“Kastenessen’s desires are not the Despiser’s,” Esmer continued harshly. “He cares naught for the Arch of Time. Rather he yearns for the destruction of the Elohim. Yet he is but one against many. And the skurj are merely the skurj. He cannot sate his hunger by direct challenge. However, your white ring, and the other, may accomplish his desires. The ending of life within the Arch will achieve it. It will consume his true foes. Therefore Kastenessen commits his creatures against you. Your efforts to withstand them will commingle with the madness of the other Wildwielder. Your puissance will conduce to the end of those who Appointed him to bereavement and agony.”
Again Linden shook her head. “No. That still doesn’t make sense. If Kastenessen wants me to use wild magic, why are you here? Didn’t you say that you were commanded?”
Esmer made a show of patience while his eyes frothed and his wounds wept. “The attack of the skurj is a blade with two edges. Because of my presence, you will perish. Then your ring will fall into the hands of some other being. Kastenessen does not covet it for himself. No Elohim truly desires white gold. For such beings, its peril transcends its promise of might. But lesser wights crave it avidly. Should Thomas Covenant’s son or the Harrow gain possession of your ring, they will evoke wild magic sufficient to feed Kastenessen’s hunger.
“However, my grandsire is wroth with me. He execrates my wish to serve you. Therefore I am commanded here, as both a punishment and a snare. My presence ensures your death-and his triumph. Yet should you discover some means to sway me, so that I am induced to betray him, you yourself will provide his triumph.”
Abruptly the entire for trembled. While Linden spread her feet to keep her balance, a scream of fire erupted beyond the eastern edge of the crest. Virulence shocked her senses as the skurj broke from the ground. From where she stood, the rim blocked her view of the beasts; but she recognised that they were many. Each roar exacerbated the others until the very air seemed to shriek with pain.
She closed her mind to the sound. She could not afford to quail. She would not. Therefore she chose to believe that the Giants would contrive to hold back the creatures.
“So either way Kastenessen wins,” she rasped at Esmer. “All right. I get that. But you still haven’t told me why you’re here. Since he can’t lose, why do you bother to do what he tells you? Why do you care?”
He ducked his head. His manner changed as unpredictably as wind-torn waves. “It is my nature. I must strive to serve you.”
“Then tell me how I can get enough Earthpower from my Staff to hold off those monsters.”
“You cannot,” he said as though he feared her in spite of her helplessness. “That is the true purpose of Kevin’s Dirt. My grandsire and I laboured long and assiduously among the fouled depths and banes of Gravin Threndor to procure this outcome.”
You? Linden thought, aghast. You did that?
“We have been aided,” Esmer admitted. “The extremes of Kastenessen’s excruciation madden him. His thoughts do not cohere. But he has been counselled by moksha Raver. Jehannum serves him, winning connivance from Thomas Covenant’s son as from Cavewights and other powers. At the Raver’s urging, my grandsire severed his hand to exalt Thomas Covenant’s son. The magic to raise Kevin’s Dirt from the roots of Mount Thunder was Kastenessen’s, and mine. But the ploy was moksha Jehannum’s.”
Linden swallowed her dismay. Esmer was helping her: she knew that. He had told her where to look for Kastenessen-and perhaps how to end Kevin’s Dirt. He had revealed how her disparate foes had been induced to work together. But he had given her nothing that would thwart the skurj.
If he answered her questions in order to betray Kastenessen, he was doing his grandsire no harm.
“You’re just talking, Esmer,” she said, deliberately dismissive. “You can say whatever you want because you know that I won’t live to do anything about it. If you want to prove that you’re worthy of your father,” of Cail, whose courage had been as boundless as Kastenessen’s rage. “tell me something useful. Tell me why no one wants me to go to Andelain.”
Without warning, the first of the skurj reared into view.
The sight staggered her; broke her concentration. Even in full daylight, the beast seemed to dominate the sky. Its heat washed over the tor, terrible and chancrous: its massive jaws gaped, blazing with repeated rows of fangs like magma shaped and whetted until the teeth resembled kukris. Heat shouted from the monster’s deep maw as if it articulated the Earth’s quintessential hunger.
