Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant 02 - Fatal Revenant

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  He landed on his back; flipped over to pull his feet under him. As he sprang upright, the shackles dropped from his wrists and ankles. An inarticulate howl corded his throat as he snatched his sword from its sheath.

  Quickly Liand retreated. Quenching the Sunstone, he hid it behind his back. Chagrin burned in his face.

  Linden feared that Longwrath would harm one of the Swordmainnir; but they recaptured their comrade with practiced ease. Coldspray stepped in front of him and engaged his flamberge with her glaive, compelled his attention, while four women circled swiftly behind him. As soon as Coldspray created an opening, another Giant kicked him in the small of his back. The shock of the blow dropped him to his knees; and immediately the women swarmed over him. In a moment, they had twisted the sword from his grasp and pinned his arms.

  Muttering Giantish curses, the Ironhand retrieved Longwrath’s shackles and secured his wrists and ankles. Deceptively gentle, she replaced the gag in his mouth; returned his sword to its sheath. Then she left him to the care of Galesend and another Swordmain.

  Linden sighed with relief—and regret. “Well, that didn’t work.”

  “Forsooth,” growled Coldspray trenchantly. To Liand, she said. “I do not doubt that your attempt was kindly meant, but you must not hazard it again.” He nodded, openly dismayed, as she continued, “I fear that Longwrath poses a greater threat than any skurj. He will free himself and strike when we are least able to oppose him. Do not provoke him further.”

  The thought made Linden’s stomach clench. “Then what should we do? He’s going to get people killed, and there are too few of us as it is.”

  The Ironhand scowled around the glade, considering her choices. “We will separate once more,” she announced. “Surely Kastenessen does not desire the death of one who desires yours. While Longwrath lags behind us, he will be spared. I will ask three of my comrades to accompany him.” Clearly she meant, To guard him. “If Stave and the Manethrall of the Ramen have no better counsel, the remainder of our company will hasten toward Andelain with such speed as Salva Gildenbourne permits.”

  Stave deferred to Mahrtiir. The Manethrall cleared his throat. “My Cords will again scout our path. Their task will be to seek clear passage for long strides. It falls to the Humbled to ward us against peril.” Then he turned his bandaged face toward Bhapa and Pahni, locating them by scent and sound and aura. “But you must also seek rocky ground. Surely vestiges of the former plains remain, bouldered and barren, where the ancient litter of scarps and tors hinders the trees. If it can be done, we must stand among an abundance of loose stones when Kastenessen strikes.”

  He did not explain himself; but Linden assumed that he thought her companions would be better able to defend themselves if they were not obstructed by jungle and brush.

  Bhapa swallowed heavily. “We hear you, Manethrall. If your command can be met, we will meet it.”

  Pahni gave Liand a quick hug, then clenched her teeth and left him to stand beside Bhapa.

  With fierceness in his voice, Mahrtiir replied, “I do not doubt you. Trust to the Humbled, and fare well.”

  However, Bhapa and Pahni did not set out immediately. Instead they waited to hear what the Ironhand and Stave would say.

  “Stave of the Haruchai?” asked Coldspray.

  Stave shrugged. “The Manethrall is wise and farseeing in the ways of strife. The Humbled approve his counsel. And I do not fear for them. It is their word that they are much healed. While they live, they will ward us.

  “Rime Coldspray, I inquire only if you will bear the Chosen and her slower companions, as you have done before.”

  “We will.” The Ironhand snorted a laugh. “Indeed, we insist upon it.” Several of her comrades nodded. “As stealth will not serve us, we must have speed.” Then she looked to Linden.

  “Linden Giantfriend, what is your word?”

  Linden took a deep breath; tightened her grip on the Staff. With as much confidence as she could summon, she said. “All right. Let’s do it. Just take care of Anele. And keep Liand near me.”

  Chuckling, Frostheart Grueburn stepped forward and lifted Linden into her arms. “You misgauge us, Linden Avery,” she said with a grin. “Though we are large and for the most part foolish, we know a stick when it jabs our eyes. Any man as blighted as your old companion compels our esteem. Already we prize him.”

  Stormpast Galesend chortled at Grueburn’s jest as she picked up Anele; cradled him gently against her stone-clad chest. While the Ironhand donned her armor, Grueburn continued more seriously. “As for the Stonedownor, we have heard you. He must bear the Staff of Law when the time has come for wild magic. Salva Gildenbourne permitting, Onyx Stonemage will run at my shoulder. At worst, she will be a stride before or behind me.”

