White Gold Wielder -- Stephen R. Donaldson
The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever -- Book Six

(Version 1.0 -- 12/13/2001)

PART I

Retribution

ONE: The Masters Scar

AWKWARD without its midmast, Starfare's Gem turned
heavily toward the north, putting its stern to the water clogged
with sand and foam which marked the passing of the One
Tree. In the rigging. Giants labored and fumbled at their tasks,
driven from line to line by the hoarse goad of Sevinhand's
commands, even though Seadreamer lay dead on the deck
below them. The Anchormaster stood, lean and rue-bitten, on
the wheeldeck and yelled up at them, his voice raw with sup-
pressed pain. If any compliance lagged, the Storesmaster,
Galewrath, seconded him, throwing her shout after his like a
piece of ragged granite because all the Search had come to
ruin and she did not know any other way to bear it. The
dromond went north simply to put distance between itself
and the deep grave of its hope.

But Grimmand Honninscrave, the Giantship's Master, hud-
dled on the afterdeck with his brother in his arms and did
not speak. His massive face, so strong against storms and
perils, looked like a yielded fortification; his beard tangled the
shadows as the sun declined toward setting. And beside him
stood the First of the Search and Pitchwife as if they were lost
without the Earth-Sight to guide them.

Findail the Appointed stood there also, wearing his old
misery like a man who had always known what would happen
at the Isle of the One Tree. Vain stood there with one heel of
the former Staff of Law bound around his wooden wrist and
his useless hand dangling. And Linden Avery stood there as
well, torn between bereavements: outrage and sorrow for Sea-
dreamer swimming in her eyes, need for Covenant aching in
her limbs.

But Thomas Covenant had withdrawn to his cabin like a
crippled animal going to ground; and he stayed there.
He was beaten. He had nothing left.

Harsh with revulsion, he lay in his hammock and stared at
the ceiling. His chamber had been made for a Giant; it out-
sized him, just as his doom and the Despiser's manipulations
had outsized him. The red sunset through the open port
bloodied the ceiling until dusk came and leeched his sight
away. But he had been blind all along, so truncated of per-
ception that he had caught no glimpse of his true fate until
Linden had cried it into his face:

This is what Foul wants!

That was bow his former strengths and victories had been
turned against him. He could not feel Cail standing guard
outside his door like a man whose fidelity had been redeemed.
Beyond the slow rolling of the Giantship's pace, the salt of
futility in the air, the distant creak of rigging and report of
canvas, he could not tell the difference between this cabin and
the dungeon of the Sandhold or the betrayed depths of Revel-
stone. All stone was one to him, deaf to appeal or need, sense-
less, He might have destroyed the Earth in that crisis of power
and venom, might have broken the Arch of Time as if he were
indeed the Despiser's servant, if Linden had not stopped him.

And then he had failed at his one chance to save himself.
Horrified by love and fear for her, he had allowed Linden to
return to him, abandoning the stricken and dying body of.his
other life. Abandoning him to ruin, though she had not in-
tended any ruin.

Brinn had said to him. That is the grace which has been
given to you, to bear what must be borne. But it was a lie.

In darkness he lay and did not move, sleepless although he
coveted slumber, yearned for any oblivion which would bring
surcease. He went on staring upward as if he too were graven
of dead stone, a reification of folly and broken dreams snared
within the eternal ambit of his defeat. Anger and self-despite
might have impelled him to seek out his old clothes, might
have sent him up to the decks to bear the desolation of his
friends. But those garments he had left in Linden's cabin as
though for safe-keeping; and he could not go there. His love
for her was too corrupt, had been too severely falsified by
selfishness. Thus the one lie he had practiced against her from
the beginning came back to damn him.

He had withheld one important fact from her, hoping like
a coward that it would prove unnecessary—that his desire for
her would be permissible in the end. But by the lie of with-
holding he had accomplished nothing except her miscompre-
hension. Nothing except the Search's destitution and the
Despiser*s victory. He had let his need for her blind both of
them.

No, it was worse than that. He did need her, had needed
her so acutely that the poignance of it had shredded his de-
fenses. But other needs had been at work as well: the need to
be the Land's rescuer, to stand at the center of Lord Foul's
evil and impose his own answer upon it; the need to demon-
strate his mortal worth against all the bloodshed and pain
which condemned him. He had become so wrapped up in his
isolation and leprosy, so certain of them and what they meant,
that they had grown indistinguishable from Despite.

Now he was beaten. He had nothing left for which he might
sanely hope or strive.

He should have known better. The old man on Haven Farm
had spoken to Linden rather than to him. The Elohim had
greeted her as the Sun-Sage, him as the wrongness which im-
perilled the Earth. Even dead Elena in Andelain had said
plainly that the healing of the Land was in Linden's hands
rather than his. Yet he had rejected comprehension in favor
of self-insistence. His need or arrogance had been too great to
allow comprehension.

And still, with the destruction of everything he held pre-
cious laid squarely at his door, he would not have done other-
wise—would not give up his ring, not surrender the meaning
of his life either to Linden or to Findail. It was all that re-
mained to him: to bear the blame if he could not achieve the
victory. Failing everything else, he could still at least refuse
to be spared.

So he lay in his hammock like a sacrifice, with the stone
vessel spread out unreadably around him. Fettered by the iron
of his failures, he did not move or try to move. The first night
after the dark of the moon filled his eyes. In Andelain, High
Lord Mhoram had warned, He has said that you are his
Enemy. Remember that he seeks always to mislead you. It
was true: he was the Despiser's servant rather than Enemy.
Even his former victory had been turned against him. Suck-
ing the wounded places of his heart, he returned the sightless
stare of the dark and remained where he was.

He had no measure for the passage of time; but the night
was not far advanced when he heard a stiff, stretched voice
rumble outside his door. It uttered words he was unable to
distinguish. Yet Cail's reply was precise. 'The doom of the
Earth is upon his head," the Haruchai said. "Will you not
pity him?"

Too weary for indignation or argument, Honninscrave re-
sponded, "Can you believe that I mean him harm?"

Then the door opened, and a lantern led me Master's tall
bulk into the cabin.

The light seemed small against the irreducible night of the
world; but it lit the chamber brightly enough to sting Cove-
nant's eyes, like tears he had not shed. Still he did not turn
his head away or cover his face. He went on staring numbly
at the ceiling while Honninscrave set the lantern on the table.

The table was low for the size of the cabin. From the first
day of the quest's voyage, the Giantish furniture had been re-
placed by a table and chairs better suited to Covenant's stat-
ure- As a result, the lantern threw the hammock's shadow
above him. He seemed to lie in the echo of his own dark.

With a movement that made his sark sigh along the wall,
Honninscrave lowered himself to the floor. After long mo-
ments of silence, his voice rose out of the wan light.

"My brother is dead." The knowledge still wrung him.
"Having no other family since the passing of our mother and
father, I loved him, and he is dead. The vision of his Earth-
Sight gifted us with hope even as it blighted him with anguish,
and now that hope is dead, and he will never be released. As
did the Dead of The Grieve, he has gone out of life in horror.
He will never be released. Cable Seadreamer my brother,
bearer of Earth-Sight voiceless and valiant to his grave."

Covenant did not turn his head. But he blinked at the sting
in his eyes until the shadow above him softened it The way
of hope and doom, he thought dumbly. Lies open to you. Per-
haps for him that had been true. Perhaps if he had been
honest with Linden, or had heeded the Elohim, the path of the
One Tree might have held some hope. But what hope had
there ever been for Seadreamer? Yet without hope the Giant
had tried to take all the doom upon himself- And somehow at
the last he had found his voice to shout a warning.

Roughly, Honninscrave said, "I beseeched of the Chosen
that she speak to you, but she would not. When I purposed to
come to you myself, she railed at me, demanding that I for-
bear. Has he not suffered sufficiently? she cried. Have you no
mercy?" He paused briefly, and his voice lowered. "She bears
herself bravely, the Chosen. No longer is she the woman of
frailty and fright who quailed so before the lurker of the
Sarangrave. But she also was bound to my brother by a kin-
ship which rends her in her way." In spite of her refusal, he
seemed to believe that she deserved his respect.

Then he went on, "But what have I to do with mercy or
forbearance? They are too high for me. I know only that
Cable Seadreamer is dead. He will never be released if you do
not release him."

At that. Covenant flinched in surprise and pain. If /
don't—? He was sick with venom and protest. How can / re-
lease him? If revelation and dismay and Linden had not
driven restraint so deeply into him during his struggle against
the aura of the Worm of the World's End, he would have
burned the air for no other reason than because he was hurt
and futile with power. How can I bear it?

But his restraint held. And Honninscrave looked preter-
naturally reduced as he sat on the floor against the wall, hug-
ging his unanswered grief. The Giant was Covenant's friend.
In that light, Honninscrave might have been an avatar of lost
Saltheart Foamfollower, who had given Covenant everything.
He still bad enough compassion left to remain silent.

"Giantfriend," the Master said without lifting his head,
"have you been given the tale of how Cable Seadreamec ay
brother came by his scar?"                             '

His eyes were hidden beneath his heavy brows. His beard
slumped on his chest. The shadow of the table's edge cut him
off at the torso; but his hands were visible, gripping each
other. The muscles of his forearms and shoulders were corded
with fatigue and strain.

"The fault of it was mine," he breathed into the empty
light. "The exuberance and foUy of my youth marked him for
all to see that I had been careless of him.

"He was my brother, and the younger by some years,
though as the lives of Giants are reckoned the span between
us was slight. Surely we were both well beyond the present
number of your age, but still were we young, new to our
manhood, and but recently prenticed to the sea-craft and the
ships we loved. The Earth-Sight had not yet come upon him,
and so there was naught between us beyond my few years and
the foolishness which he outgrew more swiftly than I. He
came early to his stature, and I ended his youth before its
time-

"In those days, we practiced our new crafts in a small ves-
sel which our people name a tyrscull—a stone craft near the
measure of the longboats you have seen, with one sail, a
swinging boom, and oars for use should the wind be lost
or displayed. With skill, a tyrscull may be mastered by one
Giant alone, but two are customary. Thus Seadreamer and I
worked and learned together. Our tyrscull we named Foam-
kite, and it was our heart's glee.

"Now among prentices it is no great wonder that we reveled
in tests against each other, pitting and honing our skills with
races and displays of every description. Most common of these
was the running of a course within the great harbor of Home
—far sufficiently from shore to be truly at sea, and yet within
any swimmer's reach of land, should some prentice suffer
capsize—a mishap which would have shamed us deeply,
young as we were. And when we did not race we trained for
races, seeking new means by which we might best our com-
rades.

"The course was simply marked. One point about which we
swung was a buoy fixed for that purpose, but the other was a
rimed and hoary rock that we named Salttooth for the sheer,
sharp manner in which it rose to bite the air. Once or twice
or many times around that course we ran our races, testing
our ability to use the winds for turning as well as for speed."

Honninscrave's voice had softened somewhat: remembrance
temporarily took him away from his distress. But his head re-
mained bowed. And Covenant could not look away from him.
Punctuated by the muffled sounds of the sea, the plain de-
tails of Honninscrave's story transfixed the atmosphere of the
cabin.

"This course Seadreamer and I ran as often as any and
more than most, for we were eager for the sea. Thus we came
to stand well among those who vied for mastery. With this my
brother was content. He had the true Giantish exhilaration
and did not require victory for his joy. But in that I was less
worthy of my people. Never did I cease to covet victory, or
to seek out new means by which it might be attained.

"So it befell that one day I conceived a great thought which
caused me to hug my breast in secret, and to hasten Sea-
dreamer to Foamkite, that I might practice my thought and
perfect it for racing. But that thought I did not share with
him. It was grand, and I desired its wonder for myself. Not
questioning what was in me, he came for the simple pleasure
of the sea. Together, we ran Foamkite out to the buoy, then
swung with all speed toward upthrust Salttooth.

"It was a day as grand as my thought." He spoke as if it
were visible behind the shadows of the cabin. "Under the
faultless sky blew a wind with a whetted edge which offered
speed and hazard, cutting the wave-crests to white froth as it
bore us ahead. Swiftly before us loomed Salttooth, In such a
wind, the turning of a tyrscull requires true skill—a jeopardy
even to competent prentices—and it was there that a race
could be won or lost, for a poor tack might drive a small craft
far from the course or overturn it altogether. But my thought
was for that turning, and I was not daunted by the wind.

"Leaving Seadreamer to the tiller and the management of
the boom, I bid him run in as nigh to Salttooth as he dared.
All prentices knew such a course to be folly, for the turning
would then bear us beyond our way. But I silenced my broth-
er's protests and went to Foamkite's prow. Still preserving my
secret, hiding my hands from his sight, I freed the anchor and
readied its line."

Abruptly, the Master faltered, fell still. One fist lay knotted
in his lap; the other twisted roughly into his beard, tugging it
for courage. But after a moment, he drew a deep breath, then
let the air hiss away through his teeth. He was a Giant and
could not leave his story unfinished.

"Such was Seadreamer's skill that we passed hastening
within an arm's span of Salttooth, though the wind heeled us
sharply from the rock and any sideslip might have done
Foamkite great harm. But his hand upon the wind was sure,
and an instant later I enacted my intent. As we sped, I arose
and cast the anchor upon the rock, snagging us there. Then I
lashed the line.

"This was my thought for a turning too swift to be matched
by any other fryscull, that our speed and the anchor and Salt-
tooth should do the labor for us—though I was uncertain how
the anchor might be unsnared when the turn was done. But
I had not told Seadreamer my purpose." His voice had be-
come a low rasp of bitterness in his throat. "He was fixed
upon the need to pass Salttooth without mishap, and my act
surprised him entirely. He half gained his feet, half started
toward me as if I had gone mad. Then the line sprang taut,
and Poamkite came about with a violence which might have
snapped the mast from its holes."

Again he stopped. The muscles of his shoulders bunched.
When he resumed, he spoke so softly that Covenant barely
heard him.

"Any child might have informed me what would transpire,
but I bad given no consideration to it. The boom wrenched
across the stem of Poamkite with a force to sliver granite.
And Seadreamer my brother had risen into its path.

"In that wind and my folly, I would not have known that he
had fallen, had he not cried out as he was struck. But at his
cry I turned to see him flung into the sea.

"Ah, my brother!" A groan twisted his voice. "I dove for
him, but he would have been lost had I not found the path
of his blood in the water and followed it. Senseless he hung in
my arms as I bore him to the surface.

"With the sea thus wind-slashed, I saw little of his injury
but blood until I had borne him to Foamkite and wrested him
aboard. But there his wound seemed so great that I believed
his eyes had been crushed in his head, and for a time I be-
came as mad as my intent had been. To this day, I know
nothing of our return to the docks of Home. I did not regain
myself until a healer ^poke to me, compelling me to hear that
my brother had not been blinded. Had the boom itself struck
him, mayhap he would have been slain outright. But the im-
pact was borne by a cable along the boom, taking him below
the eyes and softening the blow somewhat."

Once more he fell still. His hands covered his face as if to
stanch the flow of blood he remembered. Covenant watched
him mutely. He had no courage for such stories, could not
bear to have them thrust upon him. But Honninscrave was a
Giant and a friend; and since the days of FoamfoIIower Cov-
enant had not been able to close his heart. Though he was
helpless and aggrieved, he remained silent and let Honnin-
scrave do what he willed.

After a moment, the Master dropped his hands. Drawing a
breath like a sigh, he said, "It is not the way of Giants to
punish such folly as mine, though I would have found com-
fort in the justice of punishment And Cable Seadreamer was
a Giant among Giants. He did not blame the carelessness
which marked his life forever." Then his tone stiffened. "But
I do not forget. The fault is mine. Though I too am a Giant
in my way, my ears have not found the joy to hear this story.
And I have thought often that perhaps my fault is greater than
it has appeared. The Earth-Sight is a mystery. None can say
why it chooses one Giant rather than another. Perhaps it
befell my brother because of some lingering hurt or alteration
done him by the puissance of that blow. Even in their youth,
Giants are not easily stricken senseless."

Suddenly Honninscrave looked upward; and his gaze struck
foreboding into Covenant's maimed empathy. His eyes under
his heavy brows were fierce with extremity, and the new-cut
lines around them were as intense as scars. 'Therefore have
I come to you," he said slowly, as if he could not see Cove-
nant quailing. "I desire a restitution which is not within my
power to perform. My fault must be assuaged.

"It is the custom of our people to give our dead to the sea.
But Cable Seadreamer my brother has met his end in horror,
and it will not release him. He is like the Dead of The Grieve,
damned to his anguish. If his spirit is not given its caamora"—
for an instant, his voice broke—"he will haunt me while one
stone of the Arch of Time remains standing upon another."

Then his gaze fell to the floor. "Yet there is no fire in all
the world that I can raise to give him surcease. He is a Giant.
Even in death, he is immune to flame."

At that. Covenant understood; and all his dreads came to-
gether in a rush; the apprehension which had crouched in him
since Honninscrave had first said, // you do not release him;

the terror of his doom, to destroy the Earth himself or to sur-
render it for destruction by ceding his ring to Lord Foul. The
Despiser had said. The ill that you deem most terrible is upon
you. Of your own volition you will give the white gold into my
hand. Either that or bring down the Arch of Time. There
was no way out. He was beaten. Because he had kept the truth
from Linden, seeking to deny it. And Honninscrave asked—!

"You want me to cremate him?" Clenched fear made him
harsh. "With my ring? Are you out of your mind?"

Honninscrave winced. "The Dead of The Grieve—" he
began.

"No!" Covenant retorted. He had walked into a bonfire to
save them from their reiterated hell; but risks like that were
too great for him now. He had already caused too much
death. "After I sink the ship, I won't be able to stopi"

For a moment, even the sounds of the sea fell still, shocked
by his vehemence. The Giantship seemed to be losing head-
way. The light of the lantern flickered as if it were going out.
Perhaps there were shouts like muffled lamentations in the dis-
tance. Covenant could not be sure. His senses were con-
demned to the surface of what they perceived. The rest of the
dromond was hidden from him.

If the Master heard anything, he did not react to it. His
head remained bowed. Moving heavily, like a man hurt in
every limb, he climbed to his feet. Though the hammock hung
high above the floor, he stood head and shoulders over the
Unbeliever; and still he did not meet Covenant's glare. The
lantern was below and behind him as he took one step closer.
His face was shadowed, dark and fatal.

In a wan and husky voice, he said, "Yes, Giantfriend." The
epithet held a tinge of sarcasm. "I am gone from my mind.
You are the ring-wielder, as the Elohim have said. Your
power threatens the Earth. What import has the anguish of
one or two Giants in such a plight? Forgive me."

Then Covenant wanted to cry out in earnest, torn like dead
Kevin Landwaster between love and defeat. But loud feet had
come running down the companionway outside his cabin, had
already reached his door. The door sprang open without any
protest from Call. A crewmember thrust her head past the
threshold.

"Master, you must come." Her voice was tight with alarm.
"We are beset by Nicor."

TWO -- Leper's Ground

HONNINSCRAVE left the cabin slowly, like a, man re-
sponding by habit, unconscious of the urgency of the sum-
mons. Perhaps he no longer understood what was happening
around him. Yet he did respond to the call of his ship.

When the Master reached the companionway, Cail closed
the door behind him. The Haruchai seemed to know instinc-
tively that Covenant would not follow Honmnscrave.

Nicor! Covenant thought, and his heart labored. Those tre-
mendous serpentlike sea-beasts were said to be the offspring of
the Worm of the World's End. Starfare's Gem had passed
through a region crowded with them near the Isle of the One
Tree. They had been indifferent to the dromond then. But
now? With the Isle gone and the Worm restive?

And what could one stone vessel do against so many of
those prodigious creatures? What could Honninscrave do?

Yet the Unbeliever did not leave his hammock. He stared
at the dark ceiling and did not move. He was beaten, defeated.
He dared not take the risk of confronting the Giantship's
peril. If Linden had not intervened at the One Tree, he would
already have become another Kevin, enacting a Ritual of
Desecration to surpass every other evil. The threat of the
Nicor paled beside the danger he himself represented.

Deliberately, he sought to retreat into himself. He did not
want to know what transpired outside his cabin. How could
he endure the knowledge? He had said, I'm sick of guilt—but
such protests had no meaning. His very blood had been cor-
rupted by venom and culpability. Only the powerless were
truly innocent, and he was not powerless. He was not even
honest The selfishness of his love had brought all this to pass.

Yet the lives at stake were the lives of his friends, and he
could not close himself to the dromond's jeopardy. Starfare's
Gem rolled slightly in the water as if it had lost all headway.
A period of shouts and running had followed Honninscrave's
departure, but now the Giantship was silent. With Linden's
senses, he would have been able to read what was happening
through the stone itself; but he was blind and bereft, cut off
from the essential spirit of the world. His numb hands
clutched the edges of the hammock.

Time passed. He was a coward, and his dreads swarmed
darkly about him as if they were bom in the shadows above
his head. He gripped himself with thoughts of ruin, held him-
self still with curses. But Hoaninscrave's face kept coming
back to him: the beard like a growth of pain from his cheeks,
the massive brow knuckled with misery, the hands straining.
Covenant's friend. Like Foamfollower. My brother has met
his end in horror. It was intolerable that such needs had to be
refused. And now the Nicor—!

Even a beaten man could still feel pain. Roughly, he pulled
himself into a sitting position. His voice was a croak of coer-
cion and fear as- be called out, "Caill"

The door opened promptly, and Cail entered the cabin.

The healed wound of a Courser-spur marked his left arm
from shoulder to elbow like the outward sign of his fidelity;

but his visage remained as impassive as ever. "Ur-Lord?" he
asked flatly. His dispassionate tone gave no hint that he was
the last Haruchai left in Covenant's service.

Covenant stifled a groan. "What the hell's going on out
there?"

In response. Call's eyes shifted fractionally. But still his
voice held no inflection. "I know not."

Until the previous night, when Brinn bad left the quest to
take up his role as ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol, Cail had never
been alone in his chosen duty; and (he mental interconnection
of his people had kept him aware of what took place around
him. But now he was alone. Brinn's defeat of the former
Guardian of the One Tree had been a great victory for him
personally, and for the Haruchai as a people; but it left Cail
isolated in a way that no one who had not experienced such
mind-sharing could measure. His blunt / know not silenced
Covenant like an admission of frailty.

Cail— Covenant tried to say. He did not want to leave the
Haruchai in that loneliness. But Brinn had said, Cail will ac-
cept my place in your service until the word of the Blood-
guard Banner has been carried to its end. And no appeal or
protest would sway Cail from the path Brinn had marked out
for him. Covenant remembered Banner too poignantly to be-
lieve that the Haruchai would ever judge themselves by any
standards but their own.

Yet his distress remained. Even lepers and murderers were
not immune to hurt. He fought down the thickness in his
throat and said, "I want my old clothes. They're in her cabin."

Call nodded as if be saw nothing strange in the request. As
he left, he closed the door quietly after him.

Covenant lay back again and clenched his teeth. He did not
want those clothes, did not want to return to the hungry and
unassuaged life he had lived before he had found Linden's
love. But how else could he leave his cabin? Those loathed and
necessary garments represented the only honesty left to him.
Any other apparel would be a lie.

However, when Call returned he was not alone. Pitchwife
entered the chamber ahead of him; and at once Covenant for-
got the bundle Cail bore. The deformity which bent Pitch-
wife's spine, hunching his back and crippling his chest, made
him unnaturally short for a Giant: his head did not reach
the level of the hammock. But (he irrepressibility of his
twisted face gave him stature. He was alight with excitement
as he limped forward to greet Covenant

"Have I not said that she is well Chosen?" he began with-
out preamble. "Never doubt it, Giantfriend! Mayhap this is
but one wonder among many, for surely our voyage has been
rife with marvels. Yet I do not dream to see it surpassed.
Stone and Sea, Giantfriendl She has taught me to hope again."

Covenant stared in response, stung by an inchoate appre-
hension. What new role had Linden taken upon herself, when
he still had not told her the truth?

Pitchwife's eyes softened. "But you do not comprehend—as
how should you, who have not seen the sea loom with Nicor
under the stars, not heard the Chosen sing them to peace."

Still Covenant did not speak. He had no words for the com-
plex admixture of his pride and relief and bitter loss. The
woman he loved had saved the Giantship, And he, who had
once defeated the Despiser in direct combat—he no longer
signified.

Watching Covenant's face, Pitchwife sighed to himself. In
a more subdued manner, he went on, "It was an act worthy of
long telling, but I will briefen it. You have heard that the
Giants are able to summon Nicor upon occasion. Such a
summons we wrought on your behalf, when last the venom-
sickness of the Raver possessed you." Covenant had no mem-
ory of the situation. He had been near death in delirium at
the time. But he had been told about it. "Yet to the Aficor we
do not speak. They lie beyond our gift of tongues. The sounds
which may summon them we have learned from our genera-
tions upon the sea. But those sounds we make blindly, uncer-
tain of their meaning. And a Giantship which enters a sea of
Nicor in their wrath has scant need of summons."

A small smile quirked his mouth; but he did not stop. "It
was Linden Avery the Chosen who found means to address
them for our survival. Lacking the plain might of arm for her
purpose, she called Galewrath Storesmaster with her and went
below, down to the bottommost hull of the dromond. There
through the stone she read the ire of the Nicor—and gave it
answer. With her hands she clapped a rhythm which Gale-
wrath echoed for her, pounding it with hammers upon the
hull."

Then for a moment the Giant's enthusiasm resurged. "And
she was heeded!" he crowed. "The Nicor parted about us,
bearing their anger into the south. We have been left without
scathe!" His hands gripped the edge of the hammock, rocked
it as if to make Covenant hear him. "There is yet hope in the
world. While we endure, and the Chosen and the Giantfriend
remain among us, there is hope!"

But Pitchwife's claim was too direct. Covenant flinched
from it. He had wronged too many people and had no hope
left for himself. A part of him wanted to cry out in protest.
Was that what he would have to do in the end? Give Linden
his ring, the meaning of his life, when she had never seen the
Land without the Sunbane and did not know how to love it?
Weakly, he muttered, 'Tell that to Honninscrave. He could
use some hope."

At that, Pitchwife's eyes darkened. But he did not look
away. 'The Master has spoken of your refusal. I know not
the good or ill of these matters, but the word of my heart is
that you have done what you must—and that is well. Do not
think me ungrieved by Seadreamer*s fall—or the Master's
hurt. Yet the hazard of your might is great. And who can say
how the Nicor would answer such fire, though they have
passed us by? None may Judge the doom which lies upon you
now. You have done well in your way."

Pitchwife's frank empathy made Covenant's eyes burn. He
knew acutely that he had not done well. Pain like Honnin-
scrave's should not be refused, never be refused. But the fear
and the despair were still there, blocking everything. He could
not even meet Pitchwife's gaze.

"Ah, Giantfriend," Pitchwife breathed at last. "You also
are grieved beyond bearing. I know not how to solace you."
Abruptly, he stooped, and one hand lifted a leather flask into
the hammock. "If you find no ease in my tale of the Chosen,
will you not at the least drink diamondraught and grant your
flesh rest? Your own story remains to be told. Be not so harsh
with yourself."

His words raised memories of dead Atiaran in Andelain.
The mother of the woman he had raped and driven mad had
said with severe compassion. In punishing yourself, you come
to merit punishment. This is Despite. But Covenant did not
want to think about Atiaran. Find no ease— Belatedly, he
pictured Linden in the depths of the dromond, holding the
survival of the Search in her hands. He could not bear the
rhythm of her courage, but he saw her face. Framed by her
wheaten hair, it was acute with concentration, knotted be-
tween the brows, marked on either side of the moutb by the
consequences of severity—and beautiful to him in every bone
and line.

Humbled by what she had done to save the ship, he raised
the flask to his lips and drank.

When he awoke, the cabin was full of afternoon sunshine,
and the pungent taste of diamondraught lingered on his
tongue. The Giantship was moving again. He remembered no
dreams. The impression he bore with him out of slumber was
one of blankness, a leper's numbness carried to its logical
extreme. He wanted to roll over and never wake up again.

But as he glanced blearily around the sun-sharp cabin, he
saw Linden sitting in one of the chairs beside the table.

She sat with her head bowed and her hands open in her
lap, as if she had been waiting there for a long time. Her hair
gleamed cleanly in the light, giving her the appearance of a
woman who had emerged whole from an ordeal—refined, per-
haps, but not reduced. With an inward moan, he recollected
what the old man on Haven Farm had said to her. There is
also love in the world. And in Andelain dead Hena, Cove-
nant's daughter, had urged him, Care for her, beloved, so that
in the end she may heal us all. The sight of her made his chest
contract. He had lost her as well. He had nothing left.

Then she seemed to feel his gaze on her. She looked up at
him, automatically brushing the tresses back from her face;

and he saw that she was not unhurt. Her eyes were hollow and
flagrant with fatigue; her cheeks were pallid; and the twinned
lines running past her mouth from either side of her delicate
nose looked like they had been left there by tears as well as
time. A voiceless protest gathered in him. Had she been sit-
ting here with him ever since the passing of the Nicorl When
she needed so much rest?

But a moment after he met her gaze she rose to her feet A
knot of anxiety or anger marked her brows. Probing him with
her health-sense, she stepped closer to the hammock. What she
saw made her mouth severe.

"Is that it?" she demanded. "You've decided to give up?"

Mutely, Covenant flinched. Was his defeat so obvious?

At once, a look of regret changed her expression. She
dropped her eyes, and her hands made an aimless half-gesture
as if they were full of remembered failure. "I didn't mean
that," she said. "That isn't what I came to say. I wasn't sure
I should come at all. You've been so hurt—I wanted to give
you more time."

Then she lifted her face to him again, and he saw her sense
of purpose sharpen. She was here because she had her own
ideas—about hope as well as about him. "But the First was
going to come, and I thought I should do it for her." She
gazed into him as if she sought a way to draw him down from
his lonely bed. "She wants to know where we're going."

Where—? Covenant blinked pain at her. She had not with-
drawn her question: she had simply rephrased it. Where? A
spasm of grief gripped his heart. His doom was summed up
in that one grim word. Where could he go? He was beaten. All
his power had been turned against him. There was nowhere
left for him to go—nothing left for him to do. For an in-
stant, he feared he would break down in front of her, bereft
even of the bare dignity of solitude.

She was saying, "We've got to go somewhere. The Sunbane
is still there. Lord Foul is still there. We've lost the One Tree,
but nothing else has changed. We can't just sail in circles for
the rest of our lives." She might have been pleading with him,
trying to make him see something that was already plain to
her.

But he did not heed her. Almost without transition, his hurt
became resentment. She was being cruel, whether she realized
it or not. He had already betrayed everything he loved with
his mistakes and failures and lies. How much more respon-
sibility did she wish him to assume? Bitterly, he replied, "I
hear you saved us from the Nicor. You don't need me."

His tone made her wince. "Don't say that!" she responded
intensely. Her eyes were wide with awareness of what was
happening to him. She could read every outcry of his wracked
spirit. *7 need you."

In response, he felt his despair plunging toward hysteria. It
sounded like the glee of the Despiser, laughing in triumph.
Perhaps he had gone so far down this road now that he was
the Despiser, the perfect tool or avatar of Lord Foul's will.
But Linden's expostulation Jerked him back from the brink-
It made her suddenly vivid to him—too vivid to be treated this
way. She was his love, and be had already hurt her too much.

For a moment, the fall he had nearly taken left him reeling.
Everything in the cabin seemed imprecise, overburdened with
sunlight. He needed shadows and darkness in which to hide
from all the things that surpassed him. But Linden still stood
there as if she were the center around which his head whirled.
Whether she spoke or remained silent, she was the one de-
mand he could not refuse. Yet he was altogether unready to
tell her the truth he had withheld. Her reaction would be the
culmination of all his dismay. Instinctively, he groped for
some way to anchor himself, some point of simple guilt or
passion to which he might cling. Squinting into the sunshine,
he asked thickly, "What did they do about Seadreamer?"

At that. Linden sagged in relief as though a crisis had been
averted. Wanly, she answered, "Honninscrave wanted to cre-
mate him. As if that were possible." Memories of suffering
seemed to fray the words as she uttered them. "But the First
ordered the Giants to bury him at sea. For a minute there, I
thought Honninscrave was going to attack her. But then some-
thing inside him broke. It wasn't physical—but I felt it snap."
Her tone said that she had sensed that parting like a rupture
in her own heart. "He bowed to her as if he didn't know what
else to do with all that hurt. Then he went back to the wheel-
deck. Back to doing his job." Her shoulders lifted in a pained
shrug. "If you didn't look at his eyes, you wouldn't know he
isn't as good as new. But he refused to help them give Sea-
dreamer to the sea."

As she spoke, his eyes blurred. He was unable to see her
clearly in all that light. Seadreamer should have been burned,
should have been freed from his horror in a caamora of white
fire. Yet the mere thought made Covenant's flesh itch darkly.
He had become the thing he hated. Because of a lie. He had
known—or should have known—what was going to happen
to him. But his selfish love had kept the truth from her. He
could not look at her. Through his teeth, he protested, "Why
did you have to do that?"

"Do—?" Her health-sense did not make her prescient. How
could she possibly know what he was talking about?

"You threw yourself in the fire." The explanation came
arduously, squeezed out by grief and self-recrimination. It was
not her fault. No one had the right to blame her. "I sent you
away to try to save my life. I didn't know what else to do. For
all I knew, it was already too late for anything else—the
Worm was already awake, I'd already destroyed—" A clench
of anguish closed this throat. For a moment, he could not say,
I didn't know how else to save you. Then he swallowed con-
vulsively and went on. "So I sent you away. And you threw
yourself in the fire. I was linked to you. The magic tied us
together. For the first time, my senses were open. And all I
saw was you throwing yourself in the fire.

"Why did you force me to bring you back?"

In response, she flared as if he had struck a ragged nerve.
"Because I couldn't help you the way you were!" Suddenly,
she was shouting at him. "Your body was there, but you
weren't! Without you, it was just so much dying meat! Even
if I'd had you in a hospital—even if I could've given you
transfusions and surgery right then—I could not have saved
you!

"I needed you to come back with me. How else was I sup-
posed to get your attention?"

Her pain made him look at her again; and the sight went
through him like a crack through stone, following its flaws to
the heart. She stood below him with her face hot and vivid
in the light and her fists clenched, as intense and uncompro-
mising as any woman he had ever dreamed. The fault was
not hers, though surely she blamed herself. Therefore he could
not shirk telling her the truth.

At one time, he had believed that he was sparing her by
not speaking, that he was withholding information so that she
would not be overwhelmed. Now he knew better. He bad kept
the truth to himself for the simple reason that be did not want
it to be true. And by so doing be had falsified their relation-
ship profoundly.

"I should've told you," he murmured in shame. "I tried to
tell you everything else. But it hurt too much."

She glared at him as if she felt the presence of something
horrible between them; but he did not look away.

"It's always been this way. Nothing here interrupts the
physical continuity of the world we came from. What happens
here is self-contained. It's always the same. I go into the Land
hurt—possibly dying. A leper. And I'm healed. Twice my
leprosy disappeared. I could feel again, as if my nerves—" His
heart twisted at the memory—and at the poignant distress of
Linden's stare. "But before I left the Land, something always
happened to duplicate the shape I was in earlier. Sometimes
my body was moved. I stopped Weeding—or got worse. But
my physical condition was always exactly what it would've
been if I'd never been to the Land. And I'm still a leper.
Leprosy doesn't heal.

"So this time that knife hit me—and when we got to the
Land I healed it with wild magic. The same way I healed those
cuts the Clave gave me." They had slashed his wrists to gain
blood for their soothtell; yet already the scars had faded, were
nearly invisible. "But it doesn't make any difference. What
happens here doesn't change what's going on there. All it does
is change the way we feel about it."

After that, his shame was too great to hold her gaze. 'That's
why I didn't tell you about it. At first—right at the beginning
—I thought you had enough to worry about. You would learn
the truth soon enough. But after a while I changed. Then I
didn't want you to know. I didn't think I had the right to ask
you to love a dead man."

As he spoke, her shock boiled into anger. The moment he
stopped, she demanded, "Do you mean to say that you've been
heeding him, "If you do that, the Sunbane'll slow down.
Maybe it'll even recede. That'll give us time to look for a bet-
ter answer."

Then she surprised him again by faltering. She did not face
him as she concluded, "Maybe I don't care about the Land the
way you do. I was too scared to go into Andelain. I've never
seen what it used to be like. But I know sickness when I see it.
Even if I weren't a doctor, I'd have the Sunbane carved on me
in places where I'll never be able to forget it. I want to do
something about that. I don't have anything else. The only
way I can fight is through you."

As she spoke, echoes of power capered in Covenant's veins.
He heard what she was saying; but his fear took him back to
the beginning. Stop the Clave? Put out the Banefire? In blunt
alarm, he replied, "That'll be a lot of fun. What in hell makes
you believe I can even think about things like that without
endangering the Arch?"

She met him with a sour smile, humorless and certain. "Be-
cause you know how to restrain yourself now. I felt it—when
you called back all that wild magic and used it to send me
away. You're more dangerous now than you've ever been. To
Lord Foul."

For a moment, he held the look she gave him. But then his
eyes fell. No. It was still too much: he was not ready. The
ruin of his life was hardly a day old. How was it possible to
talk about fighting, when the Despiser had already defeated
him? He had only one power, and it had been transformed by
venom and falsehood into a graver threat than any Sunbane.
What she wanted was madness. He did not have it in him.

Yet he had to make some reply- She had borne too many
burdens for him. And he loved her. She had the right to place
demands upon him.

So he groped in bitter shame for a way out, for something
he might say or do which would at least postpone the neces-
sity of decision. Still without meeting Linden's stare, he mut-
tered sourly, "There're too many things I don't understand. I
need to talk to Findail."

He thought that would deflect her. From the moment when
the Appointed of the Elohim had first attached himself to the
Search, he had never come or gone at any behest but that of
his own secret wisdom or cunning. Yet if anyone possessed the
knowledge to win free of this defeat, surely his people did.
And surely also he would not come here simply because the
Unbeliever asked for him? Covenant would gain at least that
much respite while Linden tried to persuade Findail.

But she did not hesitate—and did not leave the cabin. Turn-
ing to face the prow, she rasped the name of the Appointed
stridently, as if she expected to be obeyed.

Almost at once, the sunlight seemed to condense against the
wall; and Findail came flowing out of the stone into human
form as though he had been waiting there for her call.

His appearance was unchanged: behind his creamy mantle
and unkempt silver hair, within his bruised yellow eyes, he
looked like an incarnation of all the world's misery, an image
of every hurt and stress that did not touch his tranquil and
self-absorbed people. Where they were deliberately graceful
and comely, be was haggard and pain-carved. He appeared to
be their antithesis and contradiction—a role which appalled
him.

Yet something must have changed for him. Before the crisis
of the One Tree, he would not have answered any summons.
But his manner remained as distant and disapproving as ever.
Though he nodded an acknowledgment to Linden, his voice
held a note of reproof. "I hear you. Vehemence is not need-
ful."

His tone made no impression on Linden. Bracing her fists
on her hips, she addressed him as if he had not spoken. "This
has gone on long enough," she said stiffly. "Now we need
answers."

Findail did not glance at Covenant. In Elemesnedene, the
Elohim had treated Covenant as if he were of no personal im-
portance; and now the Appointed seemed to take that stance
again. He asked Linden, "Is it the ring-wielder's intent to sur-
render his ring?"

At once. Covenant snapped, "No!" Refusals ran in him like
echoes of old delirium. Never give him the ring. Never. It was
all that remained to him.

"Then," Findail sighed, "I must answer as I may, hoping to
persuade him from his folly.'*

Linden glanced up at Covenant, looking for his questions.
But he was too close to his internal precipice: he could not
think clearly. Too many people wanted him to surrender his
ring. It was the only thing which still wedded him to life, made
his choices matter. He did not respond to Linden's gaze.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, gauged his condi-
tion. Then, as if she were wrenching herself back from a desire
to comfort him, she turned away, faced Findail again.

"Why—?" She spoke with difficulty, wrestling words past
a knot in her chest. "I hardly know where to begin. There's so
much— Why did you people do it?" Abruptly, her voice be-
came stronger, full of indignation she had never been able to
forget. "What in God's name did you think you were doing?
All he wanted was the location of the One Tree. You could've
given him a straight answer. But instead you locked him in
that silence of yours." They had imposed a stasis upon his
mind. If Linden had not risked herself to rescue him, he
would have remained an empty husk until he died, blank of
thought or desire. And the price she had paid for that res-
cue—! Her outrage pulled him into focus with her as she con-
cluded, "You're responsible for this. How can you stand to
live with yourself?"

Findail's expression turned into a glower. As soon as she
stopped, he replied, "Does it appear to you that I am made
glad by the outcome of my Appointment? Is not my life at
hazard as much as yours? Yes, as much and more, for you will
depart when your time is ended, but I must remain and bear
the cost. The fault is not mine."

Linden started to protest; but the gathering sadness m. his
tone halted her. "No, do not rail against me. I am the Ap-
pointed, and the burden of what you do falls to me.

"I do not deny that the path we chose was harsh to the
ring-wielder. But are you truly unable to see in this matter?
You are the Sun-Sage. He is not. Yet the wild magic which is
the crux of the Arch of Time is his to wield, not yours. There
lies the hand of evil upon the Earth—and also upon the Elo-
him, who are the Earth's Wiird.

"You have said that we serve the evil which you name Lord
Foul the Despiser. That is untrue. If you mislike my word,
consider other knowledge. Would this Despiser have sent his
servant the Raver against you in the storm, when already a
servant such as myself stood among you? No. You cannot
credit it. Yet I must say to you openly that there is a shadow
upon the hearts of the Elohim. It is seen in this, that we were
able to conceive no path of salvation which would spare you.

"You have not forgotten that there were those among us
who did not wish to spare you.

"Surely it is plain that for us the easiest path lay in the sim-
ple wresting from him of the ring. With wild magic could we
bid any Despite defiance. Then for beings such as we are it
would be no great task to achieve the perfection of the Earth.
Yet that we did not do. Some among us feared the arrogance
of such power, when a shadow plainly lay upon our hearts.
And some saw that the entire price of such an act would fall
upon you atone. You would be lost to yourselves, deprived of
meaning and value. Perhaps the meaning and value of the
Earth would be diminished as well.

"Therefore we chose a harder path—to share with you the
burden of redemption and the risk of doom. The ring-wielder
we silenced, not to harm him, but to spare the Earth the ill
of power without sight. As that silence preserved him from the
malice of Kasreyn of the Gyre, so also would it have pre-
served him from the Despiser's intent at the One Tree. Thus
the choice would have fallen to you in the end. His ring you
might have taken unto yourself, thereby healing the breach
between sight and power. Or perhaps you might have ceded
the ring to me, empowering the Elohim to save the Earth after
their fashion. Then would we have had no need to fear our-
selves, for a power given is altogether different than one
wrested away. But whatever your choice, there would have
been hope. To accomplish such hope, the price of the ring-
wielder's silence—and of my Appointment—appeared to be
neither too great nor too ill.

"That you took from us. In the dungeon of the Sandhold,
you chose the wrong which you name possession above the re-
sponsibility of sight, and the hope we strove to nurture was
lost.

"Now I say to you that he must be persuaded to surrender
his ring. If he does not, it is certain that he will destroy the
Earth."

For a moment, Covenant reeled down the path of Findail's
explanation. His balance was gone. To hear his own dread
expressed so starkly, like a verdict! But when he turned to-
ward Linden, he saw that she had been hit harder than he. Her
face had gone pale. Her hands made small, fugitive move-
ments at her sides. Her mouth tried to form a denial, but she
had no strength for it. Confronted by the logic of her actions
as Findail saw it, she was horrified. Once again, he placed her
at the center, at the cusp of responsibility and blame. And
Covenant's earlier revelation was still too recent: she had not
had time to absorb it. She had claimed fault for herself—but
had not understood the extent to which she might be accused.

Ire for her stabilized him. Findail had no right to drop the
whole weight of the Earth on her in this way. "It's not that
simple," he began. He did not know the true name of his
objection. But Linden faced him in route appeal; and he did
not let himself falter. "If Foul planned this all along, why did
he go to the trouble?" That was not what he needed to ask.
Yet he pursued it, hoping it would lead him to the right place.
"Why didn't he just wake up the Worm himself?"

PindaU's gaze held Linden. When her wide eyes went back
to his, he replied, "This Despiser is not mad. Should be rouse
the Worm himself, without the wild magic in his hand, would
he not also be consumed in the destruction of the world?"

Covenant shrugged the argument aside, went on searching
for the question he needed, the flaw in Findail's rational-
izations. "Then why didn't you tell us sooner? Naturally you
couldn't condescend to explain anything before she freed me."
With all the sarcasm he could muster, be tried to force the
Appointed to look at him, release Linden. "After what you
people did, you knew she'd never give you my ring if she
understood how much you want it. But later—before we got
to the One Tree. Why didn't you tell us what kind of danger
we were in?"

The Elohim sighed; but still he did not relinquish Linden.
"Perhaps in that I erred," he said softly, "Yet I could not turn
aside from hope. It was my hope that some access of wisdom
or courage would inspire the ring-wieider to step back from
the precipice of his intent."

Covenant continued groping. But now he saw that Linden
had begun to rally. She shook her head, struggled internally
for some way to refute or withstand Findail's accusation. Her
mouth tightened: she looked like she was chewing curses. The
sight lit a spark of encouragement in him, made him lean for-
ward to aim his next challenge at the Elohim.

"That doesn't justify you," he grated. "You talk about si-
lencing me as if that was the only decent alternative you had.
But you know goddamn well it wasn't. For one thing, you
could've done something about the venom that makes me so
bloody dangerous."

Then Findail did look at Covenant. His yellow gaze
snapped upward with a fierceness which jolted Covenant. "We
dared not." His quiet passion left trails of fire across Cove-
nant's brain. "The doom of this age lies also upon me, but I
dare not Are we not the Elohim, the Wurd of the Earth? Do
we not read the truth in the very roots of the Rawedge Rim,
in the shape of the mountainsides and in the snows which gild
the winter peaks? You mock me at your peril. By means of
his venom this Despiser attempts the destruction of the Arch
of Time, and that is no little thing. But it pales beside the
fate which would befall the Earth and all life upon the Earth.
were there no venom within you. You conceive yourself to be
a figure of power, but in the scale of worlds you are not. Had
this Despiser's lust for the Illearth Stone not betrayed him,
enhancing you beyond your mortal stature, you would not
have stood against him so much as once. And he is wiser
now, with the wisdom of old frustration, which some name
madness.

"Lacking the venom, you would be too small to threaten
him. If he did not seek you out for his own pleasure, you
would wander the world without purpose, powerless against
him. And the Sunbane would grow. It would grow, devouring
every land and sea in turn until even Elemesnedene itself had
fallen, and still it would grow, and there would be no halt to
it. Seeing no blame for yourself, you would not surrender your
ring. Therefore be would remain trapped within the Arch.
But no other stricture would limit his victory. Even we, the
Elohim, would in time be reduced to mere playthings for his
mirth. While Time endured, the Desecration of the world
would not end at all.

"Therefore," the Appointed articulated with careful inten-
sity, "we bless the frustration or madness which inspired the
gambit of this venom. Discontented in the prison of the Earth,
the Despiser has risked his hope of freedom in the venom
which gives you such might. It is our hope also. For now the
blame is plain. Since you are blind in other ways, we must
pray that guilt will drive you to the surrender which may
save us."

The words went through Covenant like a shot. His argu-
ments were punctured, made irrelevant. Findail admitted no
alternative to submission except the Ritual of Desecration—
the outright destruction of the Earth to spare it from Lord
Foul's power. This was Kevin Landwaster's plight on a scale
which staggered Covenant, appalled him to the marrow of
his bones. If be did not give up his ring. how could he bear to
do anything but ruin the world himself in order to foil the
eternal Sunbane of the Despiser?

Yet he could not surrender his ring. The simple thought was
immediately and intimately terrible to him. That metal circle
meant too much: it contained every hard affirmation of life
and love that he had ever wrested from the special cruelty of
his loneliness, his leper's fate. The alternative was better. Yes.
To destroy. Or to risk destroying in any kind of search for a
different outcome.

His dilemma silenced him. In his previous confrontation
with Lord Foul, he had found and used the quiet center of his
vertigo, the still point of strength between the contradictions
of his plight; but now there seemed to be no center, no place
on'whicb he could stand to affirm both the Earth and himself.
And the necessity of choice was dreadful.

But Linden had taken hold of herself again. The concep-
tions which hurt her most were not the ones which pierced
Covenant; and he had given her a chance to recover. The look
she cast at him was brittle with stress; but it was alert once
more, capable of reading his dismay. For an instant, empathy
focused her gaze. Then she swung back toward the Appointed,
and her voice bristled dangerously.

"That's just speculation. You're afraid you might lose your
precious freedom, so you're trying to make him responsible
for it You still haven't told us the truth."

Findail faced her; and Covenant saw her flinch as if the
Elohim's eyes had burned her. But she did not stop.

"If you want us to believe you, tell us about Vain."

At that, Pindail recoiled.

Immediately, she went after him. "First you imprisoned
him, as if he was some kind of crime against you. And you
tried to trick us about it, so we wouldn't know what you
were doing. When he escaped, you tried to kill him. Then,
when he and Seadreamer found you aboard the ship, you
spoke to him." Her expression was a glower of memory. "You
said, 'Whatever else you may do, that I will not suffer.'"

The Appointed started to reply; but she overrode him.
"Later, you said, 'Only he whom you name Vain has it within
him to expell me. I would give my soul that he should do so.'
And since then you've hardly been out of his sight—except
when you decide to run away instead of helping us." She
was unmistakably a woman who had learned something about
courage. "You've been more interested in him than us from
the beginning. Why don't you try explaining that for a
change?"

She brandished her anger at the Elohim; and for a moment
Covenant thought Findail would answer. But then his grief-
ensnared visage tightened. In spite of its misery, his expres-
sion resembled the hauteur of Chant and Infelice as he said
grimly, "Of the Demondim-spawn I will not speak."

"That's right," she shot back at him at once. "Of course you
won't If you did, you might give us a reason to do some hop-
ing of our own. Then we might not roll over and play dead
the way you want," She matched his glare; and in spite of all
his power and knowledge she made him appear diminished
and judged. Sourly, she muttered, "Oh, go on. Get out of here.
You make my stomach hurt."

With a stiff shrug, Findail turned away. But before he could
depart. Covenant interposed, "Just a minute." He felt half
mad with fear and impossible decisions; but a fragment of
lucidity had come to him, and he thought he saw another way
in which he had been betrayed. Lena had told him that he
was Berek Halfhand reborn. And me Lords he had known had
believed that. What had gone wrong? "We couldn't get a
branch of the One Tree. There was no way. But it's been done
before. How did Berek do it?"

Findail paused at the wall, answered over his shoulder.
"The Worm was not made restive by his approach, for he did
not win his way with combat. In that age, the One Tree had
no Guardian. It was he himself who gave the Tree its ward,
setting the Guardian in place so that the vital wood of the
world's life would not again be touched or broken."

Berek? Covenant was too astonished to watch the Elohim
melt out of the cabin. Berek had set the Guardian? Why? The
Lord-Patherer had been described as both seer and prophet.
Had he been shortsighted enough to believe that no one
else would ever need to touch the One Tree? Or had he had
some reason to ensure that there would never be a second
Staff of Law?

Dizzy with implications. Covenant was momentarily un-
aware of the way Linden regarded him. But gradually he felt
her eyes on him. Her face was sharp with the demand she had
brought with her into his cabin—the demand of her need.
When he met her gaze, she said distinctly, "Your friends in
Andelain didn't think you were doomed. They gave you Vain
for a reason. What else did they do?"

"They talked to me," he replied as if she had invoked the
words out of him. "Mhoram said, 'When you have understood
the Land's need, you must depart the Land, for the thing you
seek is not within it. The one word of truth cannot be found
otherwise. But I give you this caution: do not be deceived by
the Land's need. The thing you seek is not what it appears to
be. In the end, you must return to the Land.' "

He had also said. When you have come to the crux, and
have no other recourse, remember the paradox of white gold.
There is hope in contradiction. But that Covenant did not
comprehend.

Linden nodded severely. "So what's it going to be? Are you
just going to lie here until your heart breaks? Or are you go-
ing to fight?"

Distraught by fear and despair, he could not find his way.
Perhaps an answer was possible, but he did not have it. Yet
what she wanted of him was certain; and because he loved her
he gave it to her as well as he was able.

"I don't know. But anything is better than this. Tell the
First well give it a try."

She nodded again. For a moment, her mouth moved as if
she wished to thank him in some way. But then the pressure
of her own bare grasp on resolution impelled her toward the
door.

"What about you?" he asked after her. He had sent her
away and did not know how to recall her. He had no right
"What're you going to do?"

At the door, she looked back at him, and her eyes were
openly full of tears, "I'm going to wait." Her voice sounded as
forlorn as the cry of a kestrel—and as determined as an act
of valor. "My turn's coming."

As she left, her words seemed to remain in the sunlit cabin
like a verdict. Or a prophecy.

After she was gone. Covenant got out of the hammock and
dressed himself completely in his old clothes.

THREE -- The Path to Pain

WHEN he went up on deck, the sun was setting beyond
the western sea, and its light turned the water crimson—the
color of disaster. Honninscrave had raised every span of
canvas the spars could hold; and every sail was belly-full of
wind as Starfare's Gem pounded forward a few points west
of north. It should have been a brave sight. But the specific
red of that sunset covered the canvas with fatality, gilded the
lines until they looked like they were slick with blood. And
the wind carried a precursive chill, hinting at the bitter cold
of winter.

Yet Honninscrave strode the wheeldeck as if he could no
longer be daunted by anything the sea brought to him. The
air rimed bis beard, and his eyes reflected occasional glints
of fire from the west; but his commands were as precise as bis
mastery of the Giantship, and the rawness of his voice might
have been caused by the strain of shouting over the wind
rather than by the stress of the past two days. He was not
Foamfollower after all. He had not been granted the caamora
his spirit craved. But he was a Giant still, the Master of Star-
fare's Gem; and he had risen to his responsibilities.

With Cail beside him. Covenant went up to the wheeldeck.
He wanted to find some way to apologize for having proven
himself inadequate to the Master's need. But when he ap-
proached Honninscrave and the other two Giants with him,
Sevinhand Anchormaster and a steersman holding Shipsheart-
thew, the caution in their eyes stopped Covenant. At first, he
thought that they had become wary of him—that the danger
he represented made them fearful in his presence. But then
Sevinhand said simply, "Giantfriend," and it was plain even
to Covenant's superficial hearing that ths Anchonnaster's tone
was one of shared sorrow rather than misgiving. Instead of
apologizing. Covenant bowed his head in tacit recognition of
his own unworth.

He wanted to stand there in silence until he had shored up
enough self-respect to take another step back into the life of
the Giantship. But after a moment Cail spoke. In spite of bis
characteristic Haruchai dispassion, his manner suggested that
what he meant to say made him uncomfortable. Involuntarily,
Covenant reflected that none of the Haruchai who had left the
Land with him had come this far unscathed. Covenant did not
know how the uncompromising extravagance of the Haruchai
endured the role Brinn had assigned to CaiL What promise lay
hidden in Brinn's statement that Cail would eventually be per-
mitted to follow his heart?

But Cail did not speak of that He did not address Cove-
nant. Without preamble, he said, "Grimmand Honninscrave,
in the name of my people I desire your pardon. When Brinn
assayed himself against ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol—he who
is the sovereign legend and dream of all the Haruchai among
the mountains—it was not his intent to bring about the death
of Cable Seadreamer your brother."

The Master winced: his cavernous eyes shot splinters of
red at CaiL But almost at once he regained his deliberate
poise. He glanced around the Giantship as if to assure himself
that all was still well with it Then he turned over his com-
mand to Sevinhand, drew Cail and Covenant with him to the
port rail.

The setting sun gave his visage a tinge of sacrificial glory.
Watching him. Covenant thought obscurely that the sun al-
ways set in the west—that a man who faced west would never
see anything except decline, things going down, the last beauty
before light and life went out.

After a moment, Honninscrave lifted his voice over the
wet splashing of the shipside. "The Earth-Sight is not a thing
which any Giant selects for himself. No choice is given. But
we do not therefore seek to gainsay or eschew it. We believe
—or have believed," he said with a touch of bitterness, **—that
there is life as well as death in such mysteries. How then
should there be any blame in what has happened?" Honnin-
scrave spoke more to himself than to Covenant or CaiL "The
Earth-Sight came upon Cable Seadreamer my brother, and
the hurt of his vision was plain to all. But the content of that
hurt he could not tell. Mayhap his muteness was made neces-
sary by the vision itself. Mayhap for him no denial of death
was possible which would not also have been a denial of life.
I know nothing of that. I know only that he could not speak
his plight—and so he could not be saved. There is no blame
for us in this." He spoke as though he believed what he was
saying; but the loss knotted around his eyes contradicted him.

"His death places no burden upon us but the burden of
hope." The sunset was fading from the west and from his
face, translating his mien from crimson to the pallor of ashes.
"We must hope that in the end we will find means to vindicate
his passing. To vindicate," he repeated faintly, "and to com-
prehend." He did not look at his auditors. The dying of the
light echoed out of his eyes. "I am grieved that I can conceive
no hope."

He had earned the right to be left alone. But Covenant
needed an answer. He and Poamfollower had talked about
hope. Striving to keep his voice gentle in spite of his own stifE
hurt, he asked, "Then why do you go on?"

For a long moment, Honninscrave remained still against the
mounting dark as if he had not heard, could not be reached.
But at last he said simply, "I am 'a Giant The Master of Star-
fare's Gem, and sworn to the service of the First of the
Search. That is preferable."

Preferable, Covenant thought with a mute pang. Mhoram
might have said something like that. But Findail obviously did
not believe it.

Yet Cail nodded as if Honninscrave's words were ones
which even the extravagant Haruchai could accept. After all,
Cail's people did not put much faith in hope. They staked
themselves on success or failure—and accepted the outcome.

Covenant turned from the darkling sea, left the rail. He
had no place among such people. He did not know what was
preferable—and could not see enough success anywhere to
make failure endurable. The decision he had made in Linden's
name was just another kind of lie. Well, she had earned that
pretense of conviction from him. But at some point any
leper needed something more than discipline or even stubborn-
ness to keep him alive. And he had too sorely falsified his
relationship with her. He did not know what to do.

Around Starfare's Gem, the Giants had begun to light lan-
terns against the night. They illuminated the great wheel, the
stairs down from the wheeldeck, the doorways to the under-
decks and the galley. They bung from the fore- and aftermasts
like instances of bravado, both emphasizing and disregarding
the gap where the midmast should have been. They were noth-
ing more than small oil lamps under the vast heavens, and yet
they made the Giantship beautiful on the face of the deep.
After a moment. Covenant found that he could bear to go
looking for Linden.

But when he started forward from the wheeldeck, his atten-
tion was caught by Vain. The Demondim-spawn stood beyond
the direct reach of the lanterns, on the precise spot where bis
feet had first touched stone after he had come aboard from
m» Isle of the One Tree; but his black silhouette was distinct
against the fading horizon. As always, he remained blank to
scrutiny, as though he knew that nothing could touch him.

Yet he had been touched. One iron heel of the old Staff of
Law still clamped him where his wrist had been; but that hand
dangled useless from the wooden limb which grew like a
branch from his elbow. Covenant had no idea why Foam-
follower had given him this product of the dark and histor-
ically malefic ur-viles. But now he was sure that Linden bad
been right—that no explanation which did not include the
secret of the Demondim-spawn was complete enough to be
trusted. When he moved on past Vain, he knew more clearly
why he wanted to find her.

He came upon her near the foremast, some distance down
the deck from the prow where Findail stood confronting the
future like a figurehead. With her were the First, Pitchwife.
and another Giant. As Covenant neared them, he recognized
Mistweave, whose life Linden had saved at the risk of his
own during his most recent venom-relapse. The three Giants
greeted him with the same gentle caution Honninscrave and
Sevinhand had evinced—the wariness of people who believed
they were in the presence of a pain which transcended their
own. But Linden seemed almost unconscious of his appear-
ance- In the wan lantern-light, her face looked pallid, nearly
haggard; and Covenant thought suddenly that she had not
rested at all since before the quest had arrived at the Isle of
the One Tree. The energy which had sustained her earlier had
eroded away; her manner was febrile with exhaustion. For a
moment, he was so conscious of her nearness to collapse that
he failed to notice the fact that she, too, was wearing her old
clothea—the checked flannel shirt, tough jeans, and sturdy
shoes in which she had first entered the Land,

Though her choice was no different than his, the sight of it
gave him an unexpected pang. Once again, be had been be-
trayed by his preterite instinct for hope. Unconsciously, he
had dreamed that all the shocks and revelations of the past
days would not alter her, not impell her to resume their for-
mer distance from each other. Fool! he snarled at himself.
He could not escape her percipience. Down in his cabin, she
had read what he was going to do before he had known it
himself.

The First greeted him in a tone made brusque by the stem-
ness of her own emotions; but her words showed that she also
was sensitive to his plight. "Thomas Covenant, I believe that
you have chosen well." If anything, the losses of the past days
and the darkness of the evening seemed to augment her iron
beauty. She was a Swordmain, trained to give battle to the
peril of the world. As she spoke, one hand gripped her sword's
hilt as if the blade were a vital part of what she was saying.
"I have named you Giantfriend, and I am proud that I did
so. Pitchwife my husband is wont to say that it is the meaning
of our lives to hope. But I know not how to measure such
things. I know only that battle is better than surrender. It is
not for me to judge your paths in this matter—yet am I
gladdened that you have chosen a path of combat." In the way
of a warrior, she was trying to comfort him.

Her attempt touched him—and frightened him as well, for
it suggested that once again he had committed himself to more
than he could gauge. But he was given no chance to reply. For
once, Pitchwife seemed impatient with what his wife was say-
ing. As soon as she finished, he interposed, "Aye, and Linden
Avery also is well Chosen, as I have said. But in this she does
not choose well. Giantfriend, she will not rest*' His exaspera-
tion was plain in his voice.

Linden grimaced. Covenant started to say, "Linden, you
need—" But when she looked at him he stopped. Her gaze
gathered up the darkness and held it against him.

"I don't have anywhere to go."

The stark bereavement of her answer went through him
like a cry. ft: meant too much: that her former world had
been ruined for her by what she had learned; that like him she
could not bear to return to her cabin—the cabin they had
shared.

Somewhere in the distance, Pitchwife was saying, "To her
have been offered the chambers of the Haruchai. But she re-
plies that she fears to dream in such places. And Starfare's
Gem holds no other private quarters."

Covenant understood that also without heeding it. Brinn
had blamed her for Hergrom's death. And she had tried to kill
Ceer. "Leave her alone," he said dully, as deaf to himself as
to Pitchwife. "She'll rest when she's ready."

That was not what he wanted to say. He wanted to say,
Forgive me. I don't know how to forgive myself. But the
words were locked in his chest. They were impossible.

Because he had nothing else to offer her, he swallowed
thickly and said, "You're right. My friends didn't expect me
to be doomed. Foamfollower gave me Vain for a reason."
Even that affirmation was difficult for him; but he forced it
out. "What happened to his arm?"

She went on staring darkness at him as if he were the linch-
pin of her exhaustion. She sounded as misled as a sleepwalker
as she responded, "Mistweave won't go away. He says he
wants to take Cail's place."

Covenant peered at her, momentarily unable to compre-
hend. But then he remembered his own dismay when Brinn
had insisted on serving him; and his heart twisted. "Linden,"
he demanded, forlorn and harsh in his inability to help her,
"tell me about Vain's arm." If he had dared, he would have
taken hold of her. If he had had the right.

She shook her head; and lantern-light glanced like supplica-
tion out of her dry eyes. "I can't." She might have protested
like a child. It hurts. "His arm's empty. When I close my eyes,
it isn't even there. If you took all the life out of the One Tree

—took it away so completely that the Tree never had any—
never had any meaning at all—it would look like that. If he
was actually alive—if he wasn't just a thing the ur-viles made

—he'd be in terrible pain."

Slowly, she turned away as though she could no longer sup-
port his presence. When she moved off down the deck with
Mistweave walking, deferential and stubborn, behind her, he
understood that she also did not know how to forgive.
He thought then that surely his loss and need had become
too much for him, that surely he was about to break down.
But the First and Pitchwife were watching him with their
concern poignant in their faces. They were his friends. And
they needed him. Somehow, he held himself together.

Later, Mistweave sent word that Linden had found a place
to sleep at last, huddled in a comer of the galley near the
warmth of one of the great stoves. With that Covenant had to
be content. Moving stiffly, he went back to his hammock and
took the risk of nightmares. Dreams seemed to be the lesser
danger.

But the next morning the wind was stronger.

It might have been a true sailors' wind—enough to shake
the dromond out of its normal routine and make it stretch,
not enough to pose any threat to the sea-craft of the crew. It
kicked the crests of the waves into spume and spray, sent wa-
ter crashing off the Giantship's granite prow, made the lines
hum and the sails strain. The sides of the vessel moved so
swiftly that their moire markings looked like flames crackling
from the sea. In the rigging, some of the Giants laughed as
they fisted the canvas from position to position, seeking the
dromond's best stance for speed. If its miomast had not been
lost, Starfare's Gem would have flown like exuberance before
the blow.

However, the day was dull with clouds and felt unnaturally
cold. A south wind should have been wanner than this. It
came straight from the place where the Isle had gone down,
and it was as chill as the cavern of the One Tree. Without the
sun to light it, the sea had a gray and viscid hue. Though he
wore a robe over his clothes. Covenant hunched his shoulders
and could not stop shivering.

Seeking reassurance, he went up to the wheeldeck, where
Heft Galewrath commanded the dromond. But she greeted
him with only a blunt nod. Her normally stolid demeanor held
a kind of watchfulness that he had not seen in her before.
For the first time since they had met, she seemed accessible to
misgiving. Rather than trouble her with his trepidations, he
returned to the afterdeck and moved forward, looking for
someone who could be more easily questioned.

It's not that cold, he told himself. It's Just wind. But still
the chill cut at him. No matter how he hugged the robe about
him, the wind found its way to his skin.

Instinctively, he went to the galley, looking for warmth
and Linden,

He found her there, seated at one wall near the cheery
bustle of the dromond's two cooks, a husband and wife aptly
named Seasauce and Hearthcoal. They had spent so much of
their lives working over the great stoves that their faces had
become perpetually ruddy. They looked like images of each
other as they blustered about their tasks, moving with a dis-
ingenuous air of confusion which concealed the ease of their
teamwork. When they went out on deck, heat overflowed from
them; and in their constricted demesne they radiated like
ovens. Yet Covenant's chill persisted.

Linden was awake, but still glazed with sleep. She had paid
only a part of the debt of her weariness. Though she ac-
knowledged Covenant, behind her eyes everything was masked
in somnolence. He thought at once that he should not bother
her with questions until she had rested more. But he was too
cold for good intentions.

Hunkering down beside her, he asked, "What do you think
of this wind?"

She yawned. "I think," she said distantly, "that Foul's in a
hurry to get us back.

However, after another day's rest. Linden was able to look
at the weather more percipiently. By then, Covenant had worn
himself petulant with aimless anxiety. He felt repeatedly that
he had lost the center of his life, that he could no longer hold
himself from flying outward in all directions when the vertigo
of his fear arose. Nothing had happened to suggest that the
dromond was in danger: yet his inchoate conviction of peril
remained. Snappishly, he asked Linden his question a second
time.

But long sleep had brought her back to herself, and the gaze
she turned toward him was capable of knowledge. She seemed
to see without effort that his irritation was not directed at her.
She placed a brief touch on his forearm like a promise that
she would not forsake him. Then she went out to look at the
wind.

After a moment's assessment, she declared that this blow
was not unnatural or ill, not something which the Despiser had
whipped up for his own ends. Instead, it was a reaction to the
fundamental convulsion which had pulled down the Isle of the
One Tree. By that violence, the balances of the weather had
been disturbed, outraged.

It was conceivable that Lord Foul had known this would
happen. But she felt no evidence of his influence on the wind.

When Covenant relayed her verdict to Honninscrave, the
Master shrugged, his thoughts hidden behind the buttress of
his brows. "No matter," he muttered as if he were not listen-
ing to himself. "Should it worsen. Star-fare's Gem must run
before it. Part-masted as we are, I will not hazard resistance
to the wind's path. There is no need. At present, we are borne
but a scant span from our true way.*'

That should have satisfied Covenant His experience of the
sea was trivial compared to Honninscrave's. Yet the alarm in
his guts refused to be eased. Like Galewrath, the Master con-
veyed an impression of concealed worry.

During the next two days, the wind became more serious.

Blowing with incessant vehemence a few poults west of
north, it cut into the sea like the share of a plow, whined
across the decks of the dromond like the ache of its own chill.
In spite of its speed, Starfare's Gem no longer appeared to be
moving swiftly: the wind bore thewater itself northward, and
what little bowwave the prow raised'was torn away at once.
Clouds hugged the world from horizon to horizon. The sails
looked gray and brittle as they heaved the heavy stone along.

And that night the cold began in earnest

When Covenant scrambled shivering out of his hammock
the next morning, he found a scum of ice in the washbasin
which Cail had set out for him. Faint patches of frost licked
the moire-granite as if they had soaked in through the walls.
Passing Vain on his way to the warmth of the galley, he saw
that the Demondim-spawn's black form was mottled with rime
like leprosy.

Yet the Giants were busy about their tasks as always. Im-
pervious to fire if not to pain, they were also proof against
cold. Most of them labored in the rigging, fighting the frozen
stiffness of the lines. For a moment while his eyes teared,
Covenant saw them imprecisely and thought they were furling
the sails. But then he saw clouds blowing off the canvas like
steam, and he realized that the Giants were beating the sails
to prevent the frost on them from building into ice. Ice might
have torn the canvas from the spars, crippling Starfare's Gem
when the dromond's life depended upon its headway.

His breathing crusted in his beard as he let the wind thrust
him forward. Without Cail's help, he would have been unable
to wrestle open the galley door. Slivers of ice sprang from the
cracks and vanished inward as the Haruchai broke the seal
caused by the moisture of cooking. Riding a gust that swirled
stiffly through the galley. Covenant jumped the storm-sill
and nearly staggered at the concussion as the door slammed
behind him.

"Stone and Sea!" Hearthcoal barked in red-faced and harm-
less ire. "Are you fools, that you enter aft rather than forward
in this gale?" With a dripping ladle, she gestured fiercely at
the other seadoor. Behind her, Seasauce clanged shut his
stove's firebox indignantly. But a moment later, all vexation
forgotten, he handed Covenant a steaming flagon of diluted
diamondraught, and Hearthcoal scooped out a bowl of broth
for him from the immense stone pot she tended. Awkward
with self-consciousness, he sat down beside Linden against
one wall out of the way of the cooks and tried to draw some
warmth back into his bones.

In the days that followed, he spent most of his time there,
sharing with her the bearable clangor and heat of the galley.
In spite of his numbness, the cold was too fierce for him; and
for her it was worse because her senses were so vulnerable to
it. He made one more attempt to sleep in his cabin; but after
that he accepted a pallet like hers in the galley. The wind
mounted incrementally every day, and with it the air grew
steadily more frigid. Starfare's Gem was being hurled like a
Jen-id toward the ice-gnawed heart of the north. When Giants
entered the galley seeking food or warmth, their clothing was
stiff with gray rime which left puddles of slush on the floor as
it melted. Ice clogged their beards and hair, and their eyes
were haggard. Covenant made occasional forays out on deck
to observe the state of the ship; but what he saw—the thick,
dire sea, the lowering wrack, the frozen knurs of spume which
were allowed to chew at the railings because the crew was
too hard-pressed to clear them away—always drove him back
to the galley with a gelid knot in his chest.

TJie Path to Pain                  43

Once he went far enough forward to look at Findail. When
he returned, his lips were raw with cold and curses. "That bas-
tard doesn't even feel it," he muttered to no one in particular,
although Pitchwife was there with Linden, Mistweave, the two
cooks, and a few other Giants. "It goes right through him."
He could not explain his indignation. It simply seemed unjust
that the Appointed should be untouched by the plight of the
dromond.

But Linden was not looking at him: her attention was fixed
on Pitchwife as if she wanted to ask him something important.
At first, however, she had no opportunity to interpose her
question. Pitchwife was teasing Hearthcoal and Seasauce like
a merry child and laughing at the concealed humor of their
rebuffs. He had a Giant's tall spirit in his bent frame, and
more than a Giant's capacity for mirth. His japing dissipated
some of Covenant's acid mood.

At last Pitchwife wrung an involuntary laugh from the
cooks; and with that he subsided near Covenant and Linden,
the heat of the stoves gleaming on his forehead. Covenant
was conscious of Linden's tautness as she mustered her in-
quiry. "Pitchwife, what're we getting into?"

The Giant looked at her with an air of surprise which might
have been feigned.

"Nobody wants to talk about it," she pursued. "I've asked
Galewrath and Sevmhand, but all they say is that Starfare's
Gem can go on like this indefinitely. Even Mistweave thinks
he can serve me by keeping his mouth shut." Mistweave
peered studiously at the ceiling, pretending he did not hear
what was said. "So I'm asking you. You've never held any-
thing back from me." Her voice conveyed a complex vibration
of strain. "What're we getting into?"

