One Tree (49 page)

For a moment, the Caitiffin’s eyes shifted back and forth, searching for a way to inquire what that boon was. But then he grasped that she did not mean to tell him. As he wiped a discomfited hand across his forehead, he looked like a man for whom a lifetime of ambition had begun to crumble. Yet he remained tough enough to act. Striving to contain his uncertainty, he answered, “It is rare for the
gaddhi
to grant audience at such a time. But for his guests he may perhaps make exception. Will you accompany me?”

When the First nodded, he turned as if he wanted to flee and left the chamber.

Quickly she looked at her companions. None of them hesitated. Seadreamer lifted Ceer from the cushions. Brinn took hold of Covenant’s arm. Honninscrave moved forward tightly, holding his emotions in both fists.

Vain remained as blank as ever; and Findail seemed to be entranced by his own distress. But neither of them lingered behind the company.

Linden led them after Rire Grist.

She followed him closely, with Cail and then the others behind her. She wanted to ensure that the Caitiffin had as little opportunity as possible to prepare surprises. She could not prevent the brackish shout he directed at the first
hustin
he met, sending two of them at a run ahead of him; but she saw no cunning in the set of his back, heard no duplicity in the tone of his voice. When he informed her over his shoulder that he had told the Guards to bear the company’s request to Rant Absolain, she was able to believe him. Whatever hopes he had left did not require him to betray the quest now.

He led the company directly upward through the Tier of Riches to The Majesty. As Linden ascended into the audience-hall, she found everything arranged as it had been during the company’s initial presentation to the
gaddhi
: scores of Guards were stationed around the wall; and all the light was focused toward the high Auspice. Only the Chatelaine were missing. Their absence made her realize that she had not seen any of them since the previous day. She grew tighter. Were they simply staying out of harm’s way?—or had they been commanded into seclusion so that they would not interfere with Kasreyn’s machinations?

The Caitiffin spoke to one of the
hustin
and received an answer which relieved him. He faced the company with a smile. “The
gaddhi
elects to grant you audience.”

Linden and the First shared a moment of preparation. Then they followed Rire Grist across the circles of the floor toward the Auspice.

In the zone of light, they stopped beside him. The Auspice lifted its magnificence into the lumination as if it were more truly the suzerain of
Bhrathairealm
than Rant Absolain himself.

The
gaddhi
was not there.

But after only a moment’s delay he emerged from the shadows behind his seat. He was alone, unaccompanied by either his women or the Kemper. And he was nervous. Linden sensed the trembling of his knees as he ascended the throne.

Rire Grist dropped to one knee. Linden and the Giants mimicked his obeisance. Her tension made her want to shout at Brinn and Cail, at Vain and Findail, to do the same; but she kept herself still. As Rant Absolain climbed through the brightness to take his seat, she studied him. He had put off his formal robe and now wore a light tunic which appeared to be a form of bed-attire. But underneath his raiment, his inner state was clouded. It was clear that he had been drinking heavily. The wine obscured his emanations.

When he took his seat, she and the First arose without waiting for his permission. The other Giants and Rire Grist also stood. Seadreamer held Ceer into the light like an accusation.

Rant Absolain peered out at the company, but did not speak. His tongue worked the inside of his mouth as if he were dry with thirst. A patina of wine blurred his vision, made him squint until aches squeezed his temples.

The First gave him a moment of silence like an act of forbearance toward his weakness. Then she took a step forward, bowed formally, and began to speak,

“O
gaddhi
, you honor us with this hearing. We are your guests and desire to ask a boon of you.” The edge of her voice was masked in velvet. “Word has come to us that our vessel is now replenished and repaired, according to your grace. O
gaddhi
, the quest which drives us across the seas is urgent and consuming. We ask your grant to depart, that we may pursue our purpose, bearing the honor of your name with us as we go.”

She spoke in a reassuring tone; but her words brought down consternation on Rant Absolain. He shrank against the Auspice. His hands gripped the arms of the seat for an answer it did not provide. While he wrestled for a response, his lips mumbled, No. No.