  Stonemage bent down so that Liand could sit on her forearm. Then she carried him to Grueburn’s side. Both Giants appeared to be stifling laughter.

  A Swordmain who introduced herself as Cirrus Kindwind bowed to Mahrtiir gravely before she presumed to take him in her arms. Her manner revealed an instinctive sensitivity to his emotional straits. Being carried as if he were a child galled his combative spirit. Hidden deep within him was a dumb snarl of anguish and frustration. Kindwind had not known him before he lost his eyes. Nevertheless she appeared to recognize—and respect—his denied distress. She supported him on her forearm as if he were a visiting dignitary, and her posture conveyed the impression that she bore him with pride.

  As Coldspray finished securing her cataphract, three Giants pulled Longwrath to his feet. The rest gathered around the Ironhand. At a nod from Mahrtiir, Bhapa and Pahni ran south across the glade. Abandoning the blankets and bundles that Linden’s friends had brought from Revelstone, seven Giants and Stave followed the Cords toward the knotted shade of the jungle.

  Behind them, Longwrath protested through his gag. But he made no effort to break free. His shackles remained in place. For the moment, at least, he seemed willing to shuffle along in the wake of the woman he wanted to kill.

  Then Rime Coldspray and Stave led Grueburn, Kindwind, and the others at a brisk trot into Salva Gildenbourne. The thick gloom of the trees closed over Linden’s company, immersed her in darkness. The early light could not penetrate the canopy. While her eyes adjusted to the shifting weight of shadows, she felt herself hurtling toward a future which might become an abyss.

  Branches slapped at Grueburn. A few flicked Linden’s head and shoulders. The path of the Cords left no room for Grueburn and Onyx Stonemage to run side by side. Stonemage was compelled to follow Grueburn. Nonetheless it was obvious that Pahni and Bhapa had found a route along which the Swordmainnir could travel easily. While Bhapa scouted farther ahead, Pahni stayed near enough to guide the Giants. To Linden, they seemed to flit among the massive old trees and the younger saplings.

  Because she felt helpless and wanted reassurance, she called softly. “Stave, where are the Humbled?” She did not trust herself to raise wild magic suddenly. She would need warning—

  Stave’s voice filtered back to her through the leaves. “Galt and Branl match our pace to the east, where we are certain of the skurj. Galt ranges ahead while Branl wards our rear at the outermost extent of our speech. To the west, Clyme watches. When the skurj approach, we will be forewarned while they are perhaps a league distant.”

  A league, Linden thought; but the word told her nothing. She could not estimate distances in the constricted and bestrewn jungle. And she had no idea how swiftly the skurj might come. She only knew that tree trunks and boughs, fallen deadwood and swarming vines, rushed past her with disorienting quickness; that she crossed low hills and swept through shallow vales before she could count them; that Grueburn’s breathing was deep and hard, but far from desperation, and that her strength ran like valor in her veins. All of the Swordmainnir gave the impression that they were as fleet as Ranyhyn.

  If they could sustain this pace, would they reach the boundaries of Andelain by noon?

  Whatever happen
ed, Linden would not have much time to prepare herself for Kastenessen’s attack.

  Still she was too distracted to concentrate. Grueburn’s steps shook her; and the woodland inundated her senses with a cacophony of growth and decay. Sunlight began to glitter in the treetops. Around her, the forest seemed to unfurl endlessly, rumpled and unruly; manic with untended life. From the jouncing perspective of Grueburn’s arms, Salva Gildenbourne appeared impenetrable. The Swordmainnir should not have been able to move so rapidly. But at every twist and angle of the earth, every place where the trees clustered to form a barricade, every obstruction of vines and deadwood, the Cords found a path that allowed the Giants to run unhindered.

  Hills and more hills. Swales and streambeds. Unexpected swaths of open grass bedecked with wildflowers. Small marshes like puddles in the jungle.

  Every stride brought the need for wild magic nearer; and still Linden was not ready.

  Snagged occasionally by snarls of brush, the company pelted down a long slope. Whenever Grueburn missed her footing and collided with a tree, she wrapped her free arm protectively around Linden; accepted the impact with her shoulder and ran on. Held against the woman’s armor, Linden felt the jolt as if she had been punched. But the branches that plucked at her face and arms only scratched her rarely; slightly. She kept her grip on the Staff.