Outside the galley, the wind made a peculiar keening sound
as it swept through the anchorholes. Frost snapped in the
cracks of the doors. Pitchwife did not want to meet her gaze;

but she held him. By degrees, his good cheer sloughed away;

and the contrast made him appear older, eroded by an unut-
tered fear. For no clear reason, Covenant was reminded of a
story Linden had told him in the days before the quest had
reached Elemesnedene—the story of the role Pitchwife had
played in the death of the First's father. He looked now like a
roan who had too many memories.

"Ah, Chosen," he sighed, "it is my apprehension that we
have been snared by the Dolewind which leads to the Soul-
biter."

The Soulbiter.

Pitchwife called it an imprecise sea, not only because every
ship that found it did so in a different part of the world, but
also because every ship that won free of it again told a differ-
ent tale. Some vessels met gales and reefs in the south; others,
stifling calms in the east; still others, rank and impenetrable
beds of sargasso in the west. In spite of this, however, the
Soulbiter was known for what it was; for no craft or crew
ever came back from it unscathed. And each of those ships
had been driven there by a Dolewind that blew too long with-
out let or variation.

Linden argued for a while, vexed by the conflicting vague-
ness and certainty of Pitchwife's explanations. But Covenant
paid no heed to either of them. He had a name now for his
chill anxiety, and the knowledge gave him a queer comfort.
The Soulbiter. It was not Lord Foul's doing. Neither could it
be avoided. And the outcome of that sea might make all
other fears unnecessary. Very well. The galley was too warm;

but outside cried and groaned a cold which only Giants could
endure for any length of time. Eventually, even the din of the
cooks became soothing to him, and he passed out of trepida-
tion into a kind of waking somnolence—a stupefied inner si-
lence like an echo of the emptiness which the Elohim had
imposed upon him in Elemesnedene.

That silence comprised the only safety he had known in this
world. It was a leper's answer to despair, a state of detach-
ment and passivity made complete by the deadness of every
nerve which should have conveyed import. The Elohim had
not invented it: they had simply incarnated in him the special
nature of his doom. To feel nothing and die.

Linden had once redeemed him from that fate. But now he
was beaten. He made decisions, not because he believed in
them, but because they were expected of him. He did not
have the heart to face the Soulbiter.

In the days that followed, he went through the ordinary
motions of being alive. He drank enough diamondraught to
account for his mute distance to the people who watched him.
He slept in the galley, took brief walks, acknowledged greet-
ings and conversations like a living man. But inwardly he was
becoming untouchable. After years of discipline and defiance,
of stubborn argument against the seduction of his illness, he
gave the effort up.

And still Starfare's Gem plowed a straight furrow across
the gray and gravid sea while the wind blew arctic outrage.
Except for a few worn paths here and there, the decks were
now clenched with ice, overgrown like an old ruin. Its sheer
weight was enough to make the Giants nervous; but they could
not spare time or strength to clear the crust away. There was
too much water in the wind: the blow sheared too much spray
off the battered waves. And that damp collected in the sails
faster than it could be beaten clear. At intervals, one stretch
of canvas or another became too heavy to hold. The wind rent
it out of its shrouds. A hail of ice-slivers swept the decks; tat-
tered scraps of sail were left flapping like broken hands from
the spars. Then the Giants were forced to clew new canvas up
the yards. Bereft of its midmast, the granite dromond needed
all its sails or none.

Day after day, the shrill whine of the rigging and the groans
of the stone became louder, more distressed. The sea looked
like fluid ice, and Starfare's Gem was dragged forward against
ever-increasing resistance. Yet the Giantship was stubborn. Its
masts flexed and shivered, but did not shatter. Grinding its
teeth against the gale, Starfare's Gem endured.

When the change came, it took everyone by surprise. Rest
had restored the combative smolder to Linden's eyes, and she
had been fretting for days against the maddening pressure of
the blast and the constriction of the galley; but even she did
not see what was coming. And the Giants had no warning
at all.

At one moment, Starfare's Gem was riding the howl of the
wind through the embittered heart of a cloud-dark night. At
the next, the dromond pitched forward like a destrier with
locked forelegs; and the gale was gone. The suddenness of the
silence staggered the vessel like a detonation. There was no
sound except the faint clink and crash of ice falling from the
slack sails. Linden Jerked her percipience from side to side,
probing the ship. In astonishment, she muttered, "We've
stopped. Just like that"

For an instant, no one moved. Then Mistweave strode to
me forward door, kicked it out of its frost. Cold as pure as
absolute winter came flowing inward; but it had no wind be-
hind it. The air across the Giantship was still.

Shouts sprang along the decks. In spite of his inward si-
lence, Covenant followed Mistweave and Linden out into the
night.

The clouds were gone: the dark was as clear and sharp as
a knife-edge. Spots of light marked out the Giantship as the
crew lit more lanterns. Near the eastern horizon stood the
moon, yellow and doleful. It was nearly full, but appeared
to shed no illumination, cast no reflection onto the black and
secret face of the water. The stars littered the sky in every
direction, all their portents lost. Linden muttered to herself,
"What in hell—?" But she seemed unable to complete the
question.

Honninscrave and Pitchwife approached from opposite ends
of the ship. When the First joined them, Pitchwife said with
unconvincing nonchalance, "It appears that we are here."

Covenant felt too numb to be cold. But Linden was shiver-
ing violently beside him. In a bitten voice, she asked, "What
do we do now?"

"Do?" replied Honninscrave distantly. His visage was be-
nighted, devoid of content. "This is the Soulbiter. We must
await its will." Plumes of steam came from his mouth as if his
spirit escaped him at every word.

Its will. Covenant thought dumbly. My will. Foul's will.
Nothing made any difference. Silence was safety. If he could
not have hope, he would accept numbness. Returning to the
galley, he curled up on his pallet and fell immediately asleep.

But the next morning he was awakened by the cold and the
quiet. The stoves put out no heat. Except for Cail, the galley
was deserted. Abandoned. Starfare's Gem lay as still as if he
and the Haruchai were the only people left aboard.

A pang went through him, threatening his defenses. Stiff
with sleep and chill, he fumbled erect. "Where—?*' he asked
weakly. "Where did they go?"

Cail's reply was flat and pitiless. "They have gone to behold
the Soulbiter."

Covenant winced. He did not want to leave the confines of
the galley. He feared the return of sensation and pain and
responsibility. But Call's expressionless stare was insistent. Cail
was one of the Haruchai. kindred to Brinn and Banner. His
comrades Ceer and Hergrom had given their lives. He had the
right to make demands. And his gaze was as plain as words:

It is enough. Now you must resume yourself.

Covenant did not want to go. But he adjusted his rumpled
attire, made an effort to secure the silence closely about him.
When Cail opened the door for him, he took a step over the
storm-sill and walked blinking into the bright, frigid morning.

After so many days hidden behind the glower of the clouds,
the sun alone would have been enough to blind him. But it was
not alone. White cold glared around the ship. Light sprang at
him from all sides; dazzles as piercing as spears volleyed about
his head. His tears froze on his cheeks. When he raised his
hands to rub the beads away, small patches of skin were torn
from his face.

But slowly his sight cleared. He saw Giants lining the rails,
their backs to him. Everyone on board stood at the forward
railings somewhere, facing outward.

They were still, as quiet as the sea and the sails hanging
empty in then- gear. But no hush could silence their expectant
suspense. They were watching the Soulbiter. Waiting for it.

Then he recovered enough vision to discern the source of all
the dazzling.

Motionless in the water, Starfare's Gem lay surrounded by
a flotilla of icebergs.

Hundreds of them in every size and configuration. Some
were *mere small humps on the flat sea. Others raised jagged
crests to the level of the dromond's spars. And they were all
formed of the same impeccable ice: ice as translucent and
complete as glass, as bard-faced as diamonds; ice on which the
morning broke, shattering light in all directions.

They were moving. Singly or in squadrons, they bore slowly
down on the ship as they floated southward. A few came so
close that a Giant could have reached them in one leap. Yet
none of them struck the dromond.

Along the deep the flotilla drifted with a wonderous maj-
esty, as bewitching as me cold. Most of the Giants stood as
if they bad been carved from a muddier ice. They scarcely
breathed while their hands froze to the rails and the gleaming
burned into their eyes. Covenant joined Linden near the First,
Pitchwife, and Mistweave. Behind the raw red of cold in her
face lay a blue pallor as if her blood had become as milky as
frost; but she had stopped shivering, paid no heed to the drops
of ice which formed on her parted lips. Pitchwife's constant
murmur did not interrupt the trance. Like everyone else, he
watched the ice pass stately by as if he were waiting for some-
one to speak. As if the sun-sharp wonder of this passage were
merely a prelude.

Covenant found that he, too, could not look away. Com-
manded by so much eye-piercing glister and beauty, he braced
his hands on one of the crossbeams of the railing and at once
lost the power of movement. He was calm now, prepared to
wait forever if necessary to hear what the cold was going to
utter.

Call's voice reached him distantly. The Haruchai was say-
ing, "Ur-Lord, this is not well. Chosen, hear me. It is not
well. You must come away." But his protest slowly ran out of
strength. He moved to stand beside Covenant and did not
speak again.

Covenant had no sense of time. Eventually the waiting
ended. A berg drifted past the line of spectators, showing
everyone a flat space like a platform in its side. And from that
space rose cries.

"A ship at last!"

"Help us!"

"In the name of pity!'*

"We have been marooned!"

He seemed to hear the same shouts behind him also, from
the other side of the Giantship. But that strange detail made
no impression on him.

His eyes were the only part of him mat moved. As the ice-
berg floated southward amid the slow procession, its flat side
passed directly below the watchers. And he saw figures emerge
from the pellucid ice—human figures. Three or four of them,
he could not be sure. The number was oddly imprecise. But
numbers did not matter. They were men, and their destitution
made his heart twist against its shackles.

They were hollow-eyed, gaunt, and piteous. Their hands,
maimed by frostbite, were wrapped in shreds torn from their
ragged clothing. Emaciation and hopelessness lined their
faces. Their cracked and splintered voices were hoarse with
despair.

"Marooned!" they cried like a memory of the wind.

"Mercy!"

But no one on the dromond moved.

"Help them." Linden's voice issued like a moan between
her beaded lips. "Throw them a line. Somebody."

No one responded. Gripped by cold, volitionless, the watch-
ers only stared as the iceberg drifted slowly by, bearing its
frantic victims away. Gradually, the current took the ma-
rooned men out of hearing.

"In the name of God." Her tears formed a gleaming fan of
ice under each eye.

Again Covenant's heart twisted. But he could not break
free. His silence covered the sea.

Then another berg drew near. It lay like a plate on the
unwavering face of the water. Beneath the surface, its bulk
lightly touched the ship, scraped a groan from the hushed hulL
For a moment, the plate caught the sun squarely, and its
reflection rang like a knelL Yet Covenant was able to see
through the glare.

Poised in the sun's image were people that he knew.

Hergrom. Ceer.

They stood braced as if they had their backs to the Sand-
wall. At first, they were unaware of the Giantship. But then
they saw it. Ceer shouted a hail which fell without echo onto
the decks of the dromond. Leaving Hergrom, he sprinted to
the edge of the ice, waved his arms for assistance.

Then out of the light came a Sandgorgon. White against the
untrammeled background of the ice, the beast charged toward
Hergrom with murder outstretched in its mighty arms.

Tremors shook Cail. Strain made steam puff between his
teeth. But the cold held him.

For an instant, the implacable structure of Ceer's face
registered the fact that the Giantship was not going to help
him. His gaze shivered in Covenant's chest like an accusation
that could never be answered. Then he sped to Hergrom's
defense.

The Sandgorgon struck with the force of a juggernaut.
Cracks sprang through the ice. A flurry of blows scattered
Hergrom's blood across the floe. Ceer's strength meant noth-
ing to the beast.

And still no one moved. The Giants were ice themselves
now, as frigid and brittle as the wilderland of the sea. Linden's
weeping gasped in her throat. Droplets of blood ran from
Covenant's palms as he tried to rip his bands from the railing.
But the grasp of the cold could not be broken.
Ceer. Hergrom.

But the plate of ice slowly drifted away, and no one moved.

After that, the waiting seemed long for the first time since
Covenant had fallen under the spell of the Soulbiter.

At last another hunk of ice floated near the Giantship. It
was small, hardly a yard wide, its face barely above the water.
It seemed too small to be the bringer of so much fear.

For a moment, his vision was smeared with light. He could
see nothing past the bright assault of the sun's reflections. But
then his eyes cleared.

On that little floe stood Cable Seadreamer. He faced the
dromond^ stared up at the watchers. His posture was erect;

his arms were folded sternly over the gaping wound in the
center of his chest Above his scar, his eyes were full of ter-
rible knowledge.

Stiffly, he nodded a greeting. "My people," he said in a
voice as quiet and extreme as me cold. "you must succor me.
This is the Soulbiter. Here suffer all the damned who have
died in a false cause, unaided by those they sought to serve.
If you will not reach out to me, I must stand here forever in
my anguish, and the ice will not release me. Hear me^ you

whom I have loved to this cost Is there no love left in you
for me?"

"Seadreamer," Linden groaned. Honninscrave gave a cry
that tore frozen flesh around his mouth, sent brief drops of
blood into his beard. The First panted faintly, "No. I am the
First of the Search. I will not endure it." But none of them
moved. The cold had become irrefragable. Its victory was
accomplished. Already Seadreamer was almost directly oppo-
site Covenant's position. Soon he would pass amidships, and
then he would be gone, and the people of Starfare's Gem

would be left with nothing except abomination and rue and
cold.

It was intolerable. Seadreamer had given his life to save
Covenant from destroying the Earth. Prevented by muteness
from sharing the Earth-Sight, he had placed his own flesh in
the path of the world's doom. purchasing a reprieve for the
people he loved. And Covenant had refused to grant him the
simple decency of a caanwra. It was too much.

In pain and dismay. Covenant moved. With a curse that
splintered the silence, he burned his hands off the rail. Wild
magic pulsed through him like the hot ichor of grief: white
fire burst out of his ring like rage. "We're going to lose hunF*
be howled at the Giants. "Get a rope!"

An instant later, the First wrenched herself free. Her iron
voice rang across the Giantship: "No!"

Jerking toward the mooring of a nearby ratline, she
snatched up one of the belaying-pins. "Avaunt, demon!" she
yelled. "We will not hear youl"

Fierce with fury and revulsion, she hurled the pin straight
at Seadreamer.

The Giants gaped as her projectile flashed through him.

It struck a chip from the edge of the ice and skipped away
into the sea, splashing distinctly. At once, his form wavered.
He tried to speak again; but already he had dissolved into
mirage. The floe drifted emptily away toward the south.

While Covenant stared, the fire rushed out of him, quenched
again by the cold.

But an instant later the spell broke with an audible crackle
and shatter of ice. Linden lifted raw hands to her face, blinked
her cold-gouged eyes. Coughing and cursing, Honninscrave
reeled back from the rail. "Move, sluggards!" His shout scat-
tered flecks of blood. "Ware the wind!" Relief and dismay were
etched in frost on different parts of Pttchwife's face.

Numbly, the other Giants turned from the vista of the sea.
Some seemed unable to understand what had happened; others
struggled in mounting haste toward their stations. Seasauce and
Hearthcoal bustled back to the galley as if they were ashamed
of their prolonged absence. The First and Galewrath moved
among the slower crewmembers, shaking or manhandling them
into a semblance of alertness. Honninscrave strode grimly in
the direction of the wheeldeck.

A moment later, one of the sails rattled in its gear, sending
down a shower of frozen dust; and the first Giant to ascend the
ratliaes gave a hoarse call:

•The south!"

A dark moil of clouds was already visible above the drom-
onds taffrail. The gale was coming back.

Covenant wondered momentarily how Starfare's Gem would
be able to navigate through the flotilla of icebergs in such a
wind—or how the ice-laden sails would survive if the blast hit
too suddenly, too hard. But then he forgot everything else be-
cause Linden was fainting and he was too far away to reach
her. Mistweave barely caught her in time to keep her from
cracking her head open on the stone deck.

FOUR -- Sea of Ice

THE first gusts hit the Giantship at an angle, heeling it
heavily to port. But then the main force of the wind came up
against the stern, and Starfare's Gem righted with a wrench
as the sails snapped and bellied and the blast tried to claw
them away. The dromond lay so massively in the viscid sea
that for a moment it seemed unable to move. The upper spars
screamed. Abruptly, Dawngreeter split from top to bottom,
and wind tore shrilling through the rent.

But then Starfare's Gem gathered its legs under it, thrust
forward, and the pressure eased. As the clouds came boiling
overhead, the Giantship took hold of itself and began to run.

In the first moments, Honninscrave and the steerswoman.
were tested to their limits by the need to avoid collision with
the nearest bergs. Under these frigid conditions, any contact
might have burst the granite of the dromond's flanks like dry
wood. But soon the flotilla began to thin ahead of the ship.
Starfare's Gem was coming to the end of the Soulbiter. The
wind continued to scale upward; but now the immediate dan-
ger receded. The dromond had been fashioned to withstand
such blasts.

But Covenant was oblivious to the ship and the wind: he
was fighting for Linden's life. Mistweave bad carried her into
the galley, where the cooks labored to bring back the heat of
their stoves; but once the Giant had laid her down on her
pallet. Covenant shouldered him aside. Pitchwife followed
Cail into the galley and offered his help. Covenant ignored
him. Cursing with methodical vehemence under his breath, he
chaffed her wrists, rubbed her cheeks, and waited for the
cooks to warm some water.

She was too pale. The movement of her chest was so slight
that he could hardly believe it. Her skin had the texture of
wax. It looked like it would peel away if he rubbed it too
hard. He slapped and massaged her forearms, her shoulders,
the sides of her neck with giddy desperation pounding in his
temples. Between curses, he reiterated his demand for water.

"It will come," muttered Seasauce. His own impatience
made him sound irate. "The stoves are cold. I have no theurgy
to hasten fire."

"She isn't a Giant," Covenant responded without looking
away from Linden. "It doesn't have to boil."

Pitchwife squatted at Linden's head, thrust a leather flask
into Covenant's view. "Here is diamondraught."

Covenant did not pause; but he shifted his efforts down to
her hips and legs, making room for Pitchwife.

Cupping one huge palm under her head, the Giant lifted her
into a half-sitting posture. Carefully, he raised the mouth of
his flask to her lips.

Liquid dribbled from the corners of her mouth. In dismay,
Covenant saw that she was not swallowing. Her chest rose as
she inhaled; but no gag-reflex prevented her from breathing
the potent liquor.

At the sight, his mind went white with fire. The hysteria of
venom and power coursed through his muscles—keen argent
fretted with reminders of midnight and murder. He thrust
Pitchwife away as if the Giant were a child.

But he dared not try to reach heat into Linden. Without any
health-sense to guide him. he would be more likely to kill than
warm her. Swallowing flame, he wrenched her onto her side,
hit her once between the shoulder blades, twice, hoping to dis-
lodge the fluid from her lungs. Then he pressed her to her
back again, tilted her head as he had been taught, clasped shut
her nose, and with his mouth over hers started breathing ur-
gently down her throat,

Almost at once, effort and restraint made him dizzy. He no
longer knew how to find the still point of strength in the center
of his whirling fears. He bad no power to save her life except
the one he could not use.

"Giantfriend." Hearthcoal's voice came from a great dis-
tance. "Here is a stewpot able to hold her."

Covenant's head jerked up. For an instant, he gaped incom-
prehension at the cook. Then he rapped out, "Fill it!" and
clamped his mouth back over Linden's.

A muffled thunder of water poured into the huge stone pot.
Wind shrieked in the hawseholes, plucked juddering ululations
from the shrouds. Around Covenant, the galley began to spin.
Head up: inhale. Head down: exhale. He had no way to keep
his balance except with fire. In another moment, he was go-
ing to erupt or lose consciousness, he did not know which.

Then Seasauce said, "It is ready." Pitchwifc touched Cove-
nant's shoulder. Scooping his arms under Linden, Covenant
tried to unknot his cramped muscles, stand erect.

Starfare's Gem brunted through the crest of a wave and
dove for the trough. Unable to steady himself, be pitched
headlong toward the wall.

Hands caught him. Mistweave held him while Pitchwife
pulled Linden from his embrace.

He was giddy and irresistible with fire. He jerked away
from Mistweave, followed Pitchwife toward the stove on
which sat the oblong stewpot. The floor seemed to yaw vi-
ciously, but he kept moving.

The stovetop was as high as his chin. He could see nothing
of Linden past the pot's rim except a crown of hair as Sea-
sauce held her head above water. But he no longer needed to
see her. Pressing his forehead against the base of the stewpot,
he spread his arms as far as possible along its sides. The guts
of the stove were aflame; but that heat would take too long
to warm so much stone and water. Closing his eyes against the
ghoul-whirl of his vertigo, he let wild magic pour down his
arms.

This he could do safely. He had learned enough control to
keep his power from tearing havoc through the galley. And
Linden was buffered from his imprecise touch. With white
passion he girdled the pot. Then he narrowed his mind until
nothing else impinged upon it and let the fire flow.

In that way, he turned his back on silence and numbness.

For a time, he was conscious only of the current of his
power, squeezing heat into the stone but not breaking it, not
tearing the fragile granite into rubble. Then suddenly he real-
ized that he could hear Linden coughing. He looked up. She
was invisible to him, hidden by the sides of the pot and the
steam pluming thickly into the air. But she was coughing,
clearing her lungs more strongly with every spasm. And a
moment later one of her hands came out of the vapor to
clutch at the Up of the pot.

"It is enough," Pitchwife was saying. "Giantfriend, it is
enough. More heat will harm her."

Covenant nodded dumbly. With a deliberate effort, he re-
leased his power.

At once, he recoiled, struck by the vertigo and fear he had
been holding at bay. But Pitchwife put an arm around him,
kept him on his feet. As tile spinning slowed, he was able to
watch Seasauce lift Linden dripping from the water. She still
looked as pallid and frail as a battered child; but her eyes were
open, and her limbs reacted to the people around her. When
Mistweave took her from the cook, she instinctively hugged
his neck while he wrapped her in a blanket. Then Cail offered
her Pitchwife's flask of diamondraught. Still shivering fiercely,
she pulled the flask to her mouth. Gradually, two faint spots
of color appeared on her cheeks.

Covenant turned away and hid his face against Pitchwife's
malformed chest until his relief eased enough to be borne.

For a few moments while the diamondraught spread out
within her. Linden remained conscious. Though she was so
weak that she tottered, she got down 'from Mistweave's arms.
With the blanket swaddled around her, she stripped off her
wet clothing. Then her gaze hunted for Covenant's.
He met it as bravely as he could.

"Why—?" she asked huskily. Her voice quivered. *'Wny
couldn't we help them?"

"It was the Soulbiter." Her question made his eyes blur.
Her heart was still torn by what she had seen, "They were il-
lusions. We were damned if we refused to help. Because of
how we would've felt about ourselves. And damned if we
tried. If we brought one of those things aboard." The Soul-
biter, he thought as he strove to clear his vision. It was aptly
named. "The only way out was to break the illusion."

She nodded faintly. She was fading into the embrace of the
diamondraught. "It was like watching my parents." Her eyes
closed. "If they were as brave as I wanted them to be." Her
voice trailed toward silence. "If I let myself love them."
Then her knees folded. Mistweave lowered her gently to
her pallet, tucked more blankets around her. She was already
asleep.

By increments, the galley recovered its accustomed warmth.
Seasauce and Hearthcoal labored like titans to produce hot
food for the hard-pressed crew. As Honninscrave became
more confident of the dromonds stance against the gale, be
began sending Giants in small groups for aliment and rest:

a steady stream of them passed through the galley. They
entered with hoar in their hair and strain in their eyes. The
same gaunt look of memory marked every face. But the taste
of hot food and the comradely bluster of the cooks solaced
them; and when they returned to their tasks they bore
themselves with more of their wonted jaunty sea-love and
courage. They had survived the Soulbiter. Valiantly, they
went back to their battle with the bitter grue of the sea.

Covenant remained in the galley for a while to watch over
Linden. Her slumber was so profound that he distrusted it
instinctively. He expected her to slip back into the tallow
pallor of frostbite. She looked so small, frail, and desirable
lying there nearly under the feet of the Giants. But her form
curled beneath the blankets brought back other memories as
well; and eventually he found himself falling from relief and
warmth into bereavement She was the only woman he knew
who understood his illness and still accepted him. Already,
her stubborn commitment to him—and to the Land—bad
proved itself stronger than his despair. He yearned to put his
arms around her, clasp her to him. But he did not have the
right. And in her analystic sleep she did not need the loyalty
of his attendance. To escape the ache of what he had lost,
he sashed his robe tightly about him and went out into the
keening wind.

Instantly, he stumbled into the swirl of a snowfall as thick
as fog. It flurried against his face. Ice crunched under his
boots. When he blinked his eyes clear, he saw pinpricks of
light around the decks and up in the rigging. The snow veiled
the day so completely that the Giants were compelled to use
lanterns. The sight dismayed him. How could Honninscrave
keep the Giantship running, headlong and blind in such a
sea, when his crew was unable to tend the sails without
lamps?

But flie Master had no choice. While this wind held, the
dromond could do nothing but grit its teeth and endure.

The matter was out of Covenant's hands. Braving the flung
snow and the ice-knurled decks with Call's support, he went
looking for the First.

But when he found her in the cabin she shared with
Pitchwife, he discovered that he did not know what to say.
She was polishing her longsword. and her slow stroking
movements had a quality of deliberate grimness which sug-
gested that the survival of Starfare'i Gem was out of her
hands as well. She had broken the spell of the Soulbiter; she
could do nothing now. For a long moment, they shared a
hard stare of determination and helplessness. Then he turned
away.

The snowfall continued. It clung to the air, and the wind
whipped it forward, darkening the day as if the sky were
clogged with ashes.

It brought with it a slight moderation of the temperature;

and the fierceness of the blast was softened somewhat. But in
reaction the seas grew more tempestuous. And they no longer
followed the thrust of the gale. Other forces bent them out
of the grasp of the storm, forcing Starfare's Gem to slog and
claw its way across the grain of the current. Honninscrave
shifted course as much as he dared to accommodate the seas;

but the wind did not give him much latitude. As a result,
the massive vessel pounded forward with a wild gait, a
slewing pitch-and-yaw with a sickening pause on the wavetops
while the dromond hung momentarily out of control, followed
by a plunge which buried the stern to its taffrail in black
water. Only the unfrightened demeanor of the Giants con-
vinced Covenant that Starfare's Gem was not about to
founder.

Shortly before sunset, the snow lifted, letting a little dirty
yellow light lick briefly across the battered seas. At once,
Honninscrave sent Giants into the tops to scan the horizons
before the illumination failed. They reported no landfall in
sight. Then a night blinded by clouds closed down over the
Giantship, and Starfare's Gem went running into the pit of
an unreadable dark.

In the galley, Covenant rode the storm with his back
braced between one wall and the side of a stove and his
gaze fixed on Linden. Blank to the vessel's staggering, she
slept so peacefully that she reminded him of the Land before
the onset of the Sunbane. She was a terrain which should
never have been violated by bloodshed and hate, a place that
deserved better. But the Land had men and women—however
few—who had fought and would fight for its healing. And
Linden was among them. Yet in the struggle against her own
inner Sunbane she had no one but herself.

The night stretched out ahead of Starfare's Gem. After a
meal and a cup of thinned diamondraught. Covenant tried to
rest Recumbent on his pallet, he let the seas flop him from
side to side and strove to imagine that he was being cradled.
Fitfully, he dozed his way into true sleep.

But almost at once he began to flounder. He was back in
me Sandhold, in Kemper's Pitch, strapped motionless for
torture. He had passed, untouched, through knives and fire;

but now he was being hurled down into himself, thrown with
the violence of greed toward the hard wall of his fate. Then,
however, he had been saved by Hergrom; and now Hergrom
was dead. There was no one to save him from the impact
that broke everything, filled the air with the splintering thunder
of a mountain being riven.

His skin slick with sweat, he awakened—and the sound
went on. Starfare's Gem was shattering. Concussions yeHed
through the hull. His face pressed the wall. A chaos of
crockery and utensils burst across the galley. He tried to
thrust himself back; but the ship's momentum pinned him.
Stone screams answered the wind—the sound of masts and
spars splitting under the strain. The dromond had been
driven into some kind of collision.

The next instant, Starfare's Gem heaved to a halt. Covenant
rolled out into the broken litter dancing across the floor.
Bruising his knees and hands on the shards, he lurched to his
feet Then a tremendous weight hammered down on the prow
of the ship; and the floor tilted as if the Giantship were on
its way to the depths. The afterdoor of the galley jumped
from its mounts. Until Starfare's Gem stumbled back into
a semblance of trim. Covenant had to cling to Cail and let
the Haruchai uphold him.

The dromond seemed to be settling. Cries of breakage
retorted along the wind. Outside the galley, the air was
frantic with shouts; but over them all rose Honninscrave's
stentorian howl:

"Pitchwife!"

Then Hearthcoal stirred in one corner; Seasauce shrugged
the remains of a broken shelf off his back; and Covenant
started to move. His first thought was for Linden; but a
swift glance showed him that she was safe: still clasped in
the sopor of diamondraught, she lay on her pallet with
Mistweave braced protectively over her. Seeing Covenant's
look, Mistweave gave a quick nod of reassurance. Without
hesitation. Covenant surged to the ruptured door and charged
out into the teeth of the wind.

He could see nothing: the night was as black as Vain. AH
the lanterns seemed to have been blown out. When he located
a point of light hanging near Shipsheartthew, it showed him
only that the wheeldeck had been abandoned. But shouts of
command and desperation came from the direction of the
prow. Gripping Call's shoulder because he could not keep his
footing on the ice. Covenant labored forward.

At first, he followed the sound of Honninscrave's bellow,
the First's iron orders. Then lanterns began to appear as
Giants called for light so that they could see their way amid
the snarled wreckage which crowded the vessel's foredeck.

In a prodigious tangle of sundered canvas and gear,
pulleys and lines, sprawled several thick stone beams—the
two upper spars and a section of the foremast The great
trunk of the mast had been broken in half. One of the fallen
spars was intact; me other lay in three jagged pieces. At every
step, the Giants kicked through slivers of granite.

Four crewmembers were crumpled in the wreckage.

The lantern-light was so wan, cast so many shadows, that
Covenant could not see if any of them were still alive.

The First had her sword in her fist. Wielding it as deftly
as a dagger, she cut through shrouds and sails toward the
nearest of the fallen Giants. Galewrath and several others
attacked the same task with their knives.

Sevinhand started into the wreckage. Honninscrave called
him back, sent him instead to muster hands at the pumps.
Covenant felt the dromond sinking dangerously; but he had
no time for that fear. Through the din, he shouted at Cail,
"Get Linden!"

"She has consumed much diamondraught^ the Baruchai
replied. "She will not be lightly roused." His tone was
impersonal.

"I don't care!" snapped Covenant. "We're going to need
her!"

Whirling away, he flung himself in the wake of the First.

She was crouched beside a limp form. As Covenant
reached her, she surged erect again. Her eyes echoed the
lanterns hotly. Darkness lay along her blade like blood.
"Cornel" she rasped. "We can do nothing here." Her sword
sliced into the piled canvas with a sound like a cry.

Covenant glanced at the Giant she had left. The crewmem-
ber was a young woman he remembered—a grinning sailor
with a cheerful determination to be always in the forefront
of any work or hazard. He recognized half her face: the rest
had been crushed by the broken butt of the mast.

For a moment, the dark came over him. Bereft of light, he
blundered into the wreckage and could not fight free. But
then he felt venom rise like bile in his throat, felt worms of
fire begin to crawl down his forearm; and the shock steadied
him. He had nearly let the wild destruction slip. Cursing, he
stumbled after the First again.

A stolid shout reported that Galewrath had found another
of the injured Giants dead. Covenant forced himself to go
faster, as if his haste might keep the other crewmembers
alive. But the First had already left behind a third corpse, a
man with an arm-long splinter of stone driven through the
base of his throat In a fever of suppressed fire. Covenant
thrashed onward.

Galewrath and the First converged on the last Giant with
Honninscrave and Covenant following closely.

The face of this Giant was less familiar to him. She had
never been brought specifically to his notice. But that did not
matter. He cared only that she was alive.

Her breath came in hoarse wet heaves: black fluid ran
from the comer of her mouth, formed a pool under her
head. The bulk of the one unsnapped spar lay across her
chest, crushing her to the hard deck. Both her forearms
were broken.

The First slapped her longsword into its scabbard. To-
gether, she and Galewrath bent to the beam, tried to lift it.
But the huge spar was far too heavy for them. Its ends were
trapped: one stretched under the fallen mast; the other was
snared in a mountain of gear and canvas.

Galewrath went on straining at the beam as if she did not
know how to admit defeat. But the First swung upright, and
her voice rang out over the deck, demanding help.

Giants were already on their way. Several of them veered
toward the mast, fought to clear it so that they could roll
it off the spar; others slashed into the wreckage at the far
end with their knives.

There was little time. The life was being squeezed out of
the pinned Giant: it panted from her mouth in damp shallow
gasps. Her face was intense with pain.

No! Covenant panted in response. No. Thrusting himself
forward, he cried through the clamor, "Get back! I'm going
to break this thing off her!"

He did not wait to see whether he was obeyed. Wrapping
his arms as far as he could around the bole of the spar, be
brought up white fire to tear the stone apart.

With a fierce yell, Honninscrave wrenched Covenant from
the spar, shoved bini away.

"Honninscrave—I" the First began,

"I must have this spar whole!" roared the Master. His
beard jutted fury and aggrievement alpng his jaw. "Starfare's
Gem cannot endure any sea with but one mast!" The plight
of his ship consumed him. "If Pitchwife can mend this shaft
by any amount, then I must have a spar to bold saill He
cannot remake the Giantship entirel"

For an instant, he and the First confronted each other
furiously. Covenant fought to keep himself from howling.

Then a groan and thud of granite shook the deck as four
or five Giants rolled the mast off the end of the spar.

At once, the First and Honninscrave sprang to work. With
Galewrath and every Giant who could lay hand to the beam,
they pitted their strength against the spar.

The long stone shaft lifted like an ordinary timber in
Their arms.

As the weight left her, the crushed crewmember let out a
shredded moan and lost consciousness.

Immediately, Galewrath crouched under the yard to her.
Clamping one hand under the woman's chin, the other at
the back of her head to minimize the risk of further injuring
a broken spine, the Storesmaster drew her comrade from
beneath the spar to a small clear space in the middle of the
wreckage.

Covenant gaped at them half-wittedly, trembling as if he
had been snatched from the brink of an act of desecration.

Swiftly, Galewrath examined the crushed woman. But the
fragmentary light of the lanterns made her appear tentative.
hampered by hesitation and uncertainty. She was the
dromond's healer and knew how to treat any hurt that she
could see; but she had no way to correct or even evaluate such
severe internal damage. And while she faltered, the woman
was slipping out of reach.

Covenant tried to say Linden's name. But at that moment
a group of Giants came through the shambles carrying
lanterns. Mistweave and Cail were among them. Mistweave
bore Linden.

She lay in his arms as if she were still asleep—as if the
diomondraughfs hold over her could not be breached by any
desperation.

But when he set her on her feet. her eyes fluttered open.
Groggily, she ran her fingers through her hair, pulled it back
from her face. Shadows glazed her eyes; she looked like a
woman who was walking in her dreams. A yawn stretched
her mouth. She appeared unaware of the pain sprawling at
her feet.

Then abruptly she sank down beside the dying Giant as
though her knees had failed. She bowed her head, and her
hair swung forward to hide her face again.

Rigid with useless impatience, the First clenched her fists
on her hips. Galewrath glared back at the lamps. Honninscrave
turned away as if he could not bear the sight, began whisper-
ing commands. His tone made the crew obey with alacrity.

Linden remained bowed over the Giant as if she were
praying. The noise of the crew in the wreckage, the creaking
of the dromond's granite, the muffled crackle of ice made
what she was saying inaudible. Then her voice came into
clearer focus.

"—but the spinal cord is all right. If you splint her back,
strap her down, the bones should mend."

Galewrath nodded stiffly, glowering as if she knew there
was more to be said.

The next moment, a tremor ran through Linden. Her head
jerked up.

"Her heart's bleeding. A broken rib—" Her eyes cast a
white blind stare into the dark.

Through her teeth, the First breathed, "Succor her. Chosen.
She must not die. Three others have lost life this night. There
must not be a fourth."

Linden went on staring. Her voice had a leaden sound, as
though she were almost asleep again. "How? I could open
her up, but she'd lose too much blood. And I don't have
any sutures."

"Chosen." The First knelt opposite Linden, took hold of
her shoulders. "I know nothing of these 'sutures.' Your
healing surpasses me altogether. I know only that she must
die if you do not aid her swiftly."

In response. Linden gazed dully across the deck like a
woman who had lost interest

"Lindeni" Covenant croaked at last. "Try."

Her sight swam into focus on him, and he saw glints of
light pass like motes of vision across the dark background of
her eyes. "Come," she said faintly. "Come here.**

All his muscles were wooden with suppressed dismay; but
he forced himself to obey. Beside the dying Giant, he faced
Linden. "What do you—?"

Her expression stopped him. Her features wore the look
of dreams. Without a word, she reached out, caught his
half-hand by the wrist, stretched his arm like a rod over the
Giant's pain.

Before he could react, she frowned sharply; and a blare
of violation ripped across his mind.

In a rush, fire poured from his ring. Wild magic threw
back the night, washing the foredeck with incandescence.

He recoiled in shock rather than pain; her hold did not
hurt him. Yet it bereft him of choice. Without warning, all
his preconceptions were snatched apart. Everything changed.
Once before, in the cavern of the One Tree, she had exerted
his power for herself; but he had hardly dared consider the
implications. Now her percipience had grown so acute that
she could wield his ring without his bare volition. And it was
a violation. Mhoram had said to him. You are the white gold.
Wild magic had become a crucial part of his identity, and no
one else bad the right to use it, control it.

Yet he did not know how to resist her. Her grasp on what
she was doing was impenetrable. Already she had set fire to
the Giant's chest as if she intended to bum out the woman's
heart.

Around the Giantship, every sound fell away, absorbed
by fire. The First and Galewrath shaded their eyes against
the blaze, watched the Chosen with mute astonishment
Linden's mouth formed mumbling shapes as she worked, but
no words came. Her gaze was buried deep in the flames.
Covenant could feel himself dying.

For one moment, the Giant writhed against his thighs.
Then she took a heavy, shuddering breath: and the trickle of
blood at the comer of her mouth stopped. Her chest rose
more freely. In a short time, her eyes opened and stared at
the sensation of being healed.

Linden dropped Covenant's wrist. At once, the fire vanished.
Night clapped back over the dromond. For an instant, even
the lanterns appeared to have gone out. He flinched back
against a pile of ruined gear, his face full of darkness. He
hardly heard the First muttering. "Stone and Seal" over and
over again, unable to voice her amazement in any other way.
He was completely blind. His eyes adjusted quickly enough,
picking shapes and shadows out of the lantern-glow; but that
was only sight, not vision: it had no power or capacity for
healing.

Before him. Linden lay across the torso of the Giant she
had called back from death. She was already asleep.

From his position in the dromond's prow, Pindail studied
her as if he expected a transformation to begin at any
moment

Bunking fiercely. Covenant fought to keep me hot grief
down. After a moment, he descried Pitchwife near the First
The lamps made the malformed Giant's face haggard, his
eyes red. He was breathing heavily, nearly exhausted. But his
voice was calm as he said. "It is done. Starf are's Gem will not
run with its wonted ease until it has been granted restoration
by the shipwrights of Home. But I have wived the breaches.
We will not go down."

"Run?" Honninscrave growled through his beard. "Have
you beheld the foremast? Starfare's Gem will never run. In
such hurt, I know not how to make it walk."

The First said something Covenant did not hear. CaH came
toward him, offered a hand to help him to his feet. But he
did not react to any of them. He was being torn out of
himself by the roots.

Linden had a better right to his ring than be did.

When the cold seeped so far into him that he almost stopped
shivering, he made his preterite way to the oven-thick
atmosphere of the galley. Seated there with his back to one
wall, he stared at nothing as if he were stupefied, unable to
register what he beheld. All he saw was the gaunt, com-
pulsory visage of his doom.

Outside, the Giants labored at the needs of the ship. For
a long time, the muffled thud of the pumps rose from
below-decks. The sails of the aftermast were clewed up to
their yards to protect them from any resurgence of the now-
diminished Dolewind. The stone of the foremast and its
spars was cleared out of the wreckage and set aside. Anything
that remained intact in the fallen gear and rigging was
salvaged. Either Seasauce or Hearthcoal was away from the
stoves constantly, carrying huge buckets of broth to the
Giants to sustain them while they worked.

But nothing the crew could do changed the essential fact;

the dromond was stuck and crippfed. When dawn came, and
Covenant went, hollow-eyed and spectral, to look at the
Giantship's condition, he was dismayed by the severity of
the damage. Aft of the midship housing, nothing had been
hurt: the aftermast raised its anus like a tall tree to the
blue depths and broken clouds of the sky. But forward
Starfare's Gem looked as maimed as a derelict Scant feet
above the first yards, which had been stripped to the bone
by the collapse of the upper members, the foremast ended
in a ragged stump.

Covenant had no sea-craft, but he recognized that Hon-
ninscrave was right: without sails forward to balance the
canvas aft, Starfare's Gem would never be able to navigate.

Aching within himself, he turned to find out what the
vessel had struck.

At first, what he saw seemed incomprehensible. Starfare's
Gem lay surrounded to the horizons by a vast flat wilderland
of ice. Jagged bunks were crushed against the dromond's
sides; but the rest of the ice was unbroken. Its snow-blown
surface appeared free of any channel which could have
brought the Giantship to this place.

But when he shaded his gaze and peered southward, he
discerned a narrow band of gray water beyond the ice. And,
squinting so hard that his temples throbbed, he traced a line
between the dromond's stem and the open sea. There the
ice was thinner. It was freezing back over the long furrow
which Starfare'a Gem had plowed into the floe.

The Giantsbip was trapped—locked here and helpless.
With all three masts intact and a favoring wind, it could not
have moved. It was stuck where it sat until spring came to
its rescue. If this part of the world ever felt the touch of
spring.

Damnation!

The ship's plight stung him like the gusts which came
skirling off the ice. In the Land, the Clave was feeding the
Banefire, stoking it with innocent blood to increase the
Sunbane. No one remained to fight the na-Mhoram's depreda-
tions except Sunder and Hollian and perhaps a handful of
Haruchai—if any of them were still alive. The quest for the
One Tree had failed, extinguishing Covenant's sole hope.
And now—!

Have mercy on me.

But he was a leper, and there was never any mercy for
lepers. Despite did not forbear. He had reached the point
where everything he did was wrong. Even his stubborn
determination to cling to his ring, to bear the cost of bis
doom himself, was wrong. But he could not endure the
alternative. The simple thought wrung a mute howl from the
pit of his heart.

He had to do something, find some way to reaffirm himself.
Passivity and silence were no longer viable. His despair itself
compelled him. He had to. Linden had proved the Elohim
right. With his ring she was able to heal. But he could not
forget the taste of eager fire when he had warmed the
stewpot to save her. Had to! He could not give it up.
His ring was all he had left.

He had become the most fundamental threat to everything
he loved. But suddenly that was no longer enough to stop
him. Deliberately, he set aside Linden's reasons—her wish
to see him do what she believed she would do in his place,
her desire to fight Lord Foul through him—and chose his
own.

To show himself and his companions and the Despiser if
necessary that he had the right

Without looking away from the ice, he said to Can, 'Tell
Honninscrave I want to talk to him. I want to talk to every-
body—the First, Linden, Pitchwife. In his cabin."

When the Haruchai moved soundlessly away. Covenant
hugged the scant protection of his robe and set himself to
wait.

The idea of what he meant to do made his pulse beat like
venom in his veins.

There was blue in the sky, the first blue he had seen for
days. A crusty glitter reflected the sun. But the ice was not
as smooth as the sunlight made it appear. Its surface was
marked with sharp spines and ridges, mounds where floe-
plates rubbed and depressions which ran from nowhere to
nowhere. The ice was a wasteland, its desolation grieving in
the cold, and it held his gaze like the outcome of his life.
Once in winter he had fought his way through long leagues
of snow and despair to confront the Despiser—and he had
prevailed. But he knew now that he would never prevail in
that way again.

He shrugged against the chill. Sd'what? He would find some
other way. Even if the attempt drove him. mad. Madness was
just a less predictable and scrupulous form of power. And he
did not believe that either Lord Foul or Findail bad told
him the whole truth.

Yet he did not intend to surrender his scruples or go mad.
His leprosy had trained him well for survival and affirmation
against an impossible future. And Foamfollower had once
said to him. Service enables service. Hope came from the
power and value of what was served, not from the one who
served it.

When Cail returned. Covenant felt that he was ready.
Slowly, carefully, he turned from the sea and picked his way
across Ac clogged stone toward one of the entryways to the
underdecks.

Below, the door to Honninscrave's cabin was open; and
beside it stood Mistweave. His face wore a conflicted expres-
sion. Covenant guessed that the Giant had undertaken more
than he realized when he had assigned himself to Call's
former responsibility for Linden. How could he have foreseen
that his dedication to her would require him to ignore the
needs of the dromond and the labors of the crew? The
dilemma made him look unsure of himself.

But Covenant did not have any relief to offer the Giant,
and the door was open. Frowning at the pain all the people
around him had to bear, he went into the Master's cabin,
leaving Cail outside.

Honninscrave's quarters were austere: except for a few
chairs sized for Giants, a huge seachest, and a deep bunk, its
only furnishings were a long table cluttered with nautical
instruments and charts and two lamps hanging in stone
gimbals. Honninscrave stood at the far end of the table as if
Covenant's arrival had interrupted him in the act of pacing.
Sevinhand sat on the edge of the bunk, more melancholy
than ever in his weariness. Near him was the Storesmaster,
her shoulders touching the waU, no expression on her blunt
features. The First and Pitchwife occupied two of the chairs.
She held her back straight, her scabbarded blade across her
thighs, as though refusing to admit how tired she was; but her
husband was slumped with fatigue, emphasizing the deforma-
tion of his spine.

In one comer of the chamber. Linden sat cross-legged on
the floor. Sleep made her eyes bleary: when she raised them
to acknowledge Covenant, she seemed hardly able to see him,
In the company of these Giants, she appeared tiny and mis-
placed. But the hue of her skin and the steadiness of her
respiration showed that she had been essentially restored to
health.

The air of the cabin felt tense, as if Covenant had entered
the middle of an argument. None of the Giants except
Pitchwife and Sevinhand were looking at him. But when he
turned his unspoken question toward Pitchwife, the First's
husband bowed his head and did not answer. And the lines
of Sevinhand's old rue were too deep to be challenged.

Covenant was stretched taut beyond gentleness. In a raw,
brusque voice, he demanded, "So what do you think we
should do about it?"

Linden frowned as if his tone hurt her. Or perhaps she had
already read the nature of his intent. Without lifting her head,
she murmured, "That's what they've been arguing about"

Her explanation eased him somewhat. He had gone so far
down the road of his fate that he instinctively expected every
hostile or painful or simply difficult emotion to be directed
at himself- But his question remained. "What choice have we
got?"

At that, the muscles at the comers of Honninscrave's jaw
clenched. Sevinhand rubbed his cheeks with his palms as if
he sought to push back the sorrow. The First let a sigh
breathe softly through her teeth. But no one answered.

Covenant pulled air into his lungs, gripped his courage in
the insensate cold of his fists. "If you don't have any better
ideas, I'm going to break us out of this ice."

Then every eye was on him. and a shock of apprehension
recoiled through the cabin. Honninscrave's face gaped like a
reopened wound. All the sleep vanished from Linden's orbs.
The First surged to her feet. As harsh as iron, she demanded,
"Will you hazard the Earth to no purpose?'*

"Do you think your restraint is that good?" Linden added
instantly. She, too, had come to her feet as if she wanted to
meet Covenant's folly standing. "Or are you just looking for
an excuse to throw power around?"

"Hell and blood!" Covenant barked. Had Findail taught
everyone aboard the dromond to distrust him? "If you don't
like it"—his scarred forearm itched avidly—"give me an
alternative! Do you think I like being this dangerous?"

His outburst sent a grimace of chagrin across the First's
face. Linden dropped her eyes. For a moment, Pitchwife's
difficult breathing punctuated the silence. Then his wife said
softly, "Your pardon, Giantfriend. I did not intend affront.
But we are not without choice in this strait." She turned, and
her gaze went like the point of a blade toward Honninscrave.
"You will speak now. Master."

Honninscrave glared at her. But she was the First of the
Search: no Giant would have refused to obey her when she
used that tone. He complied slowly, uttering each word like a
flat piece of stone. Yet as he answered his hands made
truncated, rumbling movements among the charts and imple-
ments on the table, contradicting him.

"I am uncertain of our position. I have been granted scant
opportunity for sightings since the cloud-wrack cleared. And
this sea has been little frequented by our people. Our charts
and knowledge are likewise uncertain." The First frowned a
reprimand at his digression; but he did not falter. "Where
knowledge is insufficient, all choices are hazardous.

"Yet it would appear that we lie now some four- or five-
score leagues north and east of the coast which you name
Seareach, home of the Unhomed and site of their destitute
city and grave, Coercri, The Grieve." He articulated that
name with a special distinctness, as if he would prefer to hear
it sung. Then he outlined the alternative which the First had
in mind: that Covenant and the leaders of the Search leave
Starfare's Gem and strike westward across the ice until they
found land, after which they could follow the coast into
Seareach.

"Or," Linden interposed warily, studying Covenant as she
spoke. **we could forget Seareach and head straight for
Revelstone. I don't know the terrain, but it's bound to be
quicker than detouring that far south."

"Aye." Honninscrave permitted himself a growl of disgust
or trepidation. "Should this littoral lie within hope of our
charts." Emotion rose in his voice, slipping out of his rigid
grasp. "And should the ice remain intact and traversable to
that coast. And should this winter hold—for we are somewhat
southerly to have encountered such ice in the natural course
of the seas, and it may thaw beneath us unseasonably." To
keep himself from shouting, he ground out the words like
shards of rock. "And should the northward reaches of the
Land be not rugged or mountainous beyond all possibility of
travel Then—" He grabbed a mouthful of air. held it
between bis teeth. "Then, I say, our way is clear before us."

His distress was acute in the confinement of me cabin. But
the First did not relent. *'We hear you," she said sternly. "The
choice is jeopardous. Complete your tale. Master."

Honninscrave could not look at her. "Ah, my tale," he
grated. "It is no tale of mine. My brother is dead, and the
dromond I cherish lies locked in ice and crippled. It is no
tale of mine." Yet the First's authority held him. Clutching
a chart in each fist like a weightless and insufficient cudgel,
he directed his voice at Covenant

"You have offered to sunder the ice. Very good. To Cable
Seadreamer my brother who gave his life, you refused the
fire of release. But in the name of your mad desire for battle
you will attempt a league of ice. Very good. But I say to you
that Starfare*s Gem cannot sail. In this maimed state, no-
And were the time taken to do what mending lies within our
power—time which is so precious to you—and were a channel
opened to the sea, then still would our plight remain, for the
dromond is no longer proof against the stress of the seas.
With a kind wind, perchance, we might make way toward
Seareach, But any storm would hold us in its mercy- A score
of days—or tenscore—might find us yet farther from da-
goal. Starfare's Gem"—he had to swallow heavily to force
out the words—"is no longer fit to bear the Search."

"But—" Covenant began, then halted. For an instant, he
was confused- Honninscrave's grief covered an anger which
he could not utter and Covenant could not decipher. Why
was the Master so bitter?

But suddenly the implications of Honninscrave's speech
swept over Covenant like a breaker; and his comprehension
tumbled down the riptide. Starfare's Gem could not sail. And
the First wanted the Search to leave the Giantship, set out
afoot toward the Land. He found himself facing her with a
knot of cold clenched around his heart. Dismay was all that
kept him from fury.

"Nearly forty Giants." Foamfollower's people, the kindred
of the Unhomed. "You're talking about leaving them here to
die."

She was a Swordmain, trained to battle and difficult choices.
Her sternness as she returned Covenant's gaze looked as
careless of costs as a weapon. But behind her eyes moved
shadows like specters of pain.

"Aye." Honninscrave's voice scraped the air. "They must
be left to die. Or they must accompany us, and Starfare's
Gem itself must be left to die. And from that day forward,
no one of us shall ever again set gaze upon the crags and
harborage of Home. We have no means for the making of a
new dromond. And our people know not where we are." He
spoke softly, but every word left a weal across Covenant's
mind.

It was intolerable. He was no sailor; he could bear to
abandon the Giantship. But to leave nearly forty Giants behind
without hope—or to strand them in the Land as the Unhomed
had been stranded!

The First did not waver: she knew her duty and would not
shirk it. Covenant swung away from her, confronted Hon-
ninscrave down the length of the table. Its height made the
Master appear tall and hurt beyond any mitigation. But
Covenant could not accept that outcome.

"If we leave the crew here. With the ship." He drove his
gaze up at the Giant until Honninscrave met it. "What will
they need? In order to have any chance at all?"

Honninscrave's head jerked in surprise. For a moment,
his mouth parted his beard incredulously, as though he half
believed he was being taunted. But then with a wrench he
mastered himself. "Stores we have in plenty." His eyes clung
to Covenant like an appeal: Be not false to me in this. "But
the plight of the Giantship remains. It must have all the
mending which Pitchwife may contrive. It must have time."

Time, Covenant thought He had already been away from
the Land for more than sixty days—away from Revelstone
for closer to ninety. How many more people had the Clave
killed? But the only alternative was to leave Pitchwife behind
with the ship. And he would surely refuse. The First herself
might refuse. Stiffly, Covenant asked, "How much time?"

'Two days," replied Honninscrave. "Perhaps three. Much
pitch will be required. And the labor itself will be awkward
and arduous.**

Damnation! Covenant breathed. Three days. But he did not
back down. He was a leper: he knew the folly of trying to
purchase the future by selling the present. Grimly, he turned
to Pitchwife.

Fatigue seemed to emphasize the Giant's deformities. His
back bent as if it had been damaged by the weight of his
limbs and head. But his eyes glittered, and his expression had
lifted. He looked at Covenant as though he knew what the
Unbeliever was about to say—and approved of it.

Covenant felt wooden with failure. He had come here
primed for fire; but all he had been able to offer his com-
panions was a patience he did not possess. 'Try to do it in
one,*' he muttered. Then he left the cabin so that he would
not have to endure the reactions of the Giants.

Pitchwife's voice followed him. "Stone and Sea!" the
Giant chuckled. "It is a small matter. What need have I of an
entire day?"

Glaring at nothing. Covenant quickened his pace.

But as he reached the ladder leading to the afterdeck,
Linden caught up with him. She gripped his arm as if some-
thing had changed between them. Her intent seriousness bore
no resemblance to her old severity, and her eyes were damp.
Her soft mouth, which he had kissed with such longing, wore
the shape of a plea.

Yet he had not forgiven himself; and after a moment she
dropped her hand. Her gaze retreated somewhat. When she
spoke, she sounded like a woman who did not know the
words she needed.

"You keep surprising me. I never know what to expect
from you. Just when I think you're too far gone to be reached,
you do something like that. Like what you did for Sunder
and Hollian." Abruptly, she stopped, silenced by the in-
adequacy of what she was saying.

Covenant wanted to cry out. His desire for her was too
acute to be suffered. He had already perverted whatever
authenticity he might have had with her. And she was a
healer. She had more right to his ring than he did. Self-
loathing made him harsh.

"Do you really think I just want to throw power around?
Is that your opinion of me?"

At that, she winced. Her expression turned inward like a
baffled wail. "No," she murmured. "No. I was just trying to
get your attention." Then her eyes reached toward him again.
"But you scared me. If you could see yourself—"

"If I could see myself," be rasped so'that he would not put
his arms around her, "I'd probably puke."

Savagely, he flung himself up the ladder away from her.

But when he gained the open air and brittle cold of the
afterdeck, he had to knot his arms across his chest to hold
in the hurt.

While he ate his breakfast in the galley, trying to absorb
some of the stoves' warmth, he could hear the sounds of work
outside. At first. Sevinhand's voice and Galewrath's com-
manded alternately. He supervised the preparation of the
foredeck; she led the breaking of the ice and the ritual songs
for the burial of the three fallen crewmembers. But after a
while Pitchwife made himself heard over the scuffle of feet
and clatter of gear, the stiff hiss and thud of haif-frozen
cable. When Covenant had collected what little courage he
had left, he went out to watch.

During the night, the crew had cleared and organized the
wreckage. Now they were busy readying the truncated
foremast. Pitchwife was hunched over a large stone vat of
his special pitch; but his eyes and voice followed the sailors
as they rigged lines between the intact yard and the splintered
end of the mast. Except for the necessary questions and
instructions, the Giants were unusually quiet, disspirited. The
Dolewind had held them for a long time; and since their
encounter with the Soulbiter they had had no rest at all. Now
their future had become as fragile and arduous as ice. Even
Giants could not carry so much strain indefinitely.

But Covenant had never seen Pitchwife at work before.
Grateful for any distraction, he studied Pitchwife with
fascination as the First's husband completed his preparations.
Consigning his vat to another Giant, he hoisted a slab of
setrock in a sling over his shoulder, then went to the ropes
and began pulling himself slowly up the foremast.

Below him, the crew set his vat of pitch into a net that
they had rigged from a pulley fixed as high as possible on the
mast. When he reached that height himself, supported now
by a line lashed under his arms and around the mast, two
Giants hauled the vat up to him. His breath plumed crisply
in the cold.

At once, he began his work. Scooping up gouts of pitch,
he larded them into the jagged crown of the mast. The pitch
seemed viscid, but he handled it deftly, fingering it down
into the cracks and smoothing it on all sides until he had
fashioned a flat butt for the broken stone. Then he reached
back to his setrock, snapped a chip from one edge, and tapped
the piece into the pitch.

Almost without transition, the pitch became stone, in-
distinguishable from the mast's granite.

Muttering his satisfaction, he followed his vat back down
to the deck.

Sevinhand sent several Giants swarming up to the yard to
undo everything which had been rigged to the mast. At the
same time, other crewmembers began binding ropes around
the ends of the intact spar and preparing new gear up on the
yard.

Pitchwife ignored them, turned his attention to the fallen
portion of the mast. It had broken into several pieces; but one
section was as long as all the rest combined. With pitch and
setrock, he formed both ends of this section into flat butts
like the new cap of the foremast.

Covenant could not see what all this would accomplish.
And his need for haste made him restless. After a time, he
realized that he had not seen Galewrath since he had come
out on deck. When the dead had been given to the sea, she
had gone to some other task. In an effort to keep himself
occupied—and to generate some warmth—he tugged his robe
tighter and went looking for the Storesmaster.

He found her in her particular demesne, a warren of holds,
watercests, and storage-lockers belowdecks amidships. The
dromond carried a surprising amount of wood for use both
as fuel for the stoves and as raw material for repairs or
replacements which could not be readily achieved with stone
at sea. Galewrath and three other Giants were at work in
a square hold which served as the ship's carpentry.

They were making two large sleds.

These were rough constructs with high rails and rude
planking. But they looked sturdy. And each was big enough
to carry a Giant.

Two crewmembers glued and pegged the shells together
while Galewrath and the other Giant labored at the more
difficult chore of carving runners. With files, knives, and
hand-adzes, they stripped the bark from beams as thick as
Covenant's thigh, then slowly shaped the wood to carry
weight over ice and snow as easily as possible. The floor was
already thick with bark and curlings, and the air smelted of
clean resin; but the task was far from finished.

In response to Covenant's question. Galewrath replied that
to reach Revelstone Covenant and his company would need
more supplies than they could bear on their backs. And the
sleds would also transport Covenant and Linden when the
terrain permitted the Giants to set a pace the humans could
not match.

Once again, Covenant was wanly abashed by the providence
of the people who sought to serve him. He had not been able
to think farther ahead than the moment when he would leave
Starfare's Gem; but the Giants were concerned about more
than the stark question of their ship's survival. He would
have died long ago if other people had not taken such care
of him.

His route back toward the upper decks passed the Master's
cabin. The door was shut; but from within he heard the
First's voice, raised in vexation. She was urging Honninscrave
to stay with the dromond.

The Master's answering silence was eloquent. As ashamed
as an eavesdropper. Covenant hastened away to see what
progress Pitchwife and Sevinhand had made.

When he gained the foredeck, the sun stood above the gap
where the midmast should have been, and the deformed
Giant's plans were taking shape. Covenant was almost able to
guess his intent. Pitchwife had finished the long stone shaft
on the deck; and he and Sevinhand were watching as the
crew wrestled the one unbroken spar up onto the yard.
There they stood the spar against the truncated mast and
secured it with loop after loop of cable. For two-thirds of its
length, the spar reached above the end of the mast To the
upraised tip had been affixed the pulley of a massive block-
and-tackle.

Covenant eyed the lashings and the spar distrustfully. "Is
that going to holdT'

Pitchwife shrugged as if his arms had become too heavy
for him. His voice was husky with fatigue. "If it does not,
the task cannot be accomplished in one day. The spar I can
mend. But the mast we hope to raise must then be broken
to smaller fragments which I may bear aloft and wive whole
again." He sighed without looking at Covenant. "Pray this
will hold. The prospect of that labor I do not relish."

Wearily, he fell silent.

When the tackle had been attached to one flat end of the
mastshaft Pitchwife bad prepared, eight or ten Giants lifted
the shaft and positioned it below the yard so that the lines
hung as straight as possible in order to minimize the sideward
stress on the spar. Creaking in its pulleys, the tackle
tightened.

Covenant held his breath unconsciously. That spar looked
too slender to sustain the granite shaft. But as the ropes
strained tighter and the end of the mast-piece lifted, nothing
broke.

Then the shaft hung straight from the spar, brushing
against the bole of the mast. As the Giants pulled slowly on
the towline of the tackle, the shaft continued to rise.
When its butt reached the level of Covenant's head. Pitch-
wife coughed, "Holdl"

The Giants on the towline froze. The tackle groaned; the
shaft settled slightly as the ropes stretched. But still nothing
broke.

His hands full of pitch, the deformed Giant moved to the
shaft and gently covered the butt with an even and heavy
layer. Then he retreated to the other side of the mast A
rope dangled near him. When he had carefully cleaned his
hands, he gripped it and let the Giants on the yard haul h'm
upward.

Bracing himself once again within a loop of rope passed
around the mast and his back, he labored foot by foot up
toward the maimed stump. Alone above the yard, he looked
strangely vulnerable; yet he forced himself upward by main
strength. Finally he hung at the rim of the mast

For a long moment, he did not move; and Covenant found
himself panting as if he sought to breathe for the Giant, send
Pitchwife strength. The First had come to the foredeck. Her
gaze was clenched on her husband. If the spar snapped, only
a miracle could save him from being ripped down by falling
stone and flying tackle.

Then he signalled to the Giants below- Sevinhand whispered
a command; the crew began to raise the shaft again.

Now the bowing of the spar was unmistakable. Covenant
could hardly believe that it was still intact.

By wary degrees, the shaft was drawn upward. Soon its flat
crown ascended above Pitchwife's head. Then its butt reached
the level of his chest.

He looked too weak to support his own weight; but some-
how he braced himself, reached out his arms to prevent the
shaft from swinging over the end of the mast—from scraping
off its layer of pitch or mating crookedly. The Giants fisted
the lines tighter, raised the shaft another foot; then Sevinhand
stopped them. Slowly, Pitchwife shifted his position, aligned
the stone with the mast.

He gave an urgent gasp of readiness. Fervently careful, the
Giants began to lower the shaft. Alone, he guided it downward.

The flat ends met. At once, he thumbed a sliver of setrock
into place; and the line separating stone from stone vanished
as if it had never existed. The First let relief hiss through her
teeth. A raw cheer sprang from the Giants as they let the
tackle go.

The mast stood. It was not as tall as the aftermast—but it
was tall enough now to carry a second spar. And two spans
of canvas forward might give the dromond the balance it
needed to survive.

The task was not yet done: the spar had to be attached to
the new foremast. But most of the afternoon remained, and
the necessary repairs were clearly possible now. Two Giants
swarmed upward and helped Pitchwife down to the yard,
then lowered him to his jubilant comrades. The First greeted
him with a hug which looked urgent enough to crack his
spine. A jug of diamondraught appeared from somewhere and
was pressed into his hands. He drank hugely, and another
cheer was raised around him.

Weak with relief. Covenant watched them and let his
gratitude for Pitchwife's safety and success wash over him.

A moment later, Pitchwife emerged from the crowd of
Giants. He was made unsteady on his feet by exhaustion and
sudden diamondraught', but he moved purposefully toward
Covenant. He gave the Unbeliever a florid bow which nearly
cost him his balance. Then he said, "I will rest now. But ere
nightfall I will set the spar. That will complete the labor I
can do for Starfare's Gem." The raw rims of his eyes and
the sway of his stance were acute reminders that he had
saved the dromond from sinking before this day's work began-

But he was not done. His voice softened as he added,
"Giantfriend, I thank you that you accorded to me this
opportunity to be of service to the Giantship."

Bright in the sunshine and the reflections of me ice, he
turned away. Chuckling at the murmured jests and praise of
the crew, he linked arms with the First and left the foredeck
like a drunken hero. In spite of his deformed stature, he
seemed as tall as any Giant.

The sight eased Covenant in a way that made his eyes bum.
Gratitude loosened his tension. Pitchwife had proved his fear
and anger unnecessary. As Sevinhand and his crew went
back to work, stringing new tackle so that they could hoist
the spar into place against the foremast. Covenant moved
away in search of Linden. He wanted to show her what the
Giant bad accomplished. And to apologize for his earlier
harshness.

He found her almost at once. She was in the galley, asleep
like a waif on her pallet. Her dreams made her frown with
the solemn concentration of a child; but she showed no sign
of awakening. She was still recuperating from the abusive
cold of the Soulbiter. He let her sleep.

The warmth of the galley reminded him of his own
chilled weariness. He stretched out on his pallet, intending
to rest for a while and then go back to watch the Giants. But
as soon as he closed his eyes, his fatigue arose and carried
him away.

Later, in a period of half-consciousness, he thought he
heard singing. At first, the songs were ones of gladness and
praise, of endurance against exigent seas and safe arrival
Home. But after a while the melodies began to grieve, and
the songs became ones of parting, of ships lost and kindred
sundered; and through them ran a sound like the crackle of
flames, the anguish of a caamora, auguring doom. Covenant
had attempted a caamora once, on the headrock of Coercri.
But that bonfire had not been violent enough to touch him:

in the night of the Unhomed's dismay, he had succored
everyone but himself. Now as he sank back into dreams he
thought perhaps a more absolute blaze was needed, a more
searching and destructive conflagration. And he knew where
to find that fire. He slept like a man who feared to face what
was coming.

But when he awakened at last, the idea was gone.

The way Seasauce and Hearthcoal bustled about their work
suggested that a new day had dawned. Abashed by sleep, he
fumbled himself into a sitting position, looked across at
Linden's pallet and saw that it was empty. She and Mistweave
were not in the galley. But Cafl stood nearby, as impassive as
if impatience were unknown to him.

When Covenant looked at him, the Haruchai said, "You
are timely roused, ur-Lord. The night is past Those who will
sojourn with you ready themselves for departure."

A pang went through Covenant Ready, he thought. The
people around him did everything possible on his behalf; but
he was never ready. Struggling to his feet, he accepted the
bowl of porridge Hearthcoal offered him, ate as much as his
haste could stomach. Then he went to the door Cail held open
for him and stepped out into the sharp morning.

Again, ice-glare and sunlight stung his eyes, but he fought
them into focus. After a glance at the new foremast, he picked
his way across the frozen afterdeck toward (he Giants
thronging near the port raiL

Hails greeted him. The crew parted, admitting him to their
midst In a moment, he found himself at the edge of the deck
with Linden and Mistweave, the First and Pitchwife, and
Honninscrave.

Both Linden and Pitchwife looked stronger than they had
the previous day, although she avoided Covenant's gaze as
if she did not trust him. The First eyed the west with the
keenness of a hawk. But Honninscrave appeared painfully
unsolaced, as though he had spent the long night haunted by
his conflicting duties.

A glance past the railing showed Covenant that Galewrath*s
sleds had already been set down on the ice. Both were
heavily laden; but the sacks and bundles of supplies had been
arranged to accommodate at least one passenger in each sled,

When she had acknowledged Covenant, the First turned to
Sevinhand, Galewrath, and the rest of the Giants. "Now has
the time of parting come upon us once more." Her voice rang
crisply across the frigid air. "The hazard is great, for no longer
stands Cable Seadreamer's Earth-Sight at the helm of the
Search. Yet do we pursue our sworn purpose—and for that
reason I do not fear. We are mortal, and the visage of failure
is heinous to us. But we are not required to succeed. It is
required of us only that we hold fast in every gale and let
come what may. On all the seas of the world, there are none
better for this work than you who remain with Starfare's
Gem. How then should I be afraid?

This only do I charge you: when the ice uncloses, come
after us. Sail to that littoral which you know, to Seareach and
brave Coercri, The Grieve. If there we fail to meet you or
send word, then the Search falls to you. Do what you must—
and do not fear. While one valiant heart yet defends the
Earth, evil can never triumph utterly."

Then she stopped, looked down at Pitchwife as if she were
surprised by her own words. For answer, he gave her a
gleam of pure pleasure. Sevinhand's eyes reflected hints of
the cunning skill which had saved Starfare's Gem from the
warships of the Bhrathair. Galewrath glowered stolidly at the
future as though it had no power to daunt her. Weary and
imperilled though they were, the crewmembers held up their
heads and let their pride shine. Covenant suddenly did not
know bow he could bear to leave them.

But he had to. The First started down the ladder with
Pitchwife behind her; and Covenant had no choice. They
were not responsible for the Earth's peril; but their lives were
at stake as much as his. When Cail offered him the ladder, he
gestured the Haruchai ahead to catch him if he fell. Then he
stooped through the railing, set his numb feet into the rungs,
and fought his vertigo and his cold bones downward.

The ice felt as dead as the nerves of his soles, and in the
shadow of the Giantship the breeze was as sharp as the sea;

but he strode and slipped across the treacherous surface to
one of the sleds. Linden followed him, her hair fluttering like
the banner of her determination. Then came Mistweave, still
stubborn in his resolve to serve the Chosen.

Honninscrave was last. He seemed hardly able to refrain
from giving Galewrath and Sevinhand a host of unnecessary
final instructions. But after a moment of silence like a mute
cry he wrenched himself away from his ship and joined the
company.

Abruptly, several Giants shifted out of Vain's way as he
approached the raiL He vaulted over the side, landed lightly
on the ice, and at once resumed hts characteristic immobility,
his black orbs gazing at nothing.

A shadow glided out of the air: Findail melted back into
his human form near Vain as if he and the Demondim-spawn
belonged to each other.

Obeying the First's murmured instructions. Covenant
climbed into one of the sleds, sat down among the supplies.
Linden settled herself in the other sled. Honninscrave and
Mistweave picked up the leads, harnessed themselves into the
lines. The First and Pitchwife went to the fore. Cail stood
between the sleds; Vain and Findail brought up the rear.

Runners crunched against the ice as Covenant and his
companions left the Giantship in search of hope.

Sixty-three days had passed since they had said farewell to
Sunder and Hollian and Seareach. They were at least
eighteenscore leagues from Revelstone.

FIVE -- Landward

THE First set a rapid pace. Steam panted from Honnin-
scrave's and Mistweave's lungs as they hauled the sleds along;

but they did not hang back. All the Giants were eager to get
out of sight of the dromond, to put behind them their crippled
vessel and imperilled people. The runners of the sleds pounded
through hollows in the ice, bit and slewed across pressure-
ridges. Covenant and Linden were tossed ungently from side
to side among the supplies. But Linden clung to the rails, made
no -protest. And Covenant wanted every stride of speed the
Giants could attain. The Land and 1-ord Foul had taught him
many things; but he had never learned how to leave behind
friends who needed him. Hunching down into the heavy robes
and blankets he had been given, he kept his face turned "blear-
eyed and cold-bitten toward the west and let Honninscrave
draw him at a hungry trot into the white wilderland.

Yet at last the thought of what he was doing impelled him
to look back toward the dromond. Stark in the distance
beyond Vain and Pindail, the vessel shrank as if it were being
slowly swallowed by the bleak floe; and the sight of its
abandonment stuck in his throat. But then he descried the
pennon flying from the aftermast. Sevinhand must have raised
it as a salute to the departing company. Vivid with color and
jaunty in the wind, it captured for a moment the spirit of
Starfare's Gem like a promise of valor and endurance. When
Covenant's vision became too blurred to make out the Giant-
ship any longer, he was able to face forward again and let
the stone vessel go.