Linden felt a touch of pity for him; but it was not enough to ease the pressure which stretched her to her resolve.

At last, he rasped against the desert in his throat, “Depart?” His voice cracked helplessly. “I cannot permit it. You have suffered in
Bhrathairealm
.” Somehow he found the strength to insist defensively, “Through no fault of mine. Blood was shed. I am required to exact justice.” But then he became timorous again, painfully aware of his isolation. “But you must not bear such tidings of me to the world. You are guests, and the
gaddhi
is not harsh to his guests. I will make restitution.” His eyes winced as his brain scrambled in search of inspiration. “Do you desire a sword? Take what you wish in the name of my goodwill and be content. You may not depart.” His gaze beseeched the First not to press him further.

But she did not relent. Her voice hardened. “O
gaddhi
, I have heard it spoken that the
hustin
are yours, answering to your will absolutely.”

She surprised him; but he did not perceive the nature of her attack. The thought of the
hustin
restored to him a measure of confidence. “That is true. The Guard is mine.”

“It is untrue.” The First slipped her intent like a dirk through his defenses. “If you command them to permit our departure, they will refuse.”

The
gaddhi
sprang to his feet. “You lie!”

She overrode his protest. “Kasreyn of the Gyre commands them. He made them, and they are his.” Sharply she drove the deepest wedge she could find between Rant Absolain and the Kemper. “They answer you only at his whim.”

“Lies!” he shouted at her. “Lies!” Magenta anger or fear suffused his visage. “They are mine!”

At once, Linden responded, “Then try it! Tell them to let us go. Give us permission to leave. You’re the
gaddhi
. What have you got to lose?”

At her demand, all the color drained from his face, leaving him as pallid as panic in the focus of the light. His mouth gaped, but no words came. His mind appeared to flee inward, reaving him of self-consciousness or choice. Dumbly he turned, descended from the Auspice, came down to the level of the company. He trembled as he moved—as frail as if the moments were years and all the stone of the Sandhold had turned against him. Staring vaguely before him, he shuffled toward Linden, brought his fear to her. He swallowed several times; his gaze slowly clarified. In a hoarse whisper like an internal wound, he said, “I dare not.”

She had no reply. He was telling the truth—the whole truth of his life.

For a moment longer, he faced her, appealing to her with his dread. Then he turned away as if he understood that she had refused him. Stumbling over the gaps in the floor, he made his vulnerable way into the shadow of the Auspice and was gone.

The First looked at Linden.

“That does it.” Linden felt that she was near her breaking-point. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

With a deft movement, the First unbound her helm from her belt, settled it upon her head. Her shield she unslung from her back. Lashing her left forearm into the straps of the shield, she strode toward the stairs.

Rire Grist started after her, spouting expostulations. But Honninscrave caught hold of him. A precise blow stretched the Caitiffin senseless on the floor.

None of the Guards reacted. They gripped their spears at rest and stood where they were, waiting for some voice they recognized to tell them what to do.

Linden hurried after the First; but she did not let herself run. The time for running had not yet come. Her senses were alert and sharp, etching out perceptions. Her companions were behind her in formation, poised for violence. But here nothing threatened them. Below them, the Tier of Riches remained empty. Beyond that her percipience did not reach.

In silence marked only by the sounds of their feet, the questers spiraled down to the Tier. There the First did not hesitate. With a warrior’s stride, she passed among the galleries until she reached the one which displayed the blade she coveted.

“Heard my ears aright?” she murmured in stern irony as she lifted the longsword from its mounts, hefted it to ascertain its balance. “Did the
gaddhi
not grant me this glaive?” The falchion’s edges were as keen as the light in her eyes. Her mouth tasted names for this blade.

Chortling to himself, Pitchwife went with Honninscrave to find other weapons.

They rejoined the company at the stairs to the Second Circinate. Pitchwife bore a spiked cudgel as gnarled and massive as his own arms. And over one shoulder Honninscrave carried a huge iron-bound timber which must have been part of some large siege-engine. The thrust of his beard threatened peril to anyone who dared oppose him.