  She did not know how Mahrtiir’s Cords contrived to stay ahead of the Giants. She was familiar with the immense stamina of Coldspray’s people. And Stave was Haruchai. But there was nothing preternatural about the Ramen, except perhaps their communion with the Ranyhyn. Being smaller, Bhapa and Pahni had to sprint while the Swordmainnir trotted. Surely even their hardiness would not enable them to continue like this indefinitely?

  At the bottom of the slope, the Cords led the Giants into a ravine like a jagged wound in the flesh of the terrain. There the ground was complicated with boulders, and the Giants were forced to move more slowly. In that respite, Linden cast her health-sense ahead; tried to catch a hint of Pahni’s condition. But the ravine twisted: the mossed granite of its walls blocked her view. The thick odors of damp, mould, and cold stone crowded her nose. She was tossed from side to side by Grueburn’s passage around and over the boulders. And the Giants in front of her filled her percipience. When she concentrated on Mahrtiir, Liand, and Anele, she could see that they were well. But she failed to detect Pahni’s presence.

  “Mahrtiir?” she asked anxiously. “I’m worried about Pahni and Bhapa. How long can they keep this up?”

  Over Kindwind’s shoulder, the Manethrall answered, “You have not been long acquainted with the Ramen, Ringthane. At need, we are able to run briefly with the Ranyhyn. And our inborn endurance is rigorously trained.

  “My Cords will perform all that is asked of them.” After an instant’s hesitation, he added, “Yet it is plain that they near the limits of their strength. I do not wish them driven beyond themselves, if that may be avoided.”

  As one, the Giants slowed their strides. Through the labor of their breathing, Linden heard Coldspray ask. “Stave?”

  “The Cords have guided us well.” Stave did not sound winded. His voice betrayed none of his exertions. “We will sacrifice the benefit of their aid if we ask more haste than they can sustain.” To the Ironhand’s unspoken question, he replied, “The Humbled sense no peril.”

  “Very well.” At the head of the company, Coldspray slackened her pace further. “In all sooth, we also are weary. We have known no true rest for many days, and even Giants must tire.

  “I gauge that we have traversed four leagues. Doubtless our foes gather against us. If the Manethrall’s Cords discover a favorable battleground, perhaps we will do well to await our doom there rather than hazard exhaustion.”

  “Aye,” answered Mahrtiir. “Rime Coldspray, you possess wisdom as well as cunning. If Kastenessen desires to prevent us from Andelain, he must strike soon. Therefore speed is no longer our greatest requirement.”

  Covered in omens of shadow, the Ironhand’s aura seemed to imply a wish for confirmation. Again she asked. “Stave?”

  Stave’s tone resembled a shrug. “If the Chosen does not gainsay it, I concur with the Manethrall.” After a moment, he added, “As do the Humbled. The time has come to seek terrain which may aid us.”

  “Linden Giantfriend?” Coldspray inquired. “Do you consent?”

  Four leagues? wondered Linden. Halfway to Andelain? She had no idea how much time had passed. Sunshine spangled the leaves in tiny flecks far overhead, but the sides of the ravine hid the sun. If the Giants had indeed covered four leagues—

  Coldspray, Mahrtiir, and Stave were right. Kastenessen would attack soon. She needed to prepare herself.

  What in God’s name was he waiting for?

  Perhaps he was not waiting. Perhaps he had already prepared an ambush in Andelain.

  The possibility that the skurj were feasting among the Hills of Andelain made Linden feel sick. But she swallowed her trepidations.

  “You’re probably right. In any case, I don’t have a better suggestion. I could use the rest. And I need a chance to pull myself together.”

  At once, the Ironhand sent one of her unburdened comrades ahead to talk to Pahni and Bhapa. Stave and the other Giants continued along the depths of the ravine.

  Vaguely Linden wondered how much ground Longwrath and his guards had lost—and how long he would delay before he tried to kill her again. But she could not afford to distract herself with such concerns. The Swordmainnir would protect her. She needed to focus her attention on power and the skurj; on Thomas Covenant’s ring and his illimitable resolve. Not for the first time, her circumstances pressed her to surpass herself.

  A grieved and frightened part of her insisted that she was not Covenant, she was not. She had never been his equal. It was folly to pretend that she could match his capacity for extravagant and unforeseen victories.

  But if Roger and the croyel had given her time to think in the cave of the EarthBlood, she would have said the same; and by doing so, she would have helped them destroy her. At least in part, she had succeeded against them because they had left her no room for self-doubt. Jeremiah’s wounded helplessness and the croyel’s cruelty had made her certain.

  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 so
on.

  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.