Linden studied him across the gap between their sleds; but
he had nothing to say to her which would support being
shouted over the hard scrunching of the runners, the rhythmic
thud of the Giants* feet and the gasp of their breathing. Once
again he was being borne toward his goal and his fear, not
by any effort of his own, but by the exertions of people who
cared about him. At every crisis along his way, it was the
same: for all his passion and power, he would have come
to nothing without help. And what recompense did he make
for that help? Only pain and peril and at least one lie; nothing
more. But that was not something which his sore heart could
cry out under these conditions, under the bitter blue of the
sky and the gazes of his companions.

They were traveling due west. When they had left the
vantage of Starfare's Gem, a strip of open water had still
been visible against the southern horizon; and they could be
certain that the closer they went to the sea the less reliable
the floe would become. Under the circumstances. Covenant
only hoped that they would not be forced northward to find
a safe passage.

The First had pushed several paces ahead of her com-
panions to watch for flaws and fissures in the frozen expanse.
Behind her trotted Pitchwife. Though he bore no burden
except his own deformation, his gait betrayed that he was
already being pressed to his limits. By comparison, Mistweave
and Honninscrave appeared abltf-to sustain this speed for
days, dragging the heavy sleds behind them and never
faltering. And Cail was one of the Hamchai, born to ice and
arduous survival. Only the vapor that plumed from bis
nostrils and the white crystals which formed along his cheeks
showed that he was breathing more deeply than usual.

As for Vain and Findail, they moved as though the long
trek ahead meant nothing to them. Vain's wooden forearm
dangled uselessly from his elbow, but in every other way
he remained the structurally immaculate enigma which the
ur-viles had created for their own secret reasons. And the
Appointed had long since demonstrated his conclusive im-
munity to any physical peril or stress.

Around them, the plain of ice seemed featureless and
devoid of any content except cold to the edges of the world.
The sun came down hard on the white floe, making the ice
glare, forcing Covenant to squint until his temples throbbed.
And the cold soaked into him through every fold and clasp
of his coverings. The beat of the Giants* feet and the expul-
sion of their breath marked out the frigid silence. The sled
jostled him incessantly against a bundle of firewood packed
beside him. Grimly, he hugged his blankets and huddled into
himself.

The First's fall took him by surprise. She was nothing more
than a gray blur across his disfocused stare as she stepped
into a fissure.

Scattering snow, she plunged heavily forward. Her chest
struck the rim of the break. For an instant, she scrabbled
frantically at the edge, then dropped out of sight

Pitchwife was four or five strides behind her; but im-
mediately be dove after her, skidding headlong to snatch at
her disappearing arms.

He was too late. And he could not stop himself. In a
flurry of limbs and snow, he toppled after his wife.

Slewing over the slick surface, Honninscrave and Mistweave
wheeled the sleds to a halt The one bearing Linden was
nearly overturned; but Cail caught it, slammed it back onto
its runners.

Covenant pitched out of his sled, landed on the ice, lurched
to his feet. Ahead of him, the Master and Mistweave wrestled
at the bindings which harnessed them to then- burdens.
Findail and Vain had stopped; but Cail was already halfway
to the fissure.

Covenant and the Giants reached the rim together, with
Linden a scant step behind them. Cail stood there gazing
downward as if he had forgotten urgency.

The First and Pitchwife hung a few feet below the edge.
The fissure was only a little wider than her shoulders, and
she had clamped herself between the walls, holding her
position by main strength. Pitchwife's arms clasped her hips;

he dangled awkwardly between her thighs.

Below his feet, the snow which had fallen into the fissure
became gray slush as the sea absorbed it.

He jerked a glance upward. "Stone and Sea!" he gasped.
"Make haste!"

But the Master and Mistweave were not slow. Honninscrave
threw himself flat on the ice with his head and shoulders over
the rim. Mistweave braced the Master's legs; and Honninscrave
reached down to take hold of the First.

In a moment, she scrambled out of the fissure, towing
Pitchwife after her.

Her stem visage showed no reaction; but Pitchwife was
breathing hard, and his gnarled hands trembled. "Stone and
Seal" he panted again. "I am a Giant and love an eventful
journey. But such happenings are not altogether to my taste."
Then a chuckle of relief came steaming between his bared
teeth. "Also I am somewhat abashed. I sought to rescue my
wife, yet it was she who caught my own fall."

The First rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Mayhap
if you were less impetuous in your rescuing." But as she
turned to Honninscrave, her voice stiffened. "Master, it is
my thought that we must bend our way somewhat northward.
This ice is not safe."

"Aye," he growled. Ever since he had been forced to the
realization that the company would have to leave Starfare's
Gem, he had not been able to stifle the undertone of bitterness
in his voice. "But that way is longer, and we are in haste.
Northward me ice will be not so easily traveled. And this
north is perilous, as you know."

The First nodded reluctantly. After a moment, she let out
a long sigh and straightened her back. "Very well," she said.
"Let us attempt the west again."

When no one moved, she gestured Covenant and Linden
back to the sleds.

Linden turned to walk beside'Covenant. Her face was red
with cold and severe with concentration. In a flat, quiet voice,
she asked. "Why is this north perilous?"

He shook his head. "I don't know." The scars on his right
forearm itched in reaction to the First's fall and the suggestion
of other hazards. "I*ve never been north of Revelstone and
Coercrf." He did not want to think about nameless dangers.
The cold was already too much for him. And he could not
figure out how the company was going to get across the
fissure.

But that problem was simply solved. While he and Linden
climbed into their sleds, the First and Pitchwife leaped the
gap. Then Honninscrave and Mistweave drew the sleds to
the rim of the crack. There Covenant saw that the sleds were
long enough to span the fissure. Honninscrave and Mistweave
pushed them out over the gap: the First and Pitchwife pulled
them across. When the rest of the company had passed the
crack, Honninscrave and Mistweave slipped their arms into
the harnesses again, and the First went on her way westward.

Now she set a slower pace, in part for caution and in part
to accommodate Pitchwife's weariness. Still her speed was
greater than any Covenant could have matched afoot. The ice
seemed to rush jolting and skidding under the runners of the
sled. But whenever she saw something she distrusted, she
dropped to a walk and probed ahead with her longsword until
she was sure that the ground was safe.

For the rest of the morning, her care proved unnecessary.
But shortly after the company had paused for a brief meal
and a few warming swallows of diamondraught, the point of
her sword bit into the crust, and several hundred feet of
packed snow along a thin line to the north and south fell
from sight. This fissure also was easily crossed; but when
the companions gained the far side, the First faced Hon-
ninscrave again and said, "It is too much. This ice grows
fragile beneath us."

The Master breathed a curse through ha frosted beard.
Yet he did not demur when the leader of the Search turned
toward the northwest and thicker ice.

For most of the afternoon, the floe remained fiat, snow-
brushed, and unreliable. From time to time. Covenant sensed
that the surface was sloping upward; but the brightness of the
sun on the white landscape made him unsure of what he saw.
Although he sipped diamondraught at intervals, the cold sank
deeper into his bones. His face felt like beaten metaL
Gradually, he drifted into reveries of conflagration. Whenever
he became drowsy with liquor and chill, he found himself
half dreaming wild magic as if it were lovely and desirable—
flame sufficient to tear down Kemper's Pitch; passion powerful
enough to contend with the Worm of the World's End; venom
capable of subsuming everything in its delirium. That fire was
vital and seductive—and as necessary as blood. He would
never be able to give it up.

But such dreams led him to places where he did not want
to go. To the scream which had nearly torn out his heart
when Linden had told him the truth of the venom and the
Worm. And to that other fire which lay hidden at the roots
of his need—to the caamora which he had always failed to
find, though his soul depended on it.

Urgent with alarm, he repeatedly fought his way back
from the brink of true sleep. And the last time he did so, he
was surprised to see that the north was no longer blank.
The First's path angled toward a ridge of tremendous ice-
chunks. PBed into the sky, they reached out for the horizons,
east and west. Although the sun was near setting, it was far
down in the south and did not blind him, but rather shone
full and faintly pink on the ridge, making the ice appear as
unbreachable as a glacier.

Here the First turned toward the west again, keeping as
close to the base of the ridge as possible without sacrificing
a clear route for the sleds. But in her way boulders and
monoliths lay like menhirs where they had rolled or fallen
from the violence which had riven the ice. She was forced
to slow her pace again as the difficulty of the terrain increased.
Nevertheless her goal had been achieved. The surface which
supported that ridge was unlikely to crack or crumble under
the pressure of the company's passage.

As the sun sank, vermilion and fatal, into the west, the
travelers halted for the night Pitchwife slumped to the ice
and sat there with his head in his hands, too tired even to
talk. Covenant and Linden climbed stiffly from their sleds and
walked back and forth, rubbing their arms and stamping their
feet, while Mistweave and Honninscrave made camp. Hon-
ninscrave unpacked sections of heavily tarred canvas to use
as groundsheets, then laid more blankets. Mistweave un-
loaded Linden's sled until he had* uncovered a large flat
rectangle of stone. This he set out as a base on which to
build a fire, so that melting ice would not wet the wood. To
no one in particular, the First announced her estimate that
the company had come more than twenty leagues. Then she
fell silent.

When Mistweave had a crisp blaze going, Pitchwife
struggled to his feet, rubbed the frost from his face, and
went to do the cooking. As he worked, he muttered in-
distinctly to himself as if the sound of some voice—his own
if no one else's—were necessary to his courage. Shortly, he
had produced a thick stew for his companions. But still the
pall of the waste hung over them, and no one spoke.

After supper, Pitchwife went to sleep almost at once,
hugging his groundsheet about him. The First sat sternly
beside the fire and toyed with the fagots as though she did
not want to reconsider her decisions. As determined as ever
to emulate the devotion of the Haruchai, Mistweave joined
Cail standing watch over the company. And Honninscrave
stared at nothing, met no one's eyes. His orbs were hidden
under the weight of his brows, and his face looked drawn
and gaunt.

Linden paced tensely near the fire as if she wanted to talk
to someone. But Covenant was absorbed by his visceral
yearning for the heat of white flame. The effort of denial left
him nothing to say. The silence became as cold and lonely as
the ice. After a time, he gathered his blankets and followed
Pitchwife's example, wrapping himself tightly in his ground-
sheet.

He thought he would be able to sleep, if only because the
cold was so persuasive. But Linden made her bed near his,
and soon he felt her watching him as if she sought to fathom
his isolation. When he opened bis eyes. he saw the look of
intention in her fire-lit face.

Her gaze was focused on him like an appeal; but the words
she murmured softly took him by surprise.

"I never even learned her name."

Covenant raised his head, blinked his incomprehension at
her.

"That Giant," she explained, "the one who was hurt when
the foremast broke." The one she had healed with his ring.
"I never found out who she was. I've been doing that all. my
life. Treating people as if they were pieces of sick or damaged
meat instead of actual individuals. I thought I was a doctor,
but it was only the disease or the hurt I cared about Only
the fight against death. Not the person."

He gave her the best answer he had. "Is that bad?" He
recognized the attitude she described. "You aren't God. You
can't help people because of who they are. You can only
help them because they're hurt and they need you." De-
liberately, he concluded, "Otherwise you would've let Mist-
weave die."

"Covenant." Now her tone was aimed at him as squarely
as her gaze. "At some point, you're going to have to deal
with me. With who I am. We've been lovers. I've never
stopped loving you. It hurts that you lied to me—that you
let me believe something that wasn't true. Let me believe we
had a future together. But I haven't stopped loving you." Low
flames from the campfire glistened out of the dampness in
her eyes. Yet she was resolutely unemotional, sparing him her
recrimination or sorrow. "I think the only reason you loved
me was because I was hurt. You loved me because of my
parents. Not because of who I am."

Abruptly, she rolled onto her back, covered her face with
her hands. Need muffled the self-control of her whisper.
"Maybe that kind of love is wonderful and altruistic. I don't
know. But it isn't enough."

Covenant looked at her, at the hands clasped over her pain
and the hair curling around her ear, and thought. Have to
deal with you. Have to. But he could not. He did not know
how. Since the loss of the One Tree, their positions had been
reversed. Now it was she who knew what she wanted, he
who was lost.

Above him, the stars glittered out their long bereavement
But for them also he did not know what to do.

When he awakened in the early dawn, he discovered that
Honninscrave was gone.

A wind had come up. Accumulated snow gusted away over
the half-buried remains of the campfire as Covenant thrashed
out of his blankets and groundsheet. The First, Pitchwife, and
Linden were still asleep. Mistweave lay felled in his canvas
cover as if during the night his desire to match Cail had
suffered a defeat. Only Cail, tne Demondim-spawn, and
Findail were on their feet.

Covenant turned to Cail. "Where—?"

In response, Cail nodded upward.

Quickly, Covenant scanned the massive chaos of the ridge.
For a moment, he missed the place Cail had indicated. But
then his gaze leaped to the highest point above the camp;

and there he saw Honninscrave.

The Master sat atop a small tor of ice with his back to the
south and the company. The wind tumbled down off the crest
into Covenant's face, bearing with it a faint smell of smoke.

Blood and damnation 1 Grimly, Covenant demanded, "What
in hell does he think he's doing?" But he already knew the
answer. Cail's reply only confirmed it.

"Some while since, he arose and assayed the ice, promising
a prompt return- With him he bore wood and a fire-pot such
as the Giants use."

Caamora. Honninscrave was trying to bum away his grief.

At the sound of Cail's voice, the First looked up from her
bed, an inquiry in her eyes. Covenant found suddenly that he
could not open his throat. Mutely, he directed the First's
gaze up at Honninscrave.

When she saw the Master, she rasped a curse and sprang
to her feet. Awakening Pitchwife with a slap of her hand,
she asked Covenant and Call how long Honninscrave had
been gone.

Inflexibly, the ffaruchaf repeated what he had told
Covenant

"Stone and Sea!" she snarled as Pitchwife and then Linden
arose to join her. "Has he forgotten his own words? This
north is perilous."

Pitchwife squinted apprehensively up at Honninscrave; but
his tone was reassuring. "The Master is a Giant He is
equal to the peril. And his heart has found no relief from
Cable Seadreamer's end. Perchance in this way he will gain
peace."

The First glared at him. But she did not call Honninscrave
down from his perch.

Eyes glazed with sleep and vision. Linden gazed up at the
Master and said nothing.

Shortly, Honninscrave rose to his feet Passing beyond the
crest, he found his way downward. Soon he emerged from
a nearby valley and came woodenly toward the company.

His hands swung at his sides. As he neared the camp,
Covenant saw that they had been scoured raw by fire.

When he reached his companions, he stopped, raised his
hands before him like a gesture of a futility. His gaze was
shrouded. His fingers were essentially undamaged; but the
aftereffects of his pain were vivid. Linden hugged her own
hands under her arms in instinctive empathy.

The First's voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "Is it well
with you, Grimmand Honninscrave?"

He shook his head in simple bafflement "It does not suffice.
Naught sufiices. It bums in my breast—and will not bum out."

Then as if the will which held him upright had broken he
dropped to his knees and thrust his hands into a drift of
snow. Tattered wisps of steam rose around his wrists.

Dumb with helpless concern, the Giants stood around him.
Linden bit her lips. The wind drew a cold scud across the
ice, and the air was sharp with rue. Covenant's eyes blurred
and ran. In self-defense there were many things for which
he could claim he was not culpable; but Seadreamer's death
was not among them.

At last, the First spoke. "Come, Master," she breathed
thickly. "Arise and be about your work. We must hope or
die."

Hope or die. Kneeling on the frozen waste, Honninscrave
looked like he had lost his way between those choices. But
then slowly he gathered his legs under him, stretched his tall
frame erect. His eyes had hardened, and his visage was rigid
and ominous. For a moment, he stood still, let all the
company witness the manner in which he bore himself. Then
without a word he went and began to break camp.

Covenant caught a glimpse of the distress in Linden's gaze.
But when she met his look of inquiry, she shook her head,
unable to articulate what she had perceived in Honninscrave.

Together, they followed the Master's example.

While Honninscrave packed the canvas and bedding,
Mistweave set out a cold breakfast. His red-rimmed eyes and
weary demeanor held a cast of abashment: he was a Giant
and had not expected Fail's endurance to be greater than his.
Now he appeared determined to work harder in compensa-
tion—and in support of Honninscrave. While Covenant,
Linden, and the other Giants ate, JMistweave toiled about the
camp, readying everything for departure.

As Covenant and Linden settled into their sleds, bundled
themselves against the mounting edge of the wind, the First
addressed Honninscrave once more. She spoke softly, and
the wind frayed away the sound of her voice.

"From the vantage of your caamora, saw you any sign?"

His new hardness made his reply sound oddly brutal:

"None."

He and Mistweave shrugged themselves into the lines of the
sleds. The First and Pitchwife went ahead. With Cail between
the sleds and Vain and Findail in the rear, the company set
off.

Their progress was not as swift as it had been the previous
day. The increased difficulty of the terrain was complicated
by the air pouring and gusting down from the ridge. Fistsful
of ice crystals rattled against the wood of me sleds, stung
the faces of the travelers. White plumes and devils danced
among the company. The edges of the landscape ached in
the wind. Diamondraught and food formed a core of
sustenance within him, but failed to spread any warmth into
his limbs. He did not know how long he could hold out
against the alluring and fatal somnolence of the cold.

The next time he rubbed the ice from his lashes and raised
his head, he found that he had not held out. Half the
morning was gone. Unwittingly, he had drifted into the
passive stupor by which winter and leprosy snared their
victims.

Linden was sitting upright in her sled. Her head shifted
tensely from side to side as if she were searching. For a
groggy instant. Covenant thought that she was using her
senses to probe the safety of the ice. But then she wrenched
forward, and her voice snapped over the waste:

"Stopi"

Echoes rode eerily back along the wind: Stop! Stop! But
ice and cold changed the tone of her shout, made it sound
as forlorn as a cry raised from the Soulbiter.

At once, the First turned to meet the sleds.

They halted immediately below a pile of broken ice like
the rubble of a tremendous fortress reduced by siege.
Megalithic blocks and shards towered and loomed as if they
were leaning to fall on the company.

Linden scrambled out of her sled. Before anyone could ask
her what she wanted, she coughed, "It's getting colder."

The First and Pitchwife glanced at each other. Covenant
moved to stand beside Linden, though he did not compre-
hend her. After a moment, the First said, "Colder, Chosen?
We do not feel it."

"I don't mean the winter," Linden began at once, urgent
to be understood. "It's not the same." Then she caught
herself, straightened her shoulders. Slowly and sharply, she
said, "You don't feel it—but I tell you it's there. It's making
the air colder. Not ice. Not wind. Not winter. Some-
thing else." Her lips were blue and trembling. "Something
dangerous."

And this north is perilous. Covenant thought dully, as if
the chill made him stupid. What kind of peril? But when he
opened his mouth, no words came.

Honninscrave's head jerked up. Pitchwife's eyes glared
white in his misshaped face.

At the same instant, the First barked, "Arghulel" and
sprang at Covenant and Linden.

Thrusting them toward the sleds, she shouted, **We must
flee!" Then she wheeled to scan the region-
Covenant lost his footing, skidded into Call's grasp. The
Haruchai flipped him unceremoniously onto his sled. Linden
vaulted to her place. At once, Honninscrave and Mistweave
heaved the sleds forward as quickly as the slick surface
allowed.

Before they had taken three strides, the ice a stone's
throw ahead rose up and came toward them.

The moving shape was as wide as the height of a Giant,
as thick as the reach of Covenant's arms. Short legs bore it
forward with deceptive speed. Dark gaps around its edge
looked like maws.

Cold radiated from it like a shout

The First slid to a halt, planted herself in the path of the
creature. "Arghule!" she cried again. "Avoid!"

Pitcbwife's answering yell snatched her around. His arm
nailed a gesture toward the ridge. "Arghuleh!"

Two more creatures like the first had detached themselves
from the rubble and were rushing toward the company.

In the south appeared a fourth.

Together, they emitted cold as fierce as the cruel heart of
winter.

For an instant, the First froze. Het protest carried lomly
across the wind. "But the arghuleh do not act thus."

Abruptly, Findail melted into a hawk and flew away.

Honninscrave roared a command: "Westwardi" He was
the Master of Starfare's Gem, trained for emergencies. With
a wrench that threw Covenant backward, he hauled bis sled
into motion. "We must break past!"

Mistweave followed. As he labored for speed, he called
over his shoulder to Linden, "Do not fear! We are Giants,
proof against cold!'*

The next moment, the arghuleh attacked.

The creature approaching the First stopped. At Pitchwife*s
warning shout, she whirled to face the arghule. But it did not
advance. Instead, it waved one of its legs.

From the arc of the gesture, the air suddenly condensed
into a web of ice.

Expanding and thickening as it moved, the web sailed
toward the First like a hunter's net. Before it reached her, it
grew huge and heavy enough to snare even a Giant.

At the same time, the arghule coming from the south
halted, settled itself as though it were burrowing into the
waste. Then violence boomed beneath it: ice shattered in all
directions. And a crack sprang through the surface, ran like
lightning toward the company. In the space between one
heartbeat and another, the crack became as wide as the sleds.

It passed directly under Vain. The Demondim-spawn dis-
appeared so quickly that Covenant did not see him falL

Instinctively, Covenant turned to look toward the other
two arghuleh.

They were almost close enough to launch their assaults.

The sled lurched as Honninscrave accelerated. Covenant
faced again toward the First.

The web of ice was dropping over her head.

Pitchwife struggled toward her. But his feet could not hold
the treacherous surface. Cail sped lightly past him as if the
Haruchai were as surefooted as a Ranyhyn.

The First defended herself without her sword. As the web
descended, she chopped at it with her left arm.

It broke in a blizzard of splinters that caught the light like
instant chiaroscuro and then rattled faintly away along the
wind.

But her arm came down encased by translucent ice. It
covered her limb halfway to the shoulder, immobilize'd her
elbow and hand. Fiercely, she hammered at the sheath with
her right fist But the ice clung to her like iron.

The sleds gained momentum. Nearing the First, Hon-
ninscrave and Mistweave veered to the side in an effort to
bypass the arghule. The crack which had swallowed Vain
faded toward the north. Findail was nowhere to be seen.
Linden clutched the rail of her sled, a soundless cry stretched
over her face.

Cail dashed past the First to challenge her assailant.

As one, she and Pitchwife shouted after him, "No!"

He ignored them. Straight at the creature he aimed his
Haruchai strength.

Before he could strike, the arghule bobbed as if it were
bowing. Instantly, a great hand of ice slapped down on him
out of the empty air. It pounded him flat, snatched him
under the bulk of the creature.

Covenant fought to stand in the slewing sled. Cail's fall
went through him like an auger. The landscape was as white
and ruined as wild magic. When his heart beat again, he was
translated into fire. Power drove down through him, anchored
him. Flame as hot as a furnace, as vicious as venom, cocked
back his half-fist to hurl destruction at the arghule.

There a web flung by one of the trailing creatures caught
him. The two arghuleh from the north had changed direction
to pursue the company; then one of them had stopped to
attack. The snare did not entirely reach him. But its leading
edge struck the right side of his head, licked for an instant
over his shoulder, snapped on his upraised fist.

Wild magic pulverized the ice: nothing was left to encase
him. But an immense force of cold slammed straight into bis
brain.

Instantly, paralysis locked itself around him.

He saw what was happening; every event registered on him.
But he was stunned and helpless, lost in a feral chill.

While Honninscrave and Mistweave fought the sleds side-
ward to avoid the arghule, the First sprang to Cail's aid with
Pitchwife behind her. The creature sought to retreat; but she
moved too swiftly. Bracing itself, it repeated the bow which
had captured Cail.

Her left arm was useless to her, but she ignored the
handicap. Fury and need impelled her. As the arghule raised
its ice, she put her whole body info one blow and struck me
creature squarely with all the Giantish' might of her good fist

The arghule shattered under the impact. The boom of its
destruction echoed off the towering ridge.

Amid volleying thunder, the sleds rushed past the First.
She whirled to face the pursuing arghuleh.

Pitchwife dove wildly into the remains of the creature.
For an instant, he threw chunks and chips aside. Then he
emerged, wearing frost and ice-powder as though even in
death the arghule nearly had the capacity to freeze him. In
his arms, he bore Cail.

From head to foot, the Haruchai was sheathed like the
First's left arm in pure ice, bound rigid as if he were frozen
past all redemption. Carrying him urgently, Pitchwife sped
after the sleds.

The First snatched up a white shard, hurled it at the
arghuleh to make them hesitate. Then she followed the
company.

In response, the creatures squatted against the ice; and
cracks like cries of frustration and hunger shot through the
floe, gaping jaggedly after the travelers. For a moment, the
First had to skid and dodge across a ground that was falling
apart under her. Then she missed her footing, fell and rolled
out of the path of the attack. The cracks searched on for
the company; but the sleds were nearly out of range.

The First regained her feet Soon she, too, was beyond
the reach of the arghuleh.

Covenant saw her come running up behind Pitchwife, clap
him encouragingly on the shoulder. Pitchwife panted in great
raw gasps as he strove to sustain his pace. The misshaping
of his back made him appear to huddle protectively over
Can. Call's scar was unnaturally distinct, amplified by the
translucence of his casing. He was the last of the Haruchai
who had promised themselves to Covenant And Covenant
still could not break the cold which clenched his mind. All
hope of fire was gone.

Linden was shouting to the First, "We've got to stopi Cafl
needs help! You need helpl"

Honninscrave and Mistweave did not slacken their pace.
The First returned, "Should the arghuleh again draw nigh,
will you perceive them?"

"YesI" Linden shot back. "Now that I know what they are!"
Her tone was hard, certain. "We've got to stop! I don't know
how long he can stay alive like that!"

The First nodded. "Masteri" she barked. "We must halt!*'

At once, Honninscrave and Mistweave shortened their
strides, let the sleds drag themselves to a standstill.

Pitchwife managed a few more steps, then stumbled to his
knees in a low bowl of snow. The wind whipped flurries
around him. His breathing rattled hoarsely as he hunched
over Cail, hugging the Haruchai as if he sought to warm
Cail with his own life.

Linden leaped from her sled before it stopped moving,
caught her balance and hastened to Pitchwife's side. But
Covenant remained frozen while Honninscrave and Mistweave
drew the sleds around to Pitchwife, Cail, Linden, and the
First.

Vain stood there as well. Covenant had not seen the
Demondim-spawn arrive, did not know how he had escaped.
Bits of ice clung to his tattered apparel, but his black form
was unscathed. He did not breathe, and his midnight eyes
were focused on nothing.

Pitchwife set Cail down. Linden knelt beside the Haruchai,
searched him with her eyes, then touched her fingers to his
case. At once, pain hissed between her teeth. When she
snatched back her hands, her fingertips left small patches of
skin on the ice. Bright in the sunlight, red droplets oozed
from her torn flesh. "Damn it!" she rasped, more frightened
and angry than hurt, "that's cold." Raising her head to the
First, she shivered, "You obviously know something about
these arghuleh. Do you know how to treat this?"

In reply, the First drew her falchion. Gripping it above
her head, she brought its hilt down hard on the crust which
locked her left arm. The ice broke and fell away, leaving her
limb free, the skin undamaged. Stiffly, she flexed her hand
and wrist A wince touched her face, but she changed it to
a scowl.

"See you? We are Giants—proof against cold as against
fire. Requiring no other unction, we have learned none." Her
glare suggested that she deemed this ignorance to be a kind
of failure.

But Linden had no time for failure. "We can't do that to
him," she muttered, thinking aloud. "We'd break half his
bones." She peered closely at Cail to confirm her perceptions.
"He's still alive—but he won't last long." Red-tipped, her
fingers moved as if she had already forgotten their hurt "We
need fire."

Then she looked toward Covenant

At the sight of him, her eyes went wide with shock and fear.
She had not realized that he had been hit by the cold of the
arghuleh.

It felt like a numb nail driven through the side of his head,
impaling his mind painlessly. And it was slowly working its
way deeper. His left eye had gone blind. Most of the nerves
of his left side were as dead as leprosy. He wanted to cry
out for help, but no longer knew how.

From out of nowhere, Findail appeared. Regaining his
abused human shape, he placed himself at the fringes of the
company and fixed his attention on Linden.

Ice muffled whatever she was saying. Covenant could not
bear it: he did not want to die like this. Mad protests surged
through him. All winter was his enemy; every league and
ridge of the floe was an attack against him. From the pit of
his dismay, he brought up name and venom as if he meant
to rid the Earth of all cold forever, tear Time from its
foundations in order to shear away the gelid death which
locked his brain.

But then there was another presence in him. It was alien
and severe, desperate with alarm—and yet he found it
strangely comforting. He struggled instinctively when it took
his flame from him; but the cold and his impercipience made
his strivings pointless. And the intrusion—an external identity
which somehow inhabited his mind as if he had let down
all his defenses—gave him warmth in return: the warmth
of its own strict desire for him and the heat of his fire
combined. For a moment, he thought he knew that other
presence, recognized it intimately. Then the world turned
into white magic and passion; and the cold fled.

A few heartbeats later, his eyes squeezed back into focus,
and he found himself on his hands and knees. Linden had
withdrawn from him, leaving behind an ache of absence as
if she had opened a door which enabled him to see how
empty his heart was without her. Dull bereavement throbbed
in his right forearm; but his ring still hung on the last finger
of his half-hand. The wind sent chills ruffling through his
clothes. The sun shone as if the desecration of the Sunbane
would never be healed. He had failed again. And proved once
more that she—

This time she had simply reached into him and taken
possession.

There was no difference between that and what Lord Foul
had done to Joan. What he was doing to the Land. No
difference except the difference between Linden herself and
the Despiser. And Gibbon-Raver had promised that she would
destroy the Earth.

She had the power to fulfill that prophecy now. She could
take it whenever she wanted it.

Urgent grief came over him—grief for both of them, for
himself in his doomed inefficacy, for her in her dire plight.
He feared he would weep aloud. But then the wind's flat rush
was punctuated by hoarse, hard breathing; and that sound
restored his awareness of his companions.

The ice which had held the Haruchai was gone, and Cail
was coming back to life the hard way—fighting for every
breath, wresting each inhalation with bared teeth from the
near-death of cold. Even the mere-wives had not so nearly
slain him. But Linden had restored him to the verge of
survival. As Covenant watched, Cail carried himself the rest
of the distance.

Honninscrave, Mistweave, and the First studied Cail and
Linden and Covenant with concern and appreciation mixed
together in their faces. Pitchwife had mastered his own gasp-
ing enough to grin like a grimace. But Linden had eyes only
for Covenant

She was wan with dismay at what she had done. From the
first, her loathing for possession had been even greater than
his; yet the necessity of it was thrust upon her time and
again. She was forced to evil by the fundamental commit-
ments which had made her a physician. And how was she
forced? he asked himself. By her lack of power. If she were
given his ring, as the Elohim desired, she would be saved
the peril of this damnation.

He could not do it. Anything else; he would do anything
else. But not this. More than once, she had challenged his
protective instincts, protested his desire to spare her. But how
could he have explained that everything else—every other
attempt at protection or preservation—was nothing more
than an effort to pay for this one refusal? To give her some-
thing in compensation for what he would not give.

Now he did it again. Ice-gnawed and frost-burned though
he was—leprous, poisoned, and beaten—be wrenched his
courage to its feet and faced her squarely. Swallowing grief,
he said thickly, "I hope I didn't hurt anybody."

It was not much. But for the time being it was enough. Her
distress softened as if he had made a gesture of forgiveness.
A crooked smile took the severity from her lips. Blinking at
sudden tears, she murmured, "You're hard to handle. The
first time I saw you"—he remembered the moment as well
as she did: he had slammed his door in her face—"I knew
you were going to give me trouble."

The love in her voice made him groan because he could not
go to her and put his arms around her. Not as long as he
refused to make the one sacrifice she truly needed.

At her back, Mistweave had unpacked a pouch of
diamondraught. When he handed it to her, she forced her
attention away from Covenant and knelt to Can. Between
heaving respirations, the Haruchai took several sips of the
tonic liquor.

After that his condition improved rapidly. While his com-
panions shared the pouch, he recovered enough strength to
sit up, then to regain his feet. In spite of its flatness, his
expression seemed oddly abashed. His pride did not know how
to sustain the fact of defeat But after his experience with
the seduction of the merewives, he appeared to place less
importance on his self-esteem. Or perhaps Brinn's promise—
that Cail would eventually be free to follow his heart—had
somehow altered the characteristic Haruchai determination
to succeed or die. In a moment, Cail's visage was as devoid
of inflection as ever. When he indicated that he was ready to
travel again, his word carried conviction.

No one demurred. At a wry glance from Pitchwife, how-
ever, the First announced that the company would eat a meal
before going on. Cail appeared to think that such a delay was
unnecessary; yet he accepted the opportunity for more rest

While the companions ate. Linden remained tense. She
consumed her rations as if she were chewing fears and
speculations, trying to find her way through them. But when
she spoke, her question showed that she had found, not an
answer, but a distraction. She asked the First, "How much do
you know about those arghulehT

"Our knowledge is scant," replied the Swordmain. She
seemed unsure of the direction of Linden's inquiry. "Upon
rare occasion. Giants have encountered arghuleh. And there
are tales which concern them. But together such stories and
encounters yield little."

"Then why did you risk it?" Linden pursued. "Why did we
come this far north?"

Now the First understood. "Mayhap I erred," she said in
an uncompromising tone. "The southern ice was uncertain,
and I sought safer passage. The hazard of the arghuleh I
accepted because we are Giants, not readily slain or harmed
by cold. It was my thought that four Giants would suffice to
ward you.

"Moreover," she went on more harshly. "I was misled in
my knowledge.

"Folly," she muttered to herself. "Knowledge is chimera,
for beyond it ever lies other knowledge, and the incomplete-
ness of what is known renders the knowing false. It was our
knowledge that arghuleh do not act thus,

"They are savage creatures, as dire of hate as the winter in
which they thrive. And their hate is not solely for the beasts
and beings of blood and warmth which form their prey. It is
also for their own kind. In the tales we have heard and the
experience of our people, it is plain that the surest defense
against the assault of one arghule is the assault of a second.
for they will prefer each other's deaths above any other.

"Therefore," the First growled, "did I believe this north
to be the lesser peril. Against any arghule four Giants must
surely be counted a sufficient company. I did not know," she
concluded, "that despite all likelihood and nature they had
set aside their confirmed animosity to act in concert."

Linden stared across the waste. Honninscrave watched the
knot of his hands as if he feared it would not hold. After a
moment. Covenant cleared his throat and asked, "Why?" In
the Land, the Law of nature was being steadily corrupted by
the Sunbane. Had Lord Foul's influence reached this far?
"Why would they change?"

"I know not," the First said sourly. "I would have believed
the substance of Stone and Sea to be more easily altered than
the hate of the arghuleh."

Covenant groaned inwardly. He was still hundreds of
leagues from Revelstone; and yet his fears were harrying him
forward as if he and his companions had already entered
the ambit of the Despiser's malice.

Abruptly, Linden leapt to her feet, faced the east. She
gauged the distance, then rasped, "They're coming. I thought
they'd give up. Apparently cooperation isn't the only new
trick they've learned."

Honninscrave spat a Giantish obscenity. The First gestured
him and Mistweave toward the sleds, then helped Pitchwife
upright. Quickly, the Master and Mistweave packed and
reloaded the supplies. Covenant was cursing to himself. He
wanted a chance to talk to Linden privately. But he followed
her tense example and climbed back into his sled.

The First took the lead. In an effort to outdistance the
pursuit, she set the best pace Pitchwife could maintain,
pushing him to his already-worn limits. Yet Cail trotted
between Covenant and Linden as if he were fully recovered.
Vain and Findail brought up the rear together, shadowing
each other across the wind-cut wilderness.

That night, the company obtained little rest, though Pitch-
wife needed it urgently. Shortly after moonrise. Call's native
caution impelled him to rouse Linden; and when she had
tasted the air, she sent the company scrambling for the sleds.

The moon was only three days past its full, and the sky
remained clear. The First was able to find a path with
relative ease. But she was held back by Pitchwife's exhaustion.
He could not move faster than a walk without her support.
And in an effort to shore up his strength, he had consumed
so much diamondraught that he was not entirely sober. At
intervals, he began to sing lugubriously under his breath, as
though he were lunatic with fatigue. Somehow, the com-
panions kept a safe distance between themselves and the
arghuleh. But they were unable to increase their lead.

And when the sun rose over the wasted ice, they found
themselves in worse trouble. They were coming to the end
of the floe. During the night, they had entered a region where
the ice to the south became progressively more broken as
hunks snapped off and drifted away. Ahead of the First, the
west became impassable. And beyond a wide area where
icebergs were being spawned lay open water. She had no
choice but to force her way up into the ragged ridge which
separated the arctic glacier from the crumbling sheet of the
floe.

There Covenant thought that she would abandon the sleds.
He and Linden climbed out to make their way on foot; but
that did not sufficiently lighten the loads Honninscrave and
Mistweave were pulling. Yet none of the Giants faltered.
Forging into a narrow valley which breached the ridge, they
began to struggle toward the north and west, as if in spite of
the exhaustion they now shared with Pitchwife they had not
begun to be daunted. Covenant marveled at their hardiness;

but he could do nothing to help them except strive to follow
without needing help himself.

That task threatened to surpass him. Cold and lack of
sleep sapped his strength. His numb feet were as clumsy as
cripples. Several times, he had to catch himself on a sled so
that he would not fall back down the valley. But Honninscrave
or Mistweave bore the added burden without complaint until
Covenant could regain his footing.

For some distance, the First's route seemed inspired or
fortuitous. As the valley rose into the glacier, bending
crookedly back and forth between north and west, its bottom
remained passable. The companions were able to keep
moving.

Then they gained the upper face of the glacier and their
path grew easier. Here the ice was as rugged as a battleground
—pressure-splintered and wind-tooled into high fantastic
shapes, riddled with fissures, marked by strange channels and
hollows of erosion—and the company had to wend still farther
north to find a path. Yet with care the First was able to pick
a passage which did not require much strength. And as the
companions left the area of the glacier's run, they were able
to head once again almost directly westward.

Giddy with weariness and cold and the ice-glare of the sun,
Covenant stumbled on after the sleds. A pace or two to his
side. Linden was in little better condition. Diamondraught
and exertion could not keep the faint, fatal hint of blue from
her lips; and her face looked as pallid as bone. But her
clenched alertness and the stubborn thrust of her strides
showed that she was not yet ready to falL

For more than a league, with tfte air rasping his lungs and
fear at his back. Covenant followed the lead of the Giants.
Somehow, he did not collapse.

But then everything changed. The First's route was neither
inspired nor fortuitous: it was impossible. Balanced unsteadily
on locked knees, his heart trembling. Covenant looked out
from the edge of the cliff where the company had stopped.
There was nothing below him but the bare, black sea.

Without forewarning, the company had reached the
western edge of the glacier.

Off to the left was the jagged ridge which separated the
main ice-mass from the lower floe. But elsewhere lay nothing
but the endless north and the cliff and the rue-bitten sea.

Covenant did not know how to bear it. Vertigo blew up at
him like a wind from the precipice, and his knees folded.

Pitchwife caught him. "No," the deformed Giant coughed.
His voice seemed to snag and strangle deep in his throat
"Do not despair. Has this winter made you blind?" Rough
with fatigue, he jerked Covenant upright. "Look before you.
It needs not the eyes of a Giant to behold this hope."

Hope, Covenant sighed into the silence of his whirling
head. Ah, God. I'd hope if I knew how.

But Pitchwife's stiff grasp compelled him. Groping for
balance, he opened his eyes to the cold.

For a moment, they would not focus. But then he found
the will to force his gaze clear.

There he saw it: distinct and unattainable across half a
league of the fatal sea, a thin strip of land.

It stretched out of sight to north and south.

"As I have said," Honninscrave muttered, "our charts hold
no certain knowledge of this region. But mayhap it is the
coast of the Land which lies before us."

Something like a madman's laughter rose in Covenant's
chest "Well, good for us." The Despiser would certainly be
laughing. "At least now we can look at where we want to go
while we're freezing to death or being eaten by arghuleh."
He held the mirth back because he feared it would turn to
weeping.

''Covenant!" Linden said sharply—a protest of empathy or
apprehension.

He did not look at her. He did not look at any of them.
He hardly listened to himself. "Do you call this hope?"

"We are Giants," the First responded. Her voice held an
odd note of brisk purpose. "Dire though this strait appears,
we will wrest life from it."

Mutely, Honninscrave stripped off his sark, packed it into
one of the bundles on his sled. Mistweave dug out a long coil
of heavy rope, then followed the Master's example.

Covenant stared at them. Linden panted, "Do you mean—?"
Her eyes flared wildly. "We won't last eight seconds in water
that cold!"

The First cast a gauging look down the cliff. As she studied
the drop, she responded, "Then our care must suffice to ward
you."

Abruptly, she turned back to the company. Indicating
Honninscrave's sled, she asked Cail, "Does this weight and
the Giantfriend's surpass your strength?"

Call's flat mien suggested disdain for the question as he
shook his head.

"The ice affords scant footing," she warned.

He regarded her expressionlessly. "I will be secure."

She gave him a firm nod. She had learned to trust the
Baruchai. Returning to the rim, she said, "Then let us not
delay. The arghuleh must not come upon us here."

A prescient nausea knotting his guts. Covenant watched
Honninscrave tie one end of the rope to the rear of his sled.
The Giant's bare back and shoulders steamed in the sharp
air, but he did not appear to feel the cold.

Before Covenant could try to stop her, the First sat down
on the edge, braced herself, and dropped out of sight
Linden's gasp followed her away.

Fighting dizziness, he crouched to the ice and crept forward
until he could look downward.

He arrived in time to see the First hit heavily into the sea.
For an instant, white froth marked the water as if she were
gone for good. Then she splashed back to the surface, waved
B salute up at the company.

Now he noticed that the cliff was not sheer. Though it was
too smooth to be climbed, it angled slightly outward from
rim to base. And it was no more than two hundred feet high.
Honninscrave's rope looked long enough to reach the water.

From the edge, Pitcbwife grimaced down at his wife.
"Desire me good fortune." he murmured. Weariness ached in
his tone. "I am ill-made for such valors." Yet he did not falter.
In a moment, he was at the First's side, and she held him
strongly above the surface.

No one spoke. Covenant locked his teeth as if any word
might unleash the panic crowding through him. Linden
hugged herself and stared at nothing. Honninscrave and
Mistweave were busy lashing their supplies more securely to
the sleds. When they were done. the Master went straight to
the cliff; but Mistweave paused beside Linden to reassure her.
Gently, he touched her shoulder, smiled like a reminder of the
way she had saved his life. Then he followed Honninscrave.

Covenant 'and Linden were left on the glacier with Cail,
Vain, and the Appointed.

Gripping the rope, Cail nodded Covenant toward the sled.

Oh, hell! Covenant groaned. Vertigo squirmed through him.
What if his hold failed? And what made the Giants think
these sleds would float? But he had no choice. The arghuleh
must be drawing nearer. And he had to reach the Land
somehow, bad to get to Revelstone. There was no other way.

The Giants had already committed themselves. For a moment,
he turned toward Linden. But she had drawn down into her-
self, was striving to master her own trepidation.

Woodenly, he climbed into the sled.

As Covenant settled himself, tried to seal his mimb fingers
to the rails, brace his legs among the bundles. Call looped
his rope around Vain's ankles. Then he knotted the heavy
line in both fists and set his back to the sled, began pushing
it toward the cliff.

When the sled nosed over the edge. Linden panted, "Hold
tight," as though she had just noticed what was happening.
Covenant bit down on the inside of his cheek so hard that
blood smeared his lips, stained the frost in his beard.

Slowly, Cail let the weight at the end of the rope pull him
toward Vain again.

Vain had not moved a muscle: he seemed oblivious to the
line hauling across the backs of his ankles. Reaching the
Demondim-spawn, Cail stopped himself against Vain's black
shins.

Without a tremor, the Haruchai lowered Covenant and the
sled hand over hand down the face of the cliff.

Covenant chewed blood for a moment to control his fear;

but soon the worst was over. His dizziness receded. Wedged
among the supplies, he was in no danger of falling. Cail paid
out the line with steady care. The rope cut small chunks out
of the lip of the cliff; but Covenant hardly felt them bit. A
shout of encouragement rose from Pitchwife. The dark sea
looked as viscid as a malign chrism, but the four Giants swam
in it as if it were only water. Pitchwife needed the First's
support, but Honninscrave and Mistweave sculled themselves
easily.

Honninscrave had placed himself in the path of the sled.

As its tip entered the water, he dodged below it and took
the runners onto his shoulders. Rocking while he groped for
a point of balance, the sled gradually became level. Then he
steadied the runners, and Covenant found that the Master
was carrying him.

Mistweave untied the rope so that Cail could draw it back
up. Then Honninscrave started away from the wall of ice. The
First said something to Covenant, but the lapping of the low
waves muffled her voice.

Covenant hardly dared turn his head for fear of upsetting
Honninscrave's balance; but peripherally he watched Linden's
descent. The thought that Vain might move hurt his chest
He felt faint with relief as the second sled came safely onto
Mistweave's shoulders.

At a shout from the First, Cail dropped the rope, then slid
down the ice-face to join the company.

Instinctively, Covenant fixed his attention like yearning on
the low line of shore half a league away. The distance seemed
too great. He did not know where Honninscrave and Mist-
weave would get the strength to bear the sleds so far. At any
moment, the frigid hunger of the sea would surely drag them
down.

Yet they struggled onward, though that crossing appeared
cruel and interminable beyond endurance. The First upheld
Pitchwife and did not weaken. Cail swam between the sleds,
steadied them whenever Honninscrave or Mistweave wavered.
If the seas had risen against them, they would have died. But
the water and the current remained indifferent, too cold to
notice such stark affrontery. In the name of the Search and
Covenant Giantfriend and Linden Avery the Chosen, the
Giants endured.

And they prevailed.

That night, the company camped on the hard shingle of
the shore as if it were a haven.

SIX -- Winter in Combat

FOR the first time since he had left the galley of Star-
fare's Gem, Covenant thought his bones might thaw. On this
coast, the warmer currents which kept the sea free of ice
moderated the winter's severity. The shingle was hard but not
glacial. Clouds muffled the heavens, obscuring the lonely chill
of the stars. Mistweave's fire—tended by Ca2 because all the
Giants were too weary to fend off sleep—spread a benison
around the camp. Wrapped in his blankets. Covenant slept as
if he were at peace. And when he began to awaken in the stiff
gloom of the northern dawn, he would have been content to
simply eat a meal and then go back to sleep. The company
deserved at least one day of rest The Giants had a right to it.

But as the dawn brightened, he forgot about rest The
sunrise was hidden behind ranks of clouds, but it gave enough
light to reveal the broad mass of the glacier the company had
left behind. For a moment, me gray air made him uncertain
of what he was seeing. Then he became sure.

In the water, a spit of ice was growing out from the cliff—
from the same point at which the quest had left the glacier.
It was wide enough to be solid. And it was aimed like a
spear at me company's camp.

With an inward groan, he called me First. She joined him,
stood staring out at the ice for a long moment. Uselessly, he
hoped that her Giantish sight would contradict his unspoken
explanation. But it did not. "It appears," she said slowly,
"that the arghuleh remain intent upon us."

Damnation! Splinters of ice stuck in Covenant's memory.
Harshly, he asked, "How much time have we got?"

"I know not when they commenced this span,** she replied.
"To gauge their speed is difficult But I will be surprised to
behold them gain mis shore ere the morrow."

He went on cursing for a while. But anger was as pointless
as hope. None of the companions objected as they repacked
the sleds for departure; the necessity was obvious. Linden
looked worn by the continuing strain of the journey, uncertain
of her courage. But the Giants had shed me worst of their
exhaustion. The light of attention and humor in Pitchwife's
eyes showed that he had begun to recover his essential spirit.
In spite of his repeated failures to match Call, Mistweave bore
himself with an air of pride, as if he were looking forward
to the songs his people would sing about the feats of the
company. And the Master appeared to welcome the prospect
of the trek ahead as an anodyne for the immedicable gall of
his thoughts.

Covenant did not know how Vain and Findail had crossed
the water. But Vain's black blankness and the Elohim's
Appointed pain remained unaltered, dismissing the need for
any explanation.

The company was still intact as it left the shore, started
southwestward up the low sloping shingle to the uneven line
of hills which edged the coast

While the ground remained bare, Covenant and Linden
walked beside Cail and the sleds. Though he was not in good
shape, Covenant was glad for the chance to carry his own
weight without having to fight the terrain. And he wanted to
talk to Linden. He hoped she would tell him how she was
doing. He had no ability to evaluate her condition for himself.

But beyond the hills lay a long, low plain; and there heavy
snow began to fall. In moments, it obscured the horizons,
wrapped isolation around the travelers, collected quickly at
their feet. Soon it was thick enough to bear the sleds. The
First urged Covenant and Linden to ride so that she would be
free to amend her pace. Aided by her keen eyesight and her
instinctive sense of terrain, she led her companions through
the thick snowfall as if the way were familiar to her.

Toward midafternoon, the snow stopped, leaving the
travelers alone in a featureless white expanse. Again, the
First increased her pace, thrusting herself through the drifts
at a speed which no other people fould have matched afoot
Only the Ranyhyn, Covenant mused. Only Ranyhyn could
have borne him with comparable alacrity to meet his doom.
But the thought of the great horses gave him a pang. He
remembered them as beasts of beautiful fidelity, one of the
treasures of the Land. But they had been forced to flee the
malison of the Sunbane. Perhaps they would never return.
They might never get the chance,

That possibility brought him back to anger, reminded him
mat he was on his way to put an end to the Clave and the
Banefire which served the Sunbane. He began to think about
his purpose more clearly. He could not hope to take
Revelstone by surprise. Lord Foul surely knew that the
Unbeliever would come back to the Land, counted on
Covenant's return for the fulfillment of his designs. But it was
possible that neither the Despiser nor his Ravers understood
how much damage Covenant intended to do along the way.

That had been Linden's idea. Stop the Clave. Put out the
Banefire. Some infections have to be cut out. But he accepted
it now, accepted it deep in the venom and marrow of his
power. It gave him a use for his anger. And it offered him a
chance to make the arduous and unfaltering service of the
Giants mean something.

When he thought about such things, his right forearm
itched avidly, and darkness rose in his gorge. For the first time
since he had agreed to make the attempt, he was eager to
reach Revelstone.

Two days later, the company still had not come to the end
of the snow-cloaked plain.

Neither Linden's health-sense nor the Giants' sight had
caught any glimpse of the arghuleh. Yet none of the com-
panions doubted that they were being hunted. A nameless
foreboding seemed to harry the sleds. Perhaps it arose from
the sheer wide desolation of the plain, empty and barren.
Or perhaps the whole company was infected by the rawness
of Linden's nerves. She studied the winter—scented the air,
scrutinized the clouds, tasted the snow—as though it had
been given birth by strange forces, some of them unnatural;

and yet she could not put words to the uneasiness of what
she perceived. Somewhere in this wasteland, an obscure
disaster foregathered. But she had no idea what it was.

The next day, however, mountains became visible to the
east and south. And the day after that, the company rose up
out of the plain, winding through low, rumpled foothills and
valleys toward the ice-gnawed heights above them.

This range was not especially tall or harsh. Its peaks were
old, and millennia of winter had worn them down. By sunset,
the companions had gained a thousand feet of elevation, and
the foothills and the plain were bidden behind them.

The following day, they were slowed to a crawl. While
Covenant and Linden struggled through the snow on foot,
the company worked from side to side up a rough, steep
slope which disappeared into the gravid clouds and seemed to
go on without end. But that ascent gave them another two
thousand feet of altitude; and when it was over, they found
themselves in a region that resembled rolling hills rather than
true mountains. Time and cold had crumbled the crests which
had once dominated this land; erosion had filled in the
valleys. The First let the company camp early that night;
but the next morning she was brisk with hope for good
progress.

"Unless we're completely lost," Covenant announced, "this
should be the Northron Climbs," The simple familiarity of
that name lifted his heart. He hardly dared believe he was
right. "If it is, then eventually we're going to hit Landsdrop."
Running generally northwestward through the Northron
Climbs, the great cliff of Landsdrop formed the boundary
between the Lower Land and the Upper.

But it also marked the border of the Sunbane; for the
Sunbane arose and went west across the Upper Land from
Lord Foul's covert in the depths of Mount Thunder, which
straddled the midpoint of Landsdrop. When the company
reached the cliff, they would cross back into the Despiser's
power. Unless the Sunbane had not yet spread so far north.

However, Linden was not listening to Covenant. Her eyes
studied the west as if she were obsessed with thoughts of
disaster. Her voice conveyed an odd echo of memory as she
murmured, "It's getting colder."

He felt a pang of fear. "It's the elevation," he argued.
"We're a lot higher up than we were."

"Maybe." She seemed deaf to his apprehension. "I can't
tell." She ran her fingers through her hair, tried to shake her
perceptions into some semblance tof clarity. "We're too far
south for so much winter."

Remembering the way Lord Foul had once imposed winter
on the Land in defiance of all natural Law, Covenant gritted
his teeth and thought about fire.

For Linden was right: even his truncated senses could not
mistake the deepening chill. Though there was no wind, the
temperature seemed to plummet around him. During the
course of the day, the snow became crusted and glazed.
The air had a whetted edge that cut at his lungs. Whenever
snow fell, it came down like thrown sand.

Once the surface had hardened enough to bear the Giants,
their work became easier. They no longer needed to force a
path through the thigh-deep freeze. As a consequence, their
pace improved markedly. Yet the cold was bitter and
penetrating. Covenant felt brittle with frost and incapacity,
caught between ice and fire. When the company stopped for
the night, he found that his blankets had frozen about him
like cerements. He had to squirm out of them as if he
were emerging from a cocoon in which nothing had been
transformed.

Pitchwife gave him a wry grin. "You are well protected,
Giantfriend." The words came in gouts of steam as if the
very sound of his voice had begun to freeze. "Ice itself is
also a ward from the cold."

But Covenant was looking at Linden. Her visage was raw,
and her lips trembled. "It's not possible," she said faintly.
"There can't be that many of them in the whole world."

No one had to ask her what she meant. After a moment,
the First breathed, "Is your perception of them certain,
Chosen?"

Linden nodded. The comers of her eyes were marked with
frost. "They're bringing this winter down with them."

In spite of the fire Mistweave built. Covenant felt that his
heart itself was freezing.

After that, the weather became too cold for snow. For a
day and a night, heavily laden clouds glowered overhead,
clogging the sky and the horizons. And then the sky turned
clear. The sleds bounced and slewed over the frozen surface
as if it were a new form of granite.

The First and Pitchwife no longer led the company.
Instead, they ranged away to the north to watch for arghuleh.
The previous night, she had suggested that they turn south-
ward in order to flee the peril. But Covenant had refused. His
imprecise knowledge of the Land's geography indicated that
if the company went south they might not be able to avoid
Sarangrave Flat. So the travelers continued toward Revelstone;

and the First and Pitchwife kept what watch they could.

Shortly after noon, with the sun glaring hatefully off the
packed white landscape and the still air as keen as a scourge,
the company entered a region where ragged heads and
splintered torsos of rock thrust thickly through the snow-pack,
raising their white-crowned caps and bitter sides like menhirs
in all directions. Honninscrave and Mistweave had to pick a
twisting way between the cromlechs, some of which stood
within a Giant's arm-span of each other; and the First and
Pitchwife were forced to draw closer to the company so that
they would not lose sight of the sleds.

Among the companions. Linden sat as tense as a scream
and muttered over and over again, "They're here. Jesus God.
They're here."

But when the attack came, they had no warning of it
Linden's senses were foundering, overwhelmed by the sheer
numbers and intensity of the cold. She was unable to pick
specific dangers out of the general peril. And Pitchwife and
the First were watching the north. The assault came from the
south.

The company had entered a region which the arghuleh
already controlled.

Honninscrave and Mistweave were striding through the
center of a rude ring of tall stones, Mistweave on the Master's
left, when two low hillocks across the circle rose to their feet.
Maws clacking hungrily, the creatures shot forward a short
distance, then stopped. One spun an instant web of ice which
sprang at Mistweave's head; the other waited to give pursuit
when the companions broke and ran.

Covenant's shout and Honninscrave's call rang out together.
Impossibly surefooted on the iced snow, Mistweave and the
Master leaped into a sprint The jerk threw Covenant back in
the sled. He grappled for the left railing, fought to pull himself
upright The First's answer echoed back; but she and Pitch-
wife were out of reach beyond the menhirs.

Then Linden's sled crashed against Covenant's. The impact
almost pitched him out onto the snow.

Mistweave's burst of speed had taken him out from under
the ice-web. But Linden was directly in its path. Heaving on
the ropes, he tried to swing her aside. But Covenant's sled was
in the way.

The next instant, the net came down on the lines and
front of Linden's sled. Immediately, it froze. The lines
became ice. When Mistweave hauled on them again, they
snapped like icicles. Linden's head cracked forward, and she
crumpled.

Call had been between the sleds in his accustomed position.
As the Giants had started into a run, he had run also, keeping
himself between Covenant and the arghuleh. So even his
Haruchai reflexes had not been enough to protect him as
Mistweave had slewed Linden's sled to the side. Leaping to
avoid the collision, he had come down squarely under the
web.

His speed saved him from the full grasp of that ice. But
the net caught his left arm, binding him by the elbow to the
sled.

Honninscrave had already pulled Covenant past Linden.
Covenant had no time to shout for the Master to stop: the
arghule was poised to launch another web. Venom seemed to
slam through his forearm. With wild magic clenched in his
half-fist, he swung to hurl power in Linden's defense.

In that instant, another arghule leaped from atop the nearest
boulder and landed on Honninscrave. It bore him to the
ground, buried him under sudden ice. Covenant's sled over-
turned. He sprawled to the crust practically within reach of
the beast.

But his fear was fixed on Linden; he hardly comprehended
his own peril. His head reeled. Shedding frost and snow in a
flurry like a small explosion, a precursor of the blast within
him, he surged to his feet.

Stark and lom against the bare white, she still sat in her
trapped sled. She was not moving. The rapacious cold of the
arghuleh overloaded her nerves, cast her back into her
atavistic, immobilizing panic. For an instant, she bore no
resemblance to the woman he had learned to love. Rather,
she looked like Joan. At once, the inextricable venom/passion
of his power thronged through him, and he became ready
to tear down the very cromlechs and rive the whole region
if necessary to protect her.

But Mistweave was in his way.

The Giant had not moved from the spot where he had
stumbled to a halt. His head jerked from side to side as his
attention snapped frantically between Linden's plight and
Honninscrave's. Linden had once saved his life. He had left
Starfare's Gem to take Cail's place at her side. Yet Hon-
ninscrave was the Master. Caught between irreconcilable
exigencies, Mistweave could not choose. Helplessly, he
Mocked Covenant from the arghuleh behind him.

"Move!" Fury and cold ripped the cry from Covenant's
throat

But Mistweave was aware of nothing except the choice he
was unable to make. He did not move.

Over his right shoulder arced a second web. Gaining size
and thickness as it sailed, it spread toward Linden. Its chill
left a trail of frost across Covenant's sight

Cail had not been able to free his left arm. But he saw the
net coming like all the failures of the Haruchai—Hergrom's
slaughter and Ceer's death and the siren song of the mere-wives
encapsulated in one peril—and he drew himself up as if he
were the last of his people left alive, the last roan sworn to
succeed or die. His thews bunched, strained, stood out like
bone—and his arm broke loose, still encased in a hunk of ice
as big as a Giant's head.

Swinging that chunk like a mace, he leaped above Linden
and shattered the web before it reached her.

She gaped through the spray of splinters as if she had gone
blind.

Before Covenant could react, the second arghule behind
Mistweave reared up and ripped the Giant down under its
frigid bulk.

Then the First landed like the plunge of a hawk on the
beast holding Honninscrave. Pitchwife dashed around one of
the boulders toward Linden and Cail. And Covenant let out
a tearing howl of power that blasted the first arghule to pieces
in one sharp bolt like a rave of lightning.

From somewhere nearby, Fmdail gave a thin cry:

"Fool!"

Over her shoulder, the Swordmain panted, "We are
hunted!" Hammering and heaving at the ice, she fought to
pull Honninscrave free. "The arghuleh are many! A great
many!" Honninscrave lay among the'ruins of the beast as if
it had succeeded at smothering him. But as the First man-
handled him upright, a harsh shudder ran through him- All at
once, he took his own weight, staggered to his feet

"We must flee!" she cried.

Covenant was too far gone to heed her. Linden was safe,
at least momentarily. Pitchwife had already snapped the ice
from Cail's arm; and the two of them could ward her for a
little while. Tall and bright with fire, he stalked toward the
beast still struggling to subdue Mistweave. Whatever force
or change had overcome the native hate of the arghuleh had
also left them blind to fear or self-preservation. The creature
did not cease its attack on Mistweave until Covenant burned
its life to water.

In his passion, he wanted to turn and shout until the
menhirs trembled, Come on! Come and get me! The scars
on his forearm shone like fangs. I'll kill you all! They had
dared to assail Linden!

But she had come back to herself now, had found her way
out of her old paralysis. She was running toward him; and
she was saying, crying, "No! That's enoughl You've done
enough. Don't let go!"

He tried to hear her. Her face was sharp with urgency;

and she came toward him as if she meant to throw herself
into his arms. He had to hear her. There was too much at
stake.

But he could not. Behind her were more arghuleh.

Pitchwife had rushed to help Mistweave. Cail was at
Linden's side. Fighting to draw the sleds after them, the
First and a dazed Honninscrave scrambled to form a cordon
around Covenant and Linden. Findail had disappeared. Only
Vain stood motionless.

And from every side at once charged the vicious ice-beasts,
crowding between the monoliths, a score of them, twoscore,
as if each of them wanted to be the first to feast on warm
flesh. As if they had come in answer to Covenant's call.
Enough of them to devour even Giants. Without wild magic,
none of the company except Vain had any chance to survive.

Something like an avid chuckle spattered across the back-
ground of Covenant's mind. In his own way, he was hungry
for violence, fervid for a chance to stuff his helplessness back
down the Despiser's throat. Thrusting Linden behind him, he
went out to meet bis attackers.

His companions did not protest. They had no other hope.

Bastards! he panted at the arghuleh. They were all around
him, but he could barely see them. His brain had gone black
with venom. Come and get me!

Abruptly, the First shouted something—a call of warning
or surprise. Covenant did not hear the words; but the iron in
her voice made him turn to see what she had seen.

Then plain shock stopped him.

From the south side of the ring, gray shapes smaller than
he was appeared among the arghuleh. They were roughly
human in form, although their arms and legs were oddly
proportioned. But their unclad bodies were hairless; their
pointed ears sat high on the sides of their bald skulls. And
they had no eyes. Wide fiat nostrils marked their faces above
their slitted mouths.

Barking in a strange tongue, they danced swiftly around
the arghuleh. Each of them carried a short, slim piece of
black metal like a wand which splashed a vitriolic fluid at the
ice-beasts.

That liquid threw the arghuleh into confusion. It burned
them, broke sections off their backs, chewed down into their
bodies. Clattering in pain, they forgot their prey, thrashed
and writhed blindly in all directions. Some of them collided
with the cromlechs, lost larger sections of themselves, died.
But others, reacting with desperate instinct, covered them-
selves with their own ice and were able to stanch their
wounds.

Softly, as if at last even he had become capable of surprise,
Cail murmured, "Waynhim. The old tellers speak of such
creatures."

Covenant recognized them. Like the ur-viles, they were the
artificial creations of the Demondim. But they had dedicated
themselves and their weird lore to pursuits which did not
serve the Despiser. During Covenant's trek toward Revelstone,
a band of Waynhim had saved him from a venom-relapse
and death. But that had occurred hundreds of leagues to the
south.

Swiftly, the creatures girdled the company, dashing the
fluid of their power at the arghuleh,

Then Covenant heard his name called by an unexpected
voice. Turning, he saw a man emerge between the southward
rocks. "Thomas Covenant!" the man shouted once more.
"Come! Flee! We are unready for this battle!"

A man whose soft brown eyes, human face, and loss-
learned kindness had once given Covenant a taste of both
mercy and hope. A man who had been rescued by the
Waynhim when the na-Mhoram's Grim had destroyed his
home. During Stonedown. A man who served these creatures
and understood them and loved them.

Hamako.

Covenant tried to shout, run forward. But he failed. The
first instant of recognition was followed by a hot rush of
pain as the implications of this encounter reached him. There
was no reason why Hamako and this Waynhim rhysh should
be so far from home—no reason which was not terrible.

But the plight of the company demanded speed, decision.
More arghuleh were arriving from the north. And more of
those which had been damaged were discovering the expedient
of using their ice to heal themselves. When Cail caught him
by the arm, Covenant allowed himself to be impelled toward
Hamako.

Linden trotted at his side. Her face was set with purpose
now. Perhaps she had identified Hamako and the Waynhim
from Covenant's descriptions of them. Or perhaps her
percipience told her all she needed to know. When Covenant
seemed to lag, she grasped his other arm and helped Cail
draw him forward.

The Giants followed, pulling the sleds. Vain broke into a
run to catch up with the company. Behind them, the
Waynhim retreated from the greater numbers of the arghuleh.

In a moment, they reached Hamako. He greeted Covenant
with a quick smile. "Well met, ring-wielder," he said. "You
are an unlooked-for benison in this waste." Then at once he
added, "Cornel" and swung away from the ring. Flanked by
Waynhim, he ran into the maze of the menhirs.

Covenant's numb feet and heavy boots found no purchase
on the snow-pack. Repeatedly, he slipped and stumbled as he
tried to dodge after Hamako among the rocks. But Cail
gripped his arm, upheld him. Linden moved with small quick
strides which enabled her to keep her footing.

At the rear of the company, several Waynhim fought a
delaying action against the arghuleh. But abruptly the ice-
beasts gave up the chase as if they had been called back-^as if
whatever force commanded them did not want to risk sending
them into ambush. Shortly, one of the gray, Demondim-made
creatures spoke to Hamako; and he slowed bis pace.

Covenant pushed forward to the man's side. Burning with
memory and dread, he wanted to shout. Well met like hell!
What in blood and damnation are you doing here? But he
owed Hamako too much past and present gratitude. Instead,
he panted, "Your timing's getting better. How did you know
we needed you?"

Hamako grimaced at Covenant's reference to their previous
meeting, when his rhysh had arrived too late to aid the ring-
wielder. But he replied as if he understood the spirit of
Covenant's gibe, "We did not.

"The tale of your departure from the Land is told among
the Waynhim," He grinned momentarily. "To such cunning
watchers as they are, your passage from Revelstone to the
Lower Land and Seareach was as plain as fire." Swinging
around another boulder into a broad avenue among the
stones, he continued, "But we knew naught of your return.
Our watch was set rather upon these arghuleh, that come
massed from the north in defiance of all Law, seeking ruin.
Witnessing them gather here, we sought to discover their
purpose. Thus at last we saw you- Well that we did so—and
that our numbers sufficed to aid you. The mustermg-place of
the rhysh is not greatly distant'*—he gestured ahead—"but
distant enough to leave you unsuccored in your need."

Listening hard. Covenant grappled with his questions. But
there were too many of them. And the cold bit into his lungs
at every breath. With an effort of will, be concentrated on
keeping his legs moving and schooled himself to wait.

Then the group left the region of jumbled monoliths and
entered a wide, white plain that ended half a league away in
an escarpment which cut directly across the vista of the south.
Bddies of wind skirled up and down the base of the escarp-
ment, raising loose snow like dervishes; and Hamako headed
toward them as if they were the signposts of a sanctuary.

When Covenant arrived, weak-kneed and gasping for air,
at the rock-strewn foot of the sheer rise, he was too tired to
be surprised by the discovery that the snow-devils were indeed
markers or sentinels of an eldritch kind. The Waynhim called
out in their barking tongue; and the eddies obeyed, moving to
stand like hallucinated columns OB either side of a line that
led right into the face of the escarpment. There, without
transition, an entrance appeared. It was wide enough to admit
the company, but too low to let the Giants enter upright; and
it opened into a tunnel warmly lit by flaming iron censers.

Smiling a welcome, Harnako said, "This is the mustering-
place of the Waynhim, their rhyshyshim. Enter without fear,
for here the ring-wielder is acknowledged, and the foes of
the Land are withheld. In these tunes, there is no true safety
anywhere. But here you will find reliable sanctuary for one
more day—until the gathered rhysh come finally to their
purpose. To me it has been, granted to speak for all Waynhim
that share this Weird. Enter and be welcome."

In response, the First bowed formally. "We do so gladly.
Already your aid has been a boon which we are baffled to
repay. In sharing counsel and stories and safety, we hope to
make what return we may."

Hamako bowed in turn; his eyes gleamed pleasure at her
courtesy. Then he led the company down into the tunnel.

When Vain and the last of the Waynhim had passed inward,
the entrance disappeared, again without transition, leaving in
its place blunt, raw rock that sealed the company into the fire-
light and blissful warmth of the rhyshyshim.

At first. Covenant hardly noticed that Findail had rejoined
them. But the Appointed was there as if Vain's side were a
post he had never deserted. His appearance drew a brief,
muted chittering from the Waynhim; but then they ignored
him as if he were simply a shadow of the black Demondim-
spawn.

For a few moments, the tunnel was full of the wooden
scraping of the sleds' runners. But when the companions
reached a bulge in the passage like a rude antechamber,
Hamako instructed the Giants to leave the sleds there,

As the warmth healed Covenant's sore respiration, he
thought that now Hamako would begin to ask the expected
questions. But the man and the Waynhim bore themselves as
if they had come to the end of all questions. Looking at
Hamako more closely. Covenant saw things which had been
absent or less pronounced during their previous encounter—
resignation, resolve, a kind of peace. Hamako looked like a
man who had passed through a long grief and been annealed.

With a small jolt. Covenant realized that Hamako was not
dressed for winter. Only the worn swath of leather around
his hips made him less naked than the Waynhim. In Vague
fear. Covenant wondered if the Stonedownor had truly be-
come Waynhim himself? What did such a transformation
mean?

And what in hell was this rhysh doing here?

His companions had less reason for apprehension. Pitchwife
moved as if the Waynhim had restored his sense of adventure,
his capacity for excitement. His eyes watched everything,
eager for marvels. Warm air and the prospect of safety
softened the First's iron sternness, and she walked with her
hand lightly on her husband's shoulder, willing to accept
whatever she saw. Honninscrave's thoughts were hidden be-
neath the concealment of his brows. And Mistweave—

At the sight of Mistweave's face. Covenant winced. Too
much had happened too swiftly. He had nearly forgotten
the tormented moment of Mistweave's indecision. But the
Giant's visage bore the marks of that failure like toolwork at
the corners of his eyes, down the sides of his mouth—marks
cut into the bone of his self-esteem. His gaze turned away
from Covenant's in shame.

Damn it to hell! Covenant rasped to himself. Is every one
of us doomed?

Perhaps they all were. Linden walked at his side without
looking at him, her mien pale and strict with the characteristic
severity which he had learned to interpret as fear. Fear of
herself—of her inherited capacity for panic and horror, which
had proved once again that it could paralyze her despite every
commitment or affirmation she made. Perhaps her reaction to
the ambush of the arghuleh bad restored her belief that she,
too, was doomed.

It was unjust. She judged that her whole life had been a
form of flight, an expression of moral panic. But in that she
was wrong. Her past sins did not invalidate her present desire
for good. If they did, then Covenant himself was damned as
well as doomed, and Lord Foul's triumph was already assured.

Covenant was familiar with despair. He accepted it in
himself. But he could not bear it in the people he loved. They
deserved better.

Then Hamako's branching way through the rock turned a
corner to enter a sizable cavern like a meeting-hall; and
Covenant's attention was pulled out of its galled channel.

The space was large and high- enough to have held the
entire crew of Starfare's Gem; but its rough walls and surfaces
testified that the Waynhim had not been using it long. Yet it
was comfortably well-lit. Many braziers flamed around the
walls, shedding kind heat as well as illumination. For a
moment. Covenant found himself wondering obliquely why
the Waynhim bothered to provide light at all, since they had
no eyes. Did the fires aid their lore in some fashion? Or did
they draw a simple solace from the heat or scent of the
flames? Certainly the former habitation of Hamako's rhysh
had been bright with warmth and firelight

But Covenant could not remember that place and remain
calm. And he had never seen so many Waynhim before: at
least threescore of them slept on the bare stone, worked
together around black metal pots as if they were preparing
vitrim or invocations, or quietly waited for what they might
learn about the people Hamako had brought. Rhysh was the
Waynhim word for a community; and Covenant had been
told that each community usually numbered between one-
and twoscore Waynhim who shared a specific interpretation
of their racial Weird, their native definition of identity and
reason for existence. This Weird, he remembered, belonged
to both the Waynhim and the ur-viles, but was read in vastly
different ways. So he was looking at at least two rhysh. And
Bamako had implied that there were more. More commu-
nities which had been ripped from home and service by the
same terrible necessity that had brought Bamako's rhysh
here?

Covenant groaned as he accompanied Hamako into the
center of the cavern.