At the sight, Brinn’s gaze brightened; and a look like a smile passed over Ceer’s pain-disdaining visage.

Together the companions started downward.

But when they reached the Second Circinate, Linden halted them. Her tension was scaling toward hysteria. “Down there,” All her senses rang like hammered metal. Opposition too dense to be enumerated crowded the forecourt of the First Circinate. “He’s waiting for us.” Kasreyn’s presence was as unmistakable as his hunger.

“That is well.” The First stroked her new sword. Her certainty was iron and beauty in her countenance. “His life in
Bhrathairealm
will no longer be what it was. If he is required to declare his tyranny, many things will be altered—not least among them the prosperity of this land.” Her voice was acutely eager.

The company arrayed itself for battle. Knotting her fear in her throat, Linden took Covenant from Brinn, freeing the
Haruchai
to fight. The First and Honninscrave, Pitchwife and the two
Haruchai
, positioned themselves around Seadreamer,

Ceer, Covenant, and Linden. Ignoring the Demondim-spawn and Findail, who needed no protection, the company walked defiantly down the stairs to the First Circinate.

There Kasreyn of the Gyre awaited them with four or five score
hustin
and at least that many unmounted soldiers.

He stood with his back to the gates. The gates were closed.

The only illumination came from the sunlight striking in shafts through the unattainable windows.

“Hold!” The Kemper’s shout was clear and commanding. “Return to your chambers! The
gaddhi
denies your departure.”

Fired by the mad peril of her promises, Linden retorted, “He’d let us go if he dared!”

The company did not stop.

Kasreyn barked an order. The Guards leveled their spears. In a sharp hiss of metal, the soldiers drew their swords.

Stride by stride, the forces converged. The company looked as insignificant as a handful of sand thrown against the sea. Without Covenant’s power, they had no chance. Unless they could do what Brinn had wanted to do earlier—unless they could get to Kasreyn and kill him.

Then the First called like a tantara, “Stone and Sea!” and Honninscrave attacked. Heaving his timber broadside against the
hustin
, he broke their ranks halfway to Kasreyn’s position. At once, he sprang into the confusion, began felling Guards on every side with his great fists.

The First and Pitchwife went with him, passed him. Pitchwife had neither the First’s grace nor the Master’s strength; but his arms were as sturdy as oaks, and with his cudgel he bashed assailants away from the First’s back while she slashed her way forward.

She went for Kasreyn as if she meant to reap blood right to the wellspring of his heart. She was the First; and he had manipulated and slain her comrades while she had been weaponless. Her sword flashed like lightning among the sunshafts, first iron and then red as she flailed bloodshed about her.

The spears of the Guards were awkward for such in-fighting. No soldier could reach the Giants with an ordinary sword. The three seafarers fought through the throng toward Kasreyn and were impossibly successful.

Seadreamer, carrying Ceer, herded Covenant and Linden forward. On either side, Brinn and Cail seemed to blur as they fought. Whirling and striking in all directions, they dealt out blows and swift death. For long moments of inchoate attack and precise rebuff, the company moved down the length of the forecourt.

But the task remained impossible. The questers were grievously outnumbered; and more
hustin
arrived constantly. Dodging the thrust of a spear, Seadreamer stumbled against Linden. She slipped in a swath of blood and fell. Warm fluid smeared her clothes, her arms. Covenant stopped moving. His empty eyes witnessed the movements around him; but he did not react to the clangor of combat, the cries of the wounded.

Scrambling to her feet, Linden looked back at Vain and Findail for help. Soldiers hacked wildly at the
Elohim
, but their blades passed through him without effect. Before their astonished eyes, he melted away into the floor.

Vain stood motionless, offering his aimless smile to his attackers. Spear-tips and swords shredded his raiment, but left his flesh unmarked. Blows rang against him and broke into splinters of pain for those who struck. He appeared capable of mastering all the
hustin
alone, if he but chose to act.

An assault rushed at Covenant, was barely beaten back. “Vain!” Linden raged. “Do something!” He had saved her life more than once. They all needed his help now.