The ur-viles and Waynhim huddled around Linden, apparently cowed. Their subdued chittering sounded like whimpers.
Rime Coldspray confronted the creature with her sword held ready. Yet she did not strike. She might have been immobilised; stricken with terror; helpless before the lambent ineluctable fangs of the skurj. But she was not. She was waiting-
The beast towered over her, savouring her death. Then the tremendous kraken jaws pounced for her head. If it caught her, it would bite her in half.
Branl interrupted the creature’s strike. Before it reached Coldspray, he flung a heavy rock down the throat of the skurj.
Reflexively the monster paused. It closed its jaws to swallow; concealed the sick radiance of its fangs.
In that instant, Coldspray swung her glaive. With all of her Giantish might and her Swordmainnir training, she cut into and through the heavy muscles at one hinge of the creature’s jaws.
The skurj fell into a convulsion of pain. Yowling through a spray of vile blood, it plunged out of sight.
Dear God- An abundance of loose stones. Now Linden understood. The mound was not a trap: it was an armoury. Her companions could use the autonomic reactions of the creatures against them. Branl, Galt, and Clyme-even Mahrtiir-could force the skurj to pause.
Any interruption would create openings for the Giants.
But Coldspray’s blow appeared to infuriate the rest of the skurj. Their roaring lashed the air: their heat stank like gangrene. Eight or ten of them charged upward simultaneously. The others were close behind. Threats of slaughter scaled into lunacy as the creatures arched above the tor to crash slavering toward the Giants.
In the space between heartbeats, one small sliver of time, Linden whirled toward Stave. “The Seven Words!” she panted. “They affect the skurj!”
The Giants believed that the monsters could not hear. But Linden had seen one of them hesitate before the implicit theurgy of the Seven Words.
Stave acknowledged her with a nod. Then he sprang away, shifting easily among the Demondim-spawn to inform her companions.
Around the entire rim of the crown, battle exploded.
“Wildwielder!” Esmer shouted. “Forswear your purpose in Andelain, and I will depart!” A cryptic desperation edged his voice. “Do as you will with the Harrow. Others will oppose your efforts to retrieve your son. I will not!”
Pallid with strain, Linden faced him again. The horrid gaping of fangs made his features ruddy and lurid: it seemed to fill his hurts with disease. A bloody sunset shone in his eyes. Her companions were fighting for their lives; everyone who had aided her; her friends-
There was nothing that she could do to help them.
“That’s not an answer, Esmer.” If she turned her back on Andelain-on Covenant and the krill- she would sacrifice her only chance to save the Land. Terror and evil would rampage wherever they wished. The Harrow isn’t here.”
“If I depart, he will come.” Esmer’s mien was rife with supplication. He will remove you from this doom. Your death would complicate his desires.”
Should you discover some means to sway me-
The Giants were too few. The Humbled and Mahrtiir were fewer still. Kindwind tried to stop a skurj by jamming her sword past its teeth into the back of its maw. She hurt it; drove it back. But it clamped its jaws as it pulled away, taking her sword and her hand and all of her forearm with it. Blood fountained from the severed stump.
Guided by percipience, Mahrtiir heaved stones bigger than h
is fists between the fangs of the beasts. He yelled the Seven Words with such ferocity that the for itself quivered. Skurj after skurj was forced to pause and swallow-or to falter. But that was the limit of what he could accomplish. If he touched one of the creatures, its hide would scald the flesh from his bones.
One of Clyme’s rocks interrupted a flash of fangs and incandescence. In that instant, Grueburn ducked beneath the skurj and drove her sword upward through its hide behind its jaws; buried her blade to the hilt. Somehow she struck a vital nerve-centre, perhaps the monster’s brain. Spasming frantically, the skurj toppled down the stones. When its bulk collided with another creature, that beast tumbled as well.
Giants began to shout the Seven Words: a cacophony of invocation.
It was not enough.
Grinding her teeth, Linden demanded, “And if he does? If the Harrow offers me a bargain that I can live with? Will he save my friends? Can he rescue all of us?”