There the Stonedownor addressed the company again. "I
know that the purpose which impels you toward the Land is
urgent," he said in his gentle and pain-familiar voice. "But
some little time you can spare among us. The horde of the
arghuleh is unruly and advances with no great speed. We
offer you sustenance, safety, and rest as well as inquiries"—
he looked squarely at Covenant—"and perhaps also answers."
That suggestion gave another twist to Covenant's tension. He
remembered clearly the question Hamako had refused to
answer for him. But Hamako had not paused. He was asking,
"Will you consent to delay your way a while?"

The First glanced at Covenant. But Covenant had no
intention of leaving until he knew more. "Hamako," he said
grimly, "why are you here?"

The loss and resolution behind Hamako's eyes showed that
he understood. But he postponed his reply by inviting the
company to sit with him on the floor. Then he offered around
bowls of the dark, musty vitrim liquid which looked like
vitriol and yet gave nourishment like a distillation of aliantha.
And when the companions had satisfied their initial hunger
and weariness, he spoke as if he had deliberately missed
Covenant's meaning.

"Ring-wielder," he said, "with four other rhysh we have
come to give battle to the arghuleh."

"Battle?" Covenant demanded sharply. He had always
known the Waynhim as creatures of peace.

"Yes." Hamako had traveled a journey to this place which
could not be measured in leagues. "That is our intent."

Covenant started to expostulate. Hamako stopped him with
a firm gesture. "Though the Waynhim serve peace," he said
carefully, "they have risen to combat when their Weird re-
quired it of them. Thomas Covenant. I have spoken to you
concerning that Weird. The Waynhim are made creatures.
They have not the justification of birth for their existence, but
only the imperfect lores and choices of the Demondim. And
from this trunk grow no boughs but two—the way of the
ur-viles, who loathe what they are and seek forever power
and knowledge to become what they are not, and the way of
the Waynhim, who strive to give value to what they are
through service to what they are not, to the birth by Law
and beauty of the life of the Land. This you know."

Yes. I know. But Covenant's throat closed as he recalled
the manner in which Hamako's rhysh had formerly served its
Weird.

"Also you know," the Stonedownor went on, "that in the
time of the great High Lord Mhoram, and of your own last
battle against the Despiser, Waynhim saw and accepted the
need to wage violence in defense of the Land. It was their
foray which opened the path by which the High Lord procured
the survival of Revelstone." His gaze held Covenant's though
Covenant could hardly match nun. "Therefore do not accuse
us that we have risen to violence again. It is not fault in the
Waynhim. It is grief."

And still he forestalled Covenant's protest, did not answer
Covenant's fundamental question. "The Sunbane and the
Despiser's malign intent rouse the dark forces of the Earth.
Though they act by their own will, they serve his design of
destruction. And such a force has come among the arghuleh,
mastering their native savagery and sending them like the
hand of winter against the Land. We know not the name of
that might. It is hidden from the insight of the Waynhim.
But we see it And we have gathered in this rhyshyshim to
oppose it."

"How?" the First interposed. "How will you oppose it?"*
When Hamako turned toward her, she said, "I ask pardon
if I intrude on that which does not concern me. But you have
given us the gift of our lives, and we have not returned
the bare courtesy of our names and knowledge." Briefly, she
introduced her companions. Then she continued, "I am the
First of the Search—a Swordmain of the Giants. Battle is my
craft and my purpose." Her countenance was sharp in the
firelight "I would share counsel with you concerning this
combat"

Hamako nodded. But his reply suggested politeness rather
than any hope for help or guidance—the politeness of a man
who had looked at his fate and approved of it

"In the name of these rhysh, I thank you. Our intent is
simple. Many of the Waynhim are now abroad, harrying the
arghuleh to lure them hither. In this they succeed. That massed
horde we will meet on the outer plain upon the morrow.
There the Waynhim will concert their might and strike inward
among the ice-beasts, seeking the dark heart of the force
which rules them. If we discover that heart—and are equal
to its destruction—then will the arghuleh be scattered, becom-
ing once more their own prey.

"If we fail—" The Stonedownor shrugged. There was no
fear in his face. "We will at least weaken that horde sorely
ere we die."

The First was faster than Covenant "Hamako," she said,
"I like this not It is a tactic of desperation. It offers no
second hope in event of first failure."

But Hamako did not waver. "Giant, we are desperate. At
our backs lies naught but the Sunbane, and against that ill we
are powerless. Wherefore should we desire any second hope?
All else has been rent from us. It is enough to strike this blow
as best we may."

The First had no answer for him. Slowly, his gaze left her.
returned to Covenant. His brown eyes seemed as soft as
weeping—and yet too hard to be daunted. "Because I have
been twice bereft," he said in that kind and unbreachable
voice, "I have been granted to stand at the forefront, forging
the puissance of five rhysh with my mortal hands."

Then Covenant saw that now at last be would be allowed to
ask his true question; and for an instant his courage failed.
How could he bear to hear what had happened to Hamako?
Such extravagant human valor came from several sources—
and one of them was despair.

But Hamako's eyes held no flinch of self-pity. Covenant's
companions were watching him, sensitive to the importance
of what lay between him and Hamako. Even Mistweave and
Honninscrave showed concern; and Linden's visage ached as
if Hamako's rue were poignant to her. With a wrench of will,
Covenant denied his fear.

"You still haven't told me." Strain made his tone harsh.
"All this is fine. I even understand it." He was intimately
familiar with desperation. In the warmth of the cavern, he
had begun to sweat. "But why in the name of every good and
beautiful thing you've ever done in your life are you here at
all? Even the threat of that many arghuleh can't compare
with what you were doing before."

The bare memory filled his throat with inextricable wonder
and sorrow.

Lord Foul had already destroyed virtually all the natural
life of the Land. Only Andelain remained, preserved against
corruption by Caer-Caveral's power. Everything else that
grew by Law or love from seed or egg or birth had been
perverted.

Everything except that which Hamako's rhysh had kept
alive.

In a cavern which was huge on the scale of lone human
beings, but still paltry when measured by the destitution of
the Land, the Waynhim bad nurtured a garden that contained
every kind of grass, shrub, flower, and tree, vine, grain, and
vegetable they had been able to find and sustain. And in
another cave, in a warren of pens and dens, they had saved
as many species of animal as their lore and skill allowed.

It was an incomparable expression of faith in the future,
of hope for the time when the Sunbane would be healed and
the Land might be dependent upon this one tiny pocket of
natural life for its renewal.

And it was gone. From the moment when he had
recognized Hamako, Covenant had known the truth. Why
else were the Waynhim here, instead of tending to their
chosen work?

Useless rage cramped his chest, and his courage felt as
brittle as dead bone, as he waited for Hamako's response.

It was slow in coming; but even now the Stonedownor did
not waver. "It is as you have feared," he said softly. "We
were driven from our place, and the work of our lives was
destroyed." Then for the first time his voice gave a hint of
anger. "Yet you have not feared enough. That ruin did not
befall us alone. Across all the Land, every rhysh was beaten
from its place and its work. The Waynhim gathered here are
all that remain of their race. There will be no more."

At that. Covenant wanted to cry out, plead, protest. No!
Not again! Was not the genocide of the Unhomed enough?
How could the Land sustain another such loss?

But Hamako seemed to see Covenant's thoughts in his
aghast face. "You err, ring-wielder," said the Stonedownor
grimly. "Against Ravers and the Despiser, we were fore-
warned and defended. And Lord Foul had no cause to fear
us. We were too paltry to give him threat. No. It was the
ur-viles, the black and birthless kindred of the Waynhim, that
wrought our ruin from rhysh to rhysh across the Land."

Wrought our ruin. Our ruin across the Land. Covenant
was no longer looking at Hamako. He could not. All that
beauty. Gone to grief where all dreams go. If he met those
soft, brown, irreparable eyes, he would surely begin to weep.

"Their assault was enabled to succeed because we did not
expect it—for had not ur-vUe and Waynbim lived in truce
during all the millennia of their existence?—and because they
have studied destruction as the Waynhim have not." Slowly,
the edge of his tone was blunted. "We were fortunate in our
way. Many of us were slain—among them some that you
have known. Vraith, dhurng, ghramin^ He spoke the names
as if he knew how they would strike Covenant; for those were
Waynhim who had given then- blood so that he could reach
Revelstone in time to rescue Linden, Sunder, and Hollian.
"But many escaped. Other rhysh were butchered entirely.

"Those Waynhim that survived wandered without purpose
until they encountered others to form new rhysh, for a
Waynhim without community is a lorn thing, deprived of
meaning. And therefore," he concluded, "we are desperate in
all sooth. We are the last. After us there will be no more."

"But why?*' Covenant asked his knotted hands and the
blurred light, his voice as thick as blood in his throat. "Why
did they attack—? After all those centuries?'*

"Because—" Hamako replied; and now he did falter,
caught by the pain behind his resolve. "Because we gave you
shelter—and with you that making of the ur-viles which they
name Vain."

Covenant's head jerked up, eyes afire with protests. This
crime at least should not be laid to his charge, though
instinctively he believed it. He had never learned how to
repudiate any accusation. But at once Hamako said, "Ah, no,
Thomas Covenant, Your pardon. I have led you to miscom-
prehend me." His voice resumed the impenetrable gentleness
of a man who had lost too much. "The fault was neither
yours nor ours. Even at Lord Foul's command the ur-viles
would not have wrought such harm upon us for merely
sheltering you and any companion. Do not think it. Their
rage had another source."

"What was it?" Covenant breathed. "What in hell hap-
pened?"

Hamako shrugged at the sheer simplicity of the answer.
"It was their conviction that you gained from us an explana-
tion of Vain Demondim-spawn's purpose."

"But I didn't!" objected Covenant. "You wouldn't tell me."

The Waynhim had commanded Hamako to silence. He had
only replied. Were t to reveal the purpose of this Demondim-
spawn, that revelation could well prevent the accomplishment
of his purpose. And, That purpose is greatly desirable.

Now he sighed- "Yes. But how could our refusal be con-
veyed to the ur-viles? Their loathing permitted them no un-
derstanding of our Weird. And they did not inquire of us what
we had done. In our place, they would not have scrupled to
utter falsehood. Therefore they could not have believed any
reply we gave. So they brought down retribution upon us, com-
pelled by the passion of their desire that the secret of this
Vain not be untimely revealed."

And Vain stood behind the seated company as if he were
deaf or impervious. The dead wood of his right forearm dan-
gled from his elbow; but his useless hand was still undam-
aged, immaculate. As beautifully sculpted as a mockery of
Covenant's flawed being.

But Hamako did not flinch or quail again, though his som-
ber gaze now held a dusky hue of fear.

"Thomas Covenant," he said, his voice so soft that it barely
carried across the circle of the company. "Ring-wielder." His
home. During Stonedown, had been destroyed by the na-Mho-
ram's Grim; but the Waynhim had given him a new home
with them. And then that new home had been destroyed,
ravaged for something the rhysh had not done. Twice bereft.
"Will you ask once more? Will you inquire of me here the
purpose of this black Demondim-spawn?"

At that. Linden sat up straighter, bit her lips to hold back
the question. The First tensed, anticipating explanations.
Pitchwife's eyes sparkled like hope; even Mistweave stirred
from his gloom. Cail cocked one dispassionate eyebrow.

But Covenant sat like Honninscrave, his emotions tangled
by Hamako's apprehension. He understood the Stonedownor,
knew what Bamako's indirect offer meant. The Waynhim no
longer trusted their former refusal—were no longer able to
credit the unmalice of the ur-viles' intent. The violence of
(heir rum had shaken them fundamentally. And yet their
basic perceptions remained. The trepidation in Hamako'a
visage showed that he bad learned to dread the implications of
both speaking and not speaking.

He was asking Covenant to take the responsibility of deci-
sion from him.

He and his rhysh had come here to die. Fiercely, with all
the attention of the company on him. Covenant forced himself
to say, "No."

His gaze burned as he confronted Hamako across the rude
stone. "You've already refused once." Within himself, he
swore bitterly at the necessity which compelled him to reject
everything that might help or ease or guide him. But he did
not shrink from it. "I trust you."

Linden gave him a glare of exasperation. Pitchwife's face
widened in surprise. But Hamako's rue-worn features softened
with undisguised relief.

Later, while Covenant's companions rested or slept in the
warmth of the cavern, Hamako took the Unbeliever aside for
a private conversation. Gently, Hamako urged Covenant to
depart before the coming battle. Night was upon the North-
ron Climbs, the night before the dark of the moon; but a
Waynhim could be spared to guide the company up the es-
carpment toward the relative safety of Landsdrop. The quest
would be able to travel without any immediate fear of the
arghuleh.

Covenant refused brusquely. *'You've done too much for me
already. Tm not going to leave you like this,"

Hamako peered into Covenant's clenched glower. After a
moment, the Stonedownor breathed. "Ah, Thomas Covenant
Will you hazard the wild magic to aid us?"

Covenant's reply was blunt. "Not if I can help it." If he had
heeded the venom coursing in him, the itch of his scarred
forearm, he would already have gone out to meet the arghuleh
alone. "But my friends aren't exactly useless." And I don't in-
tend to watch you die for nothing.

He knew he had no right to make such promises. The
meaning of Hamako's life, of the lives of the gathered Wayn-
him, was not his to preserve or sacrifice. But he was who he
was. How could he refuse to aid the people who needed him?

Scowling at unresolved contradictions, he studied the crea-
tures. With their eyeless faces, gaping nostrils, and limbs made
for running on all fours, they looked more like beasts or mon-
sters than members of a noble race that had given its entire
history to the service of the Land. But long ago one of them
bad been indirectly responsible for his second summons to the
Land. Savagely maimed and in hideous pain, that Waynhim
had been released from the Despiser's clutches to bait a trap.
It had reached the Lords and told them that Lord Foul's
armies were ready to march. Therefore High Lord Elena had
made the decision to call Covenant. Thus the Despiser had
arranged for Covenant's return. And the logic of that return
had led ineluctably to Elena's end, the breaking of the Law of
Death, and the destruction of the Staff of Law.

Now the last of the Waynhim people stood on the verge of

ruin.

A long time passed before Covenant was able to sleep. He
saw all too clearly what Lord Foul might hope to gain from
the plight of the Waynhim.

But when his grasp on consciousness frayed away, the
vitrim he had consumed carried him into deep rest; and he
slept until the activity around him became constant and exi-
gent. Raising his bead, he found that the cavern was full of
Waynhim—at least twice as many as he had seen earlier. The
bleary look in Linden's face showed that she had just awak-
ened; but the four Giants were up and moving tensely among
the Waynhim.

Pitchwife came over to Linden and Covenant "You have
slept well, my friends," he said, chuckling as if he were inured
to the expectancy which filled the air. "Stone and Seal this
vitrim is a hale beverage. A touch of its savor commingled
with our diamondraught would gladden even the dullest pal-
ate. Life be praised, I have at last found the role which will
make my name forever sung among the Giants. Behold!" With
a flourish, he indicated his belt which was behung on all sides
with leather vitrim-skms. "It will be my dear task to bear this
roborant to my people, that they may profit from its potency
in the blending of a new liquor. And that unsurpassable
draught will be named pitchbrew for all the Earth to adore."
He laughed. "Then will my fame outmeasure even that of great
Bahgoon himself!"

The misshapen Giant's banter drew a smile from Linden.
But Covenant had climbed out of sleep into the same mood
with which the peril of the Waynhim had first afflicted him.
Frowning at Pitchwife's humor, he demanded. "What's going
on?"

The Giant sobered rapidly. "Ah, Giantfriend," he sighed,
"you have slept long and long. Noon has come to the waste-
land, and the Waynhim are gathered to prepare for battle. Al-
though the arghuleh advance slowly, they are now within sight
of this covert. I conceive that the outcome of their conflict
will be determined ere sunset."

Covenant swore to himself. He did not want the crisis to be
so near at hand.

Linden was facing him. In her controlled, professional voice,
she said, "There's still time."

•Time to get out of here?" he returned sourly. "Let them go
out there and probably get butchered as a race without so much
as one sympathetic witness to at least grieve? Forget it."

Her eyes flared. "That isn't what I meant." Anger sharpened
the lines of her face. "I dont like deserting people any more
than you do. Maybe I don't have your background"—she
snarled the word—"but I can still see what Bamako and. the
Waynhim are worth. You know me better than that." Then she
took a deep breath, steadied herself. Still glaring at him, she
said, "What I meant was, there's still time to ask them about
Vain."

Covenant felt like a knotted thunderhead, livid and incapa-
ble of release. Her pointed jibe about his background under-
scored the extent to which he had falsified their relationship.
From the time of their first meeting on Haven Farm, he had
withheld things from her, arguing that she did not have the
background to understand them. And this was the result
Everything be said to or heard from the woman he loved be-
came gall.

But he could not afford release. Lord Foul was probably
already gloating at the possibility that he. Covenant, might un-
leash wild magic to aid the Waynhim. Grimly, he stifled his
desire to make some acerbic retort. Instead, he replied, "No.
I don't want to hear it from Hamako. I don't want to let
Findail off the hook."

Deliberately, he turned toward the Appointed. But Findail
met him with the same trammeled and impenetrable rue with
which he had rebuffed every challenge or appeal. More to
answer Linden than to attack Findail, Covenant concluded,
"I'm waiting for this bloody Elohim to discover the honesty
if not the simple decency to start telling the truth."
Findail's yellow eyes darkened; but he said nothing.

Linden looked back and forth between Covenant and the
Appointed. Then she nodded. Speaking as if Findail were not
present, she said, *T hope he makes up his mind soon. I don't
like the idea of having to face the Clave when they still know
more about Vain than we do."

Grateful for at least that much acceptance from her. Cove-
nant tried to smile. But he achieved only a grimace.

The Waynhim were milling around the cavern, moving as if
each of them wanted to speak to every one else before the
crisis; and their low, barking voices thickened the atmosphere.
But the Giants were no longer among them. Honninscrave
leaned against one wall, detached and lonely, his head bowed.
Pitchwife had remained with Covenant, Linden, and CaU. And
the First and Mistweave stood together near the opposite side
of the space. Mistweave's stance was one of pleading; but the
First met whatever he said angrily. When be beseeched her
further, her reply cracked over tne noise of the Waynhim.

"You are mortal. Giant. Such choices are harsh to any who
must make them. But failure is only failure. It is not unwortb,
You are sworn and dedicate to the Search, if not to the
Chosen, and I will not release you."

Sternly, she left his plain dismay, marched through the
throng toward the rest of her companions. When she reached
them, she answered their mute questions by saying, "He is
shamed." She looked at Linden. "His life you saved when
Covenant Giantfriend's was at risk. Now he deems that his
indecision in your need is unpardonable. He asks to be given
to the Waynhim, that he may seek expiation in their battle."
Unnecessarily, she added, "I have refused him."

Linden muttered a curse. "I didn't ask him to serve me. He
doesn't need—"

Abruptly, she cried, "Honninscrave! Don't!" But the Master
did not heed her. Fury clenched in his fists, he strode toward
Mistweave as though he meant to punish the Giant's distress.

Linden started after him; the First stopped her. In silence,
they watched as Honninscrave stalked up to his crewmember.
Confronting Mistweave, the Master stabbed one massive fin-
ger at the Giant's sore heart as if he knew the exact location
of Mistweave's bafflement. His jaws chewed excoriations; but
the interchanges of the Waynhim covered his voice.

Softly, the First said, "He is the Master. It is enough for me
that he has found room in his own pain for Mistweave. He
will do no true harm to one who has served him aboard Star-
fare's Gem."

Linden nodded. But her mouth was tight with frustration
and empathy, and she did not take her eyes off Mistweave.

At first, Mistweave flinched from what Honninscrave was
saying. Then a hot belligerence rose up in him, and he raised
one fist like a threat. But Honninscrave caught hold of Mist-
weave's arm and snatched it down, thrust his jutting beard
into Mistweave's face. After a moment, Mistweave acqui-
esced. His eyes did not lose then- heat; but he accepted the
stricture Honninscrave placed upon him. Slowly, the ire faded
from the Master's stance.

Covenant let a sigh through his teeth.

Then Hamako appeared among the Waynhim, came toward
the company. His gaze was bright in the light of the braziers.
His movements hinted at fever or anticipation. In his hands
he bore a long scimitar that looked like it had been fashioned
of old bone. Without preamble, he said, "The time has come.
The argkuleh draw nigh. We must issue forth to give combat.
What will you do? You must not remain here. There is no other
egress, and if the entrance is sealed you will be ensnared."

The First started to reply; but Covenant forestalled her.
Venom nagged at the skin of his forearm. "We'll follow you
out," he said roughly. "We're going to watch until we figure
out the best way to help." To the protest in Bamako's mien,
he added, "Stop worrying about us. We've survived worse. If
everything else goes to hell and damnation, well find some
way to escape."

A grin momentarily softened Hamako's tension. "Thomas
Covenant," he said in a voice like a salute, "I would that we
had met in kinder times." Then he raised his scimitar, turned
on his heel, and started toward the throat of the cavern.

Bearing curved, bony daggers like smaller versions of
Hamako's blade, all the Waynhim followed him as if they had
chosen him to lead them to their doom.

They numbered nearly two hundred, but they needed only
a few moments to march out of the cavern, leaving the com-
pany behind in the imdiminished firelight

Honninscrave and Mistweave came to join their compan-
ions. The First looked at Covenant and Linden, then at the
other Giants. None of them demurred. Linden's face was
pale. but she held herself firm. Pitchwife's features worked as
if he could not find the right jest to ease his tension. In their
separate ways, the First, Mistweave, and Honninscrave looked
as unbreachable as Call.

Covenant nodded bitterly. Together, he and his friends
turned their backs on warmth and safety, went out to meet the
winter.

In the tunnel, he felt the temperature begin to drop almost
immediately. The change made no difference to his numb fin-
gers and feet; but he sashed his robe tight as if in that way he
might be able to protect his courage. Past the branchings of
the passage he followed the Waynhim until the company
reached the rude antechamber where the sleds were. Mutely.
Honninscrave and Mistweave took the lines. Their breath had
begun to steam. Firelight transmuted the wisps of vapor to
gold.

The entrance to the rhyshyshim was open; and cold came
streaming inward, hungry to extinguish tins hidden pocket of
comfort. Deep in Covenant's guts, shivers mounted. His robe
had previously kept him alive, if not warm; but now it seemed
an insignificant defense against the frozen winter. When he
looked at Linden, she answered as if his thoughts were pal-
pable to her:

"I don't know how many. Enough."

Then the entrance loomed ahead. Now the air blew keenly
into Covenant's face, tugging at his beard, drawing tears from
his eyes. A dark pressure gathered in his veins. But he ducked
his head and went on. With his companions, he strode through
the opening onto the rocky ground at the foot of the es-
carpment

The plain was sharp with sunlight. From a fathomless sky,
the midaftemoon sun burned across the white waste. The air
felt strangely brittle, as if it were about to break under its own
weight. Stiff snow crunched beneath Covenant's boots. For a
moment, the cold seemed as bright as fire. He had to fight to
keep wild magic from leaking past his restraint.

When his sight cleared, he saw that the whirling snow-
devils which had marked and guarded the rhyshyshim were
gone. The Waynhim had no more need of them.

Barking softly to each other, the creatures surged together
into the compact and characteristic wedge which both they
and the ur-viles used to concentrate and wield their combined
force. Bamako stood at the apex of the formation. When it
was complete and the invocations had been made, he would
hold the lore and power of five rhysh in the blade of his
scimitar. As long as they did not break ranks, the Waynhim
along the sides of the wedge would be able to strike individual
blows; but Bamako's might would be two hundred strong.

Every moment, the battle drew closer. Looking northward,
Covenant found that he could barely see the region of mono-
liths beyond the massed advance of the arghuleh.

Ponderous and fatal, they came forward—a slow rush of
white gleaming over the snow and ice. Already, their feral
clatter was audible above the voices of the Waynhim. It
echoed like shattering off the face of the escarpment. The
horde did not appear to greatly outnumber the Waynhim; but
the far larger bulk and savagery of the arghuleh made their
force seem overwhelming.

The company still had time to flee. But no one suggested
flight. The First stood, stem and ready, with one hand resting
on the hilt of her longsword. Glints reflected out of Hon-
ninscrave's eyes as if he were eager to strike any blow which
might make his grief useful. Pitchwife's expression was more
wary and uncertain; he was no warrior. But Mistweave bore
himself as though he saw his chance for restitution coming
and had been commanded to ignore it. Only Call watched the
advancing horde with dispassion, unmoved alike by the valor
of the Waynhim and the peril of the company. Perhaps he saw
nothing especially courageous in what the rhysh were doing.
Perhaps to his Haruchai mind such extravagant risk was
simply reasonable.

Covenant struggled to speak. The cold seemed to freeze the
words in his throat. "I want to help them. If they need it
But I don't know how." To the First, he said, "Don't go out
there unless the wedge starts to break. I've seen this kind of
fighting before." He had seen ur-viles slash into the Celebra-
tion of Spring to devour the Wraiths of Andelain—and had
been powerless against that black wedge. "As long as their
formation holds, they aren't beaten." Then he turned to
Linden.

Her expression stopped him. Her face was fixed, pale with
cold, toward the arghuleh, and her eyes looked as livid as
, injuries. For one dire moment, he feared she had fallen again
into her particular panic. But then her gaze snapped toward
him. It was battered but not cowed. "I don't know," she said
tightly. "He's right. There's some force out there. Something
that keeps them together. But I can't tell what it is."

Covenant swallowed a knot of dread. "Keep trying," he
murmured. "I don't want these Waynhim to end up like the
Unhomed." Damned as well as doomed.

She did not reply; but her nod conveyed a fierce resolve as
she turned back to the arghuleh.

They were dangerously close now. A score of them led the
advance, and their mass was nearly that many deep. Though
they were beasts of hate that preyed on everything, they had
become as organized as a conscious army. Steadily, they gath-
ered speed to hurl themselves upon the Waynhim.

In response, the Waynhim raised a chant into the chill.
Together, they barked a raw, irrhythmic invocation which
sprang back at them from the escarpment and resounded
across the flat. And a moment later a black light shone from
the apex of the wedge. Hamako flourished his scimitar. Its
blade had become as ebon as Demondim vitriol. It emitted
midnight as if it were ablaze with death.

At the same time, all the smaller blades of the Waynhim
turned black and began to drip a hot fluid which steamed and
sizzled in the snow.

Without knowing what he was doing. Covenant retreated.
The frigid air had become a thrumming shout of power,
soundless in spite of the chant which summoned it; and that
puissance called out to him. His yearning for fire battered at
the walls he had built around it; the scars on his forearm
burned poisonously. He took a few steps backward. But he
could not put any distance between himself and his desire to
strike. Instinctively, he fumbled his way to the only protection
he could find: a jagged rock that stood half his height near the
entrance to the rhyshyshim. Yet be did not crouch or cower
there. His numb hands gripped the argute stone in the same
way that his eyes clung to the Waynhim and the arghuleh;
and within himself he pleaded. No. Not again.

He had not been required to watch the actual destruction
of the Unhomed.

Then Hamako gave a shout like a huzzah; and the wedge
started forward. Moving as one, the Waynhim went out to the
foe they had chosen for their last service.

Hushed amid the vicious advance of the ice-beasts, the
long hoarse chant of the Waynhim, the echoes breaking up
and down the escarpment. Covenant and his companions
watched as the wedge drove in among the arghuleh.

For a moment, its thrust was so successful that the outcome
appeared foregone. The rhysh poured their power into
Hamako: he cut an irresistible swath for the wedge to follow.
And as individuals the Waynhim slashed their ice-corroding
fluid in all directions. Arghuleh snapped apart, fell back,
blundered against each other.

Screaming from their many maws, they swarmed around
the wedge, trying to engulf it, crush it among them. But that
only brought the third side of the wedge into the fray. And
Hamako's scimitar rang like a hammer on the ice, seat shards
and limbs flying from side to side with every blow. He had
aimed the wedge toward an especially large beast at the rear
of the mass, an arghule that seemed to have been formed by
one creature crouching atop another; and with each step he
drew closer to that target.

The arghuleh were savage, impervious to fear. Webs and
snares were flung across the wedge. Booming cracks riddled
the snow-pack. But black liquid burned the nets to tatters.
Falling chunks bruised the Waynhim, but did not weaken their
formation. And the hard ground under the snow rendered the
cracks ineffective.

Covenant leaned against his braced bands, half frozen there,
hardly daring to credit what he saw. Low shouts of encourage-
ment broke from the First; and her sword was in her hands.
Avid with hope, Pitchwife peered into the fray as if he ex-
pected victory at any moment, expected the very winter to
break and flee.

Then, without warning, everything changed.

The arghuleh were virtually mindless, but the force which
ruled them was not. It was sentient and cunning. And it had
learned a lesson from the way the Waynhim had rescued the
company earlier.

Abruptly, the horde altered its tactics. In a sudden flurry
like an explosion of white which almost obscured the battle,
all the beasts raised their ice at once. But now that ice was
not directed at the wedge. Instead, it covered every arghule
that had been hurt, broken, or even killed by the Waynhim.

Ice slapped against every gout of vitriol, smothered the
black fluid, effaced it, healed the wounds.

Ice bandaged every limb and body that Hamako had backed
or shattered, restoring crippled creatures to wholeness with
terrible celerity.

Ice gathered together the fragments of the slain, fused them
anew, poured life back into them.

The Waynhim had not stopped fighting for an instant. But
already half their work had been undone. The arghuleh re-
vitalized each other faster than they were damaged.

More and more of them were freed to attack in other ways.

Unable to rend the wedge with their webs, they began to
form a wall of ice around it as if they meant to encyst it
until its power gave out through sheer weariness.

Covenant stared in horror. The Waynhim were clearly
unprepared for this counterattack. Hamako whirled his blade,
flaring desperation around him. Three times he pounded an
arghule into pieces no larger than his fist; and each time a
web snatched the pieces together, restored them, sent the
beast at him again. Wildly he sprang forward to assail the
web itself. But in so doing he brofce contact with the wedge.
Instantly, his scimitar relapsed to bone': it splintered when he
struck. He would have fallen himself; but hands reached out
from the wedge and jerked him back into position.

And there was nothing Covenant could do. The Giants
were calling to him, beseeching him for some command. The
First shouted imprecations he did not hear. But there was
nothing he could do.

Except unleash the wild magic.

Venom thudded in his temples. The wild magic, unquench-
able and argent. Every thought of it, every memory, every ache
of hunger and yearning was as shrill and frantic as Linden's
fervid cry: You're going to break the Arch of Time! This is
what Foul wants' Desecration filled each pulse and wail of bis
heart. He could not call up that much power and still pretend
to control it.

But Hamako would be killed. It was as distinct as the de-
clining sunlight on the white plain- The Waynhim would be
slaughtered like the people of the Land to feed the lust of
evil. That same man and those Waynhim had brought
Covenant back from delirium once—and had shown him that
there was still beauty in the world. The winter of their
destruction would never end.

Because of the venom. Its scars still burned, as bright as
Lord Foul's eyes, in the flesh of his right forearm, impelling
him to power. The Sunbane warped Law, birthed abomina-
tions; but Covenant might bring Time itself to chaos.

At no great distance from him, the wedge no longer
battled offensively. It struggled simply to stay alive. Several
Waynhim had fallen in bonds of ice they could not break.
More would die soon as the arghuleh raised their wall.
Hamako remained on his feet, but had no weapon, no way to
wield the might of the wedge. He was thrust into the center
of the formation, and a Waynhim took his place, fighting with
all the fluid force its small blade could channel.

"Giantfriend!" the First yelled. "Covenant!"

The wedge was dying; and the Giants dared not act, for
fear that they would place themselves in the way of Covenant's
fire.

Because of the venom—sick fury pounding like desire be-
tween the bones of his forearm. He had been made so power-
ful that he was powerless. His desperation demanded blood.

Slipping back his sleeve, he gripped his right wrist with his
left hand to increase his leverage, then hacked his scarred
forearm at the sharpest edges of the rock. His flesh ground
against the jagged projections. Red slicked the stone, spattered
the snow, froze in the cold. He ignored it. The Clave had cut
his wrists to gain power for the soothtell which had guided
and misled him. Deliberately, he mangled his forearm, striving
by pain to conceive an alternative to venom, struggling to
cut the fang-marks out of his soul.

Then Linden hit him. The blow knocked him back. Fla-
grant with urgency and concern, she caught her fists in his
robe, shook him like a child, raged at him.

"Listen to mel" she flamed as if she knew he could hardly
hear her, could not see anything except the blood he had left
on the rock. "It's like the Kemper! Like Kasreyn!" Back and
forth she heaved him, trying to wrestle him into focus on her.
"Like his son! The arghuleh have something like, his son!"

At that, clarity struck Covenant so hard that he nearly fell.

The Kemper's son. Oh my God.

The croyel.

Before the thought was finished, he had broken Linden's
grasp and was running toward the Giants.

The croyel-—the succubus from the dark places of the Earth
which Kasreyn had borne on his back, and with which he bad
bargained for his arts and his pretematurally prolonged life.
And out there was an arghule which looked like one ice-beast
crouched on another. That creature had contracted with the
croyel for the power to unite its kind and wage winter
wherever it willed.

Findail must have known. He must have understood what
force opposed the Waynhim. Yet he had said nothing.

But Covenant had no time to spend on the mendacity of
the Elohim. Reaching the First, he shouted, "Can them back!
Make them retreat! They can't win this wayl" His arm
scattered blood. "We've got to tell them about the croyelV

She reacted as if he had unleashed her. Whirling, she gave
one command that snatched the Giants to her side; and to-
gether they charged into the fray.

Covenant watched them go in fear and hope. Still furious
for him, Linden came to his side. Taking rough hold of his
right wrist, she forced him to bend his elbow and clamp it
tightly to slow the bleeding. Tben'-she watched with him in
silence.

With momentum, weight, and muscle, the four Giants
crashed in among the arghuleh. The First swung her long-
sword like a bludgeon, risking its metal against the gelid beasts.
Honninscrave and Mistweave fought as hugely as titans.
Pitchwife scrambled after them, doing everything he could
to guard their backs. And as they battled, they shouted
Covenant's call in the roynish tongue of the Waynhim.

The reaction of the wedge was almost immediate. Suddenly,
an (he Waynhim pivoted to the left; and that comer of the
formation became their apex. Sweeping Hamako along, they
drove for the breach the Giants had made in the attack.

The arghuleh were slow to understand what was happening.
The wedge was half free of the fray before the ice-beasts
turned to try to prevent the retreat.

Pitchwife went down under two arghuleh. Honninscrave and
Mistweave sprang to his aid like sledgehammers, yanked him
out of the wreckage. A net took hold of the First. The leader
of the wedge scored it to shreds. Frenetically, the Waynhim
and the Giants struggled toward Covenant.

They were not swift enough to outrun the arghuleh. In
moments, they would be engulfed again.

But the Waynhim had understood the Giants. Abruptly,
the wedge parted, spilling Hamako and a score of com-
panions in Covenant's direction. Then the rhysh reclosed their
formation and attacked again.

With the help ot the Giants, the wedge held back the
arghuleh while Hamako and his comrades sped toward
Covenant and Linden.

Covenant started shouting at Hamako before the Stone-
downor neared him; but Hamako stopped a short distance
away, silenced Covenant with a gesture. "You have done your
part, ring-wielder," he panted as his people gathered about
him. "The name of the croyel is known among the Waynhim."
He had to raise his voice: the creatures were chanting a new
invocation. "We lacked only the knowledge that the force
confronting us was indeed croyel." An invocation Covenant
had heard before. "What must be done is clear. Come no
closer."

As if to enforce his warning, Hamako drew a stone dirk
from his belt.

Recognition stung through Covenant. He was familiar with
that knife. Or one just like it. It went with the invocation. He
tried to call out, Don'tl But the protest failed in his mouth.
Perhaps Hamako was right. Perhaps only such desperate
measures could hope to save the embattled rhysh.

With one swift movement, the Stonedownor drew a long
incision across the veins on the back of his hand.

The cut did not bleed. At once, he handed the dirk to a
Waynhim. Quickly, it sliced the length of its palm, then passed
the knife to its neighbor. Taking hold of Hamako's hand, the
Waynhim pressed its cut to his. While the invocation swelled,
the two of them stood there, joined by blood.

When the Waynbim stepped back, Hamako's eyes were
acute with power.

In this same way, his rhysh had given Covenant the
strength to run without rest across the whole expanse of the
Center Plains in pursuit of Linden, Sunder, and Hollian. But
that great feat had been accomplished with the vitality of only
eight Waynhim; and Covenant had barely been able to con-
tain so much might There were twenty creatures ranged
around Hamako.

The second had already completed its gift.

One by one, his adopted people cut themselves for him,
pressed their blood into him. And each infusion gave him a
surge of energy which threatened to burst his mortal bounds.

It was too much. How could one human being hope to
hold that much power within the vessel of ordinary thew and
tissue? Watching, Covenant feared that Hamako would not
survive.

Then he remembered the annealed grief and determination
he had seen in Hamako's eyes; and he knew the Stonedownor
did not mean to survive.

Ten Waynhim had given their gift. Hamako's skin had be-
gun to bum like tinder in the freezing air. But he did not
pull back, and his companions did not stop.

At his back, the battle was going badly. Covenant's atten-
tion had been fixed on Hamako: he had not seen how the
arghuleh had contrived to split the wedge. But the formation
was in two pieces now, each struggling to focus its halved
strength, each unable to break through the ice to rejoin the
other. More Waynhim had fallen; more were falling. Ice
crusted the Giants so heavily that they seemed hardly able to
move. They fought heroically; but they were no match for
beasts which could be brought back from death. Soon sheer
fatigue would overcome them, and they would be lost for good
and all.

"Gol" Covenant panted to Call. Icicles of blood splintered
from his elbow when he moved his arm. "Help them!"

But the Haruchai did not obey. In spite of the ancient
friendship between the Giants and his people, his face be-
trayed no nicker of concern. His promise of service had been
made to Covenant rather than to the First; and Brinn had
commanded him to his place.

Hellfire! Covenant raged. But his ire was directed at him-
self. He could tear his flesh until it fell from the bones; but
he could not find his way out of the snare Lord Foul had set
for him.

Fifteen Waynhim had given blood to Hamako. Sixteen.
Now the Stonedownor's radiance was so bright that it seemed
to tug involuntary fire from Covenant's ring. The effort of
withholding it reft him of balance and vision. Pieces of mid-
night wheeled through him. He did not see the end of the
Waynhim gift. could not witness the manner in which Bamako
bore it.

But as that power withdrew toward the arghuleh, Covenant
straightened his legs, pushed himself out of Call's grasp, and
sent his gaze like a cry after the Stonedownor.

Half naked in the low sunlight and the tremendous cold,
Bamako shone like a cynosure as he flashed through the ice-
beasts. The sheer intensity of his form melted the nearest
attackers as if a furnace had come among them. From place
to place within the fray he sped, clearing a space around the
Giants, opening the way for the Waynhim to reform their
wedge; and behind him billowed dense clouds of vapor which
obscured him and the battle, made everything uncertain.

Then Linden shouted, 'There!"

All the steam burned away, denaturing so fiercely that the
ice seemed to become air without transition and the scene of
the combat was as vivid as the waste. Scores of arghuleh still
threw themselves madly against the wedge. But they had
stopped using their ice to support each other. And some of
them were attacking their fellows, tearing into each other as
if the purpose which had united them a moment ago had been
forgotten.

Beyond the chaos, Hamako stood atop the leader of the
arghuleh. He had vaulted up onto the high back of the
strangely doubled beast and planted himself there, pitting his
power squarely against the creature and its croyel.

The beast did not attempt to topple him, bring him within
reach of its limbs and maws. And he struck no blows. Their
struggle was simple: fire against ice, white heat against white
cold. He shone like a piece of the clean sun; the arghule
glared bitter chill. Motionless, they aimed what they had
become at each other; and the entire plain rang and blazed
to the pitch of their contest.

The strain of so much quintessential force was too much
for Hamako's mortal flesh to sustain. In desperate pain, he
began to melt like a tree under the desert avatar of the
Sunbane. His legs slumped; the skin of his limbs spilled
away; his features blurred. A cry that had no shape stretched
his mouth.

But while his heart beat he was still alive—tempered to
his purpose and indomitable. The focus of his given heat did
not waver for an instant AU the losses he had suffered, all
the loves which had been taken from him came together
here; and he refused defeat. In spite of the ruin which
sloughed away his flesh, he raised his arms, brandished them
like sodden sticks at the wide sky.

And the double creature under him melted as well. Both
arghule and croyel collapsed into water and slush until their
deaths were inseparable from his—one stained pool slowly
freezing on the faceless plain.

With an almost audible snap, the unnatural cold broke.
Most of the arghuleh went on trying to kill each other until
the rhysh drove them away; but the power they had brought
with them was gone.

Linden was sobbing openly, though all her life she had
taught herself to keep her grief silent. "Why?" she protested
through her tears. "Why did they let him do it?"

Covenant knew why. Because Hamako had been twice
bereft, when no man or woman or Waynhim should have had
to endure such loss so much as once.

As the sun went down in red and rue beyond the western
line of the escarpment. Covenant closed his eyes, hugged his
bloody arm to his chest, and listened to the lamentation of
the Waynhim rising into the dusk.

SEVEN -- Physician's Plight

THOUGH the night was moonless, the company resumed
its journey shortly after the Waynhim had finished caring for
their dead. The Giants were unwilling to submit to their
weariness; and the pain Covenant shared with Linden made
him loath to remain anywhere near the place of Hamako's
end. While Mistweave prepared a meal. Linden treated

144 White GoldJSFidder

Covenant's arm, washing it with vitrim, wrapping it in find
bandages. Then she required him to drink more diamon-
draught than he wanted. As a result, he could hardly keep
himself awake as the company left the region of the last
rhyshyshim. While several Waynhim guided the Giants up the
escarpment, he strove against sleep. He knew what his dreams
were going to be.

For a time, the hurt in his forearm helped him. But once
the Giants had said their long, heart-felt farewells to the
Waynhim, and had settled into a steady gait, striding south-
westward as swiftly as the dim starlight permitted, he found
that even pain was not enough to preserve him from night-
mares.

In the middle of the night, he wrenched himself out of a
vision of Hamako which had made him sweat anguish. With
renewed fervor, he fought the effect of the diamondraught.

"I was wrong," he said to the empty dark. Perhaps no one
heard him over the muffled sound of the runners in the snow.
He did not want anyone to hear him. He was not speaking
to be heard. He only wanted to fight off sleep, stay away from
dreams. "I should've listened to Mhoram."

The memory was like a dream: it had the strange imma-
nence of dreaming. But he clung to it because it was more
tolerable than Bamako's death.

When High Lord Mhoram had tried to summon him to the
Land for the last battle against Lord Foul, he, Covenant, had
resisted the call. In his own world, a small girl had just been
bitten by a timber-rattler—a lost child who needed his help.
He had refused Mhoram and the Land in order to aid that
girl.

And Mhoram had replied, Unbeliever, I release you. You
turn from us to save life in your own world. We will not be
undone by such motives. And if darkness should fall upon
us, still the beauty of the Land endures—for you will not
forget. Go in Peace.

"I should've understood," Covenant went on, addressing
no one but the cold stars. "I should've given Seadreamer
some kind of caamora. Should've found some way to save
Bamako. Forget the risk. Mhoram took a terrible risk when
he let me go. But anything worth saving won't be destroyed
by choices like that."

He did not blame himself. He was simply trying to hold
back nightmares of fire. But he was human and weary, and
only the blankets wrapped around him held any warmth at
all. Eventually, his dreams returned.

He could not shake the image of Bamako's weird im-
molation.

Without hope, he slept until sunrise. When he opened his
eyes, he found that he was stretched out, not in the sled, but
in blankets on the snow-packed ground. His companions
were with him, though only Cail, Pitchwife, Vain, and Findail
were awake. Pitchwife stirred the fagots of a small fire, watch-
ing the flames as if his heart were somewhere else.

Above him loomed a ragged cliff, perhaps two hundred
feet high. The sun had not yet reached him; but it shone
squarely on the bouldered wall, giving the stones a faint red
hue like a reminder that beyond them lay the Sunbane.

While Covenant slept, the company had camped at the foot
of Landsdrop.

Still groggy with diamondraught, he climbed out of his
blankets, cradling his pain-stiff arm inside his robe next to
the scar in the center of his chest Pitchwife glanced at him
absently, then returned his gaze to the fire. For the first time
in many long days of exposure, no ice crusted the twisting
lines of his visage. Though Covenant's breath steamed as if
his life were escaping from him, "he was conscious that the
winter had become oddly bearable—preferable to what lay
ahead. The small fire was enough to steady him.

Left dumb by dreams and memories. Covenant stood be-
side the deformed Giant. He found an oblique comfort in
Pitchwife's morose silence. Surely Cail's flat mien contained
no comfort. The Haruchai were capable of grief and ad-
miration and remorse; but Cail kept whatever he felt hidden.
And in their opposite ways Vain and Findafl represented the
antithesis of comfort. Vain's makers had nearly exterminated
the Waynhim. And Findail's yellow eyes were miserable with
the knowledge he refused to share.

He could have told Hamako's rhysh about the croyel.
Perhaps that would not have altered Covenant's plight—or
Hamako's. But it would have saved lives.

Yet when Covenant looked at the Elohim, he felt no desire
to demand explanations. He understood Findail's refusal to
do anything which might relieve the pressure of his. Cove-
nant's, culpability. The pressure to surrender his ring.

He did not need explanations. Not yet. He needed vision.
percipience. He wanted to ask the Appointed, Do you think
she's up to it? Is she that strong?

However, he already knew the answer. She was not that
strong. But she was growing toward strength as if it were
her birthright. Only her preterite self-contradictions held her
back—that paralysis which gripped her when she was caught
between the horror of what her father had done to her and
the horror of what she had done to her mother, between her
fundamental passions for and against death- And she had a
better right to the wild magic than he did. Because she
could see.

Around him, his companions began to stir. The First sat
up suddenly, her sword in her hands: she had been dreaming
of battle. As he rose stiffly to his feet, Honninscrave's eyes
looked strangely like Hamako's, as if he had learned some-
thing grim and sustaining from the example of the Stone-
downor. Mistweave shambled upright like an image of
confusion, a man baffled by his own emotions. The release
and clarity of fighting the arghuleh had met some of his needs,
but had not restored his sense of himself.

When Linden awoke, her gaze was raw and aggrieved, as
if she had spent half the night unable to stanch her tears,

Covenant's heart went out to her, but he did not know
how to say so. The previous evening, she had tended bis
mangled arm with a ferocity which he recognized as love.
But the intensity of his self-repudiation had isolated them from
each other. And now he could not forget that her right was
better than his. That his accumulating falseness corrupted
everything he did or wanted to do.

He had never learned how to give up.

His nightmares insisted that he needed the fire he feared.

Mistweave moved woodenly about the task of preparing
breakfast; but abruptly Pitchwife stopped him. Without a
word, the crippled Giant rose to his feet. His manner com-
manded the attention of the company. For a moment, he
remained motionless and rigid, his eyes damp in the sunrise.
Then, hoarsely, he began to sing. His melody was a Giantish
plainsong, and his stretched and fraying voice drew a faint
echo from the cliff of Landsdrop, an added resonance, so that
he seemed to be singing for all his companions as well as for
himself.

"My heart has rooms that sigh with dust
And ashes in the hearth.
They must be cleaned and blown away

By daylight's breath.
But I cannot essay the task,
For even dust to me is dear;

For dust and ashes still recall,
My love was here.
"I know not how to say Farewell,

When Farewell is the word
That stays alone for me to say

Or will be heard.
But I cannot speak out that word
Or ever let my loved one go:

How can I bear it that these rooms
Are empty so?
"I sit among the dust and hope

That dust will cover me.
I stir the ashes in the hearth,

Though cold they be.
I cannot bear to close the door,
To seal my loneliness away
While dust and ashes yefremaia

Of my love's day."

When he was done, the First hugged him hard; and Mist-
weave looked like he had been eased. Linden glanced at
Covenant, bit her lips to keep them from trembling. But
Honninscrave's eyes remained shrouded, and his jaws chewed
gall as though Farewell were not the only word he could not
bring himself to utter.

Covenant understood. Seadreamer had given his life as
bravely as Hamako, but no victory had been gained to make
his death endurable. And no caamora had been granted to
accord him peace.

The Unbeliever was bitterly afraid that his own death
would have more in common with Seadreamer's than with
Hamako's.

While the companions ate a meal and repacked the sleds,
Covenant tried to imagine how they would be able to find
tbeir way up the harsh cliff. Here Landsdrop was not as im-
posing as it was nearer the center of the Land, where a
thousand feet and more of steep rock separated the Lower
Land from the Upper, Sarangrave Flat from Andelain—and
where Mount Thunder crouched like a titan, presiding darkly
over the rift. But still the cliff appeared impassable.

But the eyesight of the Giants had already discovered an
answer. They towed the sleds southward; and in less than a
league they reached a place where the rim of the precipice
had collapsed, sending a wide scallop of earth down fanlike
across its base. This slope was manageable, though Covenant
and Linden had to ascend on foot while the Giants carried
the sleds. Before the morning was half gone, the company
stood among the snows of the Upper Land.

Covenant scanned the terrain apprehensively, expecting at
any moment to hear Linden announce that she could see the
Sunbane rising before them. But beyond Landsdrop lay only
more winter and a high ridge of mountains which blocked
the west and south.

These appeared to be as tall and arduous as the Westron
Mountains. However, the Giants were undaunted, wise in the
ways of peaks and valleys. Though the rest of the day was
spent winding up into the thin air of the heights. Covenant
and Linden were able to remain in their sleds, and the com-
pany made good progress.

But the next day the way was harder, steeper, cramped
with boulders and old ice; and wind came slashing off the
crags to bimd the eyes, confuse the path. Covenant clung to
the back of the sled and trudged after Honninscrave. His
right arm throbbed as if the cold were gnawing at it; his
numb hands had no strength. Yet vitrim and diamondraught
were healing him faster than he would have believed possible;

and the desire not to burden his companions kept him on
his feet.

He lost all sense of progress; the ridge seemed to tower
above him. Whenever he tried to breathe deeply, the air
sawed at his lungs. He felt frail and useless and immeasurably
far from Revelstone. Still he endured. The specific disciplines
of his leprosy had been lost long ago; but their spirit re-
mained to him—the dogged and meticulous insistence on
survival which took no account of the distance ahead or the
pain already suffered. When the onset of evening finally
forced the company to halt, he was still on his feet.

The following day was worse. The air became as cold as
the malice of the arghuleh. Wind flayed like outrage down
the narrow coombs which gave the company passage. Time
and again, Cail had to help either Covenant or Linden, or
was needed to assist the sleds. But he seemed to flourish in
this thin air. The Giants fought and hauled their way upward
as if they were prepared to measure themselves against any
terrain. And Linden stayed with them somehow—as stubborn
as Covenant, and in an odd way tougher. Her face was as
pale as the snow among the protruding rocks; cold glazed
her eyes like frost Yet she persevered.

And that night the company camped in the lower end of a
pass between peaks ranging dramatically toward the heavens.
Beyond the far mouth of the pass were no-more mountains
high enough to catch the sunset

The companions had to struggle to keep their fire alight
long enough to prepare a meal: the wind keening through
the pass tore at the brands. Without a makeshift windbreak
of blankets, no fire would have been possible at all. But the
Giants did their best, contrived both to warm some food
and to heat the water Linden needed for Covenant's arm.
When she unwrapped his bandages, he was surprised to see
that his self-inflicted wounds were nearly well. After she had
washed the slight infection which remained, she applied
another light bandage to protect his arm from being chafed.

Grateful for her touch, her concern, her endurance—for
more things than he could name in that wind—he tried to
thank her with his eyes. But she kept her gaze averted, and
her movements were abrupt and troubled. When she spoke,
she sounded as forlorn as the peaks.

"We're getting close to it. This—" She made a gesture
that seemed to indicate the wind. "It's unnatural. A reaction
to something on the other side." The lines of her face stiff-
ened into a scowl. "If you want my guess, I'd say there's been
a desert sun for two days now."

She stopped. Tensely, Covenant waited for her to go on.
From the first, the Sunbane had been a torment to her. The
added dimension of her senses exposed her unmercifully to
the outrage of that evil, to the alternating drought and
suppuration of the world, the burning of the deserts and the
screaming of the trees. Gibbon had prophesied that the true
destruction of the Earth would be on her head rather than
Covenant's—that she would be driven by her very health-
sense to commit every desecration the Despiser required. And
then the Raver had touched her, poured his malice like dis-
tilled corruption into her vulnerable flesh; and the horror of
that violation had reduced her to a paralysis as deep as
catatonia for two days.

When she had come out of it, after Covenant had rescued
her from the hold of Revelstone, she had turned her back
entirely on the resource of her percipience. She had begged
him to spare her, as he had tried to spare Joan. And she had
not begun to recover until she had been taught that her
health-sense was also open to beauty, that when it exposed
her to ill it also empowered her to heat

She was a different woman now; he was humbled by the
thought of how far she had come. But the test of the Sunbane
remained before her. He did not know what was in her heart;

but he knew as well as she did that she would soon be com-
pelled to carry a burden which had already proved too heavy
for her once.

A burden which would never have befallen her a second
time if he had not allowed her to believe the lie that they
had a future together.

Firelight and the day's exertions made her face ruddy
against the background of the night. Her long-untended hair
fluttered on either side of her head. In her eyes, the reflection
of the wind-whipped flames capered. She looked like a woman
whose features would not obey her, refused to resume the
particular severity which had marked her life. She was re-
turning to the place and the peril that had taught her to think
of herself as evil.

Evil and doomed.

"I never told you," she murmured at last, "I just wanted to
forget about it. We got so far away from the Land—even
Gibbon's threats started to seem unreal. But now—" For a
moment, her gaze followed the wind. "I can't stop thinking
about it."

After the extremity of the things she had already related
to him. Covenant was dismayed that more remained to be
told. But he held himself as steady as he could, did not let
his regard for her waver.

"That night." An ache crept into her voice. "The first
night we were on Starfare's Gem. Before I finally figured out
we had a Raver aboard. And that rat bit you." He remem-
bered: that bite had triggered a venom-relapse which bad
nearly destroyed the quest and the Search and the dromond
before she found a way to penetrate it and treat him. "I bad
the most temble nightmare."

Softly, she described the dream. They had been in the
woods behind Haven Farm; and he had taken Joan's place
at the mercy of Lord Foul's misled band of fanatics; and she,
Linden, had gone running down the hillside to save him. But
never in all her life had she been able to stop the violence
which had driven the knife into his chest. And from the
wound had gushed more blood than she had ever seen. It
had welled out of him as if a world had been slain with that
one blow. As if the thrust of the knife had stabbed the very
heart of the Land.

She had been altogether unable to stanch it. She bad
nearly drowned in the attempt.

The memory left her aghast in the unsteady light; but now
she did not stop. She had been gnawing her questions for a
long time and knew with frightening precision what she
wanted to ask. Looking straight into Covenant's consterna-
tion, she said, "On Kevin's Watch, you told me there were
two different explanations. External and internal. Like the
difference between surgery and medicine. The internal one
was that we're sharing a dream. Tied into the same uncon-
scious process,' you said.

*That fits. If we're dreaming, then naturally any healing
that happens here is just an illusion. It couldn't have any
effect on the bodies we left behind—on our physical con-
tinuity back where we came from.

"But what does it mean when you have a nightmare in a
dream? Isn't that some kind of prophecy?"

Her directness surprised him. She bad surpassed him; he
could not follow without groping. His own dreams— Quickly,
he scrambled to protest, "Nothing's that simple." But then he
had to pause. An awkward moment passed before he found
a countering argument.

"You had that dream under the influence of a Raver. You
dreamed what it made you feel. Lord Foul's prophecy—not
yours. It doesn't change anything."

Linden was no longer looking at him. She had bowed her
head, braced her forehead in her palms; but her hands did not
hide the silent tears streaming down her cheeks. 'That was
before I knew anything about power." With an honesty that
dismayed him, she exposed the root of her distress. "I could've
saved Bamako. I could've saved them all. You were so close
to erupting. I could've taken your wild magic and torn out
that croyeFs heart. I'm no danger to the Arch of Time. None
of them had to die."

Dread burned like shame across his face. He knew she spoke
the truth. Her health-sense was still growing. Soon she would
become capable of anything. He swallowed a groan. "Why
didn't you?"

"I was watching you!" she flung back at him in sudden
anguish. "Watching you tear your arm apart. I couldn't think:
about anything else."

The sight of her pain enabled him to take hold of him-
self, fight down his instinctive panic. He could not afford to
be afraid. She needed something better from him.

"I'm glad you didn't," he said. "Never mind what it
would've done to me. I'm glad you didn't for his sake. ".Think-
ing of her mother, he added deliberately, "You let him achieve
the meaning of his own life."

At that, her head jerked up; her gaze knifed at him. "He
diedV she hissed like an imprecation too fierce and personal
to be shouted. "He saved your life at least twice, and he spent
his own life serving the Land you claim to care so much about,
and the people that adopted him were nearly wiped off the
face of the Earth, and he died!"

Covenant did not flinch. He was ready now for anything
she might hurl at him- His own nightmares were worse than
this. And he would have given his soul for the ability to match
Hamako. "I'm not glad he died. I'm glad he found an answer."

For a long moment, her glare held. But then slowly the
anger frayed out of her face. At last, her eyes fell. Thickly,
she murmured, "I'm sorry. I just don't understand. Killing
people is wrong." The memory of her mother was present to
her as it was to Covenant. "But dear Christ! Saving them has
got to be better than letting them die."

"Linden." She clearly did not want him to say anything
else. She had raised the fundamental question of her life and
needed to answer it herself. But he could not let the matter
drop. With all the gentleness he had in him, he said, "Hamako
didn't want to be saved. For the opposite reason that your
father didn't want to be saved. And he won."

"I know," she muttered. "I know. I just don't understand
it." As if to keep him from speaking again, she left the fire,
went to get her blankets.

He looked around at the mute, attentive faces of the Giants.
But they had no other wisdom to offer him. He wanted in-
tensely to be saved himself; but no one would be able to do
that for him unless he surrendered his ring. He was beginning
to think that his death would be welcome when it came.

A short time later, the fire blew out. Mistweave tried to
light it again and failed. But when Covenant finally went to
sleep, he dreamed that the blaze had become violent enough
to consume him.

During the night, the wind died. The dawn was as clear as
crystal; and the crags shone in the high, thin air as if no
taint could reach them. A mood of impossible hope came over
the companions as they labored toward the far end of the pass.

Under other circumstances, thfr view from that eminence
would have delighted them. Sunlight flashed through the pass
to illumine the range as it tumbled downward in a dramatic
succession of snow-bright crests and saw-backed aretes, mighty
heads fronting the heavens and spines sprawling toward lower
ground. And beyond the bare foothills all the way to the
southwestern horizon lay the high North Plains which led to
Revelstone.

But where the sun hit the Plains they looked as brown and
battered as a desert.

That in itself would not have wrenched the Giants to silence,
raised Linden's hands to her mouth, stifled Covenant's breath-
ing; for at this time of year the region below them might be
naturally dry. But as soon as the sun touched the denuded
waste, a green fur began to spread across it. Distance made
teeming shoots and sprouts look like an unconscionably
rapid pelt.

With a curse, Covenant wheeled to scan the sun. But he
could see no sign of the corona which should have accom-
panied the sudden verdure.

"We're under the fringe," said Linden tonelessly. "I told

you about that—the last time we crossed Landsdrop. We won't
see the aura until later."

Covenant had not forgotten her explanation. The Sunbane
was a corruption of Earthpower, and it arose from the
ground, from the deep roots of Mount Thunder where Lord
Foul now made his home. But it was focused or triggered by
the sun and manifested itself visibly there, in the character-
istic penumbra of its phases and the power for perversion of
its initial contact.

Thickly, he grated to his companions, "We'll need stone
for protection. It's the first touch that does the damage." He
and Linden had been preserved by the alien leather of their
footwear. The ffaruchai and Vain had already shown that
they were immune. Findail needed no advice on how to care
for himself. But the Giants— Covenant could not bear that
they might be at risk. "From now on—every day. We've got
to have stone under us when the sun comes up."

The First nodded mutely. She and her people were still
staring at the green mantle which thickened at every moment
across the distant plains.

That sight made Covenant long for Sunder and Hollian.
The Graveler of Mithil Stonedown had left his home and
people to serve as Covenant's guide through the perils of the
Sunbane; and his obdurate skill and providence, his self-
doubting courage, had kept Covenant and Linden alive. And
Hollian's eh-Brand ability to foretell the phases of the Sun-
bane had been invaluable. Though he had Giants with him
now, and Linden's strength. Covenant felt entirely unready to

face the Sunbane without the support of his former com-
panions.

And he wanted to know what had happened to them. He
had sent them from Seareach because they had believed that
they had no clear role in the quest for the One Tree, no place
among such mighty beings as Giants—and because he had
loathed to leave the Clave uncontested during the unpredict-
able period of his absence. So he had given them the krill of
Loric, the powerful blade which he had raised from Glim-
mermere. And he had laid upon them the charge of mustering
resistance among the villages against the bloody requirements
of the Clave. Accompanied only by SteII and Ham, armed
with nothing more than their own knives, the krill, Sunder's
orcrest stone and Hollian's Manor wand, and encouraged by
the thin hope that they might eventually gain the aid of more
ffaruchai, the two lone Stonedownors had gone in sunlight
and poignant valor to hazard their lives against the forces
which ruled the Land.

That memory outweighed any amount of unreadiness. The
distant preternatural green swelling below him brought back
the past with renewed vividness. Sunder and Hollian were his
friends. He had come this far in the name of Revelstone and
the Clave; but now he wanted keenly to rejoin the two Stone-
downors.

Rejoin or avenge.

"Come on," he rasped to his companions. "Let's get down
there."

The First gave him a measuring glance, as though she half
distrusted the constant hardening of his attitude. But she was
not a woman who hung back. With a stern nod, she sent him
and Linden to the sleds. Then she turned and started down
the steep, snowbound slope as if she, too, could not wait to
confront the ill that had brought the Search here.

'Heaving Covenant's sled into motion, Honninscrave let out
a cry like a challenge and went plunging after the Swordmain.

In the course of that one day, the company passed down
out of the mountains, came to the foothills and the end of the
snow. Careening at a mad pace which could only have been
controlled by Giants, they sped from slope to slope, pausing
only when the First needed to consider her best route. She
seemed determined to regain the time lost by the arduous
ascent of the range. Before noon, a band of green—the color
of chrysoprase and Daphin's eyes—closed around the sun
like a garrote. But Covenant could not look at it He was
nearly blind with vertigo. He was barely able to cling to the
rails of the sled and hold the contents of his stomach down.

Then the ice and snow of the heights failed on the verge of
a moiling chaos of vegetation which had already grown high
enough to appear impenetrable. His head still reeling, Cove-
nant considered himself fortunate that dusk prevented the
First from tackling the verdure immediately- But the Sword-
main was not insensitive to the nausea in his face—or the
aggravated ache in Linden's. While Mistweave and Honrin-
scrave prepared a camp, she passed a flask of diamondraught
to the two humans, then left them alone to try to recover
themselves.

The liquor settled Covenant's guts, but could not soften
the wide, white outrage and dread of Linden's stare. At in-
tervals during the evening, Pitchwife and the First addressed
comments to her; but her replies were monosyllabic and
distant The crouching vegetation spoke a language that only
she could hear, consuming her attention. Unconscious of being
watched, she chewed her lips as if she had lost her old
severity and did not know how to recapture it.

Her huddled posture—thighs pressed against her chest, arms
hugged around her shins, chin braced on her knees—reminded
him of a time many days ago, a time when they bad begun
traveling together, and she had nearly broken under the
pressure of her first fertile sun. She had quailed into herself,
protesting, / can't shut it out. It's too personal. I don't believe
in evil.

She believed in evil now; but that only made the sensory
assault of the Sunbane more intimate and unanswerable—as
heinous as murder and as immedicable as leprosy.

He tried to stay awake with her, offering her the support of
his silent companionship. But she was still taut and unslum-
berous when the mortal pull of his dreams took him away. He
went to sleep thinking that if he had possessed anything akin
to her percipience the Land would not be in such danger—
and she would not be so alone.

Visions he could neither face nor shun seemed to protract
the night; yet dawn and Call's rousing touch came too early.
He awoke with a jerk and found himself staring at the dense
growth. His companions were already up. While Pitchwife
and Mistweave prepared a meal, and Honninscrave dismantled
the sleds, the First studied the choked terrain, clenching a
tuneless hum between her teeth. A gap among the peaks sent
an early shaft of light onto the vegetation directly in front of
the camp. The sun would touch the company soon.

Covenant's skin crawled as he watched the verdure writhe
and grow. The contrast between the places where the sun hit
and where it did not only made the effect more eerie and
ominous. In the stony soil among the foothills, there were no
trees- But the hardy, twisted shrubs were already as tall as
trees; thistles and other weeds crowded the ground between
the trunks; huge slabs of lichen clung to the rocks like scabs.
And everything the sun touched grew so rapidly that it
seemed animate—a form of helpless flesh tortured mercilessly
toward the sky. He had forgotten how horrific the Sunbane
truly was. He dreaded the moment when he would have to
descend into that lush green anguish.

Then the sunlight fell through the gap onto the company.

At the last moment, the First, Honninscrave, and Pitchwife
had found rocks on which to stand. Under Mistweave's feet
lay the stone with which he had formerly shielded his camp-
fires from ice and snow.

Distantly, Linden nodded at the caution of the Giants.
"Cail's got something you don't," she murmured. "You need
the protection." But Vain and Findail required no defense;

and Covenant and Linden had their footwear. Together, they
faced the onset of the sun.

As it first crested the gap, the sun appeared normal. For
that reason, at least this much of the foothills remained free
of vegetation. Yet the company stayed motionless, suspended
and silent in an anticipation like dread. And before their eyes
the sun changed. A green aura closed around it, altering the
light. Even the strip of bare ground between the end of the
snow and the beginning of the vegetation took on an emerald
timbre.

Because of the winter which still held the mountains, the
air was not warm. But Covenant found that he was sweating.

Grimly, Linden turned her back on the sun. The Giants
went to their tasks. Vain's constant, black, ambiguous smile
betrayed no reaction. But Findail's pain-marked face looked
more aggrieved than ever. Covenant thought he saw the
Elohim's hands trembling.

Shortly after the company had eaten, Honninscrave finished
reducing the sleds to firewood. He and Mistweave packed
their supplies into huge bundles for themselves and smaller
ones for Pitchwife and the First. Soon Covenant's companions
were prepared to commence the day's journey.

"Giantfriend," the First asked sternly, "is there peril for
us here other than that which we have all witnessed?"

Peril, he thought dumbly. If the Riders of the Clave don't
come this far north. And nothing else has changed. "Not
under this sun," he replied with sweat in his voice. "But if
we stand still too long, we'll have trouble moving again."

The Swordmain nodded. "That is plain."

Drawing her blade, she took two long steps down the hill-
side and began hacking tall thistles out of her way.

Honninscrave followed her. With his bulk and muscle, he
widened her path for the rest of the company.

Covenant compelled himself to take his position at Pitch-
wife's back. Cail followed between the Unbeliever and Linden.
Then came Mistweave, with Vain and Findail inseparably
behind him.

In that formation, the failed quest for the One Tree met
the atrocity of the Sunbane.

For the morning and part of the afternoon, they managed
a surprising pace. Monstrous scrub brush and weeds gave way
to stands of immense, raw bracken clotted with clumps of
grass; and every added degree of the sun's arc made each
frond and leaf and stem yeam more desperately upward, as
frantic as the damned. Yet the First and Honninscrave
forged ahead as fast as Covenant and Linden could com-
fortably walk. The air became warmer, noticeably more humid,
as the snows and elevation of the mountains were left behind.
Although Covenant had added his robe to Pitchwife's
bundle, he perspired constantly. But his days in the range
had toughened him somewhat; be was able to keep the pace.

But toward midafternoon the company entered a region
like a surreal madland. Juniper trees as contorted as ghouls
sprawled thickly against each other, strangled by the prodi-
gious vines which festooned them like the web of a gargantuan
and insane spider. And between the vine stems and tree
trunks the ground was profuse with lurid orchids that smelled
like poison. The First struck one fierce blow against the near-
est vine, then snatched back her green-slick blade to see if
she had damaged it: the stem was as hard as ironwood.
Around her, the trees and vines rustled like execration. In
order to advance at all, the companions had to clamber and
squirm awkwardly among the hindrances.

Night caught them in the middle of the region, with no
stone in sight and scarcely enough space for them to lay
their blankets between the trunks. But when Cail roused the
company the next morning, they found that he had somehow
contrived to collect sufficient small rocks to protect two of the
Giants. And the stone which Mistweave still carried could
bold two more. Thus warded, they braced themselves to meet
the sun.

When its first touch filtered insidiously down through the
choked trees, Covenant flinched; and Linden jerked a hand to
her mouth to stifle a gasp.

They could see only pieces of the sun's aura- But those
pieces were red. The color of pestilence.

"Two days!" Covenant spat to keep himself from groaning.
"It's getting worse."

The First stared at him. Bitterly, he explained that the
Sunbane had formerly moved in a cycle of three days. Any
shortening of that period meant that its power was increasing.
And that meant— But he could not say such things aloud.
The hurt of them went too deep. It meant that Sunder and
Hollian had failed. Or that the na-Mhoram had found a
source of blood as large as his malice. Or that Lord Foul was
now confident of victory, and therefore the Clave no longer
made any pretense of holding back the Sunbane.

Glowering, the First absorbed Covenant's answer. After a
moment, she asked carefully, "May it be that this is but a
variation—that the essential period remains unaltered?"

That was possible. He remembered one sun of two days.
But when he turned to Linden for her opinion, she was not
looking at him. Her band had not come down from her
mouth. Her teeth were closed on the knuckle of her index
finger, and a drop of blood marked her chin.

"Linden." He grabbed at her wrist, yanked her hand away.

Her dismay slapped at him. "The sun of pestilence." Her
voice came twisted and harsh from her knotted throat. "Have
you forgotten what it's like? We don't have any voure."

At that, a new fear stung Covenant. Voure was the pungent
sap of a certain plant—a sap that warded off the insects
which thrived under a red sun. And more: it was also an
antidote for the Sunbane-sickness. That pestilential disease
could attack through any kind of exposed cut or injury.
"HeIIfire," he breathed. Then snapped, "Get a bandage on
that finger!" His arm was healed enough to be safe; but this
sun might prove the small marks on her knuckle fatal.

Around him, steam rolled like a miasma. Wherever the light
touched the vines and trunks, their bark opened and began
to ooze. The steam stank of decomposition.

Nameless insects started to whine like augers through the
mounting stench. Suddenly, Covenant caught up with Linden's
apprehension. In addition to everything else, she had realized
before he did that even a Giant might sicken and fail from
breathing too much of that vapor—or from being bitten by
too many of those insects.

She had not moved. Her eyes appeared glazed and inward,
as if she could not move. Small red beads formed around
her knuckle and dropped to the dirt.

Fierce with exasperation and alarm, Covenant snarled at
her, "By hell! I said, get a bandage on that finger. And think
of something. We're in big trouble."

She flinched. "No," she whispered. The delicacy of her fea-
tures seemed to crumble. "No. You don't understand. You
don't feel it. It was never this—I can't remember—'* She
swallowed heavily to keep herself from crying out. Then her
tone became flat and dead. "You don't feel it. It's hideous.
You can't fight it."

Wisps of steam passed in front of her face as if she, too,
had begun to rot.

Urgently, Covenant grabbed her shoulders, ground his
numb fingers into her. "Maybe I can't. But you can. You're
the Sun-Sage. What do you think you're here for?"

The Sun-Sage. Elohim had given her that title. For an
instant, her gaze became wild; and he feared he bad torn the
thin fabric of her sanity. But then her eyes focused on him
with an emotional impact that made him wince. Abruptly, she
was alabaster and adamantine in his grasp. "Let go of me,"

she articulated distinctly. "You don't give enough to have the
right-
He pleaded with her mutely, but she did not relent. When
he dropped his arms and stepped back, she turned away as
if she were dismissing him from her life.

To the First, she said, "Get some green wood. Branches or
whatever you can find." She sounded oddly hard and brittle,
not to be touched. "Soak the ends in vitrim and light them.
The smoke should give us some protection."

The First cocked an eyebrow at the tension between
Covenant and Linden. But the Giants did not hesitate: they
were acquainted with Linden's health-sense. In moments,
they had wrenched several boughs the size of brands from
nearby trees. Pitchwife muttered mournfully at the idea of
using his precious vitrim for such a purpose, but he handed
one of his pouches to the First readily enough. Shortly, the
four Giants and Cail held flaming branches that guttered and
spat with enough smoke to palliate the reek of rot. Outsized
flying insects hummed angrily around the area, then shot
off in search of other prey.

When the supplies had been repacked, the First turned to
Linden for instructions, tacitly recognizing the change which
had taken place in the Chosen. Covenant was Giantfriend and
ring-wielder; but it was Linden's percipience upon which the
company depended now for survival.

Without a glance at Covenant, Linden nodded. Then she
took Pitchwife's place behind the First and Honninscrave; and
the company started moving.

