward the Land.”
Liand and Pahni held each other with growing comprehension in their faces. Bhapa sat with his head lowered and his eyes covered as if he endeavored to emulate Mahrtiir’s blindness. The Manethrall gripped himself fiercely. Only Stave remained unmoved.
Acknowledging the reactions of her audience, Coldspray said, “Then did we truly question the wisdom of our course. That we were unwelcome in the Land we knew, but the attitude of the Masters did not alarm us. For centuries, they have proffered only discouragement, not resistance. No, our concern was this. If indeed we traced the path of the Sandgorgons, as the Harbor Captain had suggested, we feared that a grave peril gripped the Land, and that we fared toward havoc which we were too few to oppose.
“Thus among us the words ‘slay’ and ‘her’ and ‘fools’ gained new import.”
She sighed. “And as winter became spring, we found new cause to debate our course, for it grew evident that Longwrath directed Dire’s Vessel toward the noisome banes of Lifeswallower, the Great Swamp. There we were unwilling to follow his rapt gaze. The foulness of Lifeswallower dismayed our senses. Also we remembered the tales of the Search, which warned of the lurker of the Sarangrave, and of the lurker’s servants, the corrosive skest.
“Therefore we turned aside from Longwrath’s hunger. Sailing northward along the littoral of the Land, we sought a safer harborage in The Grieve of the Unhomed.
“We did not doubt our choice,” Coldspray stated in sadness and defiance. “We do not question it now. Yet we learned at once that the ease of our voyage was ended. Contrary and unseasonable winds opposed our course, compelling us to beat ceaselessly against them. And Longwrath emerged from his quiescence to rave and struggle. Had we permitted it, he would have hurled himself, iron-bound, into the sea. No less than three Swordmainnir were needed to restrain him—and five if we touched his blade. Yet we were also required among the sheets and canvas, for Dire’s Vessel was sorely tried, and every element conspired to thwart us.
“Still we are Giants, not readily daunted. Our race has striven with sea and wind for millennia. We ourselves had endured the travail of the Soulbiter. We persisted, exerting our skill and strength to their utmost. At last, we gained anchorage in Coercri, ancient and ruined, The Grieve of the Unhomed.”
The Ironhand paused as if to acknowledge what she and her comrades had accomplished. When Coldspray fell silent, however, Linden’s attention drifted. She remembered too much. In Coercri, Covenant had given a caamora to the Dead of the Unhomed. She needed him. And she did not have to hear the rest of the Swordmain’s story to know where it was going.
She had been warned often enough—
After a moment, Coldspray resumed, “There we deemed that we might rest. We wished to mourn for our lost kindred. And some of their dwellings remained habitable, defying long centuries of storm and disuse. But as we slumbered, believing Longwrath secure, he slipped again from his unopened shackles and fled.
“When his escape was discovered, we held a last, foreshortened Giantclave. We elected to separate, the Swordmainnir pursuing Longwrath while our friends and kin preserved Dire’s Vessel for our future need.
“At another time”—Rime Coldspray looked in turn at each of her smaller companions—“tales will be made of our urgent, maddened, and maddening chase. Few Giants have crossed so many leagues so swiftly, for we ran and ran, and still we ran. Traversing Seareach southwestward, we skirted the foothills of the Northron Climbs to pass through Giant Woods and enter the perils of Sarangrave Flat. There, however, we scented faintly the ancient evil of the lurker. While we were compelled to caution, Longwrath continued to elude us. Yet he made no secret of his path. When every hint of the lurker had fallen behind us, we were able to gain ground in spite of our weariness.
“Finally we caught him, for we are more fleet than he.” Again she sighed. “At the foot of Landsdrop, we shackled him once more. And for a handful of days thereafter, he ceased his escapes. Perhaps because we followed the path of his madness, or mayhap because the ascent of Landsdrop and the obstructions of this woodland hindered him, he permitted us to remain his captors. Thus we were granted a measure of rest.
“Yet our fear increased, for now when he spoke of ‘slay’ and ‘her’ and ‘fools,’ we heard eagerness as well as fury. By this sign, he revealed that he drew ever nearer to the object of his wish for murder.”
“Indeed,” murmured Onyx Stonemage. “I am a Swordmain and deem myself valorous. Yet I knew such dread at his pronouncements that I am shamed by it.”
At Stonemage’s side, Stormpast Galesend nodded. “Though he uttered only, ‘Slay her,’ and ‘Are you fools?’ his enflamed and avid vehemence prophesied ruin as much as death.”
Touched by an ire of her own, Coldspray said in a voice of metal, “It was then that we first encountered the were-menhirs, which you name skurj. They were two, and they did not threaten us. Indeed, they appeared ignorant of our presence. We might have passed by in safety, as Longwrath clearly wished.
“Yet when we had witnessed their devouring of this great wood, their carnage and savagery, we could not refrain from combat. We are Giants and Swordmainnir, and our love for the living world is not limited to stone and sea. Though Longwrath howled in protest, we gave battle to the skurj.
“Tales will one day be made of that struggle, as they will of our pursuit of Longwrath, for we were unacquainted with our foes, and their monstrous fire and ferocity hindered our efforts to learn how they might be slain. Nevertheless at last they lay dead. And still Longwrath suffered himself to remain among us, bound and armed.
“In our ignorance, we sought to ascertain that the skurj were indeed lifeless by severing them into less ominous portions.” She snorted a bitter laugh. “However, our error was soon made plain to us. Two were dead—but in a short time, five more came to consume the fallen, and by that means their number became ten.”
Linden shive
red in spite of the campfire’s warmth.
“Then in dismay we fled, though we are Giants and Swordmainnir. We had met a foe which we could not defeat. Still guided by Longwrath’s greed for bloodshed, we ran.
“Since that day, we have once more fought the skurj, though not by our own choosing. In some fashion which we do not comprehend, they have become aware of us. After our first battle, they did not appear to seek us out. When we chanced to draw near them, they paid no heed. Yestereve, however, we found ourselves hunted deliberately, with cunning as well as hunger. By some means, three skurj contrived to pass unsensed through the earth, emerging beneath our feet to catch us unprepared.
“It was there, Linden Avery, that we lost our supplies. While we gave battle, Longwrath slipped his shackles once more. Having stricken me to the ground”—she indicated the bruise on her cheek—“he escaped. What food, raiment, and weapons were not devoured by our foes, we of necessity abandoned. And it is well that we did so. Had we delayed to gather our burdens, we could not have pursued Longwrath swiftly enough to forestall the fulfillment of his madness.”
Again the Ironhand paused to regard Linden and her companions. Then Coldspray concluded, “Thus our tale ends, though I have refrained from telling it as Giants do, fully, exploring each inference. The time is strait, and hazards await every heading. Therefore I ask. Do you now grasp how it is that we have come to be in this place at this time, and how we may be certain that happenstance has played no part in our meeting? Do you recognize that your own tale has become as necessary to us as breath and blood?
“Linden Avery, you have attained the stature of legends among the Giants. Had the Search not informed us that time flows otherwise in your world, your presence—aye, and your comparative youth—would surpass belief. You have been a redeemer of the Land, and mayhap of the wide Earth also. Yet now Lostson Longwrath craves the sacrifice of your life upon the altar of his derangement. Across a year of the world and thousands of leagues, he has pursued your death. If you do not grant us comprehension, we will remain as lost as he, and as bereft.”
Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant 02 - Fatal Revenant Page 75