Esmer snorted contemptuously. “Doubtless he is able to do so. He will not. He need not. He cares naught for your companions. Knowing where your son is imprisoned, he requires no other suasion. He will not hazard himself for any cause other than white gold and the Staff of Law. If you insist upon the salvation of your companions, he will merely await a later opportunity to acquire your powers.
“The might of wild magic will be diminished if it is not ceded voluntarily. That he will regret. Nevertheless this plight serves his ends also.”
Bhapa and Pahni hovered uselessly over Anele. When they could, they threw stones at the skurj. The old man made mewling noises deep in his throat. His hands clutched at granite and basalt as if he thought that the broken rocks might redeem him.
Emulating Grueburn, Onyx Stonemage ducked under a blaze of fangs and thrust her sword like a spear behind the beast’s jaws. But she missed her target. In a vast roar of pain and blood, the skurj struck at her; slammed her to the jagged stones.
For a moment, her armour blocked the monster’s bite. At the same time, however, the beast’s fury twisted her blade within its wound. Before her cataphract failed, her thrust became a killing stroke. The skurj recoiled, seized by death. Its blood drenched her, stinking like offal, as the creature fell.
Two skurj were dead. At least one had been badly wounded.
Too many remained.
Stave joined the Humbled. Together they hurled a barrage of rock. Risking her whole arm, Cabledarm succeeded at chopping one huge maw into a grin that could not close by cutting through the muscles at both corners of the jaw. With a volcanic howl, the skurj lurched away. A froth of vile blood spattered the tor.
“But he knows where Jeremiah is,” Linden insisted, panting urgently. “Isn’t that why you tried to suck him into a Fall? To keep him from helping me rescue my son?”
Esmer groaned. “It is. It was.” His pleading became a kind of frenzy. “Your son is beyond price. But if you will forswear your purpose in Andelain, the threat to Kastenessen is diminished. Therefore your son’s worth declines. The Harrow will serve Kastenessen’s desires, though he intends only his own glory. It cannot be otherwise when wild magic and Law are wielded by greed and aggrandisement.”
Kastenessen’s desires are not the Despiser’s.
Others will oppose your efforts to retrieve your son. I will not!
The ruddy hue of burning over the tor began to change. It grew pale. White brilliance reflected in the seethe and misery of Esmer’s gaze. Through a fever of concentration, Linden felt Earthpower rise behind her.
The ur-viles and Waynhim jerked up their heads, scented the fraught air. Barking fervidly, they left Linden and Esmer. On all fours, they scampered to surround Liand.
The Stonedownor was calling up the light of his orcrest. He would draw the skurj to him; distract them-
But he was doing something else as well. Linden’s attention nearly snapped when she realised that he was also summoning power from the Staff. Or summoning the Staff’s strength through the Sunstone. By instinct or health-sense, he had tuned the Staffs resources to the specific pitch and possibility of his orcrest.
The Staff appeared to give him only a small portion of its potential. He lacked Linden’s organic relationship with the runed black wood; and he had no experience. But in a mere handful of days, he had become intimately familiar with his piece of orcrest. Now he used Linden’s Staff to feed the Sunstone, enhance its distinctive theurgy-and to reinforce his stone so that it would not be shattered by the magicks which he demanded from it.
Linden did not know what he had in mind. He had told her nothing. Nevertheless she understood that he was not merely trying to attract or disturb the skurj. He meant to attempt something far more ambitious-
Kevin’s Dirt would hinder him as it did her.
Liand! Fearing the hunger of the monsters, she nearly shouted at him to stop. But she fought down the impulse. All of her companions were about to die. Her own death was no more than moments away. She could not afford to reject any gambit that might confuse or slow the skurj.
All who live share the Land’s plight. Its cost will be borne by all who live.
She had to let Liand take his own risks.
Perhaps the Demondim-spawn would protect him-
Like an act of violence against herself, Linden closed her mind to Liand. Instead she told Esmer. “Then you still have to answer my question. Why don’t you want me in Andelain? I’m not going to ‘forswear’ anything until I know what’s at stake.”