Beclouded with smoke and rot, they struggled on through
the wild region. Under the particular corruption of the sun's
scarlet aura, vines which had been too hard for the First's
sword were now marked with swellings that burst and
sores that ran. Fetor and borers took hold of some of the
trees, ate out their hearts. Others lost wide strips of bark,
exposing bald wood fatally veined with termites. The narco-
leptic sweetness of the orchids penetrated the acrid smoke
from time to time. Covenant felt that tie was laboring through
the fruition of what Lord Foul had striven to achieve ten
years and three and a half millennia ago—the desecration of
all of the Land's health to leprosy. Here the Despiser emerged
in the throes of victory. The beauty of Land and Law had
been broken. With smoke in his eyes and revulsion in his
guts, images of gangrene and pain on all sides. Covenant
found himself praying for a sun of only two days.

Yet the red sun produced one benefit: the rotting of the
wood allowed the First to begin cutting a path once more.
The company was able to improve its pace. And finally the
juniper wildland opened into an area of tall, thick grass as
corrupt and cloying as a tarpit. The First called a halt for
a brief meal and a few swallows of diamondraught.

Covenant needed the liquor, but he could hardly eat. His
gaze refused to leave the swelling of Linden's bitten finger.

Sunbane-sickness, he thought miserably. She had suffered
from it once before. Sunder and Hollian, who were familiar
with such sickness, had believed that she would die. He
would never forget the look of her as she had lain helpless
in the grip of convulsions as flagrant as his nightmares. Only
her health-sense and voure had saved her.

That memory compelled him to risk her ire. More harshly
than he intended, he began, "I thought I told you—"

"And I told you," she retorted, "to leave me alone. I
don't need you to mother me."

But he faced her squarely, forced her to recognize his con-
cern. After a moment, her belligerence failed. Frowning, she
turned her head away. "You don't have to worry about it,"
she sighed. "I know what I'm doing. It helps me concentrate."
"Helps—?" He did not know how to understand her.

"Sunder was right," she responded. *This is the worst—the
sun of pestilence. It sucks at me—or soaks into me. I don't
know how to describe it I become it It becomes me." The
simple act of putting her plight into words made her shudder.
Deliberately, she raised her hand, studied her hurt finger.

"The pain. The way it scares me. It helps make the distinction.
It keeps me separate."

Covenant nodded. What else could he do? Her vulnerability
had become terrible to him. Huskily, he said, "Don't let it get

too bad." Then he made another attempt to force food down
into his knotted stomach.

The rest of the day was atrocious. And the next day was
worse. But early in the evening, amid the screaming of num-
berless cicadas and the piercing frustration of huge, smoke-
daunted mosquitoes, the company reached a region of hills
where wide boulders still protruded from the surrounding
morass of moss and ground ivy. That proved to be a fortuitous

camping place; for when the sun rose again, it was wreathed
in dusty brown.

After only two days.

The elevation of the rocks protected the travelers from the
effect of the desert sun on the putrifying vegetation.

Everything that the fertile sun had produced and the sun
of pestilence had blighted might as well have been made of
wax. The brown-clad sun melted it all, reduced every form
of plant fiber, every kind of sap or juice, every monstrous
insect to a necrotic gray sludge. The few bushes in the area
slumped like overheated candles; moss and ivy sprawled into
spilth that formed turbid pools in the low places of the
terrain; the bugs of dawn fell like clotted drops of rain. Then
the sludge denatured as if the desert sun drank it away.

Long before midmorning, every slope and hollow and span
of ground had been burned to naked ruin and dust.

For the Giants, that process was more horrible than any-
thing else they had seen. Until now, only the scale of the
Sunbane's power had been staggering. Verdure grew naturally,
and insects and rot could be included in the normal range of
experience. But nothing had prepared Covenant's companions
for the quick and entire destruction of so much prodigious
vegetation and pestilence.

Staring about her, the First breathed, "Ah, Cable Sea-
dreamer! There is no cause for wonder that you lacked voice
to utter such visions. The wonder is that you endured to bear
them at all—and that you bore them in loneliness."

Pitchwife clung to her as if he were reeling inwardly. Open
nausea showed in Mistweave's face. He had learned to doubt
himself, and now the things he could no longer trust covered
all the world. But Honninscrave's deep eyes flamed hotly—
the eyes of a man who knew now beyond question that he
was on the right path.

Grimly, Linden demanded a knife from Pitchwife. For a
moment, he could not answer her. "But at last the First stirred,
turned from the harsh vista of the waste; and her husband
turned with her.

Dazedly, Pitchwife gave Linden his blade. She used its
tip to lance her infected finger. With vitrim, she cleansed the
wound thoroughly, then bound it in a light bandage. When
she was done, she lifted her head; and her gaze was as intense
as Honninscrave's. Like him, she now appeared eager to go
forward.

Or like High Lord Elena, who had been driven by inex-
tricable abhorrence and love, and by lust for power, to the
mad act of breaking the Law of Death. After only three days
under the Sunbane, Linden appeared capable of such things.

Soon the company started southwestward again across a
wasteland which had become little more than an anvil for the
fierce brutality of the sun.

It brought back more of the past to Covenant. Heat-haze
as thick as hallucination and dust bleached to the color of
dismay made his memories vivid. He and Linden had been
summoned to Kevin's Watch during a day of rain; but that
night Sander's father, Nassic, had been murdered, and the
next day had arisen a desert sun—and Covenant and Linden
had encountered a Raver amid the hostility of Mithil Stone-
down.

Many of the consequences had fallen squarely upon Sun-
der's shoulders. As the Stonedown's Graveler, he had already
been required to shed the lives of his own wife and son so
that their blood would serve the village. Afld then the Raver's
actions had cost him his father, had compelled him to sacrifice
his friend, Marid, to the Sunbane, and had faced him with
the necessity of bleeding his mother to death. Such things had
driven him to flee his duty for the sake of the Unbeliever
and the Chosen—and for his own sake, so that he would be
spared the responsibility of more killing.

Yet during that same desert sun Covenant's life had also
been changed radically. The corruption of that sun had made
Marid monstrous enough to inflict the Despiser's malice. Out
in the wasteland of the South Plains, Marid had nailed venom
between the bones of Covenant's forearm, crucifying him to
the fate Lord Foul had prepared for him.

The fate of fire. In a nightmare of wild magic, his own
terrible love and grief tore down the world.

The sun would sot let him thiak of anything else. The
company had adequate supplies of water, diamondraught, and
food; and when the haze took on the attributes of vertigo,
leeched the strength out of Covenant's legs, Honninscrave
carried him. Foamfollower had done the same for him more
than once, bearing him along the way of hope and doom. But
now there was only haze and vertigo and despair—and the
remorseless hammer-blow of the sun.

That phase of the Sunbane also lasted for only two days.
But it was succeeded by another manifestation of pestilence.

The red-tinged heat was less severe. The stricken Plains
contained nothing which could rot. And here the insect life
was confined to creatures that made their homes in the
ground. Yet this sun was arduous and bitter after its own
fashion. It brought neither moisture nor shade up out of the
waste. And before it ended, the travelers began to encounter
stag beetles and scorpions as big as wolves among the low
bills. But the First's sword kept such threats at bay. And
whenever Honninscrave and Mistweave took on the added
weight of Covenant and Linden, the company made good
speed.

In spite of their native hardiness, the Giants were growing
weary, worn down by dust and heat and distance. But after
the second day of pestilence came a sun of rain. Standing on
stone to meet the dawn, the companions felt a new coolness
against their faces as the sun rose ringed in blue like a con-
centration of the sky's deep azure. Then, almost immediately,
black clouds began to pile westward.

Covenant's heart lifted at the thought of rain. But as the
wind stiffened, plucking insistently at his unclean hair and
beard, he remembered how difficult it was to travel under such
a sun. He turned to the First "We're going to need rope."
The wind hummed in his ears. "So we don't lose each other."

Linden was staring toward the southwest as if the idea of
Revelstone consumed all her thoughts. Distantly, she said,
The rain isn't dangerous. But there's going to be so much
of it"

The First glared at the clouds, nodded. Mistweave unslung
his bundles and dug out a length of line.

The rope was too heavy to be tied around Covenant and
Linden without hampering them. As the first raindrops hit,
heavy as pebbles, the Swordmain knotted the line to her own
waist, then strung it back through the formation of the com-
pany to Mistweave. who anchored, it.

For a moment, she scanned the terrain to fix her bearings in
her mind. Then she started into the darkening storm.

As loud as a rabble, the rain rushed out of the east. The
clouds spanned the horizons, blocking the last light. Gloom
fell like water into Covenant's eyes. Already, he could barely
discern the First at the head of the company. Pitchwife's mis-
shapen outlines were blurred. The wind leaned against Cov-
enant's left shoulder. His boots began to slip under him,
Without transition, soil as desiccated as centuries of desert
changed to mud and clay. Instant pools spread across the
ground. The downpour became as heavy as cudgels. Blindly,
he clung to the rope.

It led into a blank abyss of rain. The world was reduced to
this mad drenching lash and roar, this battering cold. He
should have retrieved his robe before the rain started: his
T-shirt was meaningless against the torrents. How could
there be so much water, when for days the North Plains and
all the Land had been desperately athirst? Only Pitchwife's
shape remained before him, badly smudged but still solid—
the only solid thing left except the rope. When he tried to
look around toward Call, Mistweave, Vain, and Findail, the
storm hit him full in the face. It was a doomland he wandered
because he had failed to find any answer to his dreams.

Eventually, even Pitchwife was gone. The staggering down-
pour dragged every vestige of light and vision out of the air.
His hands numb with leprosy and cold. Covenant could only
be sure of the rope by clamping it under his elbow, leaning
his weight on it. Long after he had begun to believe that the
ordeal should be given up, that the company should find some
shelter and simply huddle there while the storm lasted, the
line went on drawing him forward.

But then, as suddenly as the summons which had changed
his life, a pressure Jerked back on the rope, hauled it to a

stop; and he nearly fell. While he stumbled for balance, the
line went slack.

Before he recovered, something heavy blundered against
him, knocked him into the mire.

The storm had a strange timbre, as if people were shouting
around him.

Almost at once, huge hands took hold of him, heaved him
to his feet. A Giant: Pitchwife. He was pushed a few steps
toward the rear of the formation, then gripped to a halt.

The rain was at his back. He saw three people in front of
him. They all looked like Call.

One of them caught his arm, put a mouth to bis ear. Cail's
voice reached him dimly through the roar.

"Here are Dun-is and Pole of the Haruchai\ They have
come with others of our people to oppose the Clave!"

Rain pounded at Covenant; wind reeled through him.
"Where's Sunder?" he cried. "Where's HolUan?"

Blurred in the fury of the torrents, two more figures became
discernible. One of them seemed to hold out an object toward
Covenant.

From it, a white light sprang through the storm, piercing
the darkness. Incandescence shone from a clear gem which
had been forged into a long dagger, at the cross where blade
and hilt came together. Its heat sizzled the rain; but the light
itself burned as if no rain could touch it

The krill of Loric.

It illuminated all the faces around Covenant: Call and his
kinfolk, Durris and Fole; Mistweave flanked by Vain and
Findail; Pitchwife; the First and Honninscrave crowding for-
ward with Linden between them. And the two people who had
brought the krill.

Sunder, son of Nassic, Graveler from Mithil Stonedown.

Hollian Amith-daughter, eh-Brand.

EIQHT -- The Defenders of the Land

THE torrents came down like thunder. The rain was
full of voices Covenant could not Aear. Sunder's lips moved,
made no sound. Hollian blinked at the water streaming her
face as if she did not know whether to laugh or weep.
Covenant wanted to go to them, throw his arms around them
in sheer relief that they were alive; but the light of the krill
held him back. He did not know what it meant. The venom
in his forearm ached to take hold of it and bum.

Cail spoke directly into Covenant's ear again. "The
Graveler asks if your quest has succeeded!"

At that. Covenant covered his face, pressed the ring's
imminent heat against the bones of his skull. The rain was
too much for him; suppressed weeping knotted his chest. He
had been so eager to find Sunder and Hollian safe that he
had never considered what the ruin of the quest would mean
to them.

The First's hearing was keener than his. Sunder's query
had reached her. She focused her voice to answer him through
the roar. "The quest has failed!" The words were raw with
strain. "Cable Seadreamer is slaini We have come seeking
another hope!"

The full shout of Sunder's reply was barely audible. "You
will find none here!"

Then the light receded: the Graveler had turned away.
Holding the krill high to guide the company, he moved off
into the storm.

Covenant dropped his hands like a cry he could not utter.

For an instant, no one followed Sunder. Silhouetted against
the krill's shining, Hollian stood before Covenant and Linden.
He hardly saw what she was doing as she came to him, gave
him a tight hug of welcome. Before he was able to respond,
she left him to embrace Linden.

Yet her brief gesture helped him pull himself together. It
felt like an act of forgiveness—or an affirmation that his re-
turn and Linden's were more important than hope. When
Cail urged him after the light, he pushed his numb limbs into
motion.

They were in a low place between hills. Gathered water
reached almost to his knees. But its current ran in the direc-
tion he was going, and Cail bore him up. The Haruchai
seemed more certain than ever. It must have been the mental
communion of his people which bad drawn Durris and Fole,
with the Stonedownors behind them, toward the company.
And now Cail was no longer alone. Mud and streams and
rain could not make him miss his footing. He supported
Covenant like a figure of granite.

Covenant had lost all sense of his companions; but he was
not concerned. He trusted the other Haruchai as he trusted
Cail. Directing his attention to the struggle for movement,
he followed Sunder as quickly as his imbalance and fatigue
allowed.

The way seemed long and harsh in the clutches of the
storm. At last, however, be and Call neared an impression of
rock and saw Sunder's krill-light reflecting wetly off the edges
of a wide entrance to a cave. Sunder went directly in, used
the argent heat of the krill to set a ready pile of wood afire.
Then he rewrapped the blade and tucked it away within his
leather jerkin.

The flames were dimmer than the krill, but they spread
illumination around a larger area, revealing bundles of wood
and bedding stacked against the walls. The Stonedownors and
Haruchai had already established a camp here.

The cave was high but shallow, hardly more than a depres-
sion m the side of a hUL The angle of the ceiling's overhang
let rainwater run inward and drizzle to the floor, with the
result that the cave was damp and the fire, not easily kept
alight But even that relative shelter was a balm to Covenant's
battered nerves. He stood over the. flames and tried to rub the
dead chill out of his skin, watching Sunder while the company
arrived to join him.

Durris brought the four Giants. Pole guided Linden as if he
had already arrogated to himself Mistweave's chosen place
at her side. Vain and Findail came of their own accord,
though they did not move far enough into the cave to avoid
the lashing rain. And Hollian was accompanied by Harn,
the Haruchai who had taken the eh-Brand under his care
in the days when Covenant had rescued them from the hold
of Revelstone and the Banefire.

Covenant stared at him. When Sunder and Hollian had
left Seareach to begin their mission against the Clave, Ham
had gone with them. But not alone: they had also been
accompanied by Stell, the Haruchai who had watched over
Sunder.

Where was Stell?

No, more than that; worse than that. Where were the men
and women of the Land, the villagers Sunder and Hollian
had gone to muster? And where were the rest of the HaruchaH
After the heinous slaughter which the Gave had wrought
upon their people, why had only Durris and Fole been sent to
give battle?

You will find none here.

Had the na-Mhoram already won?

Gaping at Sunder across the guttering fire. Covenant moved
his jaw. but no words came. In the cover of the cave, the
storm was muffled but incessant—fierce and hungry as a
great beast And Sunder was changed. In spite of all the
blood his role as the Graveler of Mithil Stonedown had forced
him to shed, he had never looked like a man who knew how
to kill. But he did now.

When Covenant had first met him, the Stonedownor's
youthful features had been strangely confused and conflicted
by the unresolved demands of his duty. His father had taught
him that the world was not what the Riders claimed it to be
—a punishment for human offense—and so be had never
learned to accept or forgive the acts which the rule of the
Clave and the stricture of the Sunbane required him to
commit. Unacknowledged revulsion had marked his forehead;

his eyes had been worn dull by accumulated remorse; his
teeth had ground together, chewing the bitter gristle of his
irreconciliation. But now he appeared as honed and whetted
as the poniard he had once used to take the lives of the people
he loved. His eyes gleamed like daggers in the firelight. And
all his movements were tense with coiled anger—a savage
and baffled rage that he could not utter.

His visage held no welcome. The First bad told him that
the quest had failed. Yet his manner suggested that his taut-
cess was not directed at the Unbeliever—that even bare
relief and pleasure had become impossible to articulate.

In dismay. Covenant looked to Hollian for an explanation.
The eh-Brand also showed the marks of her recent life.
Her leather shift was tattered in places, poorly mended. Her
arms and legs exposed the thinness of scant rations and con-
stant danger. Yet she formed a particular contrast to Sunder.

They were both of sturdy Stonedownor stock, dark-haired
and short, though she was younger than be. But her back-
ground had been entirely different than his. Until the shock
which had cost her her home in Crystal Stonedown—the
crisis of the Rider's demand for her life, and of her rescue
by Covenant, Linden, and Sunder—she had been the most
prized member of her community. As an eh-Brand, able to
foretell the phases of the Sunbane, she had given her people
a precious advantage. Her past had contained little of the
self-doubt and bereavement which had filled Sunder's days,
And that difference was more striking now. She was luminous
rather than angry—as warm of welcome as he was rigid. If
the glances she cast at the Graveler had not been so full of
endearment. Covenant might have thought that the two
Stonedownors had become strangers to each other.

But the black hair that flew like raven wings about her
shoulders when she moved had not changed. It still gave her
an aspect of fatality, a suggestion of doom.

In shame. Covenant found that he did not know what to
say to her either. She and Sunder were too vivid to him;
they mattered too much. You will find none here. With a
perception as acute as intuition, he saw that they were not
at all strangers to each other. Sunder was so tight and bitter
precisely because of the way Hollian glowed; and her lumines-
cence came from the same root as his pain. But that insight
did not give Covenant any words he could bear to say.

Where was Stell?

Where were the people of the Land? And the HaruchaH

And what had happened to the Stonedownors?

The First tried to bridge the awkward silence with Giantish
courtesy. In the past, the role of spokesman in such situations
had belonged to Honninscrave; but he had lost heart for it.

"Stone and Sea!" she began. "It gladdens me to greet you
again. Sunder Graveler and Hollian eh-Brand. When we
parted, I hardly dared dream that we would meet again. It
is—"

Linden's abrupt whisper stopped the First. She had been
staring intensely at Hollian; and her exclamation stilled the
gathering, bore clearly through the thick barrage of the rain.

"Covenant. She's pregnant."

Oh my God.

Hollian's slim shape showed nothing. But hardly ninety days
had passed since the Stonedownors had left Seareach. Linden's
assertion carried instant conviction; her percipience would
not be mistaken about such a thing.

The sudden weight of understanding forced him to the
floor. His legs refused to support the revelation. Pregnant.

That was why Hollian glowed and Sunder raged. She was
glad of it because she loved him. And because he loved her,
he was appalled. The quest for the One Tree had failed. The
purpose for which Covenant had sent the Stonedownors back
to the Upper Land had failed. And Sunder had already been
compelled to kill one wife and child. He had nowhere left to
turn.

"Oh, Sunder." Covenant was not certain that he spoke
aloud. Eyes streaming, he bowed his head. It should have
been covered with ashes and execration. "Forgive me. I'm
so sorry."

"Is the fault yours then that the quest has failed?" asked
Sunder. He sounded as severe as hate. "Have you brought us
to this pass, that my own failure has opened the last door
of doom?"

Yes, Covenant replied—aloud or silent, it made no dif-
ference.

"Then hear me, ur-Lord." Sunder's voice came closer. Now
it was occluded with grief. "Unbeliever and white gold
wielder. UIender and Prover of Life." His hands gripped
Covenant's shoulders. "Hear me."

Covenant looked up, fighting for self-control. The Graveler
crouched before him. Sunder's eyes were blurred; beads of
wet firelight coursed his hard jaws.

"When first you persuaded me from my home and duty
in Mithil Stonedown," he said thickly, "I demanded of you
that you should not betray me. You impelled me on a mad
search of the desert sun for my friend Marid, whom you
could not save—and you refused me the use of my blood to
aid you—and you required of me that I eat aliantha which I
knew to be poison—and so I beseecbed of you something
greater than fidelity. I pleaded of you meaning for my life—
and for the death of Nassic my father. And still you were
not done, for you wrested Hollian Amith-daughter from her
peril in Crystal Stonedown as if it were your desire that I
should love her. And when we fell together into the hands
of the Clave, you redeemed us from that hold. restored our
lives.

"And still you were not done. When you had taught" us to
behold the Clave*s evil, you turned your back on that crime,
though it cried out for retribution in the face of all the Land.
There you betrayed me, ur-Lord. The meaning of which I
was in such need you set aside. In its place, you gave me only
a task that surpassed my strength."

That was true. In blood-loss and folly and passion. Cov-
enant had made himself responsible for the truth he had
required Sunder to accept. And then he had failed. What was
that, if not betrayal? Sunder's accusations made him bleed
rue and tears.

But Sunder also was not done. "Therefore," he went on
hoarsely, "it is my right that you should hear me. Ur-Lord
and Unbeliever, white gold wielder,'* he said as if he were
addressing the hot streaks that stained Covenant's face, "you
have betrayed me—and I am glad that you have come.
Though you come without hope, you are the one hope that
I have known. You have it in your hands to create or deny
whatever truth you will, and I desire to serve you. While you
remain, I will accept neither despair nor doom. There is
neither betrayal nor failure while you endure to me. And
if the truth you teach must be lost at last, I will be consoled
that my love and I were not asked to bear that loss alone.

"Covenant, hear me," he insisted. "No words suffice. I am
glad that you have come."

Mutely, Covenant put his arms around Sunder's neck and
hugged him.

The crying of his heart was also a promise. This time I
won't turn my back. I'm going to tear those bastards down-
He remained there until the Graveler's answering clasp
had comforted him.

Then Pitchwife broke the silence by clearing his throat;

and Linden said in a voice husky with empathy, "It's about
time. I thought you two were never going to start talking to
each other." She was standing beside Hollian as if they bad
momentarily become sisters.

Covenant loosened his hold; but for a moment longer he
did not release the Graveler. Swallowing heavily, he mur-
mured, "Mhoram used to say things like that. You're starting
to resemble him. As long as the Land can still produce people
like you. And Holiian." Recollections of the long-dead Lord
made him blink fiercely to clear his-sight. "Foul thinks all he
has to do is break the Arch of Time and rip the world apart.
But he's wrong. Beauty isn't that easily destroyed." Recalling
a song that Lena had sung to him when she was still a girl
and he was new to the Land, he quoted softly, " 'The soul in
which the flower grows survives.' "

With a crooked smile, Sunder rose to his feet. Covenant
joined him, and the two of them faced their companions. To
the First, Sunder said, "Pardon my unwelcome. The news
of your quest smote me sorely. But you have come far across
the unknown places of the Earth in pain and peril, and we
are well met. The Land has need of you—and to you we
may be of use." Formally, he introduced Dun-is and Fole in
case the Giants had not caught their names earlier. Then he
concluded, "Our food is scanty, but we ask that you share it
with us."

The First replied by presenting Mistweave to the Stone-
downors. They already knew Vain; and Findail she ignored
as if he had ceased to impinge upon her awareness. After a
glance around the shallow, wet cave, she said, "It would
appear that we are better supplied for sharing. Graveler, how
great is our distance from this Revelstone the Giantfriend
seeks?"

"A journey of five days," Sunder responded, "or of three,
if we require no stealth to ward us from the notice of the
Clave."

"Then," stated the First, "we are stocked to the verge of
bounty. And you are in need of bounty." She looked de-
liberately at Hollian's thinness. "Let us celebrate this meeting
and this shelter with sustenance."

She unslung her pack; and the other Giants followed her
example. Honninscrave and Mistweave started to prepare a
meal. Pitchwife tried to stretch some of the kinks out of his
back. The rain continued to hammer relentlessly onto the
hillside, and water ran down the slanted ceiling, formed
puddles and rivulets on the floor. Yet the relative dryness
and warmth of the shelter were a consolation. Covenant had
heard somewhere that exposure to an incessant rain could
drive people mad. Rubbing his numb fingers through his beard,
he watched his companions and tried to muster the courage
for questions.

The First and Pitchwife remained stubbornly themselves
in spite of rain and weariness and discouragement. While she
waited for food, she took out her huge longsword, began to
dry it meticulously; and he went to reminisce with Sunder,
describing their previous meeting and adventures in Saran-
grave Flat with irrepressible humor. Mistweave, however,
was still doubtful, hesitant. At one point, he appeared unable
to choose which pouch of staples he should open, confused
by that simple decision until Honninscrave growled at him.
Neither time nor the blows he had struck against the arghuleh
had healed his self-distrust, and its cracks were spreading.

And the Master seemed to grow increasingly unGiantlike.
He showed a startling lack of enthusiasm for his reunion
with the Stonedownors, for the company of more Haruchai
—even for the prospect of food. His movements were duties
he performed simply to pass the time until he reached his
goal, had a chance to achieve his purpose. Covenant did not
know what that purpose was; but the thought of what it might
be sent a chill through him. Honninscrave looked like a man
who was determined to rejoin his brother at any cost.

Covenant wanted to demand some explanation; but there
was no privacy available. Setting the matter aside, he looked
around the rest of the gathering.

Linden had taken Hollian to a dryer place against one
wall and was examining the eh-Brand with her senses, testing
the health and growth of the child Hollian carried. The
noise of the rain covered their quiet voices. But then Linden
announced firmly, "It's a boy." Hollian's dark eyes turned
toward Sunder and shone.

Vain and Findail had not moved. Vain appeared insensate
to the water that beaded on his black skin, dripped from his
tattered tunic. And even direct rain could not touch the Ap-
pointed: it passed through him as if his reality were of a
different kind altogether.

Near the edge of the cave, the Haruchai stood in a loose
group. Durris and Fole watched the storm; Call and Harn
faced inward. If they were mentally sharing their separate
stories, their flat expressions gave no sign of the exchange.

Like Bloodguard, Covenant thought. Each of them seemed
to know by direct inspiration what any of the others knew.
The only difference was that these Haruchai were not immune
to time. But perhaps that only made them less willing to
compromise.

He was suddenly sure that he did not want to be served
by them anymore. He did not wan'1 to be served at all. The
commitments people made to him were too costly. He was
on his way to doom; he should have been traveling alone.
Yet here were five more people whose lives would be hazarded
with his. Six, counting Hollian's child, who had no say in the
matter.

And what had happened to the other Haruchai—to those
that had surely come like Fole and Durris to oppose the
Clave?

And why had Sunder and Hollian failed?

When the food was ready, he sat down among his com-
panions near the fire with his back to the cave wall and his
guts tight. The act of eating both postponed and brought
closer the time for questions.

Shortly, Hollian passed around a leather pouch. When
Covenant drank from it, he tasted metheglin, the thick, cloy-
ing mead brewed by the villagers of the Land.

Implications snapped at him. His head jerked up. "Then
you didn't fail."

Sunder scowled as if Covenant's expostulation pained him;
but Hollian met the statement squarely. "Not altogether."
Her mouth smiled, but her eyes were somber. "In no Stone-
down or Woodhelven did we fail altogether—in no village but
one."

Covenant set the pouch down carefully in front of him.
His shoulders were trembling. He had to concentrate severely
to keep his hands and voice steady- "Tell me." All the eyes
of the travelers were on Sunder and Hollian. "Tell me what

happened."

Sunder threw down the hunk of bread he had been chew-
ing. "Failure is not a word to be trusted," he began harshly.
His gaze avoided Covenant, Linden, the Giants, nailed itself
to the embers of the fire. "It may mean one thing or another.
We have failed—and we have not."

"Graveler," Pitchwife interposed softly. "It is said among
our people that joy is in the ears that hear, not in the mouth
that speaks. The quest for the One Tree has brought to us
many aghast and heart-cruel tales, and we have not always
heard them well. Yet are we here—sorely scathed, it may
be"—he glanced at Honninscrave—"but not wholly daunted.
Do not scruple to grant us a part in your hurt."

For a moment, Sunder covered his face as if he were
weeping again. But when he dropped his hands, his funda-
mental gall was bright in his eyes.

"Hear me, then," he said stiffly. "Departing Seareach, we
bore with us the krill of Loric and the ur-Lord's trust. In my
heart were hope and purpose, and I had learned a new love
when all the old were dead." All slain: his father by murder,
his mother by necessity, his wife and son by his own hand.
"Therefore I believed that we would be believed when we
spoke our message of defiance among the villages.

"From The Grieve, we wended north as well as west, seek-
ing a way to the Upper Land which would not expose us to
the lurker of Sarangrave Flat." And that part of the journey
had been a pleasure, for they were alone together except for
Stell and Harn; and Seareach from its coast to its high hills
and the surviving remnant of Giant Woods had never been
touched by the Sunbane. Uncertainty had clouded their earlier
traversal of this region; but now they saw it as a beautiful
land in the height of its fall glory, tasted the transforming
savor of woodlands and animals, birds and flowers. The Clave
taught that the Land had been created as a place of punish-
ment, a gallow-fells, for human evil. But Covenant had repudi-
ated that teaching; and in Seareach for the first time Sunder
and Hollian began to comprehend what the Unbeliever meant.

So their purpose against the Clave grew clearer; and at last
they dared the northern reaches of the Sarangrave in order
to begin their work without more delay.

Climbing Landsdrop, they reentered the pale of the Sun-
bane.

The task of finding villages was not easy. They had no
maps and were unacquainted with the scope of the Land. But
eventually the farsighted Haruchai spotted a Rider; and that
red-robed woman unwittingly led the travelers to their first
destination—a small Woodhelven crouched in a gully among
old hills.

"Far Woodhelven did not entirely welcome us," muttered
the Graveler sourly.

'The Rider took from them their youngest and their best,"
Hollian explained. "And not in the former manner. Always
the Clave has exercised caution in its demands, for if the
people were decimated where would the Riders turn for
blood? But with the foreshortening of the Suobane such hus-
bandry was set aside. Riders accosted each village with
doubled and trebled frequency, requiring every life that their
Coursers might bear."

"Deprived of the Haruchai which you redeemed," Sunder
added to Covenant, "the Riders turned from their accustomed
harvestry to outright ravage. If the tales we have heard do
not mislead us, this ravage commenced at the time of our
seaward passage from the Upper Land into Sarangrave Flat.
The na-Mhoram read us in the rukh which I then bore, and
he knew you were gone into a peril from which you could
not strike at him." The Graveler spoke as if he knew how
Covenant would take this news—how Covenant would blame
himself for not giving battle to the Clave earlier. "Therefore
what need had he for any caution?"

Covenant flinched inwardly; but he clung to what the
Stonedownors were saying, forced himself to hear it.

"When we entered Far Woodhelven," the eh-Brand went
on, "they were reduced to elders and invalids and bitterness.
How should they have welcomed us? They saw us only as
blood with which they might purchase a period of survival."

Sunder glared into the fire, his eyes as hard as polished
stones. "That violence I forestalled. Using the krill of Loric
and the orcrest Sunstone, I raised water and ussusimiel with-
out bloodshed under a desert sun. Such power was an astonish-
ment to them. Thus when I had done they were ready to hear
whatever words we might speak against the Clave. But what
meaning could our speech have to them? What opposition
remained possible to the remnant of their village? They were
too much reduced to do aught but huddle in their homes and
strive for bare life. We did not altogether fail," he rasped, "but
I know no other name for that which we accomplished."

Hollian put a gentle hand on his arm. The rain roared on
outside the cave. Water trickled constantly past Covenant's
legs. But he ignored the wet, closed his mind to the fierce and
useless regret rising like venom from the pit of his stomach.
Later he would let himself feel the sheer dismay of what he
had unleashed upon the Land. Right now he needed to listen.

"One thing we gained from Far Woodhelven," the eh-Brand
continued. 'They gave us knowledge of a Stonedown lying
to the west. We were not required to make search for the
opportunity to attempt our purpose a second time."

"Oh, forsooth!" Sunder snarled. Bafflement and rage
mounted within him. "That knowledge they gave us. Such
knowledge is easily ceded. From that day to this, we. have
not been required to make any search. The failure of each
village has led us onward. As we passed ever westward, nearer
to Revelstone, each Woodhelven and Stonedown became more
arduous of suasion, for the greater proximity of the na-
Mboram's Keep taught a greater fear. Yet always the gifts of
krill and Sunstone and lianar obtained for us some measure
of welcome. But those folk no longer possessed blood enough
to sustain their fear—and so also they lacked blood for
resistance. Their only answer to our gifts and words was
their knowledge of other villages.

"Thomas Covenant," he said suddenly, "this is bile to me—
but I would not be misheard. Betimes from village to village
we happened upon a man or a woman young and hale
enough to have offered other aid—and yet unwilling. We en-
countered folk for whom it was inconceivable that any man
or woman might love the Land. Upon occasion our lives were
attempted, for what dying people would not covet the powers
we bore? Then only the prowess of the Haruchai preserved
us. Yet in the main we were given no other gift because no
other gift was possible. I have learned a great bitterness
which 1 know not how to sweet—but the blame of it does
not fall upon the people of the Land. I would not have be-
lieved that the bare life of any village could suffer so much
loss and still endure."

For a moment, he fell silent; and the battering sound of
the rain ran through the cave. He had placed his hand over
Hollian's; the force of his grip corded the backs of his
knuckles. He was no taller than Linden, but his stature could
not be measured by size. To Covenant, he appeared as
thwarted and dangerous as Berek Halfhand had been on the
slopes of Mount Thunder, when the ancient hero and Lord-
Fatherer had at last set his hand to the Earthpower.

The silence was like the muffled barrage of the storm- The
Clave had already shed a heinous amount of blood—yet too
many lives remained at stake, and Covenant did not know
how to protect them. Needing support, he looked toward
Linden. But she did not notice his gaze. Her head was up, her
eyes keen, as if she were scenting the air, tracing a tension
or peril he could not discern.

He glanced at the Giants. But Honninscrave's orbs were
hidden beneath the clenched fist of his brows; and Mistweave,
Pitchwife, and the First were fixed dh the Stonedownors.

At the mouth of the cave, Cail raised" one arm as though in
spite of his native dispassion he wished to make a gesture of
protest. But then he lowered his hand back to his side.

Abruptly, Sunder began speaking again. "Only one village
did not accord to us even that chimera of a gift—and it was
the last." His voice was knotted and rough. "From it we
have lately come, retracing our way because we had no
more hope.

"Our path from village to village led us westward in a
crescent-line, so that we passed to the east of Revelstone
wending toward the north—toward a place which named itself
Landsverge Stonedown. The Woodhelven giving us that
knowledge lay perilously nigh the Keep of the na-Mhoram,
but Landsverge Stonedown was nigher—and therefore we
feared its fear of the Clave would be too great to be coun-
tered. Yet when we gained the village, we learned that it would
never suffer such fear again."

He paused, then growled, "It was altogether empty of life.
The Riders had gutted it entirely, borne every beating heart
away to feed the Banefire. Not one child or cripple remained
to be consumed by the Sunbane."

After that, he stopped—gripped himself still as if he would
not be able to say another word without howling.

HoIIian gave him a sad hug. '*We knew not where to
turn," she said, "so we returned eastward. It was our thought
that we must avoid the grasp of the Clave and await you—for
surely the Unbeliever and white gold wielder would not fail of
his quest"—her tone was candid, but free of sarcasm or
accusation—"and when he came he would come from the
east. In that, at least, we were blessed. Far sooner than we
had dared desire, the Haruchai became cognizant of your
presence and guided us together." A moment later, she added,
"We have been blessed also in the Haruchai."

Linden was no longer facing the loose circle of her com-
panions. She had turned toward Cail and his people; and the
lines of her back were tight, insistent. But still she said noth-
ing.

Covenant forced himself to ignore her. The Stonedownors
were not done. Apprehension made his tone as trenchant as
anger. "How did you meet Dun-is and Fole?" He could no
longer suppress his quivering. "What happened to Stell?"

At that, a spasm passed over Sunder's face. When the an-
swer came, it came from the eh-Brand.

"Thomas Covenant," she said, speaking directly to him as
if at that moment nothing else mattered, "you have twice
redeemed me from the malice of the Ciave. And though you
reft me of my home in Crystal Stonedown, where I was
acknowledged and desired, you have given me a purpose and
a love to repair that loss. I do not wish to cause you hurt."

She glanced at Sunder, then continued, "But this tale also
must be told. It is needful." Stiffening herself to the neces-
sity, she said, "When we passed to the east of Revelstone—
tending toward the north—we encountered a band of some
score Haruchai. With fourscore more of their people, they
had come to make answer to the depredations of the Clave.
And when they had heard our story, they understood
why the people of the Land had not arisen in resistance.
Therefore they set themselves a task—to form a cordon
around Revelstone, a barrier that would prevent the passage
of any Rider. Thus they thought to oppose the Clave—and to
starve the Banefire—while they also awaited your return.

"Yet four of them elected to join the purpose of our
search. Dun-is and Fole, whom you see, and also Bern and
Toril"—her throat closed momentarily—"who are gone—as
Stel) is gone. For our ignorance betrayed us.

"It was known to all that the Clave possesses power to
dominate minds. By that means were the Haruchai ensnared
in the past. But none among us knew how great the power
had grown. As we traversed the proximity of Revelstone,
Bern, Toril, and Stell scouted some distance westward to en-
sure our safety. We were yet a day's journey from the Keep,
and not Harn, Dun-is, nor Fole met any harm. But the
slightly greater nearness of the others bared them to the
Clave's touch—and to its dominion. Setting aside all caution,
they left us to answer that coercion.

"Sensing what had transpired—the utter loss of mind and
will—Harn, Dun-is, and Fole could not give chase, lest they
also fall under the na-Mhoram's sway. But Sunder and I—"
The memory made her falter, but she did not permit herself
to stop. "We gave pursuit. And we gave battle, striving with
krili-fhe and force to break the hold of the Clave—though
in so doing we surely made our presence known to the na-
Mhoram, forewarning him of us-^and perhaps also of you.
Mayhap we would have opposed Stell "and his companions to
the very gates of Revelstone. We were desperate and fevered.
But at the last we halted." She swallowed convulsively. "For
we saw that Bern, Stell, and Toril were not alone. From
around the region came a score and more of the Haruchai—
all ensnared, all walking mindless and deaf toward the knife
and the Banefire." Tears filled her eyes. "And at that sight,"
she went on as if she were ashamed, "we were broken. We
fled because naught else remained for us to do-

"During the night," she finished softly, "Gibbon na-
Mhoram reached out to us and attempted mastery of the
krilFs white gem. But Sunder my love kept the light clean."
Then her tone hardened. "If the na-Mhoram remains in any
way accessible to fear, I conceive he has been somewhat
daunted—for surely Sunder gave him to believe that the
ur-Lord was already returned."

But Covenant hardly heard her conclusion. He was foun-
dering in the visions her words evoked: the immedicable stupor
of the Haruchai; the frenzy of the Stonedownors as they had
pleaded, opposed, struggled, driving themselves almost into
the jaws of the Clave and still failing to save their comrades;

the glee or apprehension implicit in Gibbon's efforts to con-
quer the krill. His brain reeled with images of the enormous
consequences of his earlier refusal to fight the Clave. Among
the Dead in Andelain, Banner had said to him. Redeem my
people. Their plight is an abomination. And he had thought
himself successful when he had broken open the hold of
Revelstone, set the Haruchai free. But he had not succeeded,
had not. He had let the Riders and the na-Mhoram live to
do again every evil thing they had done before; and the Sun-
bane had risen to a period of two days on the blood of
ravaged villages and helpless Haruchai.

Yet Linden's sharp protest pierced him, snatched him out
of himself. An instinct deeper than panic or shame wrenched
him to his feet and sent him after her as she scrambled
toward Cail and Ham.

But she was too slow, had divined the meaning of their
tension too late. With appalling suddenness, Harn struck Cail
a blow that knocked him out into the force of the rain.

Sunder, Hollian, and the Giants sprang upright behind
Covenant. One running stride ahead of him. Linden was
caught by Fole and heaved aside. An instant later, Durris*
arm slammed like an iron bar across Covenant's chest. He
stumbled back against the First.

She held him. He hung in her grasp, gasping for breath
while small suns of pain staggered around his sight.

Veiled by torrents, Cail and Ham were barely visible. In
mud that should have made footing impossible, rain that
should have blinded them, they battled with the precise
abandon of madmen.

Furiously, Linden yelled, "Stop ill Are you out of your
minds?'*

Without inflection, Durris replied, "You miscomprehend."
He and Fole stood poised to block any intervention. "This
must be done. It is the way of our people."

Covenant strove for air. Stiffly, the First demanded an
explanation.

Durris' dispassion was implacable. He did not even glance
at the fierce struggle being waged through the rain. "In this
fashion, we test each other and resolve doubt."

Call appeared to be at a disadvantage, unable to match the
sheer conviction of Ham's attack. He kept his feet, countered
Ham's blows with a skill which seemed inconceivable in that
downpour; but he was always on the defensive.

"Cail has spoken to us concerning ak-Haru Kenaustin
Ardenol. He was companion to the victor, and we desire to
measure our worth against his."

A sudden feint unbalanced Cail, enabling Ham to slash his
feet from under him; but he recovered with a tumbling roll-
and-kick.

"Also it has been said that Brinn and Cail betrayed their
chosen fidelity to the seduction of the merewives. Cail seeks to
demonstrate that the lure of their seduction would have sur-
passed any Haruchai in his place."

Cail and Harn were evenly matched in ability and strength.
But Ham had watched his kindred lose their wills and walk
into the jaws of the Clave: be struck with the force of
repudiation. And Cail had succumbed to the merewives,
learned to judge himself. Brinn's victory over the Guardian
of the One Tree had led to Cable Seadreamer's death. A
flurry of punches staggered Cail. As he reeled, a heavy two-
fisted blow drove his face into the^mire.

Cail!

Covenant grabbed a shuddering breath and twisted out of
the First's hands. Fire flashed in his mind, alternately white
and black. Flames spread up his right forearm as if his flesh
were tinder. He gathered a shout that would stop the Haru-
chai, stun them where they stood.

But Durris went on inflexibly, "Also we desire to grieve
for Hergrom and Ceer—and for those whose blood has gone
to the Banefire."

Without warning, he spun away from the company, leaped
lithe and feral into the rain toward Cail and Harn. Fole was
at his side. Together, they attacked.

Then Sunder cried at Covenant, "Do nott" He caught
Covenant's arm, braved fire to halt the imminent eruption.
"If the na-Mhoram is conscious of the krill in my hands, how
much more clearly will your power call out to him?"

Covenant started to yell, I don't care! Let him try to stop
me! But Fole and Dun-is had not hurled themselves solely
upon Call. They were assailing each other and Ham as well;

and Cail had risen from the mud to plunge into the general
melee. Blows hammered impartially in all directions.

We desire to grieve. Slowly, the fire ran out of Covenant.
Ah, hell, he sighed. Have mercy on me. He had no right to
question what the Haruchai were doing. He had too much
experience with the violence of his own grief.

Linden studied the combatants intently. Her face showed
a physician's alarm at the possibility of injury. But Sunder
met Covenant's gaze and nodded mute comprehension.

As abruptly as it had begun, the fighting stopped. The four
Haruchai returned stoically to the shelter of the cave. They
were all bruised and hurt, though none as sorely as Cail. But
his visage concealed defeat, and his people wore no aspect of
triumph.

He faced Covenant squarely. "It is agreed that I am un-
worthy." Slow blood trickled from a cut on his lip. a gash
over one cheekbone- "My place at your side is not taken from
me, for it was accorded by ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol. But
I am required to acknowledge that the honor of such a place
does not become me. Fole will ward the Chosen." After a
fraction of hesitation, he added, "Other matters have not
been resolved."

"Oh, Cail!" Linden groaned. Covenant spat a curse that'was
covered by the First's swearing and Pitchwife's expostulation.
But there was nothing any of them could do. The Haruchai
had passed judgment, and they were as untouchable as
Bloodguard.

Muttering direly to himself, Covenant hugged his arms
over his heart and retreated to the simple comfort of the fire.

After a moment, Sunder and Hollian joined him. They
stood nearby in silence until he raised his head. Then, in a
softer voice, as if his own plight had been humbled by aston-
ishment, Sunder said, "You have much to tell us, ur-Lord."

"Stop calling me that," Covenant growled. His mouth was
full of gall. Ur-Lord was the title the Haruchai typically used
for him. "There haven't been any Lords worth mentioning for
three thousand years."

But he could not refuse to give the Stonedownors the
story of his failed quest.

The task of narration was shared by Linden, the First, and
Pitchwife. Sunder and Hollian gaped at the tale of the Elohim
and Findail, of the way in which Covenant had been silenced;

but they had no words for their incomprehension. When the
companions began to speak of Cable Seadreamer, Hon-
ninscrave rose abruptly and stalked out into the rain; but he
returned shortly, looking as sharp and doomed as a boulder
gnawed by the sempiternal hunger of the sea. His voice
rising in grief at loss and celebration of valor, Pitchwife
described the crisis of the One Tree. Then the First related
the sailing of Starfare's Gem into the bitten cold of the north.
She explained the company's harsh decision to abandon the
dromond; and the stem iron of her voice made the things
she said seem more bearable.

It fell to Covenant to speak of Hamako and the Waynhira,
of the company's reentry into the Sunbane. And when he was
finished, the violence of the storm had become less.

The rain was fading toward sunset As the downpour re-
ceded to a drizzle, the clouds broke open in the east and
followed the sun away, exposing the Land to a night as clear
and cold as the stars. A moon with a look of roe on its face
swelled toward its full.

The fire seemed brighter now^as dark deepened outside
the cave. Sunder stirred the embers while he considered what
he had heard. Then he addressed Covenant again, and the
'flames glinted like eagerness in his eyes. "Is it truly your
intent to assail the Clave? To bring the Banefire to an end?"

Covenant nodded, scowling.

Sunder glanced at Hollian, then back to Covenant. "I need
not say that we will accompany you. We have been thwarted
beyond endurance. Even Hollian*s child—" For a moment, he
faltered in confusion, murmured, "My son," as if he had
just realized the truth. But then he resumed firmly, "Even he
is not too precious to be hazarded in such a cause."

Covenant started to retort. No, you're wrong. You're all
too precious. You're the future of the Land. If it has a future.
But the Graveler had come too far to be denied. And
Covenant had lost the right or the arrogance to try to withhold
the consequences of their own lives from the people he loved.

He took a deep breath, held it to steady himself. The force
of Durris' arm had left a pain in his chest that would not go
away. But Sunder did not ask the question he feared, did not
say. How can you think to confront the might of Revelstone,
when your power threatens the very foundation of the Earth?
Instead, the Graveler inquired, "What will become of the
Haru.cha.i1'"

That question, too, was severe; but Covenant could face it.
Slowly, he let the pent air out of his lungs. "If I succeed,
they'll be all right." Nightmares of fire had annealed him to
his purpose. "If I fail, there won't be much left to worry
about."

Sunder nodded, looked away. Carefully, he asked, "Thomas
Covenant, will you accept the kriU from me?"

More abruptly than he intended. Covenant snapped, "No."
When he had first given away Loric's blade, Linden had asked
him why he no longer needed it. He had replied, I'm already
too dangerous. But he had not known then how deep the
danger ran. "You're going to need it," To fight with if he
failed.

Or if he succeeded.

That was the worst gall, the true root of despair—that even
a complete victory over the Clave would accomplish nothing.
It would not restore the Law, not heal the Land, not renew
the people of the Land. And beyond all question it would not
cast down the Despiser, The best Covenant could hope for
was a postponement of his doom. And that was as good as
no hope at all.

Yet he had been living with despair for so long now that
it only confirmed his resolve. He had become like Kevin
Landwaster, incapable of turning back, of reconsidering what
he meant to do. The sole difference was that Covenant already
knew he was going to die.

He preferred that to the death of the Land.

But he did not say such things to his companions. He did
not want to give the impression that he blamed Linden for
her inability to aid his dying body in the woods behind Haven
Farm. And he did not wish to quench the Stonedownors'
nascent belief that they had one more chance to make what
they had undergone meaningful. Despair belonged to the
lone heart, and he kept it to himself. Lord Foul had corrupted
everything else—had turned to ill even the affirmative rejec-
tion of hate which had once led Covenant to withhold his
hand from the Clave. But Sunder and Hollian had been re-
stored to him. Some of the Haruchai and the Giants could
still be saved. Linden might yet be returned safely to her
natural world. He had become ready to bear it.

When Honninscrave left the cave again to pace out his
tension under the unpitying stars. Covenant followed him.

The night was cold and poignant, the warmth of the earth
drenched away by the long rain. Apparently unconscious of
Covenant, Honninscrave climbed the nearest hillside until he
gained a vantage from which he could study the southwestern
horizon. His lonely bulk was silhouetted against the impene-
trable sky. He held himself as rigid as the fetters in Kasreyn's
dungeon; but the manacles on him now were more irre-
fragable than iron. From far back in his throat came small
whimpering noises like flakes of grief.

Yet he must have known that Covenant was there. After a
moment, he began to speak.

*This is the world which my brother purchased with his
soul." His voice sounded like cold, numb hands rubbing each
other to no avail. "Seeing that the touch of your power upon
the One Tree would surely rouse the Worm, he went to his
death to prevent you. And this is the result. The Sunbane
waxes, perpetrating atrocity. The human valor of the Stone-
downors is baffled. The certainty of the Haruchai is thwarted.
And against such evils you are rendered futile, bound by the
newbom doom to which Cable Seadreamer served as midwife.
Do you consider such a world worthy of life? I do not."

For a time. Covenant remained silent He was thinking that
he was not the right person to hear Honninscrave's hurt. His
own despair was too complete. His plight was constricted by
madness and fire on all sides; and the noose was growing
tighter. Yet he could not let the need in Honninscrave's
question pass without attempting an answer. The Giant was
his friend. And he had his own losses to consider. He needed
a reply as sorely as Honninscrave did.

Slowly, he said, "I talked to Foamfollower about hope
once." That memory was as vivid as healthy sunshine. "He
said it doesn't come from us. It doesn't depend on us. It comes
from the worth and power of what we serve." Without flinch-
ing, Foamfollower had claimed that his service was to Cov-
enant When Covenant had protested. It's all a mistake,
Foamfollower had responded. Then are you so surprised to
learn that 1 have been thinking about hope?

But Honninscrave had a different objection. "Aye, verily?"
he growled. He did not glance at Covenant. "And where now
under all the Sunbane lies the 'worth and power' that you
serve?"

"In you," Covenant snapped back, too vexed by pain to be
gentle. "In Sunder and Holiian. In the Haruchai." He did not
add, In Andelain. Honninscrave had never seen that last
flower of the Land's loveliness. And he could not bring him-
self to say, In me. Instead, he continued, "When Foamfol-
lower and I were together, I didn't have any power. I had the
ring—but I didn't know how to use it. And I was trying to
do exactly what Foul wanted. I was going to Foul's Creche.
Walking right into the trap. Foamfollower helped me any-
way." The Giant had surrendered himself to agony in order
to cany Covenant across the fierce lava of Hotash Slay. "Not
because there was anything special or worthy or powerful
about me, but simply because I was human and Foul was
breaking my heart. That gave Foamfollower all the hope he
needed."

In the process, Covenant had caused the Giant's death.
Only the restraint he had learned in the cavern of the One
Tree kept him from crying. Don't talk to me about despair!
I'm going to destroy the world and there's nothing I can do
about it! I need something better from you! Only that re-
straint—and the tall dark shape of the Master as he stood
against the stars, torn by loss and as dear as life.

But then Honninscrave turned as if he had heard the words
Covenant had not uttered. His moon-gilt stance took on a
curious kindness. Softly, he said, "You are the Giantfriend,
and I thank you that there is yet room in your heart for me.
No just blame attaches to you for Seadreamer's death—nor
for the refusal of caamora with which by necessity you sealed
his end. But I do not desire hope. I desire to see. I covet
the vision which taught my brother to accept damnation in
the name of what he witnessed."

Quietly, he walked down from the hilltop, leaving Covenant
exposed to the emptiness of the night.

In the cold silence, Covenant tried to confront his plight,
wrestled for an escape from the logic of Lord Foul's manipu-
lations. Revelstone was perhaps only three days away. But the
wild magic had been poisoned, and venom colored all his
dreams. He contained no more hope than the black gulf of
the heavens, where the Worm of the World's End had already
fed. Honninscrave's difficult grace did not feel like forgive-
ness. It felt as arduous as a grindstone, whetting the dark to
a new sharpness. And he was alone.

Not because he lacked friends. In spite of the Land's desti-
tution, it had blessed him with more friendship than he had
ever known. No, he was alone because of his ring. Because
no one else possessed this extreme power to ruin the Earth.
And because he no longer had any right to it at all.

That was the crux, the conflict he could not resolve or
avoid; and it seemed to cripple his sense of himself, taking
his identity away. What did he have to offer the Land except
wild magic and his stubborn passion? What else was he worth
to his friends?—or to Linden, who would have to carry the
burden as soon as he set it down? From the beginning, his
life here had been one of folly and pain, sin and ill; and
only wild magic had enabled him to make expiation. And
now the Clave had reduced the village to relics. It had en-
snared the Haruchai once more. The Sunbane had attained
a period of two days. Seadreamer and Hergrom and Ceer
and Hamako were dead. If he surrenderd his ring now, as
Findail and doom urged, how would he ever again be able to
bear the weight of his own actions?

We are foemen, you and I, enemies to the end. But the
end will be yours. Unbeliever, not^ine. At the last there will
be but one choice for you, and you will make it in all despair.
Of your own volition you will give the white gold into my
hand.

Covenant had no answer. In Andelain among the Dead,
Mhoram had warned, He has said to you that you are his
Enemy. Remember that he seeks always to mislead you.
But Covenant had no idea what the former High Lord meant.

Around him, a dismay which no amount of moonlight
could palliate gripped the hills. Unconsciously, he had sunk
to the ground under the glinting accusation of the stars.
Findail had said like the Despiser, He must be persuaded to
surrender his ring. If he does not, it is certain that he will
destroy the Earth. Covenant huddled into himself. He needed
desperately to cry out and could not—needed to hurl outrage
and frenzy at the blind sky and was blocked from any re-
lease by the staggering peril of his power. He had fallen into
the Despiser's trap, and there was no way out.

When he beard feet ascending the hill behind him, he
covered his face to keep himself from pleading abjectly for
help.

He could not read the particular emanations of his corn-'
panions. He did not know who was approaching him. Vaguely,
he expected Sunder or Pitchwife. But the voice which sighed
his name like an ache of pity or appeal was Linden's.

He lurched erect to meet her, though he had no courage
for her concern, which he had not earned.

The moon sheened her hair as if it were clean and lovely.
But her features were in shadow; only the tone of her voice
revealed her mood. She spoke as if she knew how close he
was to breaking.

As softly as a prayer, she breathed, "Let me try."

At that, something in him did break. "Let you?" he fumed
suddenly. He had no other way to hold back his grief. "I can
hardly prevent you. If you're so all-fired bloody eager to be
responsible for the world, you don't need my permission. You
don't even need the physical ring. You can use it from there.
All you have to do is possess me."

"Stop," she murmured like an echo of supplication, "stop."
But his love for her had become anguish, and he could not
call it back.

"It won't even be a new experience for you. It'll be just
like what you did to your mother. The only difference is that
I'll still be alive when you're done."

Then he wrenched himself to a halt, gasping with the force
of his desire to retract his jibe, silence it before it reached her,

She raised her fists in the moonlight, and he thought she
was going to start railing at him. But she did not. Her per-
cipience must have made the nature of his distress painfully
clear to her. For a long moment, she held up her arms as if
she were measuring the distance a blow would have to travel
to strike him. Then she lowered her bands. In a flat, imper-
sonal tone that she had not used toward him for a long time,
she said, "That isn't what I meant."

"I know." Her detachment hurt him more than rage. He
was certain now that she would be able to make him weep if
she wished. "I'm sorry." His contrition sounded paltry in the
sharp night, but he had nothing else to offer her. 'Tve come
all this way, but I might as well have stayed in the cavern of
the One Tree. I don't know how to face it."

"Then let somebody try to help you." She did not soften;
but she refrained from attacking him. "If not for yourself,
do it for me. I'm right on the edge already. It is all I can do,"
he articulated carefully, "to just look at the Sunbane and
stay sane. When I see you suffering, I can't keep my grip.

"As long as I don't have any power, there's nothing I can
do about Lord Foul. Or the Sunbane. So you're the only
reason I've got. Like it or not. I'm here because of you. I'm
fighting to stay in one piece because of you. I want to do
something"—her fists rose again like a shout, but her voice
remained fiat—"for this world—or against Foul—because of
you. If you go on like this, I'll crack." Abruptly, her control
frayed, and pain welled up in her words like blood in a
wound. "I need you to at least stop looking so much like my
goddamn father."

Her father, Covenant thought mutely. A man of such self-
pity that he had cut his wrists and blamed her for it. You
never loved me anyway. And from that atrocity had come the
darkness which had maimed her life—the black moods, the
violence she had enacted against her mother, the susceptibility
to evil. Her instances of paralysis. Her attempt on Ceer's life.

Her protest wrung Covenant's heart. It showed him with
stunning vividness how little he could afford to fail her. Any
other hurt or dread was preferable. Instinctively, he made a
new promise—another commitmeat to match all the others
he had broken or kept.

"I don't know the answer," he said, keeping himself quiet
in fear that she would perceive how his life depended on
what he was saying. "I don't know what I need. But I know
what to do about the Clave." He did not tell her what his
nightmares had taught him. He did not dare. "When we're
done there, I'll know more. One way or the other."

She took him at his word. She had a severe need to trust
him. If she did not, she would be forced to treat him as if he
were as lost as her parents; and that alternative was plainly
appalling to her. Nodding to herself, she folded her arms
under her breasts and left the hilltop, went back to the shelter
and scant warmth of the cave.

Covenant stayed out in the dark alone for a while longer.
But he did not break.

NINE -- March to Crisis

BEFORE dawn, the new company ate breakfast, re-
packed their supplies, and climbed the nearest hillside to await
the sun with stone underfoot. Covenant watched the east
gauntly, half fearing that the Sunbane might already have
accelerated to a cycle of only one day. But as the sun crested
the horizon, the air set blue about it like a corona, giving the
still sodden and gray landscape a touch of azure like a hint of
glory—as if. Covenant thought dourly, the Sunbane in any
hands but Foul's would have been a thing of beauty. But then
blackness began to seethe westward; and the light on the hills
dimmed. The first fingers of the wind teased at Covenant's
beard, mocking him.

Sunder turned to him. The Graveler's eyes were as hard as
pebbles as he took out the wrapped bundle of the krill. His
voice carried harshly across the wind. "Unbeliever, what is
your will? When first you gave the krill into my hand, you
counseled that I make use of it as I would a rukh—that I
attune myself to it and bend its power to my purpose. This
I have done. It was my love who taught me"—he glanced at
Hollian—"but I have learned the lesson with all my strength."
He had come a long way and was determined not to be
found wanting. "Therefore I am able to ease our way—to
hasten our journey. But in so doing I will restore us un-
questionably to the Clave's knowledge, and Gibbon na-
Mhoram will be forewarned against us." Stiffly, he repeated,
"What is your will?"

Covenant debated momentarily with himself. If Gibbon
were forewarned, he might kill more of his prisoners to
stoke the Banefire. But it was possible that he was already
aware of the danger. Sunder had suggested as much the
previous day. If Covenant traveled cautiously, he might
simply give the na-Mhoram more time for preparation.

Covenant's shoulders hunched to strangle his trepidation.
"Use the krill," he muttered. "I've already lost too much
time."

The Graveler nodded as if he had expected no other reply.

From his jerkin, he took out his Sunstone.

It was a type of rock which the Land's former masters of
stonelore had named orcrest. It was half the size of his fist,
irregularly shaped but smooth; and its surface gave a strange
impression of translucence without transparency, opening into
a dimension where nothing but itself existed.

Deftly, Sunder nipped the cloth from the krUFs gem, letting
bright argent blaze into the rain-thick gloom. Then he brought
the Sunstone and that gem into contact with each other.

At once, a shaft of vermeil power from the orcrest shot
straight toward the hidden heart of the sun. Sizzling furiously,
the beam pierced the drizzle and the thunderheads to tap the
force of the Sunbane directly. And the krill shone forth as
if its light could cast back the rain.

In a snarl of torrents and heavy thunder, the storm swept
over the hilltop. The strait red shaft of the orcrest seemed
to call down lightning like an affront to the heavens. But
Sunder stood without flinching, unscathed by any fire.

On the company, no rain fell. Wind slashed the region;

thunder crashed; lightning ran like screams across the dark.
But Sunder's power formed a pocket in the storm, a zone
free of violence.

He was doing what the Clave had always done, using the
Sunbane to serve his own ends. But his exertion cost no blood.
No one had been shed to make him strong.

That difference sufficed for Covenant. With a grim gesture,
he urged bis companions into motion.

Quickly, they ranged themselves around Sunder. With
Hollian to guide him, the Graveler turned toward the south-
west. Holding his orcrest and the krill clasped together so
that they flamed like a challenge, he started in the direction
of Revelstone. His protection moved with him, covering all
the company.

By slow degrees, a crimson hue crept into the brightness of
the krill, tinging the light as if the core of the gem had begun
to bleed; and long glints of silver streaked the shaft of
Sunbane-fire. But Sunder shifted his hands, separated the
two powers slightly to keep them pure. As he did so, his zone
contracted somewhat, but not enough to hamper the com-
pany's progress.

They were scourged by wind. Mud clogged their strides,
made every step treacherous. Streams frothing down the hill-
sides beat against their legs, joined each other to form small
rivers and tried to sweep the travelers away. Time and again,
Covenant would have fallen without Call's support. Linden
clung severely to Pole's shoulder. All the world had been re-
duced to a thunderous wall of water—an impenetrable down-
pour lit by vermeil and argent, scored by lightning. No one
tried to speak; only the Giants would have been able to make
themselves heard. Yet Sunder's protection enabled the com-
pany to move faster than the Sunbane had ever permitted-

Sometime during the day, two gray, blurred shapes ap-
peared like incarnations of the storm and entered the rainless
pocket, presented themselves to Covenant. They were Haru-
chai. When he had acknowledged them, they joined his com-
panions without a word.

The intensity with which Linden regarded Sunder told
Covenant something he already knew: the Graveler's mastery
of two such disparate periapts was a horrendous strain on
him. Yet he was a Stonedownor. The native toughness of
his people had been conditioned by generations of survival
under the ordeal of the Sunbane. And his sense of purpose
was clear. When the day's journey finally ended, and he let his
fires fall, he appeared so weary that he could hardly stand—
but he was no more defeated by fatigue than Covenant, who
had done nothing except labor through nearly ten leagues of
mire and water. Not for the first time. Covenant thought that
the Graveler was more than he deserved.

As the wind whipped the clouds away to the west, the
company made camp in an open plain which reminded
Covenant of the strict terrain near Revelstone. In a bygone
age, that region had been made fruitful by the diligence of
its farmers and cattleherds—and by the beneficent power
of the Lords. Now everything was painfully altered. He felt
that he was on the verge of the Clave's immediate demesne
—that the company was about to enter the ambit of the na-
Mhoram's Keep.

Nervously, he asked Hollian what the next day's sun would
be. In response, she took out her slim Uanar wand. Its polished
surface gleamed like the ancient woods of the Land as she
held it up in the light of the campfire.

Like Sunder's left forearm, her right palm was laced with
old scars—the cuts from which she had drawn blood for her
foretellings. But she no longer had any need of blood. Sunder
smiled and handed her the wrapped krill. She uncovered it
only enough to let one white beam into the night. Then,
reverently, like a woman who had never learned anything
but respect for her own abilities, she touched her Uanar to
the light.

And flame grew like a plant from the wood. Delicate
shoots waved into the air; buds of filigree fire bloomed;

leaves curled and opened. Without harming her or the wood,
flame spread around her like a growth of mystery,

It was as green and tangy as springtime and new apples.

At the sight. Covenant's nerves tightened involuntarily.

Hollian did not need to explain to him and Linden what
her fire meant. They had witnessed it several times in the
past. But for the benefit of the watching, wide-eyed Giants,
she said quietly, "The morrow will bring a fertile sun."

Covenant glanced at Linden. But she was studying the
Haruchai, scrutinizing them for dny sign of peril. However,
Sunder had said that Gibbon's grasp" extended only a day's
journey beyond the gates of Revelstone; and when Linden at
last met Covenant's gaze she shook her head mutely.

Two more days, he thought. One until that Raver can reach
us. Unless he decides to try his Grim again. The ill that you
deem most terrible. That night, nightmares stretched him
until he believed he would surely snap. They had all become
one virulent vision, and in it his fire was as black as venom.

In the pre-green gloom of dawn, another pair of Haruchai
arrived to join the company. Their faces were as stony and
magisterial as the mountains where they lived; and yet Cov-
enant received the dismaying impression that they had come
to him in fear. Not fear of death, but of what the Clave
could make them do.

Their plight is an abomination. He accepted them. But that
was not enough. Banner had commanded him to redeem
them.

When the sun rose, it tinged the stark bare landscape a
sick hue that reminded him of the Illearth Stone.

Six days had passed since the desert sun had melted every
vestige of vegetation off the Upper Land. As a result, all the
plain was a wilderness. But the ground was so water-soaked
that it steamed wherever the sun touched it; and the steam
seemed to raise fine sprouts of heather and bracken with the
suddenness of panic. Where the dirt lay in shadow, it re-
mained as barren as naked bones; but elsewhere the uncoiling
green stems grew desperately, flogged by the Sunbane and
fed by two days of rain. In moments, the brush had reached
the height of Covenant's shins. If he stood still much longer,
he might not be able to move at all.

But ahead of him, the Westron Mountains thrust their
ragged snowcaps above the horizon. And one promontory
of the range lay in a direct line with Sunder's path. Perhaps
Revelstone was already visible to the greater sight of the
Giants.

If it were, they said nothing about it. Pitcbwife watched
the preternatural heath with a look of nausea. Mistweave's
doubt had assumed an aspect of belligerence, as if he resented
the way Pole -had supplanted him at Linden's side—and yet
believed that he could not justify himself. The First hefted
her longsword, estimating her strength against the vegetation.
Only Honninscrave studied the southwest eagerly; but his
clenched visage revealed nothing except an echo of his earlier
judgment: This is the world which my brother purchased
with his soul. Do you consider such a world worthy of life?

However, the First was not required to cut the company's
way. Sunder used his Sunstone and the krill as the Riders used
their rukhs, employing the Sunbane to force open a path.
With vermeil fire and white light, the Graveler crushed flat
the growth ahead of the company, plowed a way through it.
Unhindered by torrents and streams and mire, the travelers
were able to increase the previous day's pace.

Before the heather and bracken grew so tall that they
blocked Covenant's view of the mountains, he glimpsed a
red beam like Sunder's standing from the promontory toward
the sun. With an inward shiver, he recognized it. To be
visible from that distance, it would have to be tremendous.

The shaft of the Banefire.

Then the writhing brush effaced all the southwest from
sight.                                          ^

For a time, the tight apprehension of that glimpse occupied
all his attention. The Banefire. It seemed to dwarf him. He
had seen it once. devouring blood with a staggering heat and
ferocity that had filled the high cavity of the sacred enclosure.
Even at the level where the Readers had tended the master-
rukh, that conflagration bad hit him with an incinerating
force, burning his thoughts to ashes. The simple memory of
it made him flinch. He could hardly believe that even rampant
wild magic would be a match for it. The conflict between such
powers would be fierce enough to shatter mountains. And the
Arch of Time? He did not know the answer.

But by midmoming Sunder began to stumble; and Cove-
nant's attention was wrenched outward. The Graveler used his
periapts as if together they formed a special kind of rukh\ but
they did not The rukhs of the Riders drew their true strength
straight from the master-rukh and the Banefire, and so each
Rider needed only enough personal exertion to keep open a
channel of power to Revelstone; the Banefire did the rest.
But Sunder wielded the Sunbane and the krill directly.

The effort was exhausting him.

Linden read his condition at a glance. "Give him diamon-
draught" she muttered stiffly. Her rigid resistance to the
ill of the vegetation made her sound distant, impersonal. "And
carry him. He'll be all right. If we take care of him." After
a moment, she added, "He's stubborn enough to stand it."

Sunder smiled at her wanly. Pallor lay beneath the shade
of his skin; but as he sipped the Giantish liquor he grew
markedly stronger. Yet he did not protest when Honninscrave
hoisted him into the air. Sitting with his back against the
Master's chest, his legs bent over the Giant's arms, he raised
his powers again; and the company resumed its trek.

Shortly after noon, two more Haruchai joined Covenant,
bringing to ten the number of their people ranged protectively
on either side of him and bis companions.

He saluted them strictly; but their presence only made
him more afraid. He did not know how to defend them from
Gibbon.

And his fear increased as Sunder grew weaker. Even with
Sunstone and krill, the Graveler was only one lone man.

While the obstacles swarming in front of him were simply
bracken and heather, he was able to furrow them as effectively
as any Rider. But then the soil changed: the terrain became a
jungle of mad rhododendron, jacaranda, and honeysuckle.
Through that tangle he could not force his way with anything
like the direct accuracy which the Banefire made possible. He
had to grope for the line of least resistance; and the jungle
closed behind the travelers as if they were lost.

The sun had fallen near the Westron Mountains, and the
light had become little more than a filtered gloom, when
Linden and Hollian gasped simultaneously, "Sunder!"

Honninscrave jerked to a halt. The First wheeled to stare
at the Graveler. Covenant's throat constricted with panic as he
scrambled forward at Linden's back.

The Master set Sunder down as the company crowded
around them. At once, Sunder's knees buckled. His arms
shook with a wild ague.

Covenant squeezed between the First and Pitchwife to
confront the Graveler. Recognition whitened Hollian's face,
made her raven hair look as stark as a dirge. Linden's eyes
flicked back and forth between the Sunstone and the krill.

The vermeil shaft springing from his orcrest toward the
setting sun had a frayed and charred appearance, as if it were
being consumed by a hotter fire. And in the core of the
kriirs clear gem burned a hard knot of blackness like a
canker.

"The na-Mhorara attempts to take him!'* Hollian panted
desperately. "How can he save himself, when he is so sorely
weary?"

Sunder's eyes were fixed on something he could no longer
see. New lines marked his ashen face, cut by the acid sweat
that slicked his skin. Tremors knotted in his muscles. His
expression was as naked and appalled as a seizure.

"Put them down!" Linden snapped at him, pitching her
voice to pierce his fixation. "Let go! Don't let him do' this
to you!"

The comers of Sunder's jaw bulged dangerously. With a
groan as if he were breaking his own arm, he forced down
the Sunstone, dropped it to the ground. Instantly, its crimson
beam vanished: the orcrest relapsed to elusive translucence.

But the blackness at the center of the krill swelled and
became stronger.

Grimly, Sunder clinched his free hand around the blade's
wrappings. Heat shone from the metal. Bowing his head, he
held the krill in a grip like fever and fought to throw off the
Clave's touch—fought with the same human and indefeasible
abandon by which he had once nearly convinced Gibbon that
Covenant was dead.

Linden was shouting, "Sunderi Stop! It's killing youl" But
the Graveler did not heed her.

Covenant put out his half-hand. Fire spattered from his
ring as if the simple proximity of Gibbon's power made the
silver-white band unquenchable.

Findail's protest rang across the jungle. Covenant ignored
it. Sunder was his friend, and he had already failed too
often. Perhaps he was not ready to test himself against the
Clave and the Banefire. Perhaps he would never be ready. But
he did not hesitate. Deliberately, he took hold of the krill.
With the strength of fire, he lifted the blade from Sunder's
grasp as if the Graveler's muscles had become sand.

But when he closed wild magic around the krill, all his
flame went black.

Midnight conflagration as hungry as hate burst among the
company, tore through the trees. A rage of darkness raved
out of him as if at last the venom had triumphed, had become
the whole truth of his power.   >-

For an instant, he quailed. Then Unden's wild cry reached
him.

Savage with extremity, he ripped his fire out of the air,
flung it down like a tapestry from the walls of his mind. The
krill slipped between his numb fingers, stuck point first in the
desecrated soil.

Before he could move, react, breathe, try to contain the
horror clanging in his heart like the carillon of despair, a
heavy blow was struck behind him; and Cail reeled through
the brush.

Another blow: a fist like stone. Covenant pitched forward,
slammed against the rough trunk of a rhododendron, and
sprawled on his back, gasping as if all the air had been taken
out of the world. Glints of sunset came through the leaves
like emerald stars, spun dizzily across bis vision.

Around him, fighting pounded among the trees. But it made
no sound. His hearing was gone. Linden's stretched shout was
mute; the First's strenuous anger had no voice.

Galvanized by frenzy, Hollian dragged Sunder bodily out
of the way of the battle. She passed in front of Covenant,
blocked his view for a moment. But nothing could block the
bright, breathless vertigo that wheeled through him, as com-
pulsory and damning as the aura of the Worm.

Cail and the Giants were locked in combat with Ham,
Durris, and the rest of the Haruchai.

