Thomas Covenant 8 - The Fatal Revenant (101 page)

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 happened, 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 croyets cruelty had made her certain.