“Because you are not needed!” Esmer cried in stymied supplication. “There is no peril in Andelain! The skurj cannot enter among the Hills. Kastenessen himself cannot. Caesures do not form there. When Thomas Covenant’s ring returned to the Land, Loric’s krill was roused from its slumber. Its might wards the Hills. And other beings also act in Andelain’s defence. The skurj are turned aside. Kastenessen is shunned. Disturbances of time dissipate.
“Andelain is preserved,” Esmer asserted frantically. “It has no need of you.”
Linden heard him with a surge of joy and despair. Andelain was safe-! If she and her companions could cross four more leagues, they, too, would be protected.
But the distance was too great. They would die on this pile of rocks. None of them would leave its crown alive.
Behind her, the ur-viles and Waynhim growled an indecipherable incantation. Her nerves felt a streak of dank power, black and vitriolic, as the loremaster produced a dagger with a blade that resembled molten iron.
One dagger. The dark lore of all the Waynhim and ur-viles combined could not make one dagger potent enough to ward Liand.
What did he hope to accomplish?
Unable to jump back quickly enough, Galesend dove under an attack; pitched herself headlong down the tearing rocks of the mound’s slope. The creature’s jaws tried to follow her. But Mahrtiir was screaming the Seven Words. And while the beast hesitated, Stave threw rock after rock into its gullet, coercing it to swallow, and swallow again.
In that respite, Galesend regained her feet. Battered and bleeding, she plunged her sword into the monster’s hide to cut an opening. Then she shoved her arm to the shoulder into its fire. Though she cried out in pain, she probed within the skurj, seeking some essential organ or artery which her fingers could crush.
Coldspray seemed to hack in all directions. Cabledarm, Grueburn, and the other Giants fought like titans; delivered an avalanche of blows. Even Kindwind gave battle, kicking heavily while she clutched her severed arm to slow the bleeding. Stave and Mahrtiir and the Humbled laboured everywhere, hurling rocks and interruptions.
Still monsters mounted the tor, as unrelenting as seas.
“That still isn’t an answer!” Linden shouted, nearly wailing in frustration and terror. Come on, you sick bastard! Tell me something I can use! “It doesn’t explain why you and Kastenessen and Roger,” and Sunder and Hollian. “don’t want me to go there.”
Find me, Covenant had urged her. Find me.
Remember that I’m dead.
> Esmer writhed as if he were being torn apart. “Are you blind, Wildwielder?” Excoriation and horror bled from his eyes; his wounds. His shredded cymar fluttered in a kind of ecstasy. “Do you comprehend nothing? We fear you.
“We fear what you may attempt with the krill. All the Earth fears it, every discerning or lorewise being among the living and the Dead. Even those who crave the destruction of life and Time fear it. The Harrow fears it, though doubtless he will feign otherwise. We cannot perceive your purpose. We know only your grief and your great rage. Thus we are assured that your intent is dreadful beyond any estimation. It will be no mere Ritual of Desecration. With Loric’s krill, you will strive toward an end too absolute and abominable to be endured.
“Therefore you must forswear your purpose,” he finished in a harsh whisper. “If you do not, I must incur your death, though Cail’s blood in my veins demands to serve you. You will extinguish hope forever in the Earth.”
Esmer had answered her. But he gave her nothing.
And she did not believe him: not entirely. Linden, find me. She was convinced that Esmer and Kastenessen-and Roger-wanted to prevent her from reaching Thomas Covenant among the Dead.
The one Swordmain whose name she did not know went down: Linden could not tell whether she would stand again. Somehow the remaining Giants, the four Haruchai, and Mahrtiir prevented the skurj from swarming over the crest. But with each strike, their incinerating crimson fangs reached deeper among the defenders. Bhapa, Pahni, and Anele had all been scorched with fetid blood.
And Linden could not fight for them. She had no power. Esmer stood in front of her like a mute wail, quelling any possibility of wild magic.
While she reeled, helpless to save herself, helpless to save anyone, she heard a massive concussion like a crash of thunder.
She had not seen the sky grow dark; had not noticed the daylight failing until only incandescent fangs and the orcrest’s pure radiance illuminated the battle. But when raindrops splashed her face, she looked up and saw thunderheads boiling overhead.
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