The movements of the attackers were curiously sluggish,
imprecise. They did not appear to be in control of themselves.
But they struck with the full force of their native strength—
blows so hard that even the Giants were staggered. Pitchwife
went down under the automatic might of Fole and another
Haruchai. Swinging the flat of her falchion, the First struggled
to her husband's aid- Honninscrave leveled one of the Haru-
chai with each fist. Call's people no longer had the balance
or alertness to avoid his massive punches. But the attackers
came back to their feet as if they were inured to pain and
assailed him again. Mistwave bearhugged one Haruchai,
knocked another away with a kick. But the Haruchai struck
him a blow in the face that made his head crack backward,
loosened his grasp.

Moving as stiffly as a man in a geas. Ham pursued Cail
through the battle. Cail eluded him easily; but Ham did not
relent. He looked as mindless as Durris, Fole, and the others.

They had been mastered by the Clave.

Slowly, the vertigo spinning across Covenant's sight came
into focus; and he found himself staring at the krill. It stood
in the dirt like a small cross scant feet from bis face. Though
fighting hit and tumbled everywhere, no one touched Loric's
eldritch blade.

Its gem shone with a clear, clean argence; no taint marred
the pure depths of the jewel.

Gibbon's attempt on it had been a feint—a way of dis-
tracting the company until he could take hold of all the
Haruchai.

All except Cail.

With the dreamy detachment of anoxia. Covenant won-
dered why Cail was immune.

Abruptly, the knotting of his muscles eased. He jerked air
into his lungs, biting raw hunks of it past the stunned paroxysm
which had kept him from breathing; and sound began to
leech back into the jungle—the slash of foliage, the grunt and
impact of effort. For a moment, there were no voices; the
battle was fought in bitter muteness. But then, as if from a
great distance, he heard Linden call out, "Caill The mere-
wivesi You got away from them!"

Covenant heaved himself up from the ground in time to
see Cail's reaction.

With the suddenness of a panther, Cail pounced on Harn.
Ham was too torpid to counter effectively. Ducking under
Ham's blunt blows, Cail knocked him off balance, then
grabbed him by the shoulder and hip, snatched him into the
air. Ham lacked the bare self-command to twist aside as Cail
plunged him toward a knee raised and braced to break his
back.

Yet at the last instant Ham did twist aside. When Brinn
and Cail had been caught in the trance of the merewives,
Linden had threatened to snap Brinn's arm; and that particular
peril had restored him to himself. Ham wrenched out of Call's
grasp, came to his feet facing his kinsman.

For a moment, they gazed at each other impassively, as if
nothing had happened. Then Harn nodded. He and Cail
sprang to the aid of the Giants.

Still coughing for air. Covenant propped himself against a
tree and watched the rest of the fight.

It did not last long. When Cail -and Ham had broken Fole
and Durris free of Gibbon's hold, the four of them were soon
able to rescue the remaining six.

Pitchwife and Mistweave picked their battered bodies out
of the brush. The First glared sharply about her, holding her
sword ready. Honninscrave folded his arms over his chest to
contain the startling force of his own rage. But the Haruchai
ignored the Giants. They turned away to face each other,
speaking mind-to-mind with the silent dispassion of their
people. In spite of what had just happened, they did not
appear daunted or dismayed.

When their converse was over, Cail looked at the Giants
and Linden, then met Covenant squarely- He did not apolo-
gize. His people were Haruchai, and the offense to their
rectitude went too deep for mere contrition. In a voice en-
tirely devoid of inflection, free of any hint of justification or
regret, he said, "It is agreed that such unworth as mine has
its uses. Whatever restitution you command we will undertake.
But we will not again fall from ourselves in this way."

Covenant did not know what to say. He had known the
Haruchai for a long time, and the Bloodguard before them;

yet he was still astonished by the extravagance of their Judg-
ments. And he was certain that he would not be able to bear
being served by such people much longer. The simple desire
to be deserving of them would make him wild.

How was it possible that his white fire had become so
black in so little time?

Pitchwife murmured something like a jest under his breath,
then grimaced when no one responded. Honninscrave had
become too bleak for mirth. In his frustrated desire to prove
himself to himself, Mistweave had forgotten laughter. And the
First was not mollified by Call's speech. The Haruchai had
aroused her battle instinct; and her face was like her blade.
whetted for fighting.

Because the sun was setting and Sunder was exhausted,
she commanded the Master and Mistweave to prepare a camp
and a meal. Yet the decision to rest did not abate her tension.
Dourly, she stalked around the area, hacking back the brush
to form a relatively clear space for the camp.

Covenant stood and watched her. The blow he had re-
ceived made everything inside him fragile. Even his truncated
senses were not blind to her sore, stem vexation.

Linden would not come near him. She stayed as far. away
from him as the First's clearing permitted, avoiding him as if
to lessen as much as possible his impact on her percipience.

The glances that Hollian cast toward him over Sunder's
shoulder were argute with fright and uncertainty in the deepen-
ing twilight. Only Vain, Findail, and the Haruchai behaved as
if they did not care.

Covenant started to cover his face, then lowered his hands
again. Their numbness had become repugnant to him. His
features felt stiff and breakable. His beard smelled of sweat;

his whole body smelled. he was unclean and rank from head
to foot. He feared that his voice would crack; but he forced
himself to use it.

"All right. Say it. Somebody."

The First delivered a fierce cut that severed a honeysuckle
stem as thick as her forearm, then wheeled toward him. The
tip of her blade pointed accusations at him.

Linden winced at the First's anger, but did not intervene.

"Giantfriend," the leader of the Search rasped as if the
name hurt her mouth, "We have beheld a great ill. Is it truly
your intent to utter this dark fire against the Clave?"

She towered over Covenant, and the light of Mistweave's
campfire made her appear dominant and necessary. He felt
too brittle to reply. Once he had tried to cut the venom out
of his forearm on a ragged edge of rock. Those faint scars
spread like fretwork around the fundamental marks of Marid's
fangs. But now he knew better. Carefully, he said, "He will
not do that to me and get away with it."

The First did not waver. "And what of the Earth?"

Her tone made his eyes bum, but not with tears. Every
word of his answer was as distinct as a coal. "A long time
ago," with the blood of half-mindless Cavewights on his head,
"I swore I was never going to kill again. But that hasn't
stopped me." With both hands, he had driven a knife into
the chest of the man who had slain Lena; and that blow had
come back to damn him. He had no idea how many Bhrathair
had died in the collapse of Kemper's Pitch. "The last time I
was there, I killed twenty-one of them." Twenty-one men and
women, most of whom did not know that their lives were evil.
"I'm sick of guilt. If you think I'm going to do anything that
will destroy the Arch of Time, you bad better try to stop
me now."

At that, her eyes narrowed as if stie were considering the
implications of running her blade through his throat. Hollian
and Linden stared; and Sunder tried to brace himself to go to
Covenant's aid. But the First, too, was the Unbeliever's friend.
She had given him the title he valued most. Abruptly, the
challenge of her sword dropped. "No, Giantfriend," she
sighed. "We have come too far. I trust you or nothing."

Roughly, she sheathed her longsword and turned away.

Firelight gleamed in the wet streaks of Linden's concern
and relief. After a moment, she came over to Covenant. She
did not meet his gaze. But she put one hand briefly on his
right forearm like a recognition that he was not like her
father.

While that touch lasted, he ached to take hold of her hand
and raise it to his lips- But he did not move. He believed that
if he did he would surely shatter. And every promise he had
made would be lost.

The next day, the fruits of the verdant sun were worse.
They clogged the ground with the teeming, intractable frenzy
of a sea in storm. And Sunder's weariness went too deep to
be cured by one night of diamo ndraught- induced sleep, one
swallow of the rare and potent rohorant Pitchwife created by
combining his liquor with vitrim. But the Clave made no more
efforts to take control of the krill or the Haruchai. The shade
of the trees held some of the underbrush to bearable pro-
portions. No Grim or other attack came riding out of Revel-
stone to bar the way. And the travelers had made such good
progress during the past two days that they did not need to
hurry now. None of them doubted that the Keep of the na-
Mhoram was within reach. At infrequent intervals, the dis-
tortion of the jungle provided a glimpse of the southwestern
sky; and then all the companions could see the hot, feral
shaft of the Banefire burning toward the sun like an im-
medicable scald in the green-hued air.

Every glimpse turned Linden's taut, delicate features a
shade paler. Memory and emanations of power assaulted her
vulnerable senses. She had once been Gibbon-Raver's prisoner
in Revelstone, and his touch had raised the darkness coiled
around the roots of her soul to the stature of all night. Yet
she did not falter. She had aimed the company to this place
by the strength of her own will, had wrested this promise
from Covenant when he had been immobile with despair. In
spite of her unresolved hunger and loathing for power, she
did not let herself hang back.

The Stonedownors also held themselves firm- They had a
score to settle with the Clave, a tally that stretched from the
hold of Revelstone and the ruin of the villages down to the
Sunbane-shaped foundations of their lives. Whenever Sunder's
need for rest became severe, Hotlian took the orcrest and
krill herself, though she was unskilled at that work and the
path she made was not as clear as his. The silent caterwaul
and torment of the vegetation blocked the ground at every
step; but the company found a way through it.

And as the sun began to sag toward the high ridge of the
Westron Mountains—still distant to the south and west be-
yond the region which had once been named Trothgard, but
near at hand in the east-jutting promontory of the range—
the companions reached the verge of the jungle below the
rocky and barren foothills of the high Keep.

Halting in the last shelter of the trees, they looked up at
their destination.

Revelstone: once the proud bastion and bourne of the
ancient, Land-serving Lords; now the home of the na-Mhoram
and the Clave.

Here, at the apex of the promontory, the peaks dropped
to form an upland plateau pointing east and sweeping north.
All the walls of the plateau were sheer, as effective as battle-
ments; and in the center of the upland lay GHmmermere, the
eldritch tarn with its waters untouched by the Sunbane until
they cascaded down Furl Falls in the long south face of the
promontory and passed beyond the sources of their potency.
But the Keep itself stood to the east of Glimmermere and
Furl Falls. The Unhomed had wrought the city of the Lords
into the eastward wedge of the plateau, filling that outcrop
of the Earth's hard gutrock with habitations and defenses.

Directly above the company stood the watchtower, the tip
of the wedge- Shorter than the plateau, its upper shaft rose
free of the main Keep bulking behind it; but its lower half
was sealed by walls of native stone to the rest of the wedge.
In that way, Revelstone*s sole entrance was guarded. Long
ago, massive gates in the southeast curve of the watchtower's
base had protected a passage under the tower—a tunnel
which gave admittance only to the closed courtyard between
the tower and the main Keep, where stood a second set of
gates. During the last war, the siege of Revelstone had broken
the outer gates, leaving them in rubble. But Covenant knew
from experience that the inner gates still held, warding the
Clave with their imponderable thickness and weight.

Above the abutment over its opening, the round shaft of
the watchtower was marked with battlements and embrasures
to the crenellated rim of its crown. They were irregular and
unpredictable, shaped to suit the tower's internal convolutions.
Yet the face of the watchtower was as simple as child's work
compared to the dramatic complexity of the walls of the main
Keep. For a surprising distance into the plateau, the sheer
cliffs had been crafted by the Unhomed—written with
balconies and buttresses, parapets and walkways, and punc-
tuated with windows of every description, embrasures on the
lower levels, oriels and shaded coigns higher up—a prolific
and apparently spontaneous multiplication of detail that al-
ways gave Covenant an impression of underlying structure,
meaning which only Giants could read. The faint green sunset
danced and sheened on the south face, confusing his human
ability to grasp the organization of something so tall, grand,
and timeless.

But even his superficial senses felt the tremendous power
of the Banefire's beam as it struck sunward from athwart the
great Keep. With one stroke, that red force transgressed all
his memories of grandeur and glory, changed the proud
habitation of the Lords to a place of malefic peril. When he
had approached Revelstone so many days ago to rescue
Linden, Sunder, and Hollian, he had been haunted by grief
for the Giants and Lords and beauty the Land had lost. But
now the knot of his chosen rage was pulled too tight to admit
sorrow.

He intended to tear that place down if necessary to root out
the Clave—and the bare thought that he might be forced to
damage Revelstone made him savage.

Yet when he looked at his companions, saw the rapt faces
of the Giants, his anger loosened slightly. The Keep had the
power to entrance them. Pitchwife's mien was wide with the
glee of appreciation; the First's eyes shone pride at the handi-
work of her long-dead people; Mistweave gazed upward
hungrily, all dismay forgotten for a time. Even Honnioscrave
had momentarily lost his air of doom, as though he knew
intuitively that Revelstone would give him a chance to make
restitution.

Conflicting passions rose in Covenant's throat. Thickly, he
asked, "Can you read it? Do you know what it means? I've
been here three times"—four counting the brief translation
during which he had refused Mhoram's summons—"but no
one's ever been able to tell me what it means."

For a moment, none of the Giants answered. They could
not step back from the wonder of the Keep- They had seen
Coercri in Seareach and marveled at it; but for them Revel-
stone was transcendent. Watching them. Covenant knew with
a sudden pang that now they would never turn back—that
no conceivable suasion would induce them to set their Search
and their private purposes aside, to leave the Sunbane and
Lord Foul to him. The Sunbane had eroded them in funda-
mental ways, gnawing at their ability to believe that their
Search might actually succeed. What could Giants do to aid a
Land in which nature itself had become the source of horror?
But the sight of Revelstone restored them to themselves.
They would never give up their determination to fight.

Unless Covenant found his own answer soon, he would
not be able to save them.

Swallowing heavily, Pitchwife murmured, "No words. There
are none. Your scant human tongue is void—•" Tears spread
through the creases of his face, mapping his emotion.

But the First said for him, "All tongues, Giantfriend. AU
tongues lack such language. There is that in the granite glory
of the world's heart which may not be uttered with words.
All other expression must be dumb when the pure stone
speaks. And here that speech has been made manifest. Ah, my
heart!" Her voice rose as if she wanted to both sing and
keen. But for her also no words were adequate. Softly, she
concluded, "The Giants of the Land were taught much by
their loss of Home. I am humbled before them."

For a moment. Covenant could not respond. But then a
memory came back; to him—a recollection of the formal
salutation that the people of Revelstone had formerly given
to the Giants. Hail and welcome, inheritor of Land's loyalty.
Welcome whole or hurt, in boon or bane—ask or give. To any
requiring name we will not fail. In a husky voice, he breathed:

"Giant-troth Revelstone, ancient ward—
Heart and door of Earthfriend's main:

Preserve the true with Power's sword,
Thou ages-Keeper, mountain-reign."

At that, the First turned toward him; and for an instant her
face was concentrated with weeping as if he had touched her
deep Giantish love of stone. Almost immediately she re-
covered her sternness—but not before he had seen how
absolutely she was ready now to serve him. Gruffly, she said,
"Thomas Covenant, I have titled you Giantfriend, but it is
not enough. You are the Earthfriend. No other name suffices."
Then she went and put her arms around her husband.

But Covenant groaned to himself, Earthfriend. God help
me! That title belonged to Berek Halfhand, who had fashioned
the Staff of Law and founded the Council of Lords. It did not
become a man who carried the destruction of the Arch of
Time in his envenomed hands. The man who had brought to
ruin all Berek's accomplishments.

He glared back up at the Keep. The sun had begun to set
behind the Westron Mountains, and its light in his eyes
hampered his sight; but he discerned no sign that the watch-
tower was occupied. He had received the same impression
the last time he had been here—and had distrusted it then
as he did now. Though the outer gates were broken, the tower
could still serve as a vital part of the Keep's defenses. He
would have to be prepared for battle the moment he set foot
in that tunnel. If the Clave did not seek to attack him before
then.

His shoulders hunching like anticipations of brutality, he
turned away from the Keep and retreated a short distance into
the vegetation to an area of rocks where the company could
camp for the night.

Shortly, his companions gathered around him. The Giants
left their delighted study of Revelstone to clear the ground,
start a fire, and prepare food. Sunder and Hollian cast re-
peated glances like wincing toward the Keep, where the ill
of then- lives had its center, and where they had once nearly
been slain; but they sat with Covenant as if he were a
source of courage. The Haruchai arranged themselves pro-
tectively around the region. Findail stood like a shadow at
the edge of the growing firelight.

Linden's disquiet was palpable. Vexation creased her brows;

her gaze searched the twilight warily. Covenant guessed that
she was feeling the nearness of the Raver; and he did not
know how to comfort her. During all the Land's struggles
against Despite, no one had ever found a way to slay a Raver.
While Lord Foul endured, his servants clung to life. The
Forestal of Garroting Deep, Caer-CaveraTs creator and former
master, had demonstrated that Herem or Sheol or Jehannum
might be sorely hurt or reduced if the bodies they occupied
were killed and they were not allowed to flee. But only the
body died; the Raver's spirit survived. Covenant could not
believe that the Land would ever be free of Gibbon's
possessor. And he did not know what else to offer that might
ease Linden.

But then she named the immediate cause of her unease; and
it was not the na-Mhoram. Turning to Covenant, she said
unexpectedly, "Vain's gone."

Taken aback, he blinked at her for a moment. Then he
surged to his feet, scanned the camp and the surrounding
jungle.

The Demondim-spawn was nowhere in sight.

Covenant wheeled toward Cail. Flatly, the Haruchai said,
"He has halted a stone's throw distant." He nodded back the
way the company had come. "At intervals we have watched
him, but he does not move. Is it your wish that he should be
warded?"

Covenant shook his head, groping for comprehension. When
he and Vain had approached Revelstone looking for Linden,
Sunder, and Hollian, the Clave had tried to keep Vain out—
and had hurt him in the process. Yet he had contrived his
way into the Keep, found the heels of the Staff of Law. But
after that he had obeyed the Riders as if he feared what
they could do to him. Was that it? Having obtained what he
wanted from Revelstone, he now kept his distance so that the
Clave would not be able to damage him again?

But how was it possible that the Demondim-spawn could
be harmed at all, when the Sunbane did not affect him and
even Grim-fire simply rolled off his black skin?

"It's because of what he is," Linden murmured as though
Covenant's question were tangible in the air. They had dis-
cussed the matter at other times; and she had suggested that
perhaps the Clave knew more about Vain than the company
did. But now she had a different answer. "He's a being of
pure structure. Nothing but structure—like a skeleton without
any muscle or blood or life. Rigidness personified. Anything
that isn't focused straight at him can't touch him." Slowly, as
if she were unconscious of what she was doing, she turned
toward Revelstone, lifted her face to the Ughtless Keep. "But
that's what the Sunbane does. What the Clave does. They
corrupt Law—disrupt structure. Desecrate order. If they tried
hard enough"—she was glowering as if she could see Gibbon
waiting in his malice and his glee—"they could take him apart
completely, and there wouldn't be enough of him left to so
much as remember why he was made in the first place. No
wonder he doesn't want to come any closer."

Covenant held his breath, hoping that she would go on—
that in this mood of perception or prophecy she would name
the purpose for which Vain had been created. But she did not.

210 White Gold Wielder

By degrees, she lowered her gaze. "Damn that bastard any-
way," she muttered softly. "Damn him to hell."

He echoed her in silence. Vain was such an enigma that
Covenant continually forgot him—forgot how vital he was, to
the hidden machinations of the Elohim if not to the safety of
the Earth. But here Findail had not hesitated to leave the
Demondim-spawn's side; and his anguished yellow eyes showed
no interest in anything except the hazard of Covenant's fire-
Covenant felt a prescient itch run through his forearm.
Wincing, he addressed Call.

"Don't bother. He'll take care of himself. He always has."

Then he went sourly back to his seat near the fire.

The companions remained still as they ate supper, chewing
their separate thoughts with their food. But when they were
done, the First faced Covenant across the smoking blaze and
made a gesture of readiness. "Now, Earthfriend." Her tone
reminded him of a polished blade, eager for use. "Let us
speak of this proud and dire Keep."

Covenant met her gaze and grimaced in an effort to hold
his personal extremity beyond the range of Linden's percipi-
ence.

"It is a doughty work," the First said firmly. "In it the
Unhomed wrought surpassingly well. Its gates have been
broken by a puissance that challenges conception—but if I
have not been misled, there are gates again beyond the tower.
And surely you have seen that the walls will not be scaled.
We would be slain in the attempt. The Clave is potent, and
we are few. Earthfriend," she concluded as if she were pre-
pared to trust whatever explanation he gave, "bow do you
purpose to assail this donjon?"

In response, he scowled grimly. He had been expecting that
question—and dreading it. If he tried to answer it as if he
were sane, his resolve might snap like a rotten bone. His
friends would be appalled. And perhaps they would try to
stop him. Even if they did not, he felt as certain as death
that their dismay would be too much for him.

Yet some reply was required of him. Too many lives
depended on what he meant to do. Stalling for courage, he
looked toward Hollian. His voice caught in his throat as he
asked, "What kind of sun are we going to have tomorrow?"

Dark hair framed her mien, and her face itself was
smudged with the dirt of long travel; yet by some trick of the
firelight—or of her nature—she appeared impossibly clear,
her countenance unmuddied by doubt or despair. Her move-
ments were deft and untroubled as she accepted the krill from
Sunder, took out her lianar, and invoked the delicate flame
of her foretelling.

After a moment, fire bloomed from her wand. Its color was
the dusty hue of the desert sun.

Covenant nodded to himself. A desert sun. By chance or
design, he had been granted the phase of the Sunbane he
would have chosen for his purpose. On the strength of that
small grace, he was able to face the First again.

"Before we risk anything else, I'm going to challenge
Gibbon. Try to get him to fight me personally. I don't think
he'll do it," though surely the Raver would covet the white
ring for itself and might therefore be willing to defy its
master's will, "but if he does, I can break the Clave's back
without hurting anybody else." Even though Gibbon held the
whole force of the Banefire; Covenant was ready for that
as well.

But the First was not content. "And if he does not?" she
asked promptly. "If he remains within his fastness and dares
us to harm him?"

Abruptly, Covenant lurched to his feet. Linden's gaze fol-
lowed him with a flare of alarm as she caught a hint of what
drove him; but he did not let her speak. Pieces of moonlight
filtered through the dense leaves; and beyond the trees the
moon was full—stretched to bursting with promises he could
not keep. Above him, the walls and battlements of Revel-
stone held the silver light as if they were still beautiful. He
could not bear it

Though he was choking, he rasped out, "I'll think of some-
thing." Then he fled the camp, went blundering through the
brush until he reached its verge on the foothills.

The great Keep towered there, as silent and moon-ridden
as a cairn for all the dreams it had once contained. No illumi-
nation of life showed from it anywhere. He wanted to cry out
at it, What have they done to you? But he knew the stone
would not hear him. It was deaf to him, blind to its own
desecration—as helpless against evil as the Earth itself. The
thought that he might hurt it made him tremble.

Cail attended him like an avatar of the night's stillness.
Because he had passed the limit of what he could endure, he
turned to the Haruchai and whispered hoarsely, "I'm going to
sleep here. I want to be alone. Don't let any of them near me."

He did not sleep. He spent the night staring up at the city
as though it were the last barrier between his hot grief and
Lord Foul's triumph. Several times, he heard his friends ap-
proach him through the brush. Each time, Cail turned them
away. Linden protested his refusal, but could not breach it.

That solitary and intimate fidelity enabled Covenant to
hang on until dawn.

He saw the light first on the main Keep's rim beyond the
parapets of the watchtower, while the shaft of the Banefire
shot toward the east. This daybreak had the hue of deserts,
and the sun gave the high gray stone a brown tinge. Once
again, Hollian had foretold the Sunbane accurately. As he
levered his strain-sore and weary bones upright, he thought of
the eh-Brand with an odd pang. Married by the child she
bore, she and Sunder had grown steadily closer to each other
—and Covenant did not know how to heal the wound between
himself and Linden.

Behind him, he heard Linden accost Cail a second time.
When the Haruchai denied her again, she snapped in ex-
asperation, "He's got to eat. He's still at least that human."
Her voice sounded ragged, as if she also had not slept. Per-
haps the air around Revelstone was too full of the taste of
Ravers to permit her to sleep. Gibbon had shown her the
part of herself which had arisen in hunger to take her
mother's life. Yet now, in this fatal place, she was thinking
of Covenant rather than of herself. She would have forgiven
him long ago—if he had ever given her the chance.

Stiffly, as if all his muscles had been calcified by the night
and his long despair, he started up the hill toward Revelstone.

He could not face Linden now, feared to let her look at him
almost as much as he feared the massive granite threat of
the Keep. Concealment was no longer possible for him; and
he dreaded how she would react to what she saw.

The light was on the watchtower, coloring it like a wilder-
land and dropping rapidly toward the foothills. At the edges
of his vision on either side, he saw the treetops start to melt;

but the center of his sight was filled by the tower. Its em-
brasures and abutments were empty, and the darkness behind
them made them look like eyes from which the light of life
had been extinguished. Light of life and desecration, he
thought vaguely, as if he were too weak with inanition and
fear to be troubled by contradictions. He knew how to deal
with them: he had found that answer in the throoehall of
Foul's Creche, when the impossibility of believing the Land
true and the impossibility of believing it false had forced him
to take his stand on the still point of strength at the center of
his vertiginous plight. But such comprehension was of no use
to him now. All the anger had gone out of him during the
night; and he ascended toward the gaping mouth of Revel-
stone like a husk for burning.

Yet the apparent desertion of the city made him uneasy.
Was it possible that the Clave had fled—that his mere ap-
proach had driven the Riders into hiding? No. The virulence
of the Banefire's beam gave no indication that it bad been
left untended. And Lord Foul would not have permitted any
withdrawal. What better victory for the Despiser than that
Covenant should bring down the Arch in conflict with the
Clave?

Lord Foul had said. At the last there wilt be but one choice
for you, and you will make it in all despair. He had promised
that, and he had laughed.

Something that might have been power stirred in Covenant.
His hands curled into fists, and he*'went on upward.

The sun laid his shadow on the bai-e dirt in front of him.
Its heat gripped the back of his neck, searching for the fiber
of his will in the same way that it would reduce all the Upper
Land's monstrous verdure to gray sludge and desert. He
seemed to see himself spread out for sacrifice on the ground
—exposed for the second time to a blow as murderous as the
knife which had pierced his chest, stabbed the hope out of his
life. An itch like a faint scurry of vermin spread up his
right forearm. Unconsciously, he quickened his pace.

Then he reached the level ground at the base of the tower,
and the tunnel stood open before him among its mined gates.
The passage was as dark as a grave until it met the dim
illumination reflecting into the courtyard from the face of
the main Keep. Dimly, he saw the inner gates at the far side
of the court. They were sealed against him.

Involuntarily, he looked back down toward the place where
his companions had camped. At first the sun was in his eyes,
and he could descry nothing except the eviscerated gray muck
which stretched out to the horizons like a sea as the Sunbane
denatured life from the terrain. But when he shaded his sight,
he saw the company.

His friends stood in a cluster just beyond the edge of the
sludge. The First and two Haruchai were restraining Honnin-
scrave. Pitchwife held Linden back.

Covenant swung around in pain to face the tunnel again.

He did not enter it. He was familiar with the windows in
its ceiling which allowed the Keep's defenders to attack any-
one who walked that throat. And he did not raise his voice.
He was instinctively certain now that Revelstone was listening
acutely, in stealth and covert fear. He sounded small against
the dusty air, the great city and the growing desert as he spoke.

"I've come for you. Gibbon. For you. If you come out, I'll
let the rest of the Riders live." Echoes mocked him from the
tunnel, then subsided. "If you don't, I'll take this place apart
to find you.

"You know I can do it. I could've done it the last time—
and I'm stronger now." You are more dangerous now than
you've ever been. "Foul doesn't think you can beat me. He's
using you to make me beat myself. But I don't care about
that anymore. Either way, you're going to die. Come out and
get it over with."

The words seemed to fail before they reached the end of
the passage. Revelstone loomed above him like the corpse of
a city which had been slain ages ago. The pressure of the sun
drew a line of bitter sweat down his spine.

And a figure appeared in the tunnel. Black against the
reflection of the courtyard, it moved outward. Its feet struck
soft echoes of crepitation from the stone.

Covenant tried to swallow—and could not. The desert
sun had him by the throat.

A pair of hot pains transfixed his forearm. The scars
gleamed like fangs. An invisible darkness flowed out of the
passage toward him, covering his fire with the pall of venom.
The sound of steps swelled.

Then sandaled feet and the fringe of a red robe broached
the sunshine; and Covenant went momentarily faint with the
knowledge that his first gambit had failed. Light ran swiftly
up the lines of the stark scarlet fabric to the black chasuble
which formalized the robe. Hands appeared, empty of the
characteristic rukh, the black iron rod like a scepter with an
open triangle fixed atop it, which a Rider should have held.
Yet this was surely a Rider. Not Gibbon: the na-Mhoram
wore black. He carried a crozier as tall as himself. The
habitual beatitude or boredom of his round visage was
punctured only by the red bale of his eyes. The man who
came out to meet Covenant was not Gibbon.

A Rider, then. He appeared thick of torso, though his
ankles and wrists were thin, and his bearded cheeks had been
worn almost to gauntness by audacity or fear. Wisps of wild
hair clung like fanaticism to his balding skull. His eyes had a
glazed aspect.

He held his palms open before him as if to demonstrate
that he bad come unarmed.

Covenant wrestled down his weakness, fought a little
moisture into his throat so that he could speak. In a tone
that should have warned the Rider, he said, "Don't waste my
time. I want Gibbon."

"Halfband, I greet you," the man replied. His voice was
steady, but it suggested the shrillness of panic. "Gibbon
na-Mhoram is entirely cognizant of you and will waste neither
time nor life in your name. What is your purpose here?"

Impressions of danger crawled between Covenant's
shoulderblades. His mouth was full of the copper taste of
fear. The Rider's trunk appeared, unnaturally thick; and his
robe seemed to move slightly of its own accord as if the cloth
were seething. Covenant's scars began to burn like rats
gnawing at his flesh. He hardly heard himself reply, "This
has gone oa too long. You make the whole world stink. I'm
going to put a stop to it."

The Rider bared his teeth—a grin that failed. His gaze did
not focus on Covenant. "Then I must tell you that the na-
Mhoram does not desire speech with you. His word has been
given to me to speak, if you will hear it."

Covenant started to ask. What word is that? But the ques-
tion never reached utterance. With both hands, the Rider un-
belted the sash of his robe. In prescient dread, Covenant
watched the Rider open his raiment to the sun.

From the line of his shoulders to the flex of bis knees, his
entire body was covered with wasps.

Great yellow wasps, as big as Covenant's thumb.

When the light touched them, they began to snarl.

For one hideous moment, they writhed where they were;
and the Rider wore them as if he were one of the Sunbane-
warped, made savage and abominable by corruption. Then
the swarm launched itself at Covenant.

In that instant, the world went black. Venom crashed
against his heart like the blow of a sledgehammer.

Black fire; black poison; black ruin. The flame raging from
his ring should have been as pure and argent as the metal
from which it sprang; but it was not, was not. It was an abyss
that yawned around him, a gulf striding through the air and
the ground and the Keep to consume them, swallow the
world and leave no trace. And every effort he made to turn
the dark fire white, force it back to the clean pitch of its true
nature, only raised the blaze higher, widened the void.
Swiftly, it became as huge as the hillside, hungry for ruin.

Linden was not shouting at him. If she had torn her heart
with screams, he would not have been able to hear her. She
was too far away, and the gathering cataclysm of his power
filled all his senses. Yet he heard her in his mind—heard her
as she had once cried to him across the Worm's aura and the
white ring's eruption, This is what Foul wants!—felt the re-
membered grasp of her arms as she had striven to wrest him
back from doom. If he let his conflagration swell, they would
all die, she and the others he loved and the Land he treasured,
all of them ripped out of life and meaning by blackness.

The strain of self-mastery pushed him far beyond himself.
He was driven to a stretched and tenuous desperation from
which he would never be able to turn back—a hard, wild
exigency that he would have to see through to its conclusion
for good or ill, ravage or restitution. But the simple knowledge
that he would not be able to turn back and did not mean to
try enabled him to strangle the destruction pouring from him.

Abruptly, his vision cleared—and he had not been stung.
Thousands of small, charred bodies still smoked on the bare
ground. Not one of the wasps was left to threaten him.

The Rider remained standing with his mouth open and his
eyes white, miraculously unscathed and astonished.

Covenant felt no triumph: he had gone too far for triumph.
But he was certain of himself now, at least for the moment.
To the Rider, he said, "Tell Gibbon he had his chance." His
voice held neither doubt nor mercy. "Now I'm coming in
after him."

Slowly, the astonishment drained from the man's face. His
frenzy and glee seemed to collapse as if he had suffered a
relapse of mortality. Yet he remained a Rider of the Clave,
and he knew his enemy. All the Land had been taught to
believe that Covenant was a betrayer. The man looked human
and frail, reduced by failure; but he did not recant his faith.

"You surpass me, Halfhand." His voice shook. "You have
learned to wield—and to restrain. But you have come to havoc
the long service of our lives, and we will not permit you. Look
to your power, for it will not aid you against us,"

Turning as if he were still able to dismiss Covenant from
consideration, he followed the echoes of his feet back into the
tunnel under the watchtower.

Covenant watched him go and cursed the mendacity which
enabled Lord Foul to take such men and women, people of
native courage and dedication, and convince them that the
depredations of the Clave were virtuous. Revelstone was full
of individuals who believed themselves responsible for the
survival of the Land. And they would be the first to die. The
Despiser would sacrifice them before hazarding his truer
servants.

Yet even for them Covenant could not stop now. The fire
still raved within him. He had not quenched it. He had only
internalized it, sealed its fury inside himself. If he did not act
on it, it would break out with redoubled vehemence, and he
would never be able to contain it again.

Violence taut in his muscles, he started stiffly down the
hillside toward his friends.

They began the ascent to meet him. Anxiously, they studied
the way he moved as if they had seen him emerge from the
teeth of hell and could hardly believe it.

Before he reached them, he heard the flat thunder of hooves.

He did not stop: he was wound to bis purpose and un-
breachable. But he looked back up at Revelstone over his
shoulder.

Between the broken gates came Riders mounted on
Coursers, half a dozen of them pounding in full career down
the slope. The Sunbane-bred Coursers were large enough to
carry four or five ordinary men and woman, would have been
large enough to support Giants. They bad malicious eyes, the
faces and fangs of sabertooths, shaggy pelts, and poisoned
spurs at the back of each ankle. And the Riders held their
rukhs high and bright with flame as they charged. Together
they rushed downward as if they believed they could sweep
the company off the hillside,

Yet for all their fury and speed they looked more like a
charade than a true assault. The Banefire made them danger-
ous; but they were only six, and they were hurling themselves
against ten Haruchai, four Giants, the Appointed of the
Elohim, and four humans whose strength had not yet been
fully measured. Covenant himself had already killed— Delib-
erately, he left the charge to his companions and walked on.

Behind him, the Coursers suddenly went wild.

Sunder had snatched out his Sunstone and the krill; but now
he did not draw his power from the sun. Instead, he tapped
the huge beam of the Banefire. And he was acquainted with
Coursers. At one time, he had learned to use a rukh in order
to master a group of the beasts: he knew how to command
them. Fierce red flarings shot back and forth through the
kriir& white light as he threw his force at the attack; but he
did not falter,

The impact of his countervailing instructions struck chaos
into the Coursers. Two of them fell trying to lunge in several
directions simultaneously. A third stumbled over them. The
others attacked the fallen, tried to kill them.

Reft of control, the Riders sprawled to the hard ground.
One was crushed under the massive body of a Courser. An-
other received a dangerous spur slash. She cried out to her
comrades for help; but they were already in flight back
toward the Keep, bearing the broken Rider for his blood.
Weakly, she struggled after them.

Sunder ordered the Coursers out into the desert so that the
Clave would not be able to use them again. But two of them
squealed with pain when they tried to obey: they had broken
legs. Gripping her falchion in both fists, the First stalked up
to the maimed beasts and slew them.

Then Sunder, Linden, and Pitchwife approached Covenant

The Graveler was panting heavily. "Gibbon does not put
forth his full strength. I am not the equal of six Riders." Yet
there was a grim pride in his tone. At last he had struck an
effective blow against the Clave.

"He's trying to provoke you," Linden warned. "You almost
didn't pull back in time. You've got to be careful." Fear of
Ravers twisted her face into a scowl.

"Earthfriend," breathed Pitchwife, "what will you do?
There is a madness upon Grimmand Honninscrave. We will
not be long able to withhold him."

But Covenant made no reply. His legs were trembling now,
and he could not stop what he was doing or turn aside. He
headed toward a blunt boulder jutting from the lower slope
of the foothill. When he reached it, he struggled up onto its
crown, defying the way the wide landscape below and about
him sucked at his balance. All his limbs felt leaden with
suppressed devastation. From horizon to horizon, the desert
sun had almost finished its work. In the low places of the
terrain lay ponds of sludge which had once been trees and
brush and vines, but every slope and rise was burned to dust
and death. The thought that he would have to damage Revel-
stone was intolerable. Sheer grief and self-loathing would
break him if he set his hand to that stone. Yet the necessity
was inescapable. The Clave and the Banefire could not be
permitted to go on. His heart quivered at the conflict of his
fears—fear of harming the Keep and of not harming it, fear
of himself, of the risk he meant to take; his desire to avoid
killing and his need to protect his friends. But he had already
chosen his path. Now he started down it.

Trembling as if he were on the verge of deflagration, he
spoke the name he had been hoarding to himself ever since
he had begun to understand the implications of what he meant
to do.

The name of a Sandgorgon.

"Nom."

TEN: The Banefire

CLEARLY through the sudden shock of the company,
he heard Linden gasp. There was no wind, nothing to soften
the arid pressure of the sun. Below him, the terrain was fall-
ing into the paradoxical purity of desecration. The cleanliness
of extermination. No wonder fire was so hard to resist. His
balance seemed to spin out of him into the flat brown sky. He
had not eaten or slept since the previous day. Perhaps it was
inanition which made the horizons cant to one side as if they
were about to sail away. Inanition or despair.

But Pitchwife and Cail caught him, lowered him from the
boulder; and Linden came to him in a blur of vertigo. He had
never been good at heights. He knew that she was saying his
name, yet he felt unable to hear her. Her face was impossible
to focus. She should have been protesting, A Sandgorgon?
Are you out of your mind? What makes you think you can
control it? But she was not. Her hands gripped his shoulders
roughly, then flinched away. This time, her gasp was like a
cry. "You—I" she began. But the words would not come. "Oh,
Covenant'"

The First's voice cut through the wild reel of the hills.
"What harms him?" All his friends were crowded around him
and spinning. He saw Mhoram and Foamfollower, Banner
and Elena—an.d Caer-Caveral—all there as if they deserved
better from him- "What has transpired to barm him?" They
had met him in Andelain and given him everything they dared;

and this was the result. He'was caught on a wheel that had
no center. "Chosen, you must speak'"

"He's on fire." Linden's tone was wet with tears. "The
venom's on fire. We'd already be dead, but he's holding it
inside. As long as he can. Until it eats its way out."

The First cursed, then snapped a command that Covenant
failed to hear. A moment later, Pitchwife's heat-impervious
hands lifted a bowl of diamondraught to Covenant's mouth.

Its potent smell stung his nostrils with panic. Diamon-
draught would restore him. Perhaps it would restore his self-
mastery as well. Or it might fuel the Maze of his suppressed
power. He could not take the chance.

Somehow, he slowed the spin. Clarity was possible. He
could not afford to fail. And he would not have to hang on
long; only until he reached the culmination of his night-
mares. It was possible. When he was certain of the faces
hovering around him, he said as if he were suffocating, "Not
diamondraught. Metheglin."

The First glared doubt at him; but Linden nodded. "He's
right," she said in a rush. "He has to keep his balance. Be-
tween strength and weakness. Diamondraught is too strong."

People were moving: Hollian and Mistweave went away,
came back at once with a pouch of the Land's thick mead.
That Covenant drank, sparingly at first, then more deeply
as he felt his grasp on the conflagration hold. By degrees, the
vertigo frayed out of him. His friends were present and
stable. The ground became solid again. The sun rang in his
eyes, clanged against his temples, like Lord Foul's silent
laughter; and his face streamed with the sweat of desperation.
But as the metheglin steadied him, he found that he was at
least able to bear the heat.

With Pitchwife's help, he gained his feet. Squinting, he
turned to the east and thrust his gaze out into the shimmering
desert.

"Will it come?" the First asked no one in particular. "The
wide seas intervene, and they are no slight barrier."

"Kasreyn said it would." Linden bit her lips to control her
apprehension, then continued, "He said, 'Distance has no
meaning to such power.' " Covenant remembered that. The
Sandgorgons answer their release swiftly. That was how
Hergrom had been killed. But Covenant had already sum-
moned Nom once at Linden's instigation; and he had not
been slain. And Nom had not gone back to Sandgorgons
Doom. Therefore why should the beasi answer him now? He
had no reason for such a wild hope—no reason at all ex-
cept the fact that Nom had bowed to him when he had
refrained from killing it.

But the east was empty, and the haze closed against him
like a curtain. Even the eyes of the Giants discerned no
sign of an answer.

Abruptly, Call's uninflected voice broke the silence,

"Ur-Lord, behold."

With one arm, he pointed up the hillside toward Revel-
stone.

For an instant. Covenant believed that the Haruchai wanted
him to observe the immense hot vermeil shaft of the Banefire.
With sun-echoes burning white and brown across his sight,
he thought the sizzling beam looked stronger now, as though
Gibbon-Raver were feeding it furiously to arm the Clave for
combat. Killing the captured villagers and Haruchai as fast
as their blood could be poured onto the floor of the sacred
enclosure where the Banefire burned.

At the idea, the spots flaring against the backs of his eyes
turned black. His restraint slipped. The fang-marks on his
forearm hurt as if they had been reopened.

But then he saw the Riders at the base of the tower. Four
of them: two holding up their rukhs to master a Haruchai
they had brought with them; two equipped with knives and
buckets.

They intended to shed then- mind-bound prisoner in full
view of Covenant and the company.

Covenant let out a shout that made the air throb. But at
the same time he fought for control, thinking, No, No. He's
trying to provoke me. The blackness in him writhed. He
refused it until it subsided.

"Honninscrave." The First sounded almost casual, as if
the sight of atrocities made her calm. "Mistweave. It is my
thought that we need not permit this."

Half the Haruchai had started upward at a sprint. She made
no effort to call them back. Stooping to the dirt, she picked
up a rock larger than her palm; and in the same motion she
hurled it at the Riders.

Striking the wall behind them, it burst in a shower of
splinters that slashed at them like knives.

Instantly, Honninscrave and Mistweave followed the First's
example. Their casts were so accurate that one of the Riders
had a leg smashed, another was ripped by a hail of re-
bounding fragments. Their companions were compelled to
release the Haruchai so that they could use their rukhs to
defend themselves.

While the four Riders retreated into the tunnel, their
captive turned on them. Suddenly free of their coercion, he
slew the injured men. Then he pivoted disdainfully on his
heel and strode down the slope to meet his people. He was
bleeding from several cuts inflicted by sharp pieces of stone,
but he bore himself as if he were unscathed.

Covenant hated killing. He had chosen his path in an effort
to spare as many lives as possible. But as he watched the
released Haruchai walking toward him like pure and utter
dispassion, a dire grin twisted the comers of his mouth. In
that moment, he became more dangerous to Gibbon and
the Clave than any host of warriors or powers.

When he looked toward the east again, he saw a plume of
dust rising through the haze.

He did not doubt what it was. Nothing but a Sandgorgon
could travel with enough swift strength to raise that much
dust.

Mutely, Linden moved to his side as if she wanted to take
his arm and cling to it for support. But the dark peril he
radiated kept her from touching him.

Mistweave watched the dust with growing amazement
Pitchwife muttered inanely to himself, making pointless jests
that seemed to ease his trepidation. The First grinned like a
scimitar. Of the Giants, only Honninscrave did not study the
beast's approach. He stood with his head bowed and his arms
manacled across his chest as if throwing stones at the Riders
had whetted his hunger for violence.

Unexpectedly, Findail spoke. He sounded weary and mas-
cerated, worn thin by the prolonged burden of his responsi-
bility; but some of the bitterness was gone from his voice.
"Ring-wielder," he said, "your purpose here is abominable
and should be set aside. Those who hold the Earth in their
hands have no justification for vengeance. Yet you have
found a wise way to the accomplishment of your ends. I
implore that you entrust them to this beast. You little com-
prehend what you have summoned."

Covenant ignored the Elohim. Linden glanced at the Ap-
pointed. Sunder and Hollian gazed at him in confusion. But
none of the companions spoke.

Nom had become visible at the arrow-point of the ad-
vancing dust.

Albino against the desiccated waste, the beast approached
at a startling pace. Its size was not commensurate with its
might: it was only a few hands taller than Covenant, only a
little more thickly built than the Haruchai; yet given time and
concentrated attention and freedom it was capable of reducing
the entire gutrock wedge of Revelstone to wreckage- It had a
strange gait, suited to deserts: its knees were back-bent like
a bird's to utilize the full thrust of the wide pads of its feet.
Lacking hands, its arms were formed like battering rams.

And it had no face. Nothing defined its hairless head
except the faint ridges of its skull under its hide and two
covered slits like gills on either side.

Even to Covenant's unpenetratmg sight, the Sandgorgon
looked as pure and uncontestable as a force of nature—a
hurricane bound into one savage form and avid for a place
to strike.

It came running as if it meant to hurl itself at him.

But at the last it stopped in a thick nimbus of dust, con-
fronted him across a scant stretch of bare dirt. For a moment,
it trembled as it had trembled when he had defeated it in
direct combat and it had not known how to hold back its
elemental fury even to save its own life. Service was an alien
concept to its brute mind; violence made more sense. Sweat
blurred the edges of his vision as he watched the beast quiver
for decision. Involuntarily, he held his breath. A few small
flames slipped past his control and licked at his forearm until
he beat them back.

Norn's trembling mounted—and abruptly subsided. Lower-
ing itself to the ground, the beast placed its forehead in the
dirt at Covenant's feet.

Slowly, he let pent air leak away through his teeth. A
muffled sigh of relief passed through the company. Linden
covered her face momentarily, then thrust her fingers through
her hair as if she were trying to pull courage up out of her
alarm.

"Norn," he said, and his voice shook. "Thanks for coming."

He did not know to what extent the beast was able to under-
stand him; but it surged erect by unfolding its knees and
stood waiting before him.

He did not let himself hesitate. The bond which held Nom
was fragile. And he could feel venom gnawing in him like
acid. His purpose was as clear to him as the soothtell which
had sent him on his futile quest for the One Tree. Turning to
his companions, he addressed them as a group.

"I want you to stay here." Gritting his will, he strove to
suppress the tremors which made his tone harsh. "Leave it to
Nom and me. Between us, we're already too much for the
job." And I can't bear to lose any of you.

He had no right to say such things. Every member of the
company had earned a place in this hazard. But when he con-
sidered what might happen to them, he burned to spare them.

"I'll need Linden," he went on before anyone could pro-
test. "Gibbon's going to try to hide from me. I won't be able
to locate the Raver without her." The mere thought hurt him;
he knew how deeply she dreaded Ravers. "And I'll take Cail
and Fole. To guard our backs," Even that concession made
him want to rage. But Linden might need the protection.
"The rest of you just wait. If I fail, you'll have to do it for me."

Unable to face what his friends wanted to say, the pained
indignation in their eyes, the expostulations rising from their
hearts, he impelled Linden into motion with his hand on the
small of her back. A gesture called Nom to his side. Striding
stiffly past the people who had served him with their lives and
deserved better than this, he started up the slope toward
Revelstone.

Then for a moment he came so close to tears that his
courage nearly broke. Not one of his companions obeyed.
Without a word, they arranged themselves for battle and
followed him.

Under her breath. Linden murmured, "I understand. You
think it all depends on you. Why should people as good as
they are have to suffer and maybe get killed for it? And I'm
so scared—" Her face was pale and drawn and urgent. "But
you have got to stop trying to make other people's decisions
for them."

He did not reply. Keeping his attention fixed on the open
tunnel under the watchtower, he forced his power-clogged
muscles to bear him steadily upward. But now he feared that
he was already defeated. He had too much to lose. His friends
were accompanying him into his nightmares as if he were
worthy of them. Because he had to do something, no matter
how insufficient or useless it might be, he moved closer to
Call and whispered, "This is enough. Banner said you'd serve
me. Brinn told you to take his place. But I don't need this
kind of service anymore. I'm too far gone. What I need is
hope."

"Ur-Lord?" the Haruchai responded softly.

"The Land needs a future. Even if I win. The Giants'11 go
Home. You'll go about your business. But if anything happens
to Sunder or Hollian—" The idea appalled him. "I want you
to take care of them. All of you. No matter what." He was
prepared to endanger even Linden for this. "The Land has got
to have a future."

"We hear you." Cail's tone did not betray whether he was
relieved, moved, or offended. "If the need arises, we will
remember your words."

With that Covenant had to be content.

Nom had moved somewhat ahead of him, thrusting toward
the great Keep as if it triggered a racial memory of the
Sandwall which the Bhrathair had raised to oppose the Sand-
gorgons in the years before Kasreyn had bound them to their
Doom. The beast's arms swung in anticipation. Grimly,
Covenant quickened his pace.

In that way, with Linden beside him. two Stonedownors
and four Giants behind him, and eleven Haruchai nearby,
Thomas Covenant went to pit himself against the Clave and
the Banefire.

There was no reaction from Revelstone. Perhaps the na-
Mhoram did not know what a Sandgorgon was, wanted to see
what it would do before he attempted to provoke Covenant
again. Or perhaps he had given up provocation in order to
prepare his defenses. Perhaps the Raver had found a small
worm of fear at the bottom of his malice. Covenant liked that
idea. What the Clave and the Banefire had done to the Land
could not be forgiven. The way in which this Raver had
transformed to ill the ancient and honorable Council of
Lords could not be forgiven. And for Gibbon's attack on
Linden, Covenant would accept no atonement except the
cleansing of the Keep.

Those who hold the Earth in their hands have no justifica-
tion for vengeance.

Like hell, Coven-ant gritted. Like hell they don't.

But when he reached the base of the watchtower, he com-
manded Nom to halt and paused to consider the tunnel. The
sun was high enough now to make the inner courtyard
bright; but that only deepened the obscurity of the passage.
The windows of the tower gaped as if the rooms behind them
were abandoned. A silence like the cryptic stillness of the
dead hung over the city. There was no wind—no sign of life
except the stark hot shaft of the Banefire. Between the two
slain Coursers, dead wasps littered the ground. The Riders
had taken their own fallen with them for the sake of the
blood. But red splotches marked the rocks in front of the
tower as if to tell Covenant that he had come to the right
place.

He turned to Linden. Her taut pallor frightened him, but
he could no longer afford to spare her. "The tower," he said
as the company stopped behind him. "I need to know if it's
empty."

The movement of her head as she looked upward seemed
fatally slow, as if her old paralysis had its hand on her again.
The last time she was here, Gibbon's touch had reduced her
to near catatonia. The principal doom of the Land is upon
your shoulders. Through eyes and ears and touch, you are
made to be what the Despiser requires. Once she had pleaded
with Covenant, You've got to get me out of here. Before they
make me kill you.

But she did not plead now or seek to shirk the consequences
of her choices. Her voice sounded dull and stunned; yet she
accepted Covenant's demands. "It's hard," she murmured.
"Hard to see past the Banefire. It wants me—wants to throw
me at the sun. Throw me at the sun forever." Fear glazed her
eyes as if that cast had already begun. "It's hard to see any-
thing else." However, a moment later she frowned. Her gaze
sharpened. "But Gibbon isn't there. Not there. He's still in
the main Keep. And I don't feel anything else." When she
looked at Covenant again, she appeared as severe as she had
at their first meeting. "I don't think they've ever used the
tower."

A surge of relief started up in Covenant, but he fought it
down. He could not afford that either. It blunted his control,
let hints of blackness leak through his mind. Striving to match
her, he muttered, "Then let's go.^

With Nom and Linden, Call and Pole, he walked into the
tunnel; and his companions followed him like echoes.

As he traversed the passage, be instinctively hunched his
shoulders, bracing himself against the attack he still expected
from the ceiling of the tunnel. But no attack came. Linden had
read the tower accurately. Soon he stood in the courtyard.
The sun shone before him on the high, buttressed face of the
Keep and on the massive inner gates.

Those stone slabs were notched and beveled and balanced
so that they could open outward smoothly and marry
exactly when they closed. They were heavy enough to rebuff
any force of which their makers had been able to conceive.
And they were shut, interlocking with each other like teeth.
The lines where they hinged and met were barely dis-
tinguishable.

"I have said it," the First breathed behind Covenant. "The
Unhomed wrought surpassingly well in this place."

She was right; the gates looked ready to stand forever.

Suddenly, Covenant became urgent for haste. If he did not
find an answer soon. he would go up like tinder and oil. The
sun had not yet reached midmoming; and the shaft of the
Banefire stood poised above him like a scythe titanic and
bloody enough to reap all the life of the world. Sunder's hands
clutched the krill and his orcrest, holding them ready; but he
looked strangely daunted by the great Keep, by what it
meant and contained. For the first time in the ordeal of the
Search, Pitchwife seemed vulnerable to panic, capable of
flight. Linden's skin was the color of ashes. But Honninscrave
held his fists clinched at his sides as if he knew he was close
to the reasons for Seadreamer's death and did not mean to
wait for them much longer.

Covenant groaned to himself. He should have begun his
attack last night, while most of his friends slept. He was sick
of guilt.

With a fervid sweep of his arm, he sent Nom at the gates.

The Sandgorgon seemed to understand instinctively. In
three strides, it reached full speed.

Hurtling forward like a juggernaut, it crashed headlong
against the juncture of the clenched slabs.

The impact boomed across the courtyard, thudded in Cov-
enant's lungs, rebounded like a cannonade from the tower.
The stones underfoot shivered; a vibration like a wail ran
through the abutments. The spot Nom struck was crushed and
dented as if it were formed of wood.

But the gates stood.

The beast stepped back as if it were astonished. It turned
its head like a question toward Covenant But an instant later
it rose up in the native savagery of all Sandgorgons and began
to beat at the gates with the staggering might of its arms.

Slowly at first, then more and more rapidly, the beast
struck, one sledgehammer arm and then the other in accel-
erating sequence, harder and faster, harder and faster, until
the courtyard was full of thunder and the stone yowled dis-
tress. Covenant was responsible for that—and still the gates
held, bore the battery. Chips and splinters spat in all direc-
tions; granite teeth screamed against each other; the flagstones
of the court seemed to ripple and dance. Still the gates held.

To herself, Linden whimpered as if she could feel every
blow in her frangible bones.

Covenant started to shout for Nom to stop. He did not un-
derstand what the Sandgorgon was doing. The sight of such
an attack would have rent Mhoram's heart

But an instant later he heard the rhythm of Norn's blows
more clearly, heard how that pulse meshed with the gutrock's
protesting retorts and cries; and he understood. The Sandgor-
gon had set up a resonance in the gates, and each impact in-
creased the frequency and amplitude of the vibrations. If the
beast did not falter, the slabs might be driven to tear them-
selves apart.

Abruptly, red fire poured down off the abutment imme-
diately above the gates. Riders appeared brandishing their
rukhs: four or five of them. Wielding the Banefire together,
they were more mighty than an equal number of individuals;

and they shaped a concerted blast to thrust Nom back from
the gates.

But Covenant was ready for them. He had been expecting
something like this, and his power was hungry for utterance,
for any release that would ease the strain within him. Meticu-
lous with desperation, he put out wild magic to defend the
Sandgorgon.

His force was a sickening mixture of blackness and argence,
mottled and leprous. But it was force nonetheless, fire capable
of riving the heavens. It covered the Riders, melted their rukhs
to slag, then pitched them back into the Keep with their robes
aflame.

Nom went on hammering at the gates in a transport of de-
structive ecstasy as if it had finally met an obstacle worthy
of it.

Honninscrave quivered to hurl himself forward; but the
First restrained him- He obeyed her like a man who would
soon be beyond reach of any command.

Then Nom struck a final blow—struck so swiftly that Cove-
nant did not see how the blow was delivered. He saw only the
small still fraction of time as the gates passed from endurance
to rupture. They stood—and the change came upon them like
the last inward suck of air before the blast of a hurricane—
and then they were gone, ripped apart in a wrench of detona-
tion with fragments whining like agony in all directions and
stone-powder billowing so thickly that Nom disappeared and
the broken mouth of Revelstone was obscured.

Slowly, the high, wide portal became visible through the
dust. It was large enough for Coursers, suitable for Giants,
But the Sandgorgon did not reappear. Covenant's stunned ears
were unable to pick out the slap of Norn's feet as the beast
charged alone into the stone city.

"Oh my God," Linden muttered over and over again, "oh
my God." Pitchwife breathed, "Stone and Sea!" as if he had
never seen a Sandgorgon at work before. Hollian's eyes were
full of fear. But Sunder had been taught violence and killing
by the Clave, had never learned to love Revelstone: his face
was bright with eagerness.

Half deafened by the pain of the stone. Covenant entered
the Keep because now he had no choice left but to go forward
or die. And he did not know what Nom would do to the city.
At a wooden run, he crossed the courtyard and passed through
the dust into Revelstone as if he were casting the die of his
fate.

Instantly, his companions arranged themselves for battle
and followed him. He was only one stride ahead of Call, two
ahead of the First, Linden, and Honninscrave, as he broached
the huge forehall of the na-Mhoram's Keep.

It was as dark as a pit.

He knew that hall; it was the size of a cavern. It had been
formed by Giants to provide a mustering-space for the forces
of the former Lords. But the sun angled only a short distance
into the broken entrance; and some trick of the high stone
seemed to absorb the light; and there was no other illumi-
nation.

Too late, he understood that the forehall had been prepared
to meet him.

With a crash, heavy wooden barriers slammed shut across
the entryway. Sudden midnight echoed around the company.

Instinctively, Covenant started to release a blaze from his
ring. Then he yanked it back. His fire was entirely black now,
as corrupt as poison. It shed no more light than the scream
that swelled against his self-control, threatening to tear his
throat and split Revelstone asunder.

For an instant like a seizure, no one moved or spoke. The
things they could not see seemed to paralyze even the First
and the Haruchai. Then Linden panted, "Sunder." Her voice
shook wildly; she sounded like a madwoman. "Use the krill.
Use it now."

Covenant tried to swing toward her. What is it? What do
you see? But his imprecise ears missed her position in the dark.
He was peering straight at Sunder when the krill sent a peal
of vivid white ringing across the cavern.

He had no defense as Hollian's shrill cry echoed after the
light:

'The na-Mhoram's Grim!"

Argent dazzled him. The Grim\ He could not think or see.
Such a sending had attacked the company once before; and
under an open sky it had killed Memla na-Mhoram-in, had
neariy slain Linden and Call. In the enclosed space of the
forehall—

And it would damage Revelstone severely. He had seen the
remains of a village which had fallen under the Grim: During
Stonedown, Bamako's birthplace. The acid force of the na-
Mhoram's curse had eaten the entire habitation to rubble.

Covenant wheeled to face the peril; but still he could not
see. His companions scrambled around him. For one mad
instant, he believed they were fleeing. But then Cail took hold
of his arm, ignoring the pain of suppressed fire; and he heard
the First's stern voice. "Mistweave, we must have more light.
Chosen, instruct us. How may this force be combatted?"

From somewhere beyond his blindness, Covenant heard
Linden reply, "Not with your sword." The ague in her voice
blurred the words; she had to fighf-to make them comprehen-
sible. "We've got to quench it. Or give it something else to
bum."

Covenant's vision cleared in time to see the black hot thun-
derhead of the Grim rolling toward the company just below
the cavern's ceiling.

Confined by the forehall, it appeared monstrously pow-
erful.

Nom was nowhere to be seen; but Covenant's knees felt
vibrations through the floor as if the Sandgorgon were attack-
ing the Keep's inner chambers. Or as if Revelstone itself
feared what Gibbon had unleashed.

From the entryway came the noise of belabored wood as
Mistweave sought to break down the barrier which sealed the
hall. But it had been fashioned with all the stoutness the
Clave could devise. It creaked and cracked at Mistweave's
blows, but did not break.

When the boiling thunderhead was directly over the com-
pany, it shattered with a tremendous and silent concussion
that would have flattened Covenant if Call had not upheld
him.

In that instant, the Grim became stark black flakes that
floated murderously downward, bitter as chips of stone and
corrosive as vitriol. The thick Grim-fall spanned the company.

Covenant wanted to raise fire to defend his friends. He be-
lieved he had no choice; venom and fear urged him to believe
he had no choice. But he knew with a terrible certainty that
if he unleashed the wild magic now he might never be able
to call it back. All his other desperate needs would be lost
Loathing himself, he watched and did nothing as the dire
flakes settled toward him and the people he loved.

Fole and another Haruchai impelled Linden to the nearest
wall, as far as possible from the center of the Grim-fall. Ham
tugged at Hollian, but she refused to leave Sunder. Call was
ready to dodge—ready to carry Covenant if necessary. The
First and Honninscrave braced themselves to pit their Giant-
ish immunity to fire against the flakes. Findail had disap-
peared as if he could sense Covenant's restraint and cared
about nothing else.

Glaring in the knIl-Ught, the flakes wafted slowly down-
ward.

And Sunder stood to meet them.

From his orcrest he drew a red shaft of Sunbane-fire and
started burning the black bits out of the air.

His beam consumed every flake it touched. With astonish-
ing courage or abandon, he faced the entire Grim himself.
But the bits were falling by the thousands. They were too
much for him. He could not even clear the air above his own
head to protect himself and Hollian.

Then Pitchwife Joined him. Incongruously crippled and
valiant, the Giant also attacked the Grim, using as his only
weapon the pouches of vitrim he had borne with him from
Hamako's rhyshyshim. One after another, he emptied them
by spraying vitrim at the flakes.

Each flake the liquid touched became ash and drifted harm-
lessly away.

His visage wore a grimace of grief at the loss of his care-
fully-hoarded Waynhim roborant; but while it lasted he used
it with deliberate extravagance.

Honninscrave slapped at the first flake which neared his
head, then gave an involuntary cry as the black corrosive ate
into his palm. The Grim had been conceived to destroy stone,
and no mortal flesh was proof against it.

Around Covenant, the cavern started to reel. The irrecon-
cilable desperation of his plight was driving him mad.

But at that instant a huge splintering crashed through the
air; and the wooden barricade went down under Mistweave's
attack. More light washed into the forehall, improving the
ability of the Haruchai to dodge the Grim. And wood fol-
lowed the light Fiercely, Mistweave tore the barrier beam
from timber and flung the pieces toward the company.

Haruchai intercepted the smaller fragments, used them as
cudgels to batter Grim-flakes from the air. But the First, Hon-
ninscrave, and then Pitchwife snatched up the main timbers.
At once, wood whirled around the company. The First swung
a beam as tall as herself as if it were a flail. Honnin-
scrave swept flakes away from Sunder and Hollian. Pitchwife
pounced to Linden's defense with an enormous club in each
fist.

The Grim destroyed the wood almost instantly. Each flake
tore the weapon which touched it to charcoal. But the broken
barricade had been huge; and Mistweave attacked it with the
fury of a demon, sending a constant rush of fragments skid-
ding across the floor to the hands of the company.

Honninscrave took another flake on Bis shoulder and nearly
screamed; yet he went on fighting as if he were back in the
cave of the One Tree and still had a chance to save his
brother.

Three of the Haruchai threw Linden from place to place
like a child. In that way they were able to keep her out of the
path of the Grim-fall more effectively than if one of them had
tried to carry her. But their own movements were hampered.
Two of them had already suffered bums; and as Covenant
watched, a black bit seemed to shatter Pole's left leg. He bal-
anced himself on his right as if pain had no meaning and
caught Linden when she was tossed to him.

Around the cavern, flakes began to strike the floor and det-
onate, ripping holes the size of Giant-hands in the smooth
stone. Acrid smoke intensified the air as if the granite were
smoldering.

Dun-is, Ham, and two more Haruchai whipped brands and
staves around the Stonedownors. Sunder lashed a frenzy of
red power at the Grim. The First and Hoiminscrave labored
like berserkers, spending wood as rapidly as Mistweave fed it
to them. Pitchwife followed his wife's example, protected her
back with boards and timbers. He still had one pouch of vitrim
left.

And Cail bounded and ducked through the drifting peril
with Covenant slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Covenant could not catch bis breath to shout. Call's shoul-
der forced the air from his lungs. But he had to make himself
heard somehow. "Sunder," he gasped. "Sunder."

By intuition or inspiration, the Haruchai understood him.
With a strength and agility that defied the thickening Grim-
fall, he bore Covenant toward the Graveler.

An instant later. Covenant was whirled to his feet beside
Sunder. Vertigo squalled around him; he had no balance. His
hands were too numb to feel the fire mounting in him at every
moment. If he could have seen Sunder's face, he would have
cried out, for it was stretched and frantic with exhaustion.
But the light of the krill blazed at Covenant's eyes. In the
chaos of the cavern, that untrammeled brightness was the only
point on which he could anchor himself.

The company had already survived miraculously long. But
the Grim seemed to have no end, and soon even Giants and
Haruchai would have to fall. This sending was far worse than
the other one Covenant had experienced because it was en-
closed—and because it was being fed directly by the Banefire.
Through the stamp of feet and the burst of fires, he heard
Linden cursing the pain of the people who kept her alive—
people she could not help even though she suffered their hurts
like acid on her own flesh. He had nowhere else to turn except
to the krill.

Plunging toward Sunder, he got both hands on Loric's
blade. He did not feel the edges cut into his fingers, did not
see the blood. He feared that his weight would topple Sunder;

but somehow Sunder braced himself against the collision,
managed to hold Covenant upright for a moment,

That moment was long enough. Before he fell tangled in the
Graveler's arms, Covenant sent one heart-rending blast of wild
magic and risk through the gem of the krill.

His power was as black as the Grim now. But his desire was
pure; and it struck the krill with such suddenness that the gem
was not tainted by it. And from that gem, light rang like a
piece of the clean sun. Its brightness seemed to tear asunder
the veil of Revelstone's gloom, lay bare the essential skeleton
of the granite. Light shone through both flesh and stone, swept
all shadow and obscurity away, made clear the farthest cor-
ners of the forehall, the heights of the vaulted ceiling. If his
eyes had been equal to the argence, in that instant he would
have seen the deep heart of the great Keep and Gibbon al-
ready fleeing to the place where he had chosen to hide him-
self. But Covenant was blind to such things. His forehead was
butted against Sunder's shoulder and he was falling.

When he roiled himself off Sunder's panting chest, groped
through dizziness to regain his feet, the moment of his power
had passed. The cavern was lit only by the sun's reflection
from the entrance and the krilfs normal shining. His compan-
ions stood at various distances from him; but while his head
spun he seemed to have no idea who they were.

But the Grim was gone. The black flakes had been swept
away. And still he retained his grip on the wild magic.

He could not make the stone under him stop whirling.
Helplessly, he clung to the first Haruchai who came to him.
The numbness of his hands and feet had spread to his other
senses. His mind had gone deaf. He heard nothing but the
rumble of distant thunder, as if the tun outside Revelstone had
become a sun of rain.

His thoughts spun. Where was Norn? There were villagers
in the hold—and Haruchai. Unless the Clave had killed them
already? Gibbon had to be somewhere. What would he do
next? The venom made Covenant vicious, and the sheer effort
of containing so much ignited violence took his sanity away.
He thought he was speaking aloud, but his teeth were clenched
and immobile. Why doesn't somebody tell that damn thunder
to shut up so I can hear myself?

But the thunder did not stop; and the people around him
fought their weariness and injuries to ready themselves.
Dimly, he heard the Fust's battlecry as she swept out her
sword.

Then the darkness at the end of the forehall came toward
him, and he saw that the Riders had unleashed their Coursers
at the company.

Need cleared his head a little. The Haruchai holding him
pushed him away, and other hands took him. He found him-
self near Linden at the rear of the company, with only Mist-
weave between them and the entrance. All the Haruchai
around them were injured. Those who were not had gone with
the First and Honninscrave to meet the charge of the Cours-
ers. Sunder and Hollian stood alone in the center of the hall.
She supported him while he strove urgently to interfere with
the Clave's command over the beasts. But exhaustion weak-
ened him, and the Banefire was too near. He could not blunt
the assault.

At least a score of the fierce Coursers rushed forward,
borne by the stone thunder of their hooves.

The Haruchai protecting Covenant and Linden were se-
verely wounded. Pole stood with his left foot resting in a pool
of his own blood. Ham had a deep burn on one hip. The other
four Haruchai there were nearly maimed by various hurts.
The air still reeked of Grim-flakes and pain.

The beasts struck with a scream of animal fury; and Cove-
nant wanted to shriek with them because it was too much and
he was no closer to his goal and the fingers of his will were
slipping moment by moment from their hold on the world's
ruin.

One heartbeat later, the scream arose again behind him like
an echo. Riding his vertigo, he turned in time to see Mist-
weave go down under the hooves of four more Coursers.

The Giant had remained at the entrance to guard the' com-
pany's rear. But he had been watching the battle, the plight
of his companions. The return of the beasts which Sunder had
scattered earlier took him by surprise. They reared behind
him, pounded him to the stone. Then they thudded past him
inward, their feral red eyes flaming like sparks of the Bane-
fire.

Covenant could not resist as Ham and two more Haruchai
thrust him toward one wall, interposed themselves between
him and the Coursers. Pole and the rest bore Linden to the
opposite wall so that the attack would be divided. Wounded
and extravagant Haruchai faced the huge savagery of the
Sunbane-shaped mounts.

You bastard! Covenant cried at Gibbon as if he were weep-
ing- You bloody bastard! Because he had nothing else left, he
braced himself on venom and readied his fire so that no more
Haruchai would have to die for him.

But once again he had underestimated them. Two of the
Coursers veered toward Linden; two came for him- And Ham
hobbled out to meet them. He was between Covenant and the
beasts. Covenant could not strike at them. He had to watch
as Harn pitched headlong to the stone directly under the
hooves of the leading Courser.

Pitched and rolled, and came up under the beast's belly
with its left fetlock gripped in both hands.

Unable to halt, the Courser plunged to the stone. The fall
simultaneously crushed its knee and drove its poisonous spur
up into its barrel.

Squealing, it thrashed away from him. Its fangs slashed the
air. But it could not rise with its leg broken, and the poison
was already at work.

Near the entrance, Mistweave struggled to lever himself to
his feet. But one of his arms sprawled at an unconscionable
angle, and the other seemed too weak to lift him.

As the first Courser fell, the second charged toward Cove-
nant. Then it braked with all four legs to keep itself from
crashing into the wall. It looked as immense as thunder as it
reared to bring its hooves and spurs down on Covenant and
his defenders.

The Ranyhyn also had reared to him, and he felt unable to
move. Instinctively, he submitted himself to his dizziness. It
unbalanced him, so that he stumbled away to the right.

Each forehoof as it hammered down was caught by one of
the Haruchai.

Covenant did not know their names; but they stood under
the impact of the hooves as if their flesh were granite. One of
them had been burned on the arm and could not keep his
grip; he was forced to slip the hoof past his shoulder to avoid
the spur. But his comrade held and twisted until the other
spur snapped off in his hands.

Instantly, he drove the spur like a spike into the base of the
Courser's neck.

Then the floor came up and kicked Covenant in the chest.
At once, he was able to see everything. But there was no air
in his lungs, and he had forgotten how to control his limbs.
Even the fire within him was momentarily stunned.

The uninjured Haruchai were taking their toll on the beasts
pounding in the far end of the hall. Honninscrave swung his
fists like bludgeons, matching his bulk and extremity against
the size and strength of the Coursers. Pitchwife struck and
struck as if he had temporarily become a warrior like his
wife. But the First surpassed them all. She had been trained
for combat, and her longsword leaped from thrust to thrust as
if it were weightless in her iron hands, slaying Coursers on
all sides.

Only one of the beasts got past her and her companions to
burl itself at Sunder and Hollian.

The Graveler tried to step forward; but Hollian stopped
him. She took the orcrest and krill from him, held them high
as she faced the Courser. Red fire and white light blazed out
of her hands, daunting the beast so that it turned aside.

There Caii caught up with it and dispatched it as if it were
not many times larger than he.

But the Haruchai guarding Linden were not so successful.
Hampered by their wounds, they could not match the feats of
their people. Pole attempted what Ham had done; but bis
leg failed him, and the Courser pulled from his grasp. It
plowed into another Haruchai, slammed the man against the
wall with such force that Covenant seemed to see Hergrom
being crushed by a Sandgorgon in the impact. The third Haru-
chai thrust Linden away an instant before a hoof clipped the
side of his head. His knees folded, and he sagged to the floor.
Covenant had never seen one of the Haruchai fall like that.

Pole started after Linden; but a kick caught him by the
shoulder, knocked b'm aside.

Then both Coursers reared over Linden.

Her face was clear in the reflected light from the courtyard,
Covenant expected to see panic, paralysis, horror; and he
gulped for air, struggled to put out power fast enough to aid
her. But her visage showed no fear. It was argute with con-
centration: her eyes stabbed up at the beasts. Every line of
her features was as precise as a command.

And the Coursers faltered. For an instant, they did not
plunge at her. Somehow with no power to support her she
drove her percipience into their minds, confused them.

Their minds were brutish, and the Banefire was strong. She
could not hold them for more than an instant. But that was
enough.

Before they recovered, Mistweave crashed into them like a
battering ram.

He had once left Linden in peril of her life because he had
not been able to choose between her and Honninscrave; and
that failure had haunted him ever since. But now he saw his
chance to make restitution—and did not mean to let any mor-
tal pain or weakness stop him. Ignoring his hurts, he threw
himself to Linden's rescue.

His right arm flopped at his side, but his left was still strong.
His initial charge knocked both Coursers back. One of them
fell onto its side; and he followed it at once, struck it a blow
which made its head rebound with a sickening thud from the
bard stone, its body quiver and lie still.

Wheeling, he met the second Courser as it rose to pound
down on him. His good hand caught it by the gullet; his fin-
gers ground inward to strangle the beast.

Its fangs gaped for his face. Its eyes flared insanely. Its
forehooves slashed at his shoulders, tearing him with its spurs;

blood streamed down his sides. But Linden had saved his life
when he had been more deeply injured than this—and he had
failed her. He would not do so again.

He held the beast until Pole and the other Haruchai came
to his aid. They grabbed its forelegs, turned its spurs against
itself. In a moment, the Courser was dead. Mistweave dropped
it heavily to the floor.

His muscles began to tremble as the poison worked its way
into him.

Then the fighting was over. Gasps and silence echoed from
the far end of the forehall. Grimly, Covenant gained his feet
to stumble desperately toward Linden and Mistweave.

She had not been harmed. Mistweave and the Haruchai had
taken all the hurt onto themselves. Her eyes ran as if the
wounds of her friends had been etched on her heart. Yet the
shape of her mouth and the angles of her cheeks were sharp
with wrath. She looked like a woman who would never be
paralyzed again. If she had spoken, she might have said. Just
let him try. Just let that butchering sonofabitch try.

Before Covenant could summon any words, the First
reached his side.

She was panting with exultation. Her eyes were bright, and
her blade dripped thick blood. But she did not talk of such
things. When she addressed him, she took him by surprise.

"The Master is gone," she said through her teeth. "He pur-
sues his purpose inward. I know not what he seeks—but I
fear that he will find it."

Behind her, Pitchwife retched for air as if his exertions had
torn the tissues of his cramped lungs. Mistweave shivered to-
ward convulsions as Courser-poison spread into him. Sunder's
face was gray with exhaustion; Hollian had to hold him to
keep him on his feet. Six of the Haruchai had been bumed by
the Grim and nearly crippled; one was in Mistweave's plight,
gouged by a spur during the battle. Findail had vanished. Lin-
den looked as bitter as acid.

And Honninscrave was gone. Nom was gone. Seeking their
individual conceptions of ruin in the heart of Revelstone.

Too many lives. Too much pain. And Covenant was no
closer to his goal than the entrance-hall of the na-Mhoram's
Keep.

That tears it, he thought dumbly. That is absolutely enough.
I will not take any more of this.

"Linden," he said thickly. His voice was hoarse with fire.
"Tell Pitchwife how to treat these people."

For an instant, her eyes widened. He feared that she would
demur. She was a physician: seven Haruchai and Mistweave
needed her sorely. But then she seemed to understand him.
The Land also required healing. And she had wounds of her
own which demanded care.

Turning to Pitchwife, she said, "You've got some vitrim
left." In spite of the Banefire, her senses had become explicit,
immune to bafflement. "Use it on the bums. Give diamon-
draught to everybody who's hurt." Then she gazed squarely
back at Covenant. "Mistweave's arm can wait. But voure is
the only thing I know of that'll help against the poison."

He did not hesitate; he had no hesitation left. "Cail,'* he
said, "you know Revelstone. And you know voure." The dis-
tilled sap which the Clave used to ward off the effects of the
sun of pestilence had once saved Call's life. "Tell your people
to find some." There were only four Haruchai uninjured.
"And tell them to take Sunder and Hollian with them." Hol-
lian was experienced with voure. "For God's sake, keep them
safe."

Without waiting for a response, he swung toward the First.

"What you ought to do is secure our retreat." His tone
thickened like blood. He had told all his companions to stay
out of Revelstone, and none of them obeyed. But they would
obey him now. He would not accept refusal. "But it's too late
for that. I want you to go after Honninscrave. Find him some-
how. Don't let him do it—whatever it is."

Then he faced Call again. "I don't need to be protected. Not
anymore. But if there's anybody left in the hold," any villagers
or Haruchai the Clave had not yet shed, "they need help.
Break in there somehow. Get them out. Before they're fed to
the Banefire.

"Linden and I are going after Gibbon."

None of his companions protested. He was impossible to
refuse. He held the world in his hands, and his skin seemed to
be wearing thinner, so that the black power gnawing in him
showed more and more clearly. His cut fingers dripped blood;

but the wound gave him no pain. When Linden indicated the
far end of the forehall, he went in that direction with her,
leaving behind him all the needs and problems for which he
lacked both strength and time. Leaving behind especially Sun-
der and Hollian, on whom the future depended; but also the
First and Pitchwife, who were dear to him; Mistweave on the
verge of convulsions; the proven Haruchai; leaving them be-
hind, not as encumbrances, but as people who were too pre-
cious to be risked. Linden also he would have left behind, but
he needed her to guide him—and to support him. He was hag-
ridden by vertigo. The reports of (heir steps rustled like dry
leaves as they moved; and he felt thaj he was going to the
place where all things withered. But he did not look back or
turn aside.

When they passed out of the cavern into the mazing,
Giant-planned ways of the great Keep, they were suddenly
attacked by a small band of Riders. But the proximity of
rukh-Sre triggered his ring. The Riders were swept away in a
wash of midnight.

The dark was complete for a short distance. Ahead, how-
ever, the normal lights of the city burned, torches smoking in
sconces along the walls. No fires of the Lords had ever
smoked: their flames had not harmed the essential wood. The
Clave kept its passage lit so that Gibbon could move his forces
from place to place; but these halls were empty. They echoed
like crypts. Much beauty had died here, been undone by time
or malice.

Behind him. Covenant heard the sounds of renewed com-
bat; and his shoulders flinched.

"They can take care of themselves," Linden gritted, hold-
ing her fear for her friends between her teeth. "This way."

Covenant stayed with her as she turned toward a side pas-
sage and started down a long sequence of stairs toward the
roots of Revelstone.

Her perception of the Raver made no mistakes. Not uncer-
tainty, but only her ignorance of the Keep, caused her to take
occasional corridors or turnings which did not lead toward her
goal. At intervals, Riders appeared from nowhere to attack
and retreat again as if they raised their fire for no other rea-
son than to mark Covenant's progress through the Keep. They
posed no danger in themselves; his defenses were instanta-
neous and thorough. But each onslaught accentuated his diz-
ziness, weakened his control. His ability to suppress the black
raving frayed. He had to lean on Linden as if she were one
of the Haruchai.

Always the path she chose tended downward; and after a
while he felt a sick conviction that he knew where she was
going—where Gibbon had decided to hazard his fate. The
place where any violence would do the most damage. His
forearm throbbed as if it had been freshly bitten- Then Lin-
den opened a small, heavy door in a chamber which had once
been a meeting hall, with curtains on its walls; and a long
twisting stairwell gaped below them. Now he was sure. Night
gyred up out of the depths; he thought that he would fall. But
he did not. She upheld him. Only his nightmares gathered
around him as they made the long descent toward the place
where Gibbon meant to break him.

Abruptly, she stopped, wheeled to look upward. A man
came down the stairs, as noiseless as wings. In a moment, the
Haruchai reached them.

Cail.

He faced Covenant. Haste did not heighten his respiration;

disobedience did not abash him. "Ur-Lord," he said, "I bring
word of what transpires above."

Covenant blinked at the Haruchai; but the nauseous whirl
of his vision blurred everything.

"It is fortunate that voure was readily found. The company,
is now sorely beleaguered. That battle is one to wring the
heart"—he spoke as if he had no heart—"for it is fought in
large part by those who should not give battle. Among the
few Riders are many others who merely serve the Clave and
Revelstone. They are cooks and herders, artisans and scul-
lions, tenders of hearth and Courser. They have no skill for
this work, and it is a shameful thing to slay them. Yet they
will not be halted or daunted. A possession is upon them.
They accept naught but their own slaughter. Felling them,
Pitchwife weeps as no Haruchai has ever wept." Call spoke
flatly; but Linden's grasp on Covenant's arm conveyed a vis-
ceral tremor of the emotion Cail projected,

"Voure and vitrim enable the company for defense," he
went on. "And the hold has been opened. There were found
Stell and some few other Haruchai, though no villagers. They
have gone to the support of the company. The Graveler and
the eh-Brand are well. But of neither the First nor the Master
have we seen sign."

Then he stopped. He did not ask permission to remain with
Covenant; his stance showed that he had no intention of
leaving.

Because Covenant said nothing. Linden breathed for him,
"Thanks. Thanks for coming." Her voice ached on behalf of
the innocent men and women who were Gibbon's victims—
and of her companions, who had no choice.

But Covenant had passed beyond the details of pain and
loss into a state of utter purpose, 'bf unanodyned grief and
quintessential fury. Felling them, Pitchwife weeps as no Haru-
chai has ever wept. That must be true; Cail would not lie. But
it was only one more drop in an ocean eating away the very
shores of Time. The ocean of Lord Foul's cruelty. Such things
could not be permitted to continue.

Lifting himself out of vertigo and Linden's grasp, the Un-
believer started downward again.

She called his name, but he did not answer. With Cail at
her side, she came hastening after him.

The way was not long now. Soon he reached the bottom of
the stairwell, halted in front of a blank wall that he remem-
bered—a wall with an invisible door which he had seen only
once before and never been asked to open. He did not know
how to open it. But that did not matter. What mattered was
that Gibbon had chosen this place, this place, for his battle-
ground. Simple dismay added a twist which nearly snapped
the knot of Covenant's self-command.

244 White Gold Wielder

But he was not required to breach the door for himself. It
opened inward at Gibbon's word, admitting Covenant, Linden,
and Cail to one of the greatest treasures of the old Lords.

To the Hall of Gifts.

After all these centuries, it was still intact. The air was
tanged with smoke because the torches Gibbon had set for
himself created light by destruction. And that kind of light
could not do justice to the wonder of the high cavern. But
everything Covenant saw was still intact.

The legacy of the Lords to a future which despised them.

The makers of Revelstone had wrought little in this spacious
cave. They had given it a smooth floor, but had not touched
the native stone of its walls, the rough columns which rose
tremendously to support the ceiling and the rest of the Keep.
Yet that lack of finish suited the purpose for which the Hall
had been conceived. The rude surfaces everywhere displayed
the best work of the finest artists and craftspeople of the an-
cient Land.

Tapestries and paintings behung the walls, defying the de-
cay of centuries—preserved by some skill of the artists or
quality of the Hall's atmosphere. Stands between the columns
held large sculptures and carvings. Small pieces rested on
wooden shelves cunningly attached to the stone. Many different
fabrics were displayed; but all the other works were made of
either wood or stone, the two fundamental materials which the
Land had once revered. The Hall contained no metal of any
description.

Covenant had not forgotten this place, never forgotten it;

but he thought now that he had forgotten its pricelessness. It
seemed to bring everything back to him in a rush, every
treasured or abhorred memory: Lena and Atiaran, love and
rape; Mhoram's hazardous and indefeasible compassion; the
unscrupulous lore of ur-viles; Kevin in his despair; Ranyhyn
as proud as wind; Ramen as stubborn as earth. And Giants,
Giants on all sides. Giants wonderously depicted with their
fealty and grief and grandeur wreathed about them as if the
tapestries and stoneworks and carvings were numinous with
eternity. Here the people of the Land had shown what they
could do when they were given peace.

And it was here, in this place of destructible beauty and
heritage, that Gibbon-Raver had chosen to challenge Cove-
nant for the survival of the Earth.

The Banefire

Moving unconsciously inward, as if he were blind to the
brink of madness gaping at his feet, Covenant went to meet
the na-Mhoram.

Stark in his black robe and scarlet chasuble, with his iron
crozier held ready and his red eyes bright, Gibbon stood oo a
mosaic which swirled through the center of the floor. Cove-
nant had not seen that mosaic before; it must have been set
at a later time. It was formed of small stone chips the color
of aliantha and agony; and it portrayed Kevin Landwaster at
the Ritual of Desecration. Unlike most of the works around
it, it conveyed no sense of underlying affirmation. Instead, it
expressed Kevin's lurid and extreme pain as if that were a
source of satisfaction.

Gibbon had taken Us position over the Landwaster's heart.

At the edge of the mosaic, Honninscrave knelt in the stone.

Covenant's entrance into the Hall of Gifts did not make the
Giant look up, though his head was the only part of himself
he could have moved. By some cunning of Gibbon-Raver's
power, Honninscrave had been fused into the floor. Kneeling,
he had sunk into it to the middle of his thighs and forearms
as though it were quicksand. Then it had solidified around
him, imprisoning him absolutely.

His eyes stared in despair at t^e failure of his life. Loss
scarred his face with memories of Seadreamer and Starfare's
Gem.

And the na-Mhoram laughed.

"See you, Unbeliever?" His voice was crimson and eager.
"No Unbelief will redeem you now. I will spare you only if
you grovel."

In response, Cail sprang past Covenant toward Gibbon as
if he thought he could shatter the Raver.

But Gibbon was ready. His fist tightened on his crozier; fire
spread from the open triangle at its tip.

An involuntary scream tore through Honninscrave.

Cail leaped to a halt, stood almost trembling a few feet
from the oa-Mhoram.

"I know you, Haruchai," the Raver breathed softly, sav-
agely. 'The groveler you serve will not assail me—he values
the relics of his dead past and fears to harm them. He values
the lost Earth. But you have not the folly of that scruple. Yet
you remain a fool. You will not require me to crush the life
of this mad Giant who sought to confront me, deeming me
as paltry as himself."

Cail turned on his heel, strode back to Covenant's side. His
visage held no expression. But sweat beaded on his temples,
and the muscles at the corners of his eyes squeezed and re-
leased like the labor of his heart.

Linden tried to curse, but the words came out like wincing.
Instinctively, she had placed herself half behind Covenant.

"Hear you?" Gibbon went on, raising his voice so that it
contaminated every comer of the great Hall. "You are all
fools, and you will not lift finger or flame against me. You will
do naught but grovel at my whim or die. You are beaten, Un-
believer. You fear to destroy that which you love. Your love
is cowardice, and you are beaten."

Covenant's throat closed as if he were choking on smoke.

"And you. Linden Avery." The na-Mhoram's raw contempt
filled the air. "Knowing my touch, you have yet dared me
again. And this you name victory to yourself, thinking that
such folly expiates your rooted evil. You conceive that we have
misesteemed you, that you have put aside Despite. But your
belief is anile. You have not yet tasted the depths of your
Desecration.

"Hear you all?" he cried suddenly, exalted by malice. "You
are damned beyond description, and I will feast upon your
souls'"

Torn between outrage and visceral horror, Linden made
whimpering noises between her teeth. She had come this far
because she loved Covenant and loathed evil; but Gibbon ap-
palled her in every nerve and fiber of her being. Her face was
as pale as a gravestone; her eyes stared like wounds. Covenant
had gone numb to everything else; but he was still aware of
her. He knew what was happening to her. She was being
ripped apart by her desire for the power to crush Gibbon—to
extirpate him as if he were the part of herself she most hated.

If she did that, if she took hold of Covenant's fire and
wielded it for herself, she would be lost. The inheritance of
her parents would overcome her. Destroying Gibbon, she
would shape herself in his image, affirm the blackness which
had twisted her life.

That at least Covenant could spare her. And the moment
had come. He was caught in the throes of a rupture so funda-
mental and puissant that it might tear Time asunder. If he did
not act now, his control would be gone.

Deliberately, desperately, he started forward as if he did
not realize that he had gone past the brink.

At once. Gibbon lifted his crozier higher, gripped it more
tightly. His eyes spat red. "Bethink you. Unbeliever!" he
snapped. "You know not what you do! Consider your hands."

Involuntarily, Covenant looked down at them, at the krill-
cuts across the insides of his fingers.

His severed flesh gaped, exposing bone. But the cuts were
not bleeding. Instead, they oozed an essence of leprosy and
venom. The very fluid in his veins had become corruption.

Yet he was prepared for this. His chosen path had brought
him here. It was foretold by dreams. And he had already
caused the shattering of Revelstone's gates, already brought
immeasurable damage into the Keep. More harm would not
alter his doom.

The scars on his forearm shone black fury. Like poison and
flame, he strode onto the mosaic toward Gibbon.

"Fool!" the na-Mhoram cried. A grimace of fear betrayed
his face. "You cannot oppose mel The Banefire surpasses you!
And if it does not, I will possess your Linden Avery. Will you
slay her also?"                  ^

Covenant heard Gibbon. He understood the threat. But he
did not stop.

Suddenly, the Raver sent a blast of fire toward Honnin-
scrave; and Covenant erupted to protect the Master.

Erupted as if his heart could no longer contain the magma
of his power.

Flame as dark and fathomless as an abyss shouted across
the glittering surface of the mosaic, rebounded among the
pillars, echoed off the high ceiling. Soulless force ripped Gib-
bon's blast from the air, scattered it in tatters, rose on and on
with a deafening vehemence, trumpeting for the Raver's life.
His hands lifted in front of him with the palms outward like
an appeal for peace; but from his sliced fingers wild magic
streamed, venomous and fatal. All his flesh had turned black;

his bones were ebon and diseased. The only pure things about
him were the stark circle of his ring and the quality of his
passion.

The na-Mhoram retreated a step or two, held up his crozier
with vermeil frenzy wailing from its triangle. Fire hot enough
to incinerate stone crashed at Covenant. The concentrated
ferocity of the Banefire seemed to scorch straight into his
vitals. But he went forward through it.

That Gibbon had slaughtered the people of the Land to
feed the Banefire and the Sunbane. That he had taught rites
of bloodshed to those who survived, so that they slew each
other in order to live. That he had filled Revelstone itself with
such pollution. Blast and counter-blast, Honninscrave strug-
gling uselessly again. Cad hauling Linden out of the terrible
concussion of powers with screams in her eyes too acute for
paralysis and precious artifacts falling like fagots. That he had
torn the forehall with Grim-fire and had sent his innocent
servants to compel their own butchery from the company.
That he had so appalled Linden that she believed the legacy
of her parents. That he had brought his violence here, requir-
ing Covenant to spend the Land's treasured past as tinder.

Gibbon's crozier channeled so much might from the Bane-
fire, so much force and rage, that Covenant nearly wept at the
ruin it wrought, the price it exacted from him. Under his
boots, the colored pieces of the mosaic caught fire, became as
brilliant and incandescent as prophecy. He trod an image of
the Landwaster's heart as if that were where his own path led.

Erect and benighted in the core of bis infernal power, he
tried to advance on the na-Mhoram.

And failed-

Air and light ceased to exist. Every precious thing near
his blaze burned away. The nearby columns began to melt:

the floor of the Hall rippled on the verge of dissolution. More
force than ever before in his life coursed from him and
slammed at Gibbon. The essential fabric of the Earth's exis-
tence trembled as if the last wind had begun to blow.

Yet he failed.

Lord Foul had planned well, prepared well. Gibbon-Raver
was cornered and could not flee, and so he did not falter. And
the Banefire was too strong. Centuries of bloodshed had pro-
duced their intended fruit; and Gibbon fed it to Covenant,
thrust it morsel by bitter morsel between his unwilling teeth.
The Banefire was not stronger than he was; it was simply
stronger than he dared to be. Strong enough to withstand any
assault which did not also crumble the Arch of Time.

At the taste of that knowledge. Covenant felt his death
closing around him, and his despair grew wild. For a long
moment with red fury blazing at him like the sun, he wanted
to cry out, scream, howl so that the heavens would hear him,
No!NO!

Hear him and fall.

But before the weaving of the world could tear, he found
he knew that answer also. To bear what must be borne. After
all, it was endurable—if he chose to go that far, and the choice
was not taken from him. Certainly it would be expensive. It
would cost him everything. But was that not preferable to a
Ritual of Desecration which would make Kevin's look like an
act of petty spite? Was it not?

After a time, he said softly. Yes. And again, Yes. Accepting
it fully for the first time. You are the wild magic. Yes.

With the last ragged fragments of his will, he pulled him-
self back from the brink of cataclysm. He could not quench
the blackness—and if he did not quench it soon, it would kill
him. The venom was eating away his life. But not yet. His
face was stretched and mortal with unutterable pain; but he
had accepted it. Turning away from Gibbon, he walked off the
mosaic.

As he looked toward Linden and Call to beg their forgive-
ness, Nom burst into the Hall of Gifts with the First in fierce
pursuit.

She wrenched to a halt when she saw the wreckage of the
Hall, the extent of Covenant's desperation; then she went
swiftly to join Cai! and Linden. But the Sandgorgon shot to-
ward the na-Mhoram as if the beast at last had located its
perfect prey.

Plashing past Covenant, pounding across the mosaic, Nom
crashed into the red heart of Gibbon's power.

And was catapulted away over Honninscrave's head like a
flung child. Even a Sandgorgon was a small thing to pit
against the force of the Banefire.

But Nom understood frustration and fury, effort and de-
struction. It did not understand fear or defeat. Surely the beast
recognized the sheer transcendence of Gibbon's might. But
Nom did not therefore desist or flee. Instead, it attacked in
another way.

With both arms, it hit the floor so hard that the entire cen-
ter of the Hall bucked and spattered like a sheet of water.

The mosaic cracked across its face, lifted in pieces, fell
apart.

Shrieking rage, Gibbon staggered to regain his balance,
then cocked back his crozier to deliver a blast which would
fry Norn's flesh from its bones.

But he was maddened by strain and death-lust, and his blow
required a moment's preparation. He did not see the chief re-
sult of Norn's attack,

That blow sent a fracture from wall to wall—a split which
passed directly through the place where Honninscrave knelt
in the stone. His bonds were shattered as if that had been
Nom's intent.

With a roar, Honninscrave charged the na-Mhoram.

Gibbon was too intensely focused on Nom, too precariously
poised. He could not react in time. His human flesh had no
defense as Honninscrave struck him a blow which seemed to
crush his bones. His crozier clattered across the floor, rang
against the base of a column, and lay still, deprived of fire.

The First cried Honninscrave's name; but her voice ap-
peared to make no sound in the stunned Hall.

For a moment, Honninscrave remained hunched and pant-
ing over Gibbon's corpse. Covenant had time for one clear
thought: You can't kill a Raver that way. You can only kill
the body.

Then the Master turned toward his companions; and Cove-
nant nearly broke. He did not need Linden's percipience to
see what had happened, did not need to hear her anguished
whisper. He had witnessed such horrors before. And Honnin-
scrave's plight was plain.

He stood as if he were still himself. His fists clenched as if
he knew what he was doing. But his face was flowing like an
hallucination, melting back and forth between savage glee and
settled grim resolve. He was Grimmand Honninscrave, the
Master of Starfare's Gem. And he was samadhi Sheol, the
Raver that had led the Clave in Gibbon's body.

At war with each other.

The entire battle was internal. Red flared into his eyes and
glazed away. Grins bared his teeth, were fought back. Snarl-
ing laughter choked in his throat. When he spoke, his voice
cracked and seized under the strain.

"Thomas Covenant"

At once, his voice scaled upward out of control, crying,
"Madman! Madman!"

He forced it down again. "Earthfriend. Hear me." The
effort seemed to tear the muscles of his face. Helpless with
power, Covenant watched in fever as Honninscrave wrestled
for possession of his soul. Through his teeth, the Giant articu-
lated like a death-gasp, "Heed the bidding of your despair. It
must be done."

At once, several piercing shrieks burst from him—the Rav-
er's staccato anguish, or Honninscrave's. "Help him," Linden
panted, "Help him. Dear God." But there was nothing any-
body could do. She alone had the capacity to interfere in such
a struggle—and if she made the attempt, Covenant meant to
stop her. If samadhi Sheol sprang from Honninscrave to her.
it would have access to the wild magic through her.

Retching for air, Honninscrave gained the mastery.

"You must slay me." The words bled from ha lips, but they
were distinct and certain. His face turned murderous, then re-
gained its familiar lines. "I will contain this Raver while you
slay me. In that way, it also will be slain. And I will be at
peace."

Sheol writhed for freedom; but Honninscrave held.

"I beg of you."

Covenant let out a groan of fire;-but it went nowhere near
the Giant. The First gripped her sword in both fists until her
arms trembled; but her tears blinded her, and she could not
move. Call folded his arms across his chest as if he were deaf.

Linden was savage with suppressed weeping. "Give me a
knife. Somebody give me a knife. Oh God damn you all to
hell. Honninscrave." But she had no knife, and her revulsion
would not let her go any closer to the Raver.

Yet Honninscrave was answered.

By Nom, the Sandgorgon of the Great Desert.

The beast waited a moment for the others to act, as if it
understood that they all had to pass through this crisis and be
changed. Then it padded over to Honninscrave, its strange
knees tense with strength. He watched it come while the
Raver in him gibbered and yowled. But he was the Master now
in a way which surpassed samadhi Sheol, and his control did
not slip.

Slowly, almost gently, Nom placed its arms around bis
waist. For an instant, his eyes gazed toward his companions
and yearned as if he wished to say farewell—wished poign-
antly at the last that he had found some way to go on living.
Then, with a wrench as unexpected as an act of kindness, the
Sandgorgon crumpled him to the floor.

As if he were not in tears, Covenant thought dumbly. You
can't kill a Raver that way. But he was not sure anymore.
There were mysteries in the world which even Lord Foul
could not corrupt.

Linden gave a gasp as if her own bones had broken. When
she raised her head, her eyes were bright and hungry for the
power to exact retribution.

Stiffly, the First started toward the body of her friend.

Before she reached him, Norn turned; and Cail said as if
even his native dispassion were not proof against surprise,
"The Sandgorgon speaks."

Covenant could not clear his sight. All his peripheral vision
was gone, blackened by imminent combustion.

"It speaks in the manner of the Haruchai." Faint lines of
perplexity marked the space between Call's brows. "Its speech
is alien—yet comprehensible."

His companions stared at him.

"It says that it has rent the Raver. It does not say slain. The
word is 'to rend.* The Raver has been rent. And the shreds of
its being Nom has consumed." With an effort, Cail smoothed
the frown from his forehead. "Thus has the Sandgorgon
gained the capacity for such speech."

Then the Haruchai faced Covenant, "Nom gives you thanks,
ur-Lord."

Thanks, Covenant grieved. He had let Honninscrave die.
Had failed to defeat Gibbon. He did not deserve thanks. And
he had no time. All his time had been used up. It was too
late for sorrow. His skin had a dark, sick underhue; his sense
of himself was fraying away. A gale of blackness rose in him,
and it demanded an answer. The answer he had learned in
nightmares. From Linden and the First and Cail and Nom and
fallen Honninscrave he turned away as if he were alone and
walked like a mounting flicker of fire out of the Hall of Gifts.

But when he put his feet to the stairs, a hand closed around
his mind, and he stopped. Another will imposed itself on his,
taking his choices from him.

Please, it said. Please don't.

Though he had no health-sense and was hardly sane, he rec-
ognized Linden's grasp. She was possessing him with her per-
cipience.

Don't do this to yourself.

Through the link between them, he knew that she was
weeping wildly. But behind her pain shone a fervid passion.
She would not permit him to end ia this way. Not allow him
to go willingly out of her life.

I can't let you.

He understood her. How could he not? She was too vul-
nerable to everything. She saw that his control was almost
gone. And his purpose must have been transparent to her; his
desperation was too extreme to elude her discernment. She
was trying to save him.

You mean too much.

But this was not salvation: it was doom. She had misinter-
preted his need for her. What could she hope to do with him
when his madness had become irremediable? And how would
she be able to face the Despiser with the consequences of pos-
session chained about her soul?

He did not try to fight her with fire. He refused to risk
harming her. Instead, he remembered the imposed silence of
the Elohim and the delirium of venom. In the past, either de-
fense had sufficed to daunt her. Now he raised them together,
sought deliberately to close the doors of his mind, shut her
out.

She was stronger than ever. She had learned much, accepted
much. She was acquainted with him in ways too intimate to
be measured. She was crying hotly for him, and her desire
sprang from the roots of her life. She clinched her will to his
with a white grip and would not let him go.

To shut her out was hard, atrociously hard. He had to seal
off half of himself as well as all of her, silence his own deep
yearning. But she still did not comprehend him. She still
feared that he was driven by the same self-pity grown to
malice which had corrupted her father. And she had been too
badly hurt by the horror of Gibbon's power and Honnin-
scrave's death to be clear about what she was doing. At last he
was able to close the door, to leave her behind as he started
up the stairs again.

Lorn and aggrieved, her cry rose after him:

"I love you!"

It made him waver for a moment. But then be steadied him-
self and went on.

Borne by a swelling flood of black fire, he made his way to-
ward the sacred enclosure. Twice he encountered bands of
Riders who opposed him frenetically, as if they could sense
his purpose. But be had become untouchable and was able to
ignore them. Instinct and memory guided him to the base of
the huge cavity in the heart of Revelstone where the Banefire
bumed.

It was here that the former inhabitants of the city had come
together to share their communal dedication to the Land.
Within its sheer cylinder were balconies where the people had
stood to hear the Lords speak from the dais below them. But
that dais was gone now, replaced by a pit from which the
Banefire licked blood for food.

At the nearest doorway he stopped. Pindail stood there
waiting for him.

The yellow anguish of the Appointed's eyes had not
changed. His face was a wasteland of fear and old pain. But
the anger with which he had so often denounced Covenant
was gone. In its place, the Elohim emitted simple rue. Softly,
he said, "You are going to your death, ring-wielder. I compre-
hend you now. It is a valiant hazard. I cannot answer for its
outcome—and I know not how I will prove worthy of you.
But I will not leave you."

That touched Covenant as the rukhs of the Riders had not
It gave him the strength to go on into the sacred enclosure.

There the Banefire met him, howling like the furnace of
the sun. Its flames raged as high as the upper balconies where
the immense iron triangle of the master-rukh now rested,
channeling the power of the Sunbane to the Clave. Its heat
seemed to char his face instantly, sear his lungs, cinder the
frail life of his flesh and rave through him into the last foun-
dation of his will. The fang-marks on his forearm burned like
glee. Yet he did not halt or hesitate. He had set his feet to this
path of his own volition; he accepted it completely. Pausing
only to bring down the master-rukh in molten rain so that the
surviving Riders would be cut off from their strength, he
moved into the inferno.

That is the grace which has been given to you.
A small clear space like hope opened in his heart as he fol-
lowed his dreams into the Banefire.
To bear what must be borne.
After a time, the blackness in him burned white.

PART II

Apotheosis

ELEVEN: Aftermath

HELD upright and active only by the fierce pressure of
her need. Linden Avery walked numbly down through the
ways of Revelstone, following the mounting stream of water
inward. She had Just left Nom on the upland plateau, where
the Sandgorgon tended the channel it had brunted through
sheer rock and dead soil from the outflow of GUmmermere
to the upper entrance of the Keep; and the tarn's untainted
waters now ran past her along a path prepared for it by the
First, Pitchwife, and a few Haruchai.

Pure in spite of the harsh'ages of the Sunbane, those wa-
ters shone blue against the desert of the late afternoon sun
until they began to tumble like rapids into Revelstone. Then
torchlight glinted across their splashing rush so that they
looked like the glee of mountains as they washed passages,
turned at closed doors and new barricades, rolled whitely
down stairways. The Giants were adept at stone, and they
read the inner language of the Keep. The route they had de-
signed led with surprising convolution and efficiency to Lin-
den's goal.

It was an open door at the base of the sacred enclosure,
where the Banefire still burned as if Thomas Covenant had
never stood within its heart and screamed against the heavens.

In rage and despair she had conceived this means of
quenching the Clave's power. When Covenant had turned
away from the Hall of Gifts and his friends, she had seen
where he was going; and she had understood him—or thought
she understood. He meant to put an end to his life, so that he
would no longer be a threat to what he loved. Like her father,
possessed by self-pity. But, standing so near to Gibbon-Raver,
she had learned that her own former visceral desire for death
was in truth a black passion for power, for immunity from all
death forever. And the way that blackness worked upon her
and grew showed her that no one could submit to such hunger
without becoming a servant of the Despiser. Covenant's in-
tended immolation would only seal his soul to Lord Foul.

Therefore she had tried to stop him.

Yet somehow he had remained strong enough to deny her.
In spite of his apparently suicidal abjection, he had refused
her completely. It made her wild.

In the Hall, the First had fallen deep into the grief of
Giants. Nom had begun to belabor a great grave for Hon-
ninscrave, as if the gift the Master had given Revelstone and
the Land belonged there. Call had looked at Linden, expecting
her to go now to aid the rest of the company, care for the
wounded. But she had left them all in order to pursue Cove-
nant to his doom. Perhaps she had believed that she would
yet find a way to make him heed her. Or perhaps she had sim-
ply been unable to give him up.

His agony within the Banefire had nearly broken her. But it
had also given her a focus for her despair. She had sent out
a mental cry which had brought Nom and Cail running to her
with the First between them. At the sight of what Covenant
was doing, the First's visage had turned gray with defeat.-But
when Linden had explained how the Banefire could be extin-
guished, the First had come instantly back to herself. Sending
Cail to rally their companions, she had sped away with Nom
to find the upland plateau and Glimmennere.

Linden had stayed with Covenant.

Stayed with him and felt the excoriation of his soul untu
at last his envenomed power burned clean, and he came walk-
ing back out of the Banefire as if he were deaf and blind
and newborn, unable in the aftermath of his anguish to ac-
knowledge her presence or even know that she was there, that
through her vulnerable senses she had now shared everything
with him except his death.

And as he had moved sightlessly past her toward some
place or fate which she could no longer guess, her heart had
turned to bitterness and dust, leaving her as desolate as the
demesne of the Sunbane. She had thought that her passion was
directed at him, at his rejection of her, his folly, his desperate
doom; but when she saw him emerge from the Banefire and
pass by her, she knew better. She had been appalled at her-
self—at the immedicable wrong of what she had tried to do
to him. Despite her horror of possession, her revulsion for the
dark ill which Lord Foul had practiced on Joan and the Land,
her clear conviction that no one had the right to master others,
suppress them, rule them in that way, she had reacted to Cov-
enant's need and determination as if she were a Raver. She
had tried to save him by taking away his identity.

There was no excuse. Even if he had died in the Banefire,
or brought down the Arch of Time, her attempt would have
been fundamentally evil—a crime of the spirit beside which her
physical murder of her mother paled.

Then for a moment she had believed that she had no choice
but to take his place in the Banefire—to let that savage blaze
rip away her offenses so that Covenant and her friends and the
Land would no longer be in danger from her. Gibbon-Raver
had said, The principal doom of the Land is upon your shoul-
ders. And, You have not yet tasted the depths of your Desecra-
tion. If her life had been shaped by a miscomprehended lust
for power, then let it end now, as it deserved. There was no
one nearby to stop her.

But then she had become aware of Findail. She had not
seen him earlier. He seemed to have appeared in answer to her
need. He had stood there before her, his face a hatchment of
rue and strain; and his yellow eyes had ached as if they were
familiar with the heart of the Banefire.

"Sun-Sage," he had breathed softly, "I know not how to
dissuade you. I do not desire your death—though raayhap I
would be spared much thereby. Yet consider the ring-wielder.
What hope will remain for him if you are gone? How will he
then refuse the recourse of the Earth's ruin?"

Hope? she had thought. I almost took away his ability to
even know what hope is. Yet she had not protested. Bowing
her head as if Findail had reprimanded her, she had turned
away from the sacred enclosure. After all, she had no right to
go where Covenant had gone. Instead, she had begun trying to
find her way through the unfamiliar passages of Revelstone
toward the upland plateau.

Before long, Durris had joined her. Reporting that the re-
sistance of the Clave had ended, and that the Haruchai had
already set about fulfilling her commands, he had guided her
up to the afternoon sunlight and the stream of Glimmermere.

She had found the First and Norn together. Following the
First's instructions, Nom was bludgeoning a channel out of
the raw rock. The beast obeyed her as if it knew what she
wanted, understood everything she said—as if it had been
tamed. Yet the Sandgorgon did not appear tame as it tore into
the ground, shaping a watercourse with swift, exuberant fe-
rocity. Soon the channel would be ready, and the clear waters
of Glimmermere could be diverted from Furl Falls.

Leaving Nom to Linden, the First went back into Revel-
stone to help the rest of the company. Shortly she sent another
Haruchai upland to say that the hurts of Grim-fire and Cour-
ser-poison were responding to voure, vitrim, and diamon-
draught. Even Mistweave was out of danger. Yet there were
many injured men and women who required Linden's personal
attention.

But Linden did not leave the Sandgorgon until the channel
was open and water ran eagerly down into the city and Nom
had convinced her that it could be trusted not to attack the
Keep once more. That trust came slowly: she did not know to
what extent the rending of the Raver had changed Norn's es-
sential wildness. But Nom came to her when she spoke. It
obeyed her as if it both understood and approved of her or-
ders. Finally she lifted herself out of her desert enough to ask
the Sandgorgon what it would do if she left it alone. At once,
it went and began improving the channel so that the water
flowed more freely.

Then she was satisfied- And she did not like the openness
of the plateau. The wasted landscape on all sides was too
much for her. She seemed to feel the desert sun shining
straight into her, confirming her as a place of perpetual dust.
She needed constriction, limitation—walls and requirements
of a more human scale—specific tasks that would help her
hold herself together. Leaving the Sandgorgon to go about its
work in its own way, she followed the water back into Revel-
stone.

Now the rapid chattering torchlight-spangled current drew
her in the direction of the Banefire.

Durris remained beside her; but she was hardly aware of
him. She sensed all the Haruchai as if they were simply a part
of Revelstone, a manifestation of the Keep's old granite. With
the little strength she still possessed, she focused her percipi-
ence forward, toward the fierce moil of steam where the Bane-
fire fought against extinction. For a time, the elemental
passion of that conflict was so intense that she could not see
the outcome. But then she heard more clearly the chuckling
eagerness with which Glimmermere's stream sped along its
stone route; and she knew the Banefire would eventually fail.

In that way, the upland tarn proved itself a thing of hope.

But hope seemed to have no meaning anymore. Linden had
never deluded herself with the belief that the quenching of the
Banefire would alter or weaken the Sunbane. Ages of blood-
shed had only fed the Sunbane, only accelerated its possession
of the Land, not caused it or controlled it.

When Covenant had fallen into despair after the loss of the
One Tree, she had virtually coerced him to accept the end of
the Clave's power as an important and necessary goal. She
had demanded commitments from him, ignoring the fore-
knowledge of his death as if it signified nothing and could be
set aside, crying at him, // you're going to die, do something
to make it count! But even then she had known that the Sun-
bane would still go on gnawing its way inexorably into the
heart of the Earth. Yet she had required this decision of him
because she needed a concrete purpose, a discipline as tan-
gible as surgery on which she could anchor herself against
the dark. And because anything ha.d been preferable to his
despair,

But when she had wrested that promise from him, he had
asked, What're you going to do? And she had replied, I'm
going to wait, as if she had known what she was saying. My
turn's coming. But she had not known how truly she spoke—
not until Gibbon had said to her. You have not yet tasted the
depths of your Desecration, and she had reacted by trying
to possess the one decent love of her life.

Her turn was coming, all right. She could see it before her
as vividly as the savage red steam venting like shrieks from
all the doors of the sacred enclosure. Driven to commit all de-
struction. The desert sun lay within her as it lay upon the
Land; soon the Sunbane would have its way with her alto-
gether. Then she would indeed be a kind of Sun-Sage, as the
Elohim avowed—but not in the way they meant.

An old habit which might once have been a form of
self-respect caused her to thrust her hands into her hair to
straighten it. But its uncleanness made her wince. Randomly,
she thought that she should have gone to Glimmermere for
a bath, made at least that much effort to cleanse—or perhaps
merely disguise—the grime of her sins. But the idea was fool-
ish, and she dismissed it. Her sins were not ones which could
be washed away, even by water as quintessentially pure as
Glimmermere's. And while the Banefire still burned, and the
company still needed care, she could not waste time on herself.

Then she reached the wet fringes of the steam. The Banefire's
heat seemed to condense on her face, muffling her perceptions;

but after a moment she located the First and Pitchwife. They
were not far away. Soon they emerged from the crimson vapor
as if Glimmermere's effect upon the Banefire restored them to
life.

Pitchwife bore the marks of battle and killing. His grotesque
face was twisted with weariness and remembered hurt. It
looked like the visage of a man who had forgotten the possi-
bility of mirth. Yet he stood at his wife's side; and the sight
tightened Linden's throat. Weeps as no Haruchai has ever
wept. Oh, Pitchwife, she breathed to him mutely. I'm sorry.

The First was in better shape. The grief of Honninscrave's
end remained in her eyes; but with Pitchwife beside her she
knew how to bear it. And she was a Swordmain, trained for
combat. The company had achieved a significant victory. To
that extent, the Search she led had already been vindicated.

Somehow, they managed to greet Linden with smiles. They
were Giants, and she was important to them. But a dry desert
wind blew through her because she could not match them. She
did not deserve such friends.

Without preamble, the First gestured toward the sacred en-
closure. "It is a bold conception, Chosen, and worthy of pride.
With mounting swiftness it accomplishes that which even the
Earthfriend in his power—'* But then she stopped, looked
more closely at Linden. Abruptly, her own rue rose up in her,
and her eyes welled tears. "Ah, Chosen," she breathed. "The
fault is not yours. You are mortal, as I am—and our foe is
malign beyond endurance. You must not—"

Linden interrupted the First bitterly. "I tried to possess him.
Like a Raver. I almost destroyed both of us."

At that, the Giant hardened. "No." Her tone became inci-
sive. "It skills nothing to impugn yourself. There is need of
you. The wounded are gathered in the forehall. They must be
tended." She swallowed a memory of pain, then went on,
"Mistweave labors among them, though he is no less hurt.
He will not rest." Facing Linden squarely, the First con-
cluded, "It is your work he does."

I know. Linden sighed. I know. Her eyes blurred and ran
as if they had no connection to the arid loss in her heart.

With that for recognition and thanks, she let Durris guide
her toward the forehalL

The sheer carnage there smote her as she entered the great
hall. The Grim had done severe damage to the floor, tearing
chunks from it like lumps of flesh. Dead Coursers sprawled in
pools of their own blood. A number of the Haruchai had been
hurt as badly as Mistweave; one of them was dead. Riders lay
here and there across the floor, scarlet-robed and contorted,
frantic with death. But worse than anything else were the
hacked and broken bodies of those who should never have
been sent into battle: cooks and cleaners, herders and gather-
ers, the innocent servants of the Clave. Among the litter of
their inadequate weapons, their cleavers, pitchforks, scythes,
clubs, they were scattered like the wreckage which their mas-
ters had already wrought upon the villages of the Land.

Now Linden could not stanch her tears—and did not try.
Through the blur, she spoke to Durris, sent him and several
other Haruchai in search of splints, bindings, a sharp knife,
hot water, and all the metheglin they could find to augment
the company's scant vitrim and dwindling diamondraught.
Then, using percipience instead of sight to direct her, she went
looking for Mistweave.

He was at work among the fallen of the Clave as if he were
a physician—or could become one by simply refusing to let
so much hurt and need lie untended. First he separated the
dead from those who might yet be saved- Then he made the
living as comfortable as possible, covered their wounds with
bandages torn from the raiment of the dead. His aura reached
out to her as though he, too, were weeping; and she seemed
to hear his very thoughts: This one also I slew. Her I broke.
Him I crippled. These I took from life in the name of service.

She felt his distress keenly. Self-distrust had driven him to
a kind of hunger for violence, for any exertion or blow which
might earn back his own esteem. Now he found himself in the
place to which such logic led—a place that stank like an
abattoir.

In response, something fierce came unexpectedly out of the
wilderness of Linden's heart. He had not halted his labor to
greet her. She caught him by the arm, by the sark, pulled at
him until he bent over her and she was able to clinch her
frail strength around his neck. Instinctively, he lifted her
from the floor in spite of his broken arm; and she whispered
at him as if she were gasping, "You saved my life. When I
couldn't save myself. And no Haruchai could save me. You're
not responsible for this. The Clave made them attack you.
You didn't have any choice." Mistweave. "You couldn't just let
them kill you." Mistweave, help me. All you did was fight. I
tried to possess him.

He's gone, and I'll never get him back.
For a moment, Mistweave's muscles knotted with grief. But
then slowly his grip loosened, and he lowered her gently to
her feet. "Chosen," he said as if he had understood her, "it
will be a benison to me if you will tend my arm. The pain
is considerable."

Considerable, Linden thought. Sweet Christ, have mercy,
Mistweave's admission was an appalling understatement. His
right elbow had been crushed, and whenever he moved the
splinters ground against each other. Yet he had spent the
entire day in motion, first fighting for the company, then
doing everything he could to help the injured. And the only
claim he made for himself was that the pain was considerable.
He gave her more help than she deserved.

When Durris and his people brought her the things she had
requested, she told him to build a fire to clean the knife and
keep the water hot. Then while the sun set outside and night
grew deep over the city, she opened up Mistweave's elbow
and put the bones back together.

That intricate and demanding task made her feel frayed
to the snapping point, worn thin by shared pain. But she did
not stop when it was finished. Her work was just beginning.
After she had splinted and strapped Mistweave's arm, she
turned to the injuries of the Haruchai, to Pole's leg and
Ham's hip and all the other wounds dealt out by the Grim
and the Coursers, the Riders and the people of Revelstone.
Pole's hurt reminded her of Ceer's—the leg crushed by a
Sandgorgon and never decently treated—and so she immersed
herself in the damage as if restitution could be made in
that way, by taking the cost of broken bones and torn flesh
upon herself. And after that she began to tend as best she
could the Riders and servants of the Clave.

Later, through the riven gates at the end of the forehall,
she felt midnight rise like the moon above the Keep. The
reek of spilled and drying blood filled the air. Men and
women cried out as if they expected retribution when she
touched them- But still she went weary and unappeased about
her chosen work. It was the only answer she had ever found
for herself until she had met Covenant. Now it was the only
answer she had left.

Yes. It was specific and clean. It had meaning, value; the
pain of it was worth bearing. Yes. And it held her in one
piece.

As if for the first time: Yes.

She had never faced so many wounds at once, so much
bloodshed. But after all, the number of men and women, old
and young, who bad been able to survive their hurts this long
was finite. The consequences of the battle were not like the
Sunbane, endless and immedicable. She had nearly finished
everything she knew how to ask of herself when Cail came
to her and announced that the ur-Lord wished to see her.

She was too tired to feel the true shock of the summons.
Even now she could see Covenant standing in the Banefire
until his blackness burned away as if he had taken hold of
that evil blaze and somehow made it holy. His image filled
all the back of her mind. But she was exhausted and had no
more fear.

Carefully, she completed what she was doing. As she
worked, she spoke to Durris. "When the Banefire goes out,
tell Nom to turn the stream back where it belongs. Then I
want the dead cleaned out of here. Tell Nom to bury them
outside the gates." They deserved at least that decency. "You
and your people take care of these." She gestured toward
the people arrayed around her in their sufferings and bandages.
"The Land's going to need them." She understood poignantly
Covenant's assertion that Sunder and Hollian were the Land's
future. Freed from the rule of the Clave, these wounded men
and women might help serve the same purpose.

Durris and Cail blinked at her, their faces flat in the in-
complete torchlight. They were Haruchai, disdainful of injury
and failure—not healers. And what reason did they have to
obey her? Their commitment was to Covenant, not to her.
With Brinn, Cail had once denounced her as a minion of
Corruption.

But the Haruchai were not unaffected by their part in the
Land's plight. The mere-wives and the Clave had taught them
their limitations. And Brinn's victory over the Guardian of
the One Tree had done much to open the way for Cable Sea-
dreamer's death and the Despiser's manipulations. In a strange
way, the Haruchai had been humbled. When Linden looked
up at Cail, he said as if he were still unmoved, "It will be
done. You are Linden Avery the Chosen. It will be done."

Sighing to herself, she did what she could for the last of
the wounded—watched him die because she was only one
woman and had not reached him in time. Then she straight-
ened her stiff knees and went with Can out of the forehal!.

As she turned, she glimpsed a perfect ebony figure stand-
ing at the verge of the light near the gates. Vain bad returned.
Somehow, he had recognized the end of the Clave and known
that he could safely rejoin the company. But Linden was past
questioning anything the Demondim-spawn did. She lost
sight of him as she entered the passages beyond the forehall;

and at once she forgot him.

Cail guided her deep into a part of Revelstone which was
new to her. The movement and confusion of the past day
had left her sense of direction so bewildered that she had
no idea where she was in relation to the Hall of Gifts; and she
could barely discern the sacred enclosure in the distance as
the Banefire declined toward extinction. But when she and
Cail reached a hall that led like a tunnel toward the source
of a weird silver illumination, she guessed their destination.

The hall ended in a wide, round court. Around the walls
were doorways at intervals, most of them shut. Above the
doors up to the high ceiling of the cavity were coigns which
allowed other levels of the Keep to communicate with this
place. But she recognized the court because the polished
granite of its floor was split from wall to wall with one sharp
crack, and the floor itself shone with an essential argence
like Covenant's ring. He had damaged and lit that stone in
the excess of his power when he had emerged from the
soothtell of the Clave. Here had been revealed to him enough
of the truth to send him on his quest for the One Tree—but
only enough to ensure the outcome Lord Foul intended. In
spite of her exhaustion. Linden shivered, wondering how
much more had been revealed to him now.

But then she saw him standing in one of the doorways; and
all other questions vanished. Her eyes were full of silver; she
felt she could hardly see him as he dismissed Cail, came
out into the light to meet her.

Mute with shame and longing, she fought the inadequacy
of her vision and strove to annele her sore heart with the
simple sight of him.

Luminous in silver and tears, he stood before her. All the
details were gone, blinded by the pure glow of the floor, his
pure presence. She saw only that he carried himself as if he
had not come to berate her. She wanted to say in a rush
before she lost her sight altogether. Oh, Covenant, I'm so
sorry, I was wrong, I didn't understand, forgive me, hold me,
Covenant. But the words would not come. Even now, she
read him with the nerves of her body; her percipience tasted
the timbre of his emanations. And the astonishment of what
she perceived stopped her throat.

He was there before her, clean in every limb and line,
and strong with the same stubborn will and affirmation which
had made him irrefusable to her from the beginning. Alive
in spite of the Banefire; gentle toward her regardless of what
she had tried to do to him. But something was gone from
him. Something was changed. For a moment while she tried
to comprehend the difference, she believed that he was no
longer a leper.                 ,.

Blinking furiously, she cleared her.vision.

His cheeks and neck were bare, free of the unruly beard
which had made him look as hieratic and driven as a prophet.
The particular scraped hue of his skin told her that he had
not used wild magic to burn his whiskers away: he had
shaved himself with some kind of blade. With a blade instead
of fire, as if the gesture had a special meaning for him. An
act of preparation or acquiescence. But physically that change
was only superficial.

The fundamental alteration was internal. Her first guess
had been wrong; she saw now that his leprosy persisted. His
fingers and palms and the soles of his feet were numb. The
disease still rested, quiescent, in his tissues. Yet something
was gone from him. Something important had been trans-
formed or eradicated.

"Linden." He spoke as if her name sufficed for him—as
if he had called her here simply so that he could say her name
to her.

But he was not simple in any way. His contradictions re-
mained, denning him beneath the surface. Yet he had become
new and pure and clean. It was as if his doubt were gone—as
if the self-judgments and -repudiation which had tormented
him had been reborn as certainty, clarity, acceptance in the
Banefire.

It was as if he had managed to rid himself of the Despiser's
venom.

"Is it—?** she began amazedly. "How did you—?'* But the
light around him seemed to throng with staggering implica-
tions, and she could not complete the question.

In response, he smiled at her—and for one stunned instant
his smile seemed to be the same one he had given Joan when
he had exchanged his life for hers, giving himself up to Lord
Foul's malice so that she would be free. A smile of such
valor and rue that Linden had nearly cried out at the sight
of it

But then the angles of his face shifted, and his expression
became bearable again. Quietly, he said, "Do you mind if we
get out of this light? I'm not exactly proud of it." With his
half-hand, he gestured toward the doorway from which he
had emerged.

The cuts on his fingers had been healed.

And there were no scars on his forearm. The marks of
Marid's fangs and of the injuries he had inflicted on himself
had become whole flesh.

Dumbly, she went where he pointed. She did not know
what had happened to him.

Beyond the door, she found herself in a small suite of
rooms clearly designed to be someone's private living quarters.
They were illuminated on a more human scale by several oil
lamps and furnished with stone chairs and a table in the
forechamber, a bare bed in one back room and empty pantry
shelves in another. The suite had been unused for an ines-
timably long time, but the ventilation and granite of Revel-
stone had kept it clean. Covenant must have set the lamps
himself—or asked the Haruchai to provide them.

The center of the table had been strangely gouged, as
though a knife had been driven into it like a sharp stick into
clay.

"Mhoram lived here," Covenant explained. "This is where
I talked to him when I finally started to believe that he was
my friend—that he was capable of being my friend after
everything I'd done." He spoke without gall, as if he had
reconciled himself to the memory. "He told me about the
necessity of freedom."

Those words seemed to have a new resonance for him; but
almost immediately he shrugged them aside. Indicating the
wound in the tabletop, he said, "I did that. With the krill.
Elena tried to give it to me. She wanted me to use it against
Lord Foul. So I stabbed it into the table and left it there
where nobody else could take it out. Like a promise that I
was going to do the same thing to the Land." He tried to
smile again; but this time the effort twisted his face like a
grimace. "I did that even before I knew Elena was my
daughter. But he was still able to be my friend." For a mo-
ment, his voice sounded chipped and battered; yet he stood
tall and straight with his back to the open door and the
silver lumination as if he had become unbreakable. "He
must've removed the krill when he came into his power."

Across the table, he faced her. His eyes were gaunt with
knowledge, but they remained clear. "It's not gone," he said
softly. "I tried to get rid of it, but I couldn't."

"Then what—?" She was lost before him, astonished by
what he had become. He was more than ever the man she
loved—and yet she did not know^ him, could not put one
plain question into words.

He sighed, dropped his gaze briefly, then looked up at her
again. "I guess you could say it's been fused- I don't know
how else to describe it. Ifs been burned into me so deeply
that there's no distinction. I'm like an alloy—venom and
wild magic and ordinary skin and bones melted together
until they're all one. All the same. I'll never be free of it."

As he spoke, she saw that he was right. He gave her the
words to see that he was right. Fused. An alloy. Like white
gold itself, a blend of metals. And her heart gave a leap of
elation within her.

"Then you can control it!" she said rapidly, so rapidly that
she did not know what she was about to say until she said it.
"You're not at Foul's mercy anymore!" Oh, beloved. "You
can beat him!"

At that, sudden pain darkened his visage. She jerked to a
halt, unable to grasp how she had hurt him. When he did
not reply, she took hold of her confusion, forced it to be
stiU. As carefully as she could, she said, "I don't understand.
I can't. You've got to tell me what's going on."

"I know," he breathed. "I know." But now his attention
was fixed on the gouged center of the table as if no power
had ever been able to lift the knife out of his own heart; and
she feared that she had lost him.

After a moment, he said, "I used to say I was sick of
guilt. But not anymore." He took a deep breath to steady
himself. "It's not a sickness anymore. I am guilt. I'll never use
power again.'*

She started to protest; but his certainty stopped her. With
an effort, she held herself mute as he began to quote an old
song.

*There is wild magic graven in every rock,
contained for white gold to unleash or control—
gold, rare metal, not born of the Land,
nor ruled, limited, subdued
by the Law with which the Land was created—
but keystone rather, pivot, crux
for the anarchy out of which Time was made:
wild magtc restrained in every particle of life,
and unleashed or controlled by gold
because that power is the anchor of the arch of life
that spans and masters Time."

She listened to him intently, striving for comprehension.
But at the same time her mind bifurcated, and she found
herself remembering Dr. Berenford. He had tried to tell her
about Covenant by describing one of Covenant's novels. Ac-
cording to the older doctor, the book argued that innocence
is a wonderful thing except for the fact that it's impotent.
Guilt is power. Only the damned can be saved. The memory
seemed to hint at the nature of Covenant's new certainty.

Was that it? Did he no longer doubt that he was damned?
He paused, then repeated, "Keystone, The Arch of Time
is held together at the apex by wild magic. And the Arch is
what gives the Earth a place in which to exist. It's what im-
prisons Foul. That's why he wants my ring. To break Time
so he can escape.

"But nothing's that simple anymore. The wild magic has
been fused into me. I am wild magic. In a sense, I've become
the keystone of the Arch. Or I will be—if I let what I am
loose. If I ever try to use power.

"But that's not all. If it were, I could stand it. I'd be
willing to be the Arch forever, if Foul could be beaten that
way. But I'm not just wild magic. I'm venom, too. Lord
Foul's venom. Can you imagine what the Earth would be
like if venom was the keystone? If everything in the world,
every particle of life, was founded on venom as well as wild
magic? That would be as bad as the Sunbane." Slowly, he
lifted his head, met Linden with a glance that seemed to
pierce her. "I won't do it."

She felt helpless to reach him; but she could not stop try-
ing. She heard the truth as he described it; he had named the
change in himself for her. In the Banefire he had made him-
self as impotent as innocence. The power to resist Despite,
the reason of his life, had been burned out of him. Aching
for him, she asked, "Then what? What will you do?"

His lips drew taut, baring his teeth; for an instant, he
appeared starkly afraid. But no fear marked his voice. "When
I saw Elena in Andelain, she told me where to find Foul. In
Mount Thunder—a place inside the Wightwarrens called
Kiril Threndor. I'm going to pay him a little visit."

"He'll kill you!" Linden cried, immediately aghast. "If you
can't defend yourself, he'll just kill^you and it'll all be wasted,"
everything he had suffered, venom-relapses, the loss of Sea-
dreamer and Honninscrave, of Ceer, Hergrom, and Brinn,
the silence of the Elohim, his caamora for the Unhomed of
Seareach, the tearing agony and fusion of the Banefire,
"wasted! What kind of answer is lhatT'

But his certainty was unshaken. To her horror, he smiled
at her again. Until it softened, his expression wrung her out
of herself, made her want to scream at him as if he had be-
come a Raver. Yet it did soften. When he spoke, he sounded
neither desperate nor doomed, but only gentle and inde-
feasibly resigned.

"There are a few things Foul doesn't understand. I'm going
to explain them to him."

Gentle, yes, and resigned; but also annealed, fused to the
hard metal of his purpose. Explain them to him? she thought
wildly. But in his mouth the words did not sound like folly.
They sounded as settled and necessary as the fundament
of the Earth.

However, he was not untouched by her consternation.
More urgently, as if he also wanted to bridge the gulf between
them, he said, "Linden, think about it. Foul can't break the
Arch without breaking me first. Do you really think he can
do that? After what I've been through?"

She could not reply. She was sinking in a vision of his
death—of his body back in the woods behind Haven Farm
pulsing its last weak life onto the indifferent stone. The old
man whose life she had saved before she had ever met
Covenant had said to her like a promise. You will not fail,
however he may assail you. There is also love in the world.
But she had already failed when she had let Covenant be
struck by that knife, let him go on dying. All love was gone.

But he was not done with her. He was leaning on the
table now, supporting himself with his locked arms to look at
her more closely; and the silver glow of the floor behind him
limned his intent posture, made him luminous. Yet the yellow
lamplight seemed human and needy as it shone on his face,
features she must have loved from the beginning—the mouth
as strict as a commandment, the cheeks lined with difficulties,
the hair graying as if its color were the ash left by his hot
mind. The kindness he conveyed was the conflicted empathy
and desire of a man who was never gentle with himself. And
he still wanted something from her. In spite of what she had
tried to do to him. Before he spoke, she knew that he had
come to his reason for summoning her here—and for select-
ing this particular place, the room of a compassionate, danger-
ous, and perhaps wise man who had once been his friend.

In a husky voice, he asked, "What about you? Wbat're you
going to do?"

He had asked her that once before. But her previous re-
sponse now seemed hopelessly inadequate. She raised her
hands to her hair, then pushed them back down to her side.
The touch of her unclean tresses felt so unlovely, impossible
to love, that it brought her close to tears. "I don't know,"
she said. "I don't know what my choices are."

For a moment, his certitude faded. He faced her, not be-
cause he was sure, but because he was afraid. "You could
stay here," he said as if the words hurt him. "The lore of the
old Lords is still here. Most of it, anyway. Maybe the Giants
could translate it for you. You might find a way out of this
mess for yourself. A way back." He swallowed at an emotion
that leaked like panic past his resolve. Almost whispering, he
added, "Or you could come with me."

Come with—? Her percipience flared toward him, trying to
read the spirit behind what he said. What was he afraid of?
Did he dread her companionship, fear the responsibility and
grief of having her with him? Or was he dismayed to go on
without her?

Her legs were weak with exhaustion and desire, but she
did not let herself sit down. A helpless tremor ran through
her. "What do you want me to do?"

He looked like he would have given anything to be able
to turn his head away; yet his gaze held. Even now, he did not
quail from what he feared.

"I want what you want. I want you to find something that
gives you hope. I want you to come into your power. I want
you to stop believing that you're evil—that your mother and
father are the whole truth about you. I want you to under-
stand why you were chosen to be here." His visage pleaded
at her through the lamplight. "I want you to have reasons."

She still did not comprehend his apprehension. But he had
given her an opportunity she coveted fervidly, and she was
determined to take it at any cost. Her voice was thick with
a kind of weeping she had suppressed for most of her life;

but she no longer cared how much frailty or need she exposed.
All the severity and detachment to which she had trained
herself had fled, and she did not try to hail them back.
Trembling fiercely to herself, she uttered her avowal.

"I don't want hope. I don't want power. I don't care if I
never go back. Let Foul do his worst—and to hell with him.
I don't even care if you're going to die." That was true.
Death was later: he was now. "I'm a doctor, not a magician.
I can't save you unless you go back with me—and if you
offered me that, I wouldn't take it. What's happening here is
too important. It's too important to me." And that also was true;

she had learned it among the wounded in the forehall of the
Keep. "All I want is a living love. For as long as I can get
it." Defying her weakness, she stood erect before him in the
lamplight as if she were ablaze. "I want you."

At that, he bowed his head at last; and the relief which
flooded from him was so palpable that she could practically
embrace it. When he looked up again, he was smiling with
love—a smile which belonged to her and no one else. Tears
streaked his face as he went to the door and closed it, shutting
out the consequences of wild magic and venom. Then from
the doorway he said thickly, "I wish I could've believed you
were going to say that. I would've told Cail to bring us
some blankets."

But the safe gutrock of Revelstone enclosed them with
solace, and they did not need blankets.

TWELVE; Those Who Part

THEY did not sleep at all that night- Linden knew that
Covenant had not slept the previous night, on the verge of the
jungle outside Revelstone; she had been awake herself, watch-
ing the stretched desperation of his aura with her percipience
because Cail had refused to let her approach the ur-Lord. But
the memory no longer troubled her; in Covenant's place, she
might have done the same tiling. Yet that exigent loneliness
only made this night more precious—too precious to be spent
in sleep. She had not been in his arms since the crisis of the
One Tree; and now she sought to impress every touch and
line of him onto her hungry nerves.

If he had wanted sleep himself, she would have been loath
to let him go. But he had resumed his certainty as if it could
take the place of rest; and his desire for her was as poignant
as an act of grace. From time to time, she felt him smiling
the smile that belonged solely to her; and once he wept as if
his tears were the same as hers. But they did not sleep.

At the fringes of her health-sense, she was aware of the
great Keep around her. She felt Cail's protective presence
outside the door. She knew when the Banefire went out at
last, quenched by the sovereign waters of Glimmermere. And
as the abused stone of the sacred enclosure cooled, the entire
city let out a long granite sigh which seemed to breathe like
relief through every wall and floor. Finally she felt the distant
flow of the lake stop as Nom restored the stream to its
original channel. For the remainder of this one night, at
least, Revelstone had become a place of peace.

Before dawn, however, Covenant arose from Mhoram's
intimate bed. As he dressed, he urged Linden to do the same.
She complied without question. The communion between
them was more important than questions. And she read him
clearly, knew that what he had in mind pleased him. That was
enough for her. Shrugging her limbs back into the vague
discomfort of her grimy clothes, she accepted the clasp of his
numb hand and climbed with him through the quiet Keep to
the upland plateau.

At Revelstone's egress, they left Cail behind to watch over
their privacy. Then, with a happy haste in his strides. Cove-
nant led her west and north around the curve of the plateau
toward the eldritch tarn which she had used against the
Banefire without ever having seen it.

Toward Glimmermere, where Mhoram had hidden the
krill of Loric for the Land's future. Where sprang the only
water outside Andelain Earthpowerful enough to resist the
Sunbane. And where, Linden now remembered. Covenant
had once gone to be told that his" dreams were true.

She felt he was taking her to the source of his most personal
hope.

From the east, a wash of gray spread out to veil the stars,
harbingering dawn. A league or two away in the west, the
Mountains strode off toward the heavens; but the hills of the
upland were not rugged. In ages past, their grasses and fields
had been rich enough to feed all the city at need. "Now, how-
ever, the ground was barren under Linden's sensitive feet;

and some of her weariness, a hint of her wastelanded mood,
returned to her, leeching through her soles. The sound of the
water, running unseen past her toward Furl Falls, seemed
to have a hushed and uncertain note, as if in some way the
outcome of the Earth were precariously balanced and fragile
about her. While the Sunbane stalked the Land, she remem-
bered that Covenant's explanation of his new purpose made
no sense.

There are a few things Foul doesn't understand. I'm going
to explain them to him.

No one but a man who had survived an immersion in the
Banefire could have said those words as if they were not
insane.

But the dry coolness of the night still lingered on the
plateau; and his plain anticipation made doubt seem irrelevant,
at least for the present. Northward among the hills he led her,
angling away from the cliffs and toward the stream. Moments
before the sun broached the horizon, he took her past the
crest of a high hill; and she found herself looking down at the
pure tarn of GHmmermere,

It lay as if it were polished with its face open to the wide
sky. In spite of the current flowing from it, its surface was
unruffled, as flat and smooth as burnished metal. It was fed by
deep springs which did not stir or disturb it. Most of the
water reflected the fading gray of the heavens; but around
the rims of the tam were imaged the hills which held it, and
to the west could be seen the Westron Mountains, blurred
by dusk and yet somehow precise, as faithfully displayed as
in a mirror. She felt that if she watched those waters long
enough she would see all the world rendered in them.

All the world except herself. To her surprise, the lake held
no echo of her. It reflected Covenant at her side; but her
it did not heed. The sky showed through her as if she were
too mortal or insignificant to attract Glimmermere's attention.

"Covenant—?" she began in vague dismay. "What—?" But
he gestured her to silence, smiled at her as if the imminent
morning made her beautiful. Half running, he went down
the slope to the tarn's edge. There he pulled on" his T-shirt,
removed his boots and pants. For an instant, he looked back
up at her, waved his arm to call her after him. Then he dove
out into GHmmermere. His pale flesh pierced the water like
a flash of joy as he swam toward the center of the lake.

She followed half involuntarily, both moved and frightened
by what she saw. But then her heart lifted, and she began
to hurry. The ripples of his dive spread across the surface
like promises. The lake took hold of her senses as if it were
potent enough to transform her. Her whole body ached with
a sudden longing for cleanliness. Out in the lake, Covenant
broke water and gave a holla of pleasure that carried back
from the hills. Quickly, she unbuttoned her shirt, kicked her
shoes away, stripped off her pants, and went after him.

Instantly, a cold shock flamed across her skin as if the
water meant to burn the grime and pain from her. She burst
back to the surface, gasping with a hurt that felt like ecstasy.
Glimmermere's chill purity lit all her nerves.

Her hair straggled across her face. She thrust the tresses
aside and saw Covenant swimming underwater toward her.
The clarity of the lake made him appear at once close enough
to touch and too far away to ever be equalled.

The sight burned her like the water's chill. She could see
him—but not herself. Looking down at her body, she saw
only the reflection of the sky and the hills. Her physical sub-
stance seemed to terminate at the waterline. When she raised
her hand, it was plainly visible—yet her forearm and elbow
beneath the surface were invisible. She saw only Covenant as
he took hold of her legs and tugged her down to him.

Yet when her head was underwater and she opened her
eyes, her limbs and torso reappeared as if she had crossed
a plane of translation into another kind of existence.

His face rose before her. He kissed her happily, then swung
around behind her as they bobbed back upward. Breaking
water, he took a deep breath before he bore her down again.
But this time as they sank he gripped her head in his hands,
began to scrub her scalp and hair. And the keen cold water
washed the dirt and oil away like an atonement.

She twisted in his grasp, returned his kiss. Then she pushed
him away and regained the surface td gulp air as if it were
the concentrated elixir of pleasure.

At once, he appeared before her, cleared his face with a
jerk of his head, and gazed at her with a light like laughter
in his eyes.

"You—!" she panted, almost laughing herself. "You've got
to tell me." She wanted to put her arms around him; but then
she would not be able to speak. "It's wonderful!" Above
her, the tops of the western hills were lit by the desert sun,
and that shining danced across the tarn, "How come I dis-
appear and you don't?"

"I already told you!" he replied, splashing water at her.
"Wild magic and venom. The keystone of the Arch." Swim-
ming in this lake, he could say even those words without
diminishing her gladness. "The first time I was here, I couldn't
see myself either. You're normal\" His voice rose exuberantly.
"Glimmermere recognizes me!"

Then she did fling her arms about his neck; and they sank
together into the embrace of the tarn. Intuitively, for the first
time, she understood his hope. She did not know what it
meant, had no way to estimate its implications. But she felt
it shining in him like the fiery water; and she saw that his
certainty was not the confidence of despair. Or not entirely.
Venom and wild magic: despair and hope. The Banefire had
fused them together in him and made them clean,

No, it was not true to say that she understood it. But she
recognized it, as Glimmermere did. And she hugged and
kissed him fervently—splashed water at him and giggled like
a girl—shared the eldritch lake with him until at last the
cold required her to climb out onto a sheet of rock along one
edge and accept the warmth of the desert sun.

That heat sobered her rapidly. As Glimmermere evaporated
from her sensitive skin, she felt the Sunbane again. Its touch
sank into her like Gibbon's, drawing trails of desecration
along her bones. After all, the quenching of the Banefire had
not significantly weakened or even hampered Lord Foul's
corruption. The Land's plight remained, unaltered by Cov-
enant's certitude or her own grateful cleansing. Viscerally
unwilling to lie'naked under the desert sun, she retrieved her
clothes and Covenant's, dressed herself while he watched as
if he were still hungry for her. But slowly his own high spirits
faded. When he had resumed his clothing, she saw that he
was ready for the questions he must have known she would
ask.

"Covenant," she said softly, striving for a tone that would
make him sure of her, "I don't understand. After what I tried
to do to you, I don't exactly have the right to make demands."
But he dismissed her attempted possession with a shrug and
a grimace; so she let it go. "And anyway I trust you. But I
just don't understand why you want to go face Foul. Even
if he can't break you, he'll hurt you terribly. If you can't use
your power, how can you possibly fight him?"

He did not flinch. But she saw him take a few mental
steps backward as if his answer required an inordinate
amount of care. His emanations became studied, complex.
He might have been searching for the best way to tell her a
lie. Yet when he began to speak, she heard no falsehood in
him; her percipience would have screamed at the sound of
falsehood. His care was the caution of a man who did not
want to cause any more pain.

"I'm not sure. I don't think I can fight him at all. But I
keep asking myself, how can he fight me?

"You remember Kasreyn." A wry quirk twisted the comer
of his mouth. "How could you forget? Well, he talked quite
a bit while he was trying to break me out of that silence. He
told me that he used pure materials and pure arts, but he
couldn't create anything pure. 'In a flawed world purity can-
not endure. Thus within each of my works I must perforce
place one small flaw, else there would be no work at all.'
That was why he wanted my ring. He said, 'It's imperfection
is the very paradox of which the Earth is made, and with it
a master may form perfect works and fear nothing.' If you
look at it that way, an alloy is an imperfect metal."

As he spoke, he turned from her slowly, not to avoid her
gaze, but to look at the fundamental reassurance of his reflec-
tion in the tarn. "Well, I'm a kind of alloy. Foul has made me
exactly what he wants—what he needs. A tool he can use to
perfect his freedom. And destroy the Earth in the process.

"But the question is my freedom, not his. We've talked
about the necessity of freedom. I've said over and over again
that he can't use a tool to get what he wants. If he's going
to win, he has to do it through the choices of his victims.
I've said that." He glanced at her as if he feared how she
might react. "I believed it. But I'Jn not sure it's true any-
more. I think alloys transcend the normal strictures. If I
really am nothing more than a tool now, Foul can use me
any way he wants, and there won't be anything we can do
about it."

Then he faced her again, cocked his fists on his hips. "But
that I don't believe. I don't believe I'm anybody's tool. And
I don't think Foul can win through the kinds of choices any
of us has been making. The kind of choice is crucial. The
Land wasn't destroyed when I refused Mhoram's summons
for the sake of a snakebit kid. It isn't going to be destroyed
just because Foul forced me to choose between my own
safety and Joan's. And the opposite is true, too. If I'm the
perfect tool to bring down the Arch of Time, then I'm also
the perfect tool to preserve it. Foul can't win unless I choose
to let him."

His surety was so clear that Linden almost believed him.
Yet within herself she winced because she knew he might
be wrong. He had indeed spoken often of the importance of
freedom. But the Elohim did not see the world's peril in
those terms. They feared for the Earth because Sun-Sage and
ring-wielder were not one—because he had no percipience to
guide his choices and she had no power to make her choices
count. And if he had not yet seen the full truth of Lord
Foul's machinations, he might choose wrongly despite his
lucid determination.

But she did not tell him what she was thinking. She would
have to find her own answer to the trepidation of the Elohim.
And her fear was for him rather than for herself. As long
as he loved her, she would be able to remain with him. And
as long as she was with him, she would have the chance to
use her health-sense on his behalf. That was all she asked:

the opportunity to try to help him, redeem the harm of her
past mistakes and failures. Then if he and the Land and the
Earth were lost, she would have no one to blame but herself.

The responsibility frightened her. It implied an acknowledg-
ment of the role the Elohim had assigned to her, an ac-
ceptance of the risk of Gibbon's malign promise. You are
being forged. But there had been other promises also. Cov-
enant had avowed that he would never cede his ring to the
Despiser. And the old man on Haven Farm had said. You
will not fail, however he may assail you. For the first time,
she took comfort in those words.

Covenant was looking at her intently, waiting for her

response. After a moment, she pursued the thread of his ex-
planation.

"So he can't break you. And you can't fight him. What
good is a stalemate?"

At that, he smiled harshly. But his reply took a different
direction than she had expected. "When I saw Mhoram in
Andelain"—his tone was as direct as courage—"he tried to
warn me. He said, 'It boots nothing to avoid his snares, for
they are ever beset with other snares, and life and death are
too intimately intergrown to be severed from each other.
When you have come to the crux, and have no other recourse,
remember the paradox of white gold. There is hope in con-
tradiction.' " By degrees, his expression softened, became
more like the one for which she was insatiable. "I don't think
there's going to be any stalemate."

She returned his smile as best as she could, trying to
emulate him in the same way that he strove to match the
ancient Lord who had befriended him.

She hoped he would take her in his arms again. She wanted
that, regardless of the Sunbane. She could bear the violation
of the desert sun for the sake of his embrace. But as they
gazed at each other, she heard a faint, strange sound wafting
over the upland hills—a high run of notes, as poignant as the
tone of a flute. But it conveyed no discernible melody. It
might have been the wind singing among the barren rocks.

Covenant jerked up his head, scanned the hillsides- "The
last time I heard a flute up here—" He had been with Elena;

and the music of a flute had presaged the coming of the
man who had told him that his dreams were true.

But this sound was not music. It cracked on a shrill note
and fell silent. When it began again, it was clearly a flute—
and clearly being played by someone who did not know how.
Its lack of melody was caused by simple ineptitude.

It came from the direction of Revelstone.

The tone cracked again; and Covenant winced humorously.
"Whoever's playing that thing needs help," he muttered. "And
we ought to go back anyway. I want to settle things and get
started today."

Linden nodded. She would have been content to spend a
few days resting in Revelstone; but she was willing to do
whatever be wanted. And she would, be able to enjoy her
scrubbed skin and clean hair better in the Keep, protected
from the Sunbane. She took bis band, and together they
climbed out of the basin of the tarn.

From the hilltop, they heard the flute more accurately. It
sounded like its music had been warped by the desert sun.

The plains beyond the plateau looked flat and ruined to
the horizons, all life hammered out of them; nothing green
or bearable lifted its head from the upland dirt. Yet Glim-
mermere's water and the shape of the hills seemed to insist
that life was still possible here, that in some stubborn way
the ground was not entirely wasted.

However, the lower plains gave no such impression. Most
of the river evaporated before it reached the bottom of Furl
Falls; the rest disappeared within a stone's throw of the cliff.
The sun flamed down at Linden as if it were calling her to
itself. Before they reached the flat wedge of the plateau which
contained Revelstone, she knew that her determination to
stand by him would not prove easy. In the bottom of her
heart lurked a black desire for the power to master the
Sunbane, make it serve her. Every moment of the sun's touch
reminded her that she was still vulnerable to desecration.

But by the time they rejoined Cail at the city's entrance,
they could hear that the fluting came from the tip of the
promontory overlooking the watchtower. By mute agreement,
they walked on down the wedge; and at the Keep's apex they
found Pitchwife. He sat with his legs over the edge, facing
eastward. The deformation of his spine bent him forward.
He appeared to be leaning toward a fall.

His huge hands held a flute to his mouth as if he were
wrestling with it—as if he thought that by sheer obstinate
effort he would be able to wring a dirge from the tiny
instrument.

At their approach, he lowered the flute to his lap, gave
them a wan smile of habit rather than conviction. "Earth-
friend," he said; and his voice sounded as frayed and un-
certain as the notes he had been playing. "It boons me to
behold you again and whole. The Chosen has proven and
reproven her worth for all to see—and yet has survived to
bring her beauty like gladness before me." He did not glance
at Linden. "But I had thought that you were gone from us
altogether."

Then his moist gaze wandered back to the dry, dead
terrain below him. "Pardon me that I have feared for you.
Fear is born in doubt, and you have not merited my doubt."
With an awkward movement, like suppressed violence, he
indicated the flute. "The fault is mine. I caa find no music
in this instrument."

Instinctively, Linden went to stand behind the Giant, placed
her hands on his shoulders. In spite of his sitting posture and
crooked back, his shoulders were only a little below hers;

and his muscles were so oaken that she could hardly massage
them. Yet she rubbed at his distress because she did not know
how else to comfort him.

"Everybody doubts," Covenant breathed. He did not go
near the Giant. He remained rigidly where he was, holding
his vertigo back from the precipice. But his voice reached
out through the sun's arid heat. "We're all scared. You have
the right." Then his tone changed as if he were remembering
what Pitchwife had undergone. Softly, he asked, "What can
I do for you?"

Pitchwife's muscles knotted under Linden's hands. After a
moment, he said simply, "Earthfriend, I desire a better out-
come."

At once, he added, "Do not mistake me. That which has
been done here has been well done. Mortal though you are,
Earthfriend and Chosen, you surpass all estimation." He let
out a quiet sigh. "But I am not content. I have shed such
blood— The lives of the innocent I have taken from them by
the score, though I am no Swordmain and loathe such work.
And as I did so, my doubt was terrible to me. It is a dire
thing to commit butchery when hope has been consumed by
fear. As you have said. Chosen, there must be a reason. The
world's grief should unite those who live, not sunder them in
slaughter and malice.

"My friends, there is a great need in my heart for song,
but no song comes. I am a Giant. Often have I vaunted myself
in music. 'We are Giants, born to sail, and bold to go wherever
dreaming goes.' But such songs have become folly and ar-
rogance to me. In the face of doom, I have not the courage
of my dreams. Ah, my heart must have song. I find no music
in it.

"I desire a better outcome."  ».

His voice trailed away over the diff-edge and was gone.
Linden felt the ache in him as if she had wrapped her arms
around it. She wanted to protest the way he seemed to blame
himself; yet she sensed that his need went deeper than
blame. He had tasted the Despiser's malice and was appalled.
She understood that. But she had no answer to it.

Covenant was more certain. He sounded as strict as a vow
as he asked, "What're you going to do?"

Pitchwife responded with a shrug that shifted Linden's
hands from his shoulders. He did not look away from the
destitution sprawling below him. "The First has spoken of
this," he said distantly. The thought of his wife gave him no
ease. "We will accompany you to the end. The Search requires
no less of us. But when you have made your purpose known,
Mistweave will bear word of it to Seareach. There Starfare's
Gem will come if the ice and the seas permit. Should you
fail, and those with you fall, the Search must yet continue.
The knowledge which Mistweave will bear to Seareach will
enable Sevinhand Anchormaster to choose the path of bis
service."

Linden looked at Covenant sharply to keep him from
saying that if he failed there would be no Earth left for the
Search to serve. Perhaps the journey the First had conceived
for Mistweave was pointless; still Linden coveted it for him.
It was clear and specific, and it might help him find his way
back to himself. Also she approved the First's insistence on
behaving as if hope would always endure.

But she saw at once that Covenant had no intention of
denying the possibility of hope. No bitterness showed beyond
his empathy for Pitchwife; his alloyed despair and determina-
tion were clean of gall. Nor did he suggest that Pitchwife
and the First should Join Mistweave. Instead, he said as if
he were content, "That's good. Meet us in the forehall at
noon, and we'll get started."

Then he met Linden's gaze. "I want to go look at Hon-
ninscrave's grave." His tone thickened momentarily. "Say
good-bye to him. Will you come with me?"

In response, she went to him and hugged him so that he
would understand her silence.

Together they left Pitchwife sitting on the rim of the city.
As they neared the entrance to Revelstone, they heard the
cry of his flute again. It sounded as lorn as the call of a
kestrel against the dust-trammeled sky.

Gratefully, Linden entered the great Keep, where she was
shielded from the desert sun. Relief filled her nerves as she
and Covenant moved down into the depths of Revelstone,
back to the Hall of Gifts.

Call accompanied them. Beneath his impassivity she sensed
a strange irresolution, as if he wanted to ask a question or
boon and did not believe he had the right. But when they
reached their goal, she forgot his unexplained emanations.

During Covenant's battle with Gibbon, and the rending
of the Raver, she had taken scant notice of the cavern itself.
All her attention had been focused on what was happening
^and on the blackness which Gibbon had called up in her.
As a result, she had not registered the extent to which the
Hall and its contents had been damaged. But she saw the
havoc now, felt its impact.

Around the walls, behind the columns, in the corners and
distant reaches, much of the Land's ancient artwork remained
intact. But the center of the cavern was a shambles. Tapestries
had been cindered, sculptures split, paintings shredded. Cracks
marked two of the columns from crown to pediment; hunks
of stone had been ripped from the ceiling, the floor; the
mosaic on which Gibbon had stood was a ruin. Centuries
of human effort and aspiration were wrecked by the uncon-
tainable forces Covenant and the Raver had unleashed.

For a moment. Covenant's gaze appeared as ravaged as the
Hall. No amount of certainty could heal the consequences of
what he had done—and had failed to do.

While she stood there, caught between his pain and the
Hall's hurt. she did not immediately recognize that most of
the breakage had already been cleared away. But then she
saw Nom at work, realized what the Sandgorgon was doing.

It was collecting pieces of rock, splinters of sculpture,
shards of pottery, any debris it was able to lift between the
stumps of bis forearms, and it was using those fragments
meticulously to raise a caim for Honninscrave.

The funerary pile was already taller than Linden; but Nom
was not yet satisfied with it. With swift care, the beast con-
tinued adding broken art to the mound. The rubble was too
crude to have any particular shap». Nevertheless Nom moved
around and around it to build it up as if it were an icon of
the distant gyre of Sandgorgons Doom.

This was Norn's homage to the Giant who had enabled it to
rend Gibbon-Raver. Honninscrave had contained and con-
trolled samadhi Sheol so that the Raver could not possess
Nom, not take advantage of Norn's purpose and power. In
that way, he had made it possible for Nom to become some-
thing new, a Sandgorgon of active miad and knowledge and
volition. With this cairn, Nom acknowledged the Master's
sacrifice as if it had been a gift.

The sight softened Covenant's pain. Remembering Hergrom
and Ceer, Linden would not have believed that she might
ever feel anything akin to gratitude toward a Sandgorgon.
But she had no other name for what she felt as she watched
Nom work.

Though it lacked ordinary sight or hearing, the beast ap-
peared to be aware of its onlookers. But it did not stop until
it had augmented Honninscrave's mound with the last rubble
large enough for its arms to lift. Then, however, it turned
abruptly and strode toward Covenant.
A few paces in front of him, it stopped. With its back-bent

knees, it lowered itself to the floor, touched its forehead to
the stone.

He was abashed by the beast's obeisance. "Get up," he
muttered. "Get up. You've earned better than this." But Nom
remained prostrate before him as if it deemed him worthy
of worship.

Unexpectedly, Cail spoke for the Sandgorgon. He had re-
covered his Haruchai capacity for unsurprise. He reported the
beast's thoughts as if he were accustomed to them.

"Norn desires you to comprehend that it acknowledges you.
It will obey any command. But it asks that you do not com-
mand it. It wishes to be free. It wishes to return to its home
in the Great Desert and its bound kindred. From the rending
of the Raver, Nom has gained knowledge to unmake Sand-
gorgons Doom—to release its kind from pent fury and
anguish. It seeks your permission to depart"

Linden felt that she was smiling foolishly; but she could
not stop herself. Fearsome though the Sandgorgons were,
she had hated the idea of their plight from the moment when
Pitchwife had told her about it. "Let it go," she murmured
to Covenant. "Kasreyn had no right to trap them like that in
the first place."

He nodded slowly, debating with himself. Then he made
his decision. Facing the Sandgorgon, he said to Cail, "Tell it,
it can go. I understand it's willing to obey me, and I say it
can go. It's free. But," he added sharply, "I want it to leave
the Bhrathair alone. Those people have the right to live, too.
And God knows I've already done them enough damage. I
don't want them to suffer any more because of me."

Faceless, devoid of expression, the albino beast raised itself
erect again. "Nom hears you," Cail replied. To Linden's
percipience, his tone seemed to hint that he envied Norn's
freedom. "It will obey. Its folk it will teach obedience also.
The Great Desert is wide, and the Bhrathair will be spared."

Before he finished, the Sandgorgon burst into a run toward
the doorway of the Hall. Eager for its future, it vanished up
the stairs, speeding in the direction of the open sky. For a
few moments. Linden felt its wide feet on the steps; their
force seemed to make the stone Keep jangle. But then Nom
passed beyond her range, and she turned from it as if it were
a healed memory—as if in some unexpected way the deaths
of Hergrom and Ceer and Honninscrave had been made bear-
able at last.

She was still smiling when Covenant addressed Cail. "We've
got some time before noon." He strove to sound casual; but
the embers in his eyes were alight for her. "Why don't you
find us something to eat? We'll be in Mhoram's room."

Call nodded and left at once, moving with swift unhaste.
His manner convinced Linden that she was reading him ac-
curately: something had changed for him. He seemed willing,
almost eager, to be apart from the man he had promised to
protect.

But she had no immediate desire to question the Haruchai.
Covenant had put his arm around her waist, and time was
precious. Her wants would have appeared selfish to her if he
had not shared them.

However, when they reached the court with the bright
silver floor and the cracked stone, they found Sunder and
Hollian waiting for them.

The Stonedownors had rested since Linden had last seen
them, and they looked better for it. Sunder was no longer
slack-kneed and febrile with exhaustion. Hollian had regained
much of her young clarity. They greeted Covenant and Linden
shyly, as if they were uncertain how far the Unbeliever and
the Chosen had transcended them. But behind their shared
mood, their differences were palpable to Linden-
Unlike Sunder's former life, Hollian's had been one of
acceptance rather than sacrifice. The delicate scars which
laced her right palm were similar to the pale pain-lattice on
his left forearm, but she had never taken anyone else's blood.
Yet since that time her role had been primarily one of sup-
port, aiding Sunder when he had first attuned himself to
Memla's rukh during the company's journey toward Seareach
as well as in his later use of the krill. It was he, guilt-sore and
vehement, who hated the Clave, fought it—and had been
vindicated. He had struck necessary blows on behalf of the
Land, showing himself a fit companion for Giants and
Haruchai, Covenant and Linden. Now he bore himself with
a new confidence; and the silver light seemed to shine
bravely in his eyes, as though he knew that his father would
have been proud of him.

HoIIian herself was proud of him. Her open gaze and
gentle smile showed that she regretted nothing. The child
she carried was a Joy to her. Yet Linden saw something
plainly unfinished in the en-Brand. Her emanations were now
more complex than Sunder's. She looked like a woman who
knew that she had not yet been tested. And she wanted that
test, wanted to find the destiny which she wore about her like
the raven-wings of her lustrous hair. She was an eh-Brand,
rare in the Land. She wished to learn what such rareness
meant.

Covenant gave Linden a glance of wry rue; but he accepted
the untimely presence of the Stonedownors without protest
They were his friends, and his surety included them.

In response to Covenant's greeting, Sunder said with abrupt
awkwardness, "Thomas Covenant, what is your purpose now?"
His recent accomplishments had not given him an easy
manner. "Forgive us that we intrude upon you. Your need for
rest is plain." His regard told Linden that her fatigue was
more obvious than Covenant's. "Should you elect to remain
here for any number of days, the choice would become you.
In times past"—his scowl was a mix of self-mockery and
regret—"I have questioned you, accusing you of every mad-
ness and all pain." Covenant made a gesture of dismissal; but
Sunder hastened to continue, "I do not question you now.
You are the Earthfriend, IIIender and Prover of Life—and
my friend. My doubt is gone.

"Yet," he went on at once, "we have considered the Sun-
bane. The eh-Brand foretells its course. With Sunstone and
krill, 1 have felt its power. The quenching of Banefire and
Clave is a great work—but the Sunbane is not diminished.
The morrow's sun will be a sun of pestilence. It reigns still
upon the Land, and its evil is clear."

His voice gathered strength and determination as he spoke.
"Thomas Covenant, you have taught me the falsehood of the
Clave. I had believed the Land a gallow-fells, a punishing
place conceived by a harsh Master. But I have learned that
we are born for beauty rather than ill—that it is the Sunbane
which is evil, not the life which the Sunbane torments." His
gaze glinted keenly. "Therefore I find that I am not content
The true battle is yet before us." He was not as tall as Cove-
nant; but he was broader and more muscular. He looked as
solid as the stone of his home. "Thus I ask, what is your
purpose now?"

The question distressed Covenant. His certainty could not
protect him from his own empathy. He concealed his pain;

but Linden saw it with her health-sense, heard it in the
gruffness of his reply. "You're not content,*' he muttered.
"Nobody's content. Well, you ought to be." Beneath the sur-
face, he was as taut as a fraying bowstring. "You've done
enough. You can leave the Sunbane to me—to me and
Linden. I want you to stay here."

"Stay—?" The Graveler was momentarily too surprised to
understand. "Do you mean to depart from us?" Hollian placed
a hand on his arm, not to restrain him, but to add her con-
cern to his.

"Yes!" Covenant snapped more strongly than necessary.
But at once he steadied himself. "Yes. That's what I want.
You're the future of the Land. There's nobody else. The
people the Clave let live are all too old or sick to do much,
or too young to understand. You two are the only ones left
who know what's happened, what it means. What the life of
the Land should be like. If anything happens to you, most of
the survivors won't even know theJCIave was wrong. They'll
go on believing those lies because there won't be anybody
around to contradict them. I need you to tell them the truth.
I can't risk you."

Linden thought he would say, Please. Please. But Sunder's
indignation was vivid in the sharp light. "Risk, ur-Lord?" he
rasped as soon as Covenant stopped. "Is it risk you fear? Or
do you deem us unworthy to partake of your high purpose?
Do you forget who we are?" His hand gripped at the krill
wrapped and hidden within his jerkin. "Your world is other-
where, and to it you will return when your task is done. But
we are the Land. We are the life which remains. We will not
sit in safety while the outcome of that life is determined!"

Covenant stood still under Sunder's outburst; but the small
muscles around his eyes flinched as if he wanted to shout,
What's the matter with you? We're going to face Lord Foull
I'm trying to spare you! Yet his quietness held.

"You're right," he said softly—more softly than Linden's
desire to defend him. "You are the life of the Land. And
^ I've already taken everything else away from you. Your
homes, your families, your identities—I've spent them all and
let you bear the cost. Don't you understand? I want to give
something back. I want you to have a future." The one thing
he and Linden did not possess. "So your son will have at
least that much chance to be born and grow up healthy." The
passion underlying his tone reminded her that he had a son
whom he had not seen for eleven years. He might have been
crying, Let me do this for you! "Is safety such a terrible price
to pay?"

Hollian appeared to waver, persuaded by Covenant's un-
mistakable concern. But Sunder did not. His anger was swept
out of him; his resolution remained. Thickly, he said, "Pardon
my unseemly ire. Thomas Covenant, you are my friend in all
ways. Will you grant to me your white ring, that I may ward
you from the extremity of the Land's plight?" He did not
need to wait for Covenant's answer. "Neither will I cede to
you the meaning of my life. You have taught me to value
that meaning too highly."

Abruptly, he dropped his gaze. "If it is her wish, Hollian
will abide here. The son she bears is ours together, but that
choice must be hers." Then his eyes fixed Covenant squarely
again. "I will not part from you until I am content."

For a moment, the Graveler and Covenant glared at each
other; and Linden held her breath. But then Hollian broke
the intensity. Leaning close to Sunder, grinning as if she
meant to bite his ear, she breathed, "Son of Nassic, you have
fallen far into folly if you credit that I will be divided from
you in the name of simple safety."

Covenant threw up his hands. "Oh, hell," he muttered.
"God preserve me from stubborn people." He sounded
vexed; but his frown had lost its seriousness.

Linden gave a sigh of relief. She caught Hollian's glance,
and a secret gleam passed between them. With feigned
brusqueness, she said, "We're going to leave at noon. You
might as well go get ready. We'll meet you in the forehall."

Allowing Covenant no opportunity to demur, she drew him
into Mhoram's quarters and closed the door.

But later even through Revelstone's vital rock she felt the
midday of the desert sun approaching; and her heart shrank
from it. Sunder was right: the Sunbane had not been di-
minished. And she did not know bow much more of it she
could bear. She had stood up to it across the expanse of the
North Plains. She had faced Gibbon-Raver, although his
mere proximity had made the darkness in her writhe for
release. But those exertions bad pushed her to her limits. And
she had had no sleep. The comfort of Covenant's love did
many things for her, but it could not make her immune to
weariness. In spite of the shielding Keep, a visceral dread
seeped slowly into her.

Covenant himself was not impervious to apprehension. The
mood in which he hugged her was complicated by a tension
that felt like grief. When Call called them to the forehall,
Covenant did not hesitate. But his eyes seemed to avoid hers,
and his hands fumbled as he buckled his belt, laced up his
boots.

For a moment, she did not join him. She sat naked on
Mhoram's bed and watched him, unwilling to cover his place
against her breasts with the less intimate touch of her shirt
Yet she knew that she had to go with him, that everything
she had striven for would be wasted if she faltered now. She
said his name to make him look at her; and when he did so,
she faced her fear as directly as she could.

"I don't really understand what you think you're going to
do—but I suppose that doesn't matter. Not right now, anyway.
I'll go with you—anywhere. But Instill haven't answered my
own question. Why me?" Perhaps what she meant was. Why
do you love me? What am I, that you should love me? But
she knew that if she asked her question in those terms she
might not comprehend the reply. "Why was I chosen? Why
did Gibbon keep insisting I'm the one—?" She swallowed a
lump of darkness. "The one who's going to desecrate the
Earth." Even if I give in—even if I go crazy and decide I
want to be like him after all. Where would I get that kind
of power?

Covenant met her gaze through the dim lantern-light. He
stood straight and dear before her, a figure of dread and love
and contradiction; and he seemed to know what she sought.
Yet the timbre of his voice told her he was not certain of it.

"Questions like that are hard. You have to create your own
answer. The last time I was here, I didn't know I was going
to beat Foul until I did it. Then I could look back and say
that was the reason. I was chosen because I had the capacity
to do what I did—even though I didn't know it" He spoke
quietly, but his manner could not conceal the implications of
severity and hope which ran through his words. "I Ihink
you were chosen because you're like me. We're the kind of
people who just naturally feel responsible for each other.
Foul thinks he can use that to manipulate us. And the
Creator—" For an instant, he reminded her strangely of the
old man who had said to her, You will not fail, however he
may assail you. There is also love in the world. "He hopes
that together we'll become something greater than we would
alone."

Severity and hope. Hope and despair. She did not know
what would happen—but she knew how important it had
become. Arising from the bed, she went to Covenant and
kissed him hard. Then she donned her clothes quickly so
that she would be ready to accompany him wherever he
wanted to go.

In the name of his smile, she accepted everything.

While she hurried, Cail repeated his announcement that the
Giants, Haruchai, and Stonedownors were waiting in the
forehall. "We're coming!" Covenant responded. When she
nodded, he opened the door and ushered her outward with
a half humorous flourish, as if she were regal in his eyes.

Cail bowed to them, looking as much as his dispassion
allowed like a man who wanted to say something and had
almost made up his mind to say it. But Linden saw at a glance
that he still had not found the right moment. She returned his
bow because he, too, had become someone she could trust.
She had never doubted his fidelity, but the native extravagance
of his judgment had always made him appear dangerous and
unpredictable. Now, however, she saw him as a man who had
passed through repudiation and unworth to reach a crucial
decision—a decision she hoped she would be able to com-
prehend.

Together, Covenant, Cail, and Linden left behind the
bright silver aftermath of the Unbeliever's first encounter
with the Clave. That radiance shining against her back gave
her a pang of regret; it represented a part of him which had
been lost. But he was frowning to himself as he strode
forward, concentrating on what lay ahead. That was his answer
to loss. And he did not need Call's guidance to find his way
through the involute Keep. For a sharp moment, she let the
rue wash through her, experiencing it for both of them. Then
she shrugged her attention back to his side and tried to brace
herself for the Sunbane.

The forehall hardly resembled her memory of it. Its floor
remained permanently peeked and gouged, awkward to walk;

but the space was bright with torches, and sunlight re-
flected through the broken gates. The bodies of the dead had
been cleared away; the blood of battle had been sluiced
from the stone. And the wounded had been moved to more-
comfortable quarters. The improvement suggested that Revel-
stone might yet become habitable again.

Near the gates were gathered the people who had accom-
panied or fought for the Unbeliever and survived: the First
of the Search with Pitchwife and Mistweave; Sunder and
Hollian; Durris and Fole, Ham, Stell, and the rest of the
Haruchai; the black Denaondim-spawn; Findail the Appointed.
Pitchwife hailed Covenant and Linden as if the prospect of
leaving Revelstone had restored some portion of his good
cheer; but the rest of the company stood silent. They seemed
to wait for Covenant as if he were the turning point of their
lives. Even the Haruchai, Linden sensed with a touch of quiet
wonder. In spite of their mountain-bred intransigence, they
were balanced on a personal cusp and could be swayed. As
Covenant drew near, each of them dropped to one knee in
mute homage.

The others had fewer questions to ask. Neither Vain nor
Findail had any use for questions. And Covenant had already
accepted the companionship of the First and Pitchwife,
Hollian and Sunder. They only needed to know where they
were going. The issues which had yet to be resolved belonged
to the Haruchai.

But when Covenant had urged Cail's people back to their
feet, it was the First who addressed him. In spite of battle
and grief, she looked refreshed. Unlike her husband, she had
found exigencies and purposes she understood, was trained
for, in the test of combat. "Earthfriend," she said formally,
a gleam in her hair and her voice, "you are well come. The
quenching of Clave and Banefire and the freeing of Revel-
stone merit high pride, and they will be honored in song
from Sea to Sea wherever our people still hold music in their
hearts. None would gainsay you, should you choose to bide
here in rest and restoration. It is fitting that the craft and
vision of this Giant-wrought bourne should serve as accolade
to that which you and the Chosen have accomplished.

"Yet," she went on without pausing, "I applaud the pur-
pose which draws you away. From peril to loss across the
world I have followed in your wake, and at last have been
granted to strike a blow against evil. But our losses have been
dire and sore, and one blow does not suffice. I desire to strike
again, if I am able. And (he Stonedownors have shown to us
that the Sunbane remains, seeking the rapine of the Earth.
The Search has not reached its end. Earthfriend, where do
you go?"

Linden looked at Covenant. He was an upright self-
contradiction, at once fearful and intrepid. He held his head
high as if he knew that he was worthy of the Giants and
Haruchai, the Graveler and the eh-Brand; and sunlight re-
flecting from the washed stone lit his clean face, so that he
looked like the pure bone of the Earth. And yet his shoulders
were rigid, knotted in the act of strangling his own weakness,
his desire to be spared. Too much depended on him, and he
had no health-sense for guidance.

Frail, invincible, and human, he met the First's gaze,
looked past her to Cail and Durris and the injured Haruchai.
Then he answered.

"When I was in Andelain, I met some of my old friends—
the people who had faith in me, took care of me, loved me
long before I could do any of those things for myself.
Mhoram reminded me of a few lessons I should've already
learned. Foamfollower gave me Vain. Banner promised his
people would serve me. And Elena," Elena his daughter, who
had loved him in the same unbalanced way that she bad
hated Lord Foul, "told me what I'd have to do in the end.
She said, 'When the time is upon you, and you must confront
the Despiser, he is to be found in Mount Thunder—in KJril
Threndor, where he has taken up his abode.' " He swallowed
thickly. "That's where I'm going. One way or another, I'm
going to put an end to it."

Though he spoke quietly, his words seemed to ring and
echo in the high hall-

The First gave a nod of grim, eager approval.

She started to ask him where Mount Thunder was, then
stopped. Durris had taken a step forward. He faced Covenant
with an unwonted intensity gleaming from his flat eyes.

"Ur-Lord, we will accompany you."

Covenant did not hesitate. In a voice as unshakable as the
HaruchaCs, he said, "No, you won't."

Durris lifted an eyebrow, but permitted himself no other
sign of surprise. For an instant, his attention shifted as he
conferred silently with his people. Then he said, "It is as you
have claimed. A promise of service was given to you by
Banner of the Bloodguard among the Dead. And that service
you have earned in our redemption from the compulsion and
sacrifice of the Clave. Ur-Lord, we will accompany you to
the last."

Pain twisted Covenant's mouth. But he did not waver. His
hands were closed into fists, pressed against his thighs. "I
said, no."

Again, Durris paused. The air was tight with suspense;

issues Linden did not know how to estimate had come to a
crisis. She did not truly comprehend Covenant's intent. The
First moved as though she wanted to interpose some appeal
or protest. But the Haruchai did not need her to speak for
them. Durris leaned slightly closer to Covenant, and his look
took on a hint of urgency. His people knew better than anyone
else what was at stake.            ^

"Thomas Covenant, bethink you." Obliquely, Linden won-
dered why it was Durris who spoke and not Cail. "The
Haruchai are known to you. The tale of the Bloodguard is
known to you. You have witnessed that proud, deathless
Vow—and you have beheld its ending. Do not believe that we
forget. In all the ages of that service, it was the grief of the
Bloodguard that they gave no direct battle to Corruption.
And yet when the chance came to Banner—when he stood at
your side upon Landsdrop with Saltheart Foamfollower and
knew your purpose—he turned aside from it. You bad need
Of him, and he turned aside.

"We do not judge him. The Vow was broken. But I say to
you that we have tasted failure, and it is not to our liking.
We must restore our faith. We will not turn aside again."

Shifting still closer to Covenant, he went on as if he
wanted no one else to hear him, "Ur-Lord, has it become
with you as it was with Kevin Landwaster? Is it your intent to

298

White Gold Wielder

be parted from those who would prevent you from the Ritual
of Desecration?"

At that. Linden expected Covenant to flare out. She wanted
to protest herself, deny hotly Durris' unwarranted accusation.
But Covenant did not raise his voice. Instead, he lifted his
half-hand between himself and Durris, turned it palm out-
ward, spread his fingers. His ring clung like a manacle to
what had once been his middle finger.

"You remember," he said, allowing himself neither sarcasm
nor bitterness. "Have you forgotten why the Vow was
broken?

"I'll tell you why. Three Bloodguard got their hands on a
piece of the Illearth Stone, and they thought that made them
powerful enough to do what they always wanted. So they
went to Foul's Creche, challenged Corruption. But they were
wrong. No flesh and blood is immune. Foul mastered them—
the same way he mastered Kevin when Elena broke the Law
of Death- He maimed them to look like me—like this"—he
waved his half-hand stiffly—"and sent them back to Revel-
stone to mock the Bloodguard."

An outcry rose in him; but he held it down. "Are you sur-
prised the Vow was broken? I thought it was going to break
their hearts.

"Banner didn't turn aside. He gave me exactly what I
needed. He showed me it was still possible to go on living."
He paused to steady himself; and now Linden felt the meld

of his certainty and power growing, felt him become palpably
stronger.

"The fact is," he said without accusation, "you've been
wrong all along. You've misunderstood your own doubt from
the beginning. What it means. Why it matters. First Kevin,
then the other Lords, then me—ever since your people first
came to the Land, you've been swearing yourselves in service
to ordinary men and women who simply can't be worthy of
what you offer. Kevin was a good man who broke down when
the pressure got to be worse than he could stand—and the
Bloodguard were never able to forgive him because they
pinned their faith on him and when he failed they thought
it was their fault for not making him worthy, not prevent-
ing him from being human. Over and over again, you put
yourselves in the position of serving someone who has to fail

Those Who Part

299

you for the mere reason that he's human and all humans fail
at one time or another—and then you can't forgive him be-
cause his failure casts doubt on your service. And you can't
forgive yourselves either. You want to serve perfectly, and
that means you're responsible for everything. And whenever
something comes along to remind you you're mortal—like the
mere-wives—that's unforgivable too, and you decide you aren't
worthy to go on serving. Or else you want to do something
crazy, like fighting Foul in person."

Slowly, he lowered his hand; but the gaze he fixed on
Dun-is did not falter, and his clarify burned from his eyes.
"You can do better than that. Nobody questions your worth.
You've demonstrated it a thousand times. And if that's not
enough for you, remember Brinn faced the Guardian of the
One Tree and won. Ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol. Any one of
you would've done the same in his place. You don't need to
serve me anymore.

"And," he added carefully, "I don't need you. Not in the
way you think. I don't want you to come with me."

Durris did not retreat. But Linden sensed that he wished
to draw back, that Covenant's certain strength abashed him.
He seemed unable to deny the image Covenant painted—and
unwilling to accept its implications.

"Ur-Lord, what would you have us do?" he asked as if he
felt no distress. "You have given our lives to us. We must
make recompense. That is necessary.'1 In spite of its in-
flexibility, his voice put the weight of Haruchai history into the
word, necessary. The extravagance and loyalty of his people
required an outlet. "The Vow of the Bloodguard was swom
to meet the bounty and grandeur of High Lord Kevin and
Revelstone. It was not regretted. Do you ask such an oath
from us again, that we may preserve the meaning of our lives?"

"No." Covenant's eyes softened and blurred, and he put
his hand on Durris' shoulder as if he wanted to hug the
Haruchai. Linden felt pouring from him the ache of his ap-
preciation. Bloodguard and Haruchai had given themselves
to him without question; and he had never believed that he
deserved them. "There's something else I want you to do."

At that, Durris' stance sharpened. He stood before the
Unbeliever like a salute.

"I want you to stay here. In Revelstone. With as many of

300

White Gold Wielder

your people as you can get. For two reasons. To take care
of the wounded. The Land's going to need them. It's going to
need every man or woman who can possibly be persuaded to
face the future. And to protect the city. This is Revelstone,
Lord's Keep. It belongs to the Land—not to Corruption or
Ravers. I want it safe. So the future will have a place to center.
A place where people can come to learn about the past—
and see what the Land means—and make plans. A place of
defense. A place of hope. You've already given me every-
thing Banner promised and more. But I want you to do this,
too. For me. And for yourselves. Here you can serve some-
thing that isn't going to fail you.'*

For a long moment. Dun-is was silent while his mind
addressed his people. Then he spoke, and his dispassionate
voice thrilled Linden's hearing like a distant tantara of horns.

"Ur-Lord, we will do it."

In response, Covenant squeezed Durris* shoulder and tried
to blink the gratitude out of his eyes. Instinctively, Linden
put her arms around him, marveling at what he had become.

But when Durris withdrew to stand among the other
Haruchai, Cail came forward. His old scar showed plainly
on one arm; but he bore other hurts as well. With Brinn, he
had once demanded retribution against Linden, believing her
a servant of Corruption. And with Brinn, he had succumbed
to the song of the merewives. But Brinn had gone alone to
meet the Guardian of the One Tree; Cail had been left behind
to pay the price of memory and loss.

'Thomas Covenant," he said softly. "Earthfriend. Permit
me."

Covenant stared at him. A strange bleakness showed in
Cail's eyes.

"I have heard your words," said the Haruchai, "but they
are not mine to acknowledge or eschew. Since that time when
the white beauty and delusion of the merewives took me from
myself, I have not stood in your service. Rather have I fol-
lowed the command placed upon me by ak-Haru Kenaustin
Ardenol- You have not forgotten." Covenant nodded, wary of
grief; but still Cail quoted, " 'Cail will accept my place at
your side until the word of the BIoodguard Bannor has been
carried to its end.' " Then he went on, "That I have done.
But it was not I who was proven against the Guardian of the

Those Who Part                301

One Tree. In the stead of victory, I have met only the deaths
of Giants and the doubt of my people. And this I have done.
not solely because I was commanded, but also because I
was promised. It was given to me that when the word of
Banner was fulfilled I would be permitted to follow my heart.

"Earthfriend, you have proclaimed that fulfillment. And I
have served you to my best strength. I ask now that you
permit me.

"Permit me to depart."

"Depart?" Covenant breathed. His open face showed that
this was not what he had expected. He made an effort to
pull himself out of his surprise. "Of course you can go. You
can do whatever you want. I wouldn't stop you if I could.
You've earned—" Swallowing roughly, he changed direction.
"But you're needed here. Are you going home—back to your
family?"

Without expression, Cail replied, "I will return to the
merewives."

Covenant and the First reacted in simultaneous protest, but
her hard voice covered his. "That is madness* Have you for-
gotten that you were scant moments from death? Almost
Galewrath and I failed of your rescue, I will not see the life
which I brought up from the deep cast awayl"

But surprise and apprehension seemed to tighten Linden's
percipience to a higher pitch, a keener penetration; and she
saw Cail with sudden acuity, felt parts of him which had been
hidden until now. She knew with the instantaneous certainty
of vision that he did not intend to throw his life away, did
not want death from the Dancers of the Sea: he wanted a
different kind of life. A resolution for the inextricable desire
and bereavement of his extreme nature.

She cut Covenant off, stopped the First. They glared at
her; but she ignored their vehemence. They did not under-
stand. Brinn had said. The limbs of our women are brown
from sun and birth. But there is also a whiteness as acute as
the ice which bleeds from the rock of mountains, and it burns
as the purest snow burns in the most high tor, the most wind-
flogged col. And from it grew a yearning which Cail could
no longer bear to deny. Panting with the force of her wish to
support him, give him something in return for his faithfulness,
she rushed to utter the first words that came to her.

302 White Gold Wielder

"Brinn gave his permission. Don't you see that? He knew
what he was saying—he knew what Cail would want to do.
He heard the same song himself. Call isn't going to die."

But then she had to halt She did not know how to explain
her conviction that Brinn and Cail could be trusted.

"Thomas Covenant," Cail said, *'I comprehend the value of
that which you have granted to the Haruchai—a service of
purity and worth. And I have witnessed Brinn's encounter
with ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol, the great victory of our
people. But the cost of that victory was the life of Cable
Seadreamer. For myself I do not desire such worth.

"The song of the merewives has been named delusion. But
is not all life a manner of dreaming? Have you not said
that the Land itself is a dream? Dream or delusion, the music
I have heard has altered me. But I have not learned the mean-
ing of this change. Ur-Lord, I wish to prove what I have
dreamed to its heart. Permit me."

Linden looked at Covenant, imploring him with her eyes;

but he did not meet her gaze. He faced Cail, and conflicting
emotions wrestled each other visibly across his mien: recogni-
tion of what Cail was saying; grief over Seadreamer; fear for
the Haruchai. But after a moment he fought his way through
the moil. "Cail—" he began. His throat closed as though he
dreaded what he meant to say. When he found his voice, he
sounded unexpectedly small and lonely, like a man who
could not afford to let even one friend go.

"I heard the same song you did. The mere-wives are danger-
ous. Be very careful with them."

Cail did not thank the Unbeliever. He did not smile or nod
or speak. But for an instant the glance he gave Covenant was
as plain as a paean.

Then he turned on his heel, strode out of the forehall into
the sunlight, and was gone.

Covenant watched the Haruchai go as if even now he wanted
to call Cail back; but he did not do so. And none of the
other Haruchai made any move to challenge Cail's decision.
Slowly, a rustle like a sigh passed through the hall, and the
tension eased. Hollian blinked the dampness out of her eyes.
Sunder gazed bemusement and awe at the implications of
Cail's choice. Linden wanted to show Covenant the gratitude
Cail had neglected; but it was unnecessary. She saw that he

Those Who Part                303

understood now, and his expression had softened. Behind his
sorrow over all the people he had lost lurked a wry smile
which seemed to suggest that he would have made Cail's choice
if she had been a Dancer of the Sea.

The First cleared her throat. "Earthfriend, I am no equal
for you. These determinations surpass me. In your place, my
word would have been that our need for the accompaniment
of the Haruchai is certain and immediate. But I do not ques-
tion you. I am a Giant like any other, and such bravado
pleases me.

"Only declare swiftly where this Mount Thunder and
Kiril Threndor may be found, that Mistweave may bear the
knowledge eastward to Seareach. It may be that his path and
Call's will lie together—and they will have need of each other."

Covenant nodded at once- "Good idea." Quickly, he de-
scribed as well as he could Mount Thunder's location astride
the center of Landsdrop, where the Soulsease River passed
through the Wightwarrens and became the main source for
Sarangrave Rat and the Great Swamp. "Unfortunately," he
added, "I can't tell you how to find Kiril Threndor. I've been
there once—it's in the chest of the mountain somewhere—
but the whole bloody place is a maze."

"That must suffice," the First said. Then she turned to
Mistweave. "Hear you? If skill and courage may achieve it,
Sevinhand Anchormaster will bring Starfare's Gem to Sea-
reach and The Grieve. There you must meet him. If we fail,
the fate of the Earth falls to you. And if we do not," she
continued less grimly, "you will provide for our restoration
Homeward." In a softer voice, she asked, "Mistweave, are
you content?"

Linden looked at Mistweave closely and was reassured.
The Giant who had sought to serve her and believed that he
had failed was injured and weary, his arm in a sling, bruises
on his broad face; but much of his distress had faded. Perhaps
he would never entirely forget his self-doubt. But he had re-
deemed most of it. The spirit within him was capable of

peace.

She went to him because she wanted to thank him—and
wanted to see him smile. He towered over her; but she was
accustomed to that. Taking one of his huge bands in her
small grasp, she said up to him. "Sevinhand's going to be the

304 White Gold Wielder

Master now. GaIewrath'U be the Anchormaster." Deliberately,
she risked this reference to Honnmscrave's end. "Starfare's
Gem will need a new Storesmaster. Someone who knows
something about healing. Tell them I said you should have
the job."

Abruptly, he loomed over her, and she was swept into the
embrace of his uninjured arm. For an instant, she feared
that he was hurt and weeping; but then his emotions came
into better focus, and she returned his clasp as hard as she
could.

When he set her down again, he was grinning like a Giant

"Begone, Mistweave," the First muttered in a tone of
gruff kindness. "Cail Haruchai will outdistance you entirely."

In response, he shouted a laugh. "Outdistance a Giant?
Not while I live!" With a holla to Pitchwife and a salute to
Covenant and Linden, he snatched up his sack of supplies
and dashed for the tunnel under the watchtower as if he
intended to run all the way to Landsdrop rather than let Cail
surpass him.

After that; nothing remained to delay the company. The
First and Pitchwife shouldered their packs. Sunder and Hollian
lifted the bundles they had prepared for themselves. For a
moment. Covenant looked around the stone of the -forehall
as though he feared to leave it, dreaded the consequences of
the path he had chosen; but then his certitude returned. After
saying a brief farewell to the Haruchai, and accepting their
bows with as much grace as his embarrassment allowed, he
turned his feet toward the sunlight beyond the broken gates.
Vain and Findail took their familiar positions behind him—
or behind Linden—as the company moved outward.

Gritting her teeth against the shock of the Sunbane on her
bare nerves. Linden went back out into the desert sun.

THIRTEEN: The Eh-Brand

IT was worse than she had expected. It seemed worse
than it had been that morning. Glimmermere's cleansing and
Revelstone's protection appeared to have sharpened her
health-sense, making her more vulnerable than ever to the
rife ill of the Sunbane. The sun's heat felt as hard and
heavy as stone. She knew it was not literally gnawing the
flesh from her bones, not charring her bones to the malign
blackness which she had inherited from her father. Yet she
felt that she was being eaten away—that the Sunbane had
found its likeness in her heart and was feeding on her.

During the long days when she and the quest had been away
from the sun's corruption, she had groped toward a new
kind of life. She had heard intimations of affirmation and
bad followed them urgently, striving to be healed. At one time,
with the tale of her mother told for the first time and
Covenant's arms about her, she had believed that she could
say no forever to her own dark hungers. There is also love in
the world. But now the desert sun flamed at her with the
force of an execration, and she knew better.

In some ways, she was unable to share Covenant's love for
the Land. She had never seen it healthy; she could only guess
at the loveliness be ascribed to it. And to that extent he was
alone in his dismay. There's only one way to hurt a man who's
lost everything. Give him back something broken. Yet she
was like the Land herself. The power tormenting it was the
same might which demonstrated to her undefended nerves
that she was not whole.

And she and her companions were on their way to confront
Lord Foul, the source and progenitor of the Sunbane.

305

306 White Gold Wielder

And they were only eight In effect, they were only six:

two Giants, two Stonedownors, Covenant and Linden, Vain
and Findail could be trusted to serve no purposes but their
own. With the sun burning against her face as it started its
afternoon decline, she lost what little understanding she had
ever had of Covenant's reasons for refusing the aid of the
Haruchai. Their intransigent integrity at her side might have
helped to keep the Sunbane out of her soul.

Mount Thunder lay to the east; but Covenant was leading
the company west and south down through the dead foothills
below the intricately wrought face of the Keep. His intent,
he explained, was to join the watercourse which had once been
the White River and follow it toward Andelain. That was not
the most direct path, but it would enable the company to do
what Sunder, Linden, and he had done previously—to ride
the river during a sun of rain. Recollections of cold and dis-
tress made Linden shiver, but she did not demur. She favored
any plan which might reduce the amount of time she had to
spend exposed to the sun.

Above her rose the sheer, hard face of Revelstone. But
some distance ahead. Furl Falls came tumbling down the side
of the plateau; and its implications were comforting. Already,
much of the potent water springing from the roots of Glim-
mennere had been denatured. Furl Falls was only a wisp of
what it should have been. Yet it remained. Centuries of the
Sunbane had not ruined or harmed the upland tarn. Through
the brown heat and light of the sun. Furl Falls struck hints of
blue like sparks from the rough rock of the cliff.

To the south, the hills spread away like a frown of pain in
the ground, becoming slowly less rugged—or perhaps less able
to care what happened to them—as they receded from the
promontory of the Westron Mountains. And between them
wound the watercourse Covenant sought. Following what
might once have been a road, he brought the company to an
ancient stone bridge across the broad channel where the White
River had stopped running. A trickle of water still stretched
thinly down the center of the riverbed; but even that moisture
soon vanished into a damp, sandy stain. The sight of it made
Linden thirsty with empathy, although she had eaten and
drunk well before leaving Mhoram's quarters.

Covenant did not cross the bridge. For a moment, he
glared at the small stream as if he were remembering the

The Eh-Brand                307

White River in full spate. Then, controlling his fear of heights
with a visible effort, he found a way down into the riverbed.
The last sun of rain had not left the channel smooth or
clear, but its bottom offered an easier path than the hills on
either side.

Linden, Sunder, and Hollian followed him. Pitchwife carne
muttering after them. Vain leaped downward with a lightness
which belied his impenetrability; on his woodea wrist and left
ankle, the heels of the Staff of Law caught the sun dully.
Findail changed shape and glided gracefully to the river-
bottom. But the First did not join the rest of the company.
When Covenant looked back up at her, she said, "I will
watch over you." She gestured along the higher ground of the
east bank. "Though you have mastered the Clave, some
caution is needful. And the exertion will ease me. I am a
Giant and eager, and your pace gives me impatience."

Covenant shrugged. He seemed to think that he had be-
come immune to ordinary forms of peril. But he waved his
acceptance; and the First strode away at a brisk gait.

Pitchwife shook his head, bemused by his wife's sources of
Strength. Linden saw a continuing disquiet in the unwonted
tension of his countenance; but most of his unhappiness had
sunk beneath the surface, restoring his familiar capacity for
humor. "Stone and Sea!" he said to Covenant and Linden.
"Is she not a wonder? Should ever we* encounter that which
can daunt her, then will I truly credit that the Earth is lost.
But then only. For the while, I will study the beauty of her and
be glad." Turning, he started down the watercourse as if he
wished his friends to think he had left his crisis behind.

Hollian smiled after them. Softly, Sunder said, "We are
fortunate in these Giants. Had Nassic my father spoken to me
of such beings, mayhap I would have laughed—or mayhap
wept. But I would not have believed."

"Me neither," Covenant murmured. Doubt and fear cast
their shadows across the background of his gaze; but he
appeared to take no hurt from them. "Mhoram was my
friend. Banner saved my life. Lena loved me. But Foamfol-
lower made the difference."

Linden reached out to him, touched her palm briefly to his
clean cheek to tell him that she understood. The ache of the
Sunbane was so strong in her that she could not speak.

Together, they started after Pitchwife.

308 White Gold Wielder

The riverbed was a jumble of small stones and large
boulders, flat swaths of sand, jutting banks, long pits. But
it was a relatively easy road- And by midafternoon the west
rim began casting deep shade into the channel.

That shade was a balm to Linden's abraded nerves—but
for some reason it did not make her any better able to put
one foot in front of another. The alternation of shadow and
acid heat seemed to numb her mind, and the consequences
of two days without rest or sleep came to her as if they
had been waiting in the bends and hollows of the water-
course. Eventually, she found herself thinking that of all the
phases of the Sunbane the desert sun was the most gentle.
Which was absurd: this sun was inherently murderous. Per-
haps it was killing her now. Yet it gave less affront to her
health-sense than did the other suns. She insisted on this as
if someone had tried to contradict her. The desert was simply
dead. The dead could inspire grief, but they felt no pain.
The sun of rain had the force of incarnate violence; the
malign creatures of the sun of pestilence were a pang of
revulsion; the fertile sun seemed to wring screams from the
whole world. But the desert only made her want to weep.

Then she was weeping. Her face was pressed into the sand,
and her hands scrubbed at the ground on either side of her
head because they did not have the strength to lift her. But
at the same time she was far away from her fallen body,
detached and separate from Covenant and Hollian as they
called her name, rushed to help her. She was thinking with
the precision of a necessary belief. This can't go on. It has
got to be stopped. Every time the sun comes up, the Land
dies a little deeper. It has got to be stopped.

Covenant's hands took hold of her, rolled her onto her
back, shifted her fully into the shadows. She knew they were
his hands because they were urgent and numb. When he
propped her into a sitting position, she tried to blink her eyes
clear. But her tears would not stop.

"Linden," he breathed. "Are you all right? Damn it to
hell! I should've given you a chance to rest."

She wanted to say. This has got to be stopped. Give me
your ring. But that was wrong. She knew it was wrong be-
cause the darkness in her leaped up at the idea, avid for power.
She could not hold back her grief.

The Eh-Brand                309

Hugging her hard, he rocked her in his arms and murmured
words which meant nothing except that he loved her.

Gradually, the helplessness faded from her muscles, and
she was able to raise her head. Around her stood Sunder,
Hollian. the First, and Pitchwife. Even Findail was there;

and his yellow eyes yearned with conflicts, as if he knew how
close she had come—but did not know whether he was relieved
or saddened by it. Only Vain ignored her.

She tried to say, I'm sorry. Don't worry. But the desert
was in her throat, and no sound came.

Pitchwife knelt beside her, lifted a bowl to her Ups. She
smelled diamondraught, took a small swallow. The potent
liquor gave her back her voice.

"Sorry I scared you. I'm not hurt. Just tired. I didn't
realize I was this tired." The shadow of the west bank enabled
her to say such things.

Covenant was not looking at her. To the watercourse and
the wide sky, he muttered, *T ought to have my head ex-
amined. We should've stayed in Revelstone. One day wouldn't
have killed me." Then he addressed his companions. "We'll
camp here. Maybe tomorrow she'll feel better."

Linden started to smile reassurance at him. But she was
already asleep.

That night, she dreamed repeatedly of power. Over and
over again, she possessed Covenant, took his ring, and used
it to rip the Sunbane out of the Earth. The sheer violence
of what she did was astounding; it filled her with glee and
horror. Her father laughed blackness at her. It killed Covenant,
left him as betrayed as her mother. She thought she would
go mad.

You have committed murder. Are you not evil?
No. Yes. Not unless I choose to be. I can't help it.
This has got to be stopped. Got to be stopped. You are
being forged as iron is forged. Got to be stopped.

But sometime during the middle of the night she awoke
and found herself enfolded by Covenant's sleeping arms.
For a while, she clung to him; but he was too weary to waken.
When she went back to sleep, the dreams were gone.

And when dawn came she felt stronger. Stronger and
calmer, as if during the night she had somehow made up

310 White Gold Wielder

her mind. She kissed Covenant, nodded soberly in response to
the questioning looks of her friends. Then, while the Stone-
downors and Giants defended themselves against the sun's
first touch by standing on rock, she climbed a slope in the
west bank to get an early view of the Sunbane. She wanted
to understand it.

It was red and baleful, the color of pestilence. Its light felt
like disease crawling across her nerves.

But she knew its ill did not in fact arise from the sun.
Sunlight acted as a catalyst for it, a source of energy, but did
not cause the Sunbane, Rather, it was an emanation from the
ground, corrupted Earthpower radiating into the heavens.
And that corruption sank deeper every day, working its way
into the marrow of the Earth's bones.

She bore it without flinching. She intended to do something
about it.

Her companions continued to study her as she descended
the slope to rejoin them. But when she met their scrutiny,
they were reassured. Pitchwife relaxed visibly. Some of the
tension flowed out of the muscles of Covenant's shoulders,
though he clearly did not trust his superficial vision. And
Sunder, who remembered Marid, gazed at her as if she had
come back from the brink of something as fatal as venom.

"Chosen, you are well restored," said the First with gruff
pleasure. "The sight gladdens me."

Together, Hollian and Pitchwife prepared a meal which
Linden ate ravenously. Then the company set itself to go on
down the watercourse.

For the first part of the morning, the walking was almost
easy. This sun was considerably cooler than the previous one;

and while the east bank shaded the riverbottom, it remained
free of vermin. The ragged edges and arid lines of the
landscape took on a tinge of the crimson light which made
them appear acute and wild, etched with desiccation. Pitch-
wife joined the First as she ascended the hillside again to
keep watch over the company. Although Hollian shared Sun-
der's visceral abhorrence of the sun of pestilence, they were
comfortable with each other. In the shade's protection, they
walked and talked, arguing companionably about a name for
their son. Initially, Sunder claimed that the child would grow
up to be an eh-Brand and should therefore be given an en-
Brand's name; but Hollian insisted that the boy would take

The Eh-Brand                311

after his father. Then for no apparent reason they switched
positions and continued contradicting each other.

By unspoken agreement. Linden and Covenant left the
Stonedownors to themselves as much as possible. She listened
to them in a mood of detached affection for a time; but
gradually their argument sent her musing on matters that had
nothing to do with the Sunbane—or with what Covenant
hoped to accomplish by confronting the Despiser. In the
middle of her reverie, she surprised herself by asking without
preamble, "What was Joan like? When you were married?"

He looked at her sharply; and she caught a glimpse of the
unanswerable pain which lay at the roots of his certainty. Once
before, when she had appealed to him, he had said of Joan,
She's my ex-wife, as if that simple fact were an affirmation.
Yet some kind of guilt or commitment toward Joan had
endured in him for years after their divorce, compelling him
to accept responsibility for her when she had come to him
in madness and possession, seeking his blood.

Now he hesitated momentarily as if he were searching for
a reply which would give Linden what she wanted without
weakening his grasp on himself. Then he indicated Sunder
and Hollian with a twitch of his head. "When Roger was
bom," he said, overriding a catch^in his throat, "she didn't
ask me what I thought She just named him after her father.
And her grandfather. A whole series of Rogers on her side of
the family. When he grows up, he probably won't even know
who I am."

His bitterness was plain. But other, more important feel-
ings lay behind it. He had smiled for Joan when he had
exchanged his life for hers.

And he was smiling now—the same terrible smile that
Linden remembered with such dismay. While it lasted, she
was on the verge of whispering at him in stark anguish. Is
that what you're going to do? Again? Again?

But almost at once his expression softened; and the thing
die feared seemed suddenly impossible. Her protest faded. He
appeared unnaturally sure of what he meant to do; but, what-
ever it was, it did not reek of suicide. Inwardly shaken, she
said, "Don't worry. He won't forget you." Her attempt to
console him sounded inane, but she had nothing else to offer.
"It's not that easy for kids to forget their parents."

312 White Gold Wielder

In response, he slipped an arm around her waist, hugged
her. They walked on together in silence.

But by midmorning sunlight covered most of the riverbed,
and the channel became increasingly hazardous. The rock-
gnarled and twisted course, with its secret shadows and
occasionally overhanging banks, was an apt breeding place
for pestilential creatures which lurked and struck. From
Revelstone Hollian had brought an ample store of voure; but
some of the crawling, scuttling life that now teemed in the
riverbottom seemed to be angered by the scent or immune to
it altogether. Warped and feral sensations scraped across
Linden's nerves. Everytime she saw something move, a pang
of alarm went through her. Sunder and Hollian had to be
more and more careful where they put their bare feet.
Covenant began to study the slopes where the Giants walked.
He was considering the advantages of leaving the channel.

When a scorpion as large as Linden's two fists shot out
from under a rock and lashed its stinger at the side of
Covenant's boot, he growled a curse and made his decision.
Kicking the scorpion away, he muttered, "That does it. Let's
get out of here."

No one objected. Followed mutely by Vain and Findail,
the four companions went to a pile of boulders leaning against
the east bank and climbed upward to join the First and
Pitchwife.

They spent the rest of the day winding through the hills
beside the empty riverbed. Periodically, the First strode up to
a crest that gave her a wider view over the region; and her
fingers rubbed the hilt of her longsword as if she were looking
for a chance to use it. But she saw nothing that threatened
the company except the waterless waste.

Whenever the hills opened westward, Linden could see the
Westron Mountains sinking toward the horizon as they curved
away to the south. And from the top of a rocky spine she
was able to make out the distant rim of Revelstone, barely
visible now above the crumpled terrain. Part of her yearned
for the security it represented, for stone walls and the
guardianship of Haruchai. Red limned the edges of the Land,
made the desert hills as distinct as the work of a knife. Over-
head, the sky seemed strangely depthless. Considered directly.
it remained a pale blue occluded with fine dust; but the
comers of her vision caught a hue of crimson like a hint of

The Eh-Brand                313

the Despiser's bloody-mindedness; and that color made the
heavens look fiat, closed.

Though she was defended by voure, she flinched internally
at the vibrating ricochet of sandnies as big as starlings, the
squirming haste of oversized centipedes. But when the First
and Covenant started on down the far side of the spine, she
wiped the sweat from her forehead, combed her hair back
from her temples with her fingers, and followed.

Late in the afternoon, as shadows returned the sun's
vermin to quiescence, the company descended to the water-
course again so that they could travel more easily until
sunset. Then, when the light faded, they stopped for the
night on a wide stretch of sand. There they ate supper, drank
metheglin lightly flavored with diamondraught, hollowed beds
for themselves. And Hollian took out her lianar wand to dis-
cover what the morrow's sun would be.

Without a word. Sunder handed her the wrapped krill.
Carefully, as if Loric's blade still awed her, she parted the
cloth until a clear shaft of argent pierced the twilight. Sitting
cross-legged with the knife in her lap, she began to chant
her invocation; and as she did so, she raised her Honor into
the Ann-gem's light

From the wood grew shoots and tendrils of fine fire. They
spread about her on the ground like creepers, climbed into
the argence like vines. They burned-without heat, without
harming the wand; and their radiant filigree made the night
eldritch and strange.

Her flame was the precise incarnadine of the present sun.

Linden thought then that Hollian would cease her invoca-
tion. A second day of pestilence was not a surprise. But the
eh-Brand kept her power alight, and a new note of intensity
entered her chant. With a start. Linden realized that Hollian
was stretching herself, reaching beyond her accustomed
limits.

After a moment, a quiet flare of blue like a gentle corusca-
tion appeared at the tips of the fire-fronds.

For an instant, azure rushed inward along the vines,
transforming the flames, altering the crimson ambience of
the dark. Then it was quenched; all the fire vanished. Hollian
sat with the lianar cradled in her fingers and the light of the
krill on her face. She was smiting faintly.

"The morrow's sun will be a sun of pestilence." Her voice

314 White Gold Wielder

revealed strain and weariness, but they were not serious.
"But the sun of the day following will be a sun of rain."

"Good!" said Covenant. "Two days of rain, and we'll
practically be in Andelain." He turned to the First. "It looks
like we're not going to be able to build rafts. Can you and
Pitchwife support the four of us when the river starts to run?"

In answer, the First snorted as if the question were un-
worthy of her.

Gleaming with pride. Sunder put his arms around Hollian.
But her attention was fixed on Covenant. She took a deep
breath for strength, then asked, "Ur-Lord, is it truly your
intent to enter Andelain once again?"

Covenant faced her sharply. A grimace twisted his mouth.
'^ou asked me that the last time." He seemed to expect her
to renew her former refusal. "You know I want to go there.
I never get enough of it. It's the only place where there's any
Law left alive."

The krill-light emphasized the darkness of her hair; but
its reflection in her eyes was clear. "You have told that tale.
And I have spoken of the acquaintance of my people with
the peril of Andelain. To us its name was one of proven
madness. No man or woman known to us entered that land
where the Sunbane does not reign and returned whole of
mind. Yet you have entered and emerged, defying that truth
as you defy all others. Thus the truth is altered. The life of
the Land is not what it was. And in my turn I am changed.
I have conceived a desire to do that which I have not done—
to sojourn among my fears and strengths and learn the new
truth of them.

"Thomas Covenant, do not turn aside from Andelain. It is
my wish to accompany you."

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Covenant said in
a husky voice, "Thanks. That helps."

Softly, Hollian recovered the krill, let darkness wash back
over the company. The night was the color of her hair, and it
spread its wings out to the stars.

The next day, the red sun asserted its hold over the Land
more swiftly, building on what it had already done. The com-
pany was forced out of the watercourse well before mid-
morning. Still they made steady progress. Every southward

The Eh-Brand                315

league softened the hills slightly, and by slow degrees the going
became easier. The valleys between the rises grew wider; the
slopes, less rugged. And Hollian had said that the next day
would bring a sun of ram. Severely, Linden tried to tell her-
self that she had no reason to feel so beaten, so vulnerable to
the recurring blackness of her life.

But the Sunbane shone full upon her. It soaked into her as
if she had become a sponge for the world's ill. The stink of
pestilence ran through her blood. Hidden somewhere among
the secrets of her bones was a madwoman who believed that
she deserved such desecration. She wanted power in order to
extirpate the evil from herself.

Her percipience was growing keener—and so her distress
was keener.

She could not inure herself to what she felt No amount
of determination or decision was enough. Long before noon,
she began to stumble as if she were exhausted. A red haze
covered her mind, blinding her to the superficial details of
the terrain, the concern of her friends. She was like the Land,
powerless to heal herself. But when Covenant asked her if she
wanted to rest, she made no answer and went on walking. She
had chosen her path and did not mean to stop.

Yet she heard the First's warning. Unsteady on her feet,
her knees locked, she halted with Covenant as the Giants
came back at a tense trot from a lew ridge ahead of the
company. Distress aggravated Pitchwife's crooked features.
The First looked apprehensive, like iron fretted with rust
But in spite of their palpable urgency, they did not speak for
a moment. They were too full of what they had seen,

Then Pitchwife groaned far back in his throat. "Ah, Earth-
friend." His voice shuddered. "You have forewarned us of
the consequences of this Sunbane—but now I perceive that
I did not altogether credit your words. It is heinous beyond
speech."

The First gripped her sword as an anchor for her emotions.
'We are blocked from our way," she said, articulating the
words like chewed metal. "Perchance we have come blindly
upon an army of another purpose—but I do not believe it. I
believe that the Despiser has reached out his hand against us."

Trepidation beat the haze from Linden's mind. Her mouth
shaped a question. But she did not ask it aloud. The Giants

316               White Gold Wielder

stood, rigid, before her; and she could see as clearly as

language that they had no answer.

"Beyond that ridge?" asked Covenant. "How far?"
"A stone's throw for a Giant," the First replied grimly.
"No more. And they advance toward us."

He glanced at Linden to gauge her condition, then said
to the First, "Let's go take a look."

She nodded, turned on her heel and strode away.
He hurried after her- Linden, Sunder, and Hollian fol-
lowed. Pitchwife placed himself protectively at Linden's side.
Vain and Findail quickened their steps to keep up with the

company.

At the ridgecrest, Covenant squatted behind a boulder and

peered down the southward slope. Linden joined him. The
Giants crouched below the line-of-sight of what lay ahead.
Findail also stopped. Careful to avoid exposing themselves,
Sunder and Hollian crept forward. But Vain moved up to
the rim as if he wanted a clear view and feared nothing.

Covenant spat a low curse under his breath; but it was not
directed at th? Demondim-spawn. It was aimed at the black
seethe of bodies moving toward the ridge on both sides of

the watercourse.

As black as Vain himself.

The sight of them sucked the strength from Linden's limbs.
She knew what they were because Covenant had described
them to her—and because she had met the Waynhim of
Hamako's rhysh. But they had been changed. Their emana-
tions rose to her like a shout, telling her precisely what had
happened to them. They had fallen victim to the desecration

of the Sunbane.

"Ur-vUes," Covenant whispered fiercely. "Hell and bloodi"

Warped ur-viles.

Hundreds of them.

Once they had resembled the Waynhim: larger, black in-
stead of gray; but with the same hairless bodies, the same
limbs formed for running on all fours as well as for walking
erect, the same eyeless faces and wide, questing nostrils. But
no longer. The Sunbane had made them monstrous.

Over the sickness m her stomach. Linden thought bleakly
that Lord Foul must have done this to them. Like the
Waynhim, the ur-viles were too lore-wise to have exposed
themselves accidentally to the sun's first touch. They had been

The Eft-Brand                317

corrupted deliberately and sent here to block the company's
way.

"Why?" she breathed, aghast. "Why?"

"Same reason as always," Covenant growled without look-
ing away from the grotesque horde. "Force me to use too
much power." Then suddenly his gaze flashed toward her.
"Or to keep us out of Andelain. Exposed to the Sunbane. He
knows how much it hurts you. Maybe he thinks it'll make
you do what he wants."

Linden felt the truth of his words. She knew she could not
stay sane forever under the pressure of the Sunbane. But a
bifurcated part of her replied. Or maybe he did it to punish
them. For doing something he didn't like.

Her heart skipped a beat

For making Vain?

The Demondim-spawn stood atop the ridge as if he sought
to attract the notice of the horde.

"Damnation!" Covenant muttered. Creeping back a short
way from the rim, he turned to the Giants. "What're we going
to do?"

The First did not hesitate. She gestured eastward along the
valley below the ridge. "There lies our way. Passing their
flank unseen, we may hope to outrun them toward Andelain."

Covenant shook his head. "Tbafr won't work. This isn't ex-
actly the direct route to Andelain—or Mount Thunder, for
that matter—but Foul still knew where to find us. He has
some way of locating us. It's been done before." He glared at
his memories, then thrust the past side. "If we try to get
around them, they'll know it."

The First scowled and said nothing, momentarily at a loss
for alternatives. Linden put her back to the boulder, braced
her dread on the hard stone. "We can retreat," she said. "Back
the way we came." Covenant started to protest; but she
overrode him. "Until tomorrow. When the rain starts. I don't
care how well they know where we are. They're going to
have trouble finding us in the rain." She was sure of that. She
knew from experience that the Sunbane's torrents were as
effective as a wall, "Once the rain starts, we can ride the
river right through the middle of them."

Covenant frowned. His jaws chewed a lump of bitterness.
After a moment, he asked, "Can you do it? Those ur-viles
aren't likely to rest at night. We'll have to keep going until

White Gold Wielder

318

dawn. And we'll have to stay right in front of them. So they
won't have time to react when we try to get past them." He
faltered out of consideration for her, then forced himself to
say, "You're already having trouble just staying on your feet."

She gave him a glare of vexation, started to say, What
choice have we got? I can do whatever I have to. But a black
movement caught the edge of her sight. She turned her head
in time to see Vain go striding down the slope to meet the

ur-viles.

Covenant snapped the Demondim-spawn's name. Pitchwife
started after Vain; the First snatched him back. Sunder
hurried to the rim to see what would happen, leaving Hollian
with taut concentration on her face.

Linden ignored them. For the first time, she felt an emotion
radiating from Vain's impenetrable form.

It was anger.

The horde reacted as if it could smell his presence even
from this range. Perhaps that was bow they knew where to
find the company. A spatter of barking burst from the ur-viles;

they quickened their pace. Their wide mass converged to-
ward him. •

At the foot of the slope, he halted. The ur-viles were no
great distance from him now. In a few moments, they would
reach him. As they moved, their barking resolved into one

word:

"Nekhrimah!"

The word of command, by which Covenant had once com-
pelled Vain to save his life. But Foamfollower had said that
the Demondim-spawn would not obey it a second time.

For a moment, he remained still, as if he had forgotten
motion. His right hand dangled, useless, from his wooden
forearm. Nothing else marred his passive perfection. The
scraps of his raiment only emphasized how beautifully he
had been made,

"Nekhrimahl"

Then he raised his left ana. His fingers curved into claws.
His hand made a feral, clutching gesture.

The leading ur-vile was snatched to the ground as if Vain
had taken hold of its heart and ripped the organ apart,

Snarling furiously, the horde broke into a run.

Vain did not hurry. His good arm struck a sideward blow

The Eh-Brand

319

through the air: two ur-viles went down with crushed skulls.
His fingers knotted and twisted: one of the approaching faces
turned to pulp. Another was split open by a punching move-
ment that did not touch his assailant.

Then they were on him, a tide of black, monstrous flesh
breaking against his ebon hardness. They seemed to have no
interest in the company. Perhaps Vain had always been their
target. All of them tried to hurl themselves at him. Even the
ur-viles on the far bank of the river surged toward him.

"Now!" breathed the First eagerly. "Now is our oppor-
tunity! While they are thus engaged, we may pass them by."

Linden swung toward the Giant. The fury she had felt
from Vain whipped through her. "We can do that," she grated.
"As long as we leave him to die. Those are ur-viles. They
know how he was made. As soon as he kills enough of them
to get their attention, they're going to remember how to un-
make him." She rose to her feet, knotted her fists at her sides.
"We've got to make him stop."

Behind her, she felt the violence of Vain's struggle,
sensed the blood of ur-viles spurting and flowing. They would
never kill him by physical force. He would reduce them one at
a time to crushed, raw meat. AH that butchery—I Even the
abominable products of the Sunbane did not deserve to be
slaughtered. But she knew she was right. Before long, the
frenzy of the horde would pass; the or-viles would begin to
mink. They had shown that they were still capable of recogni-
tion and thought when they had used the word of command.
Then Vain would die.

Covenant appeared to accept her assertion. But he re-
sponded bitterly, "You stop him. He doesn't listen to me.'*

"Earthfriend!" the First snapped. "Chosen! Will you remain
here and be slain because you can neither redeem nor com-
mand this Vain? We must flee!"

That's right. Linden was thinking something different; but
it led to the same conclusion. Findail had moved to the ridge-
crest. He stood watching the bloody fray with a particular
hunger or hope in his eyes. In Elemesnedene, the Elohim had
imprisoned Vain to prevent him from the purpose for which
he had been designed. But they had been thwarted because
Linden had insisted on leaving the area—and Vain's instinct
to follow her or Covenant had proved stronger than his bonds.

320 White Gold WieWer

Now Findail seemed to see before him another means by
which the Demondin-spawn could be stopped. And the answer
was unchanged: flee so that Vain would follow.

But how? The company could not hope to outrun the ur-
viles now.

"Perhaps it may be done," said Hollian, speaking so
quietly that she could barely be heard over the savage din.
"Assuredly it is conceivable. The way of it is plain. Is it not
possible?"

Sunder turned back from the rim to gape at her. Inchoate
protests tumbled together in him, fell voiceless.

"Conceivable?" Covenant demanded. "Wbat're you talking
about?"

Hollian's pale face was intense with exaltation or vision.
Her meaning was so clear to her that she seemed beyond
question.

"Sunder and I have spoken of it. In Crystal Stonedown
Sivit na-Mhoram-wist titled me Sun-Sage—and that naming
was false. But does not his very fear argue that such work is
possible?"

Linden flinched. She had never done anything to earn the
epithet the Elohim had given her. She feared even to consider
its implications. Did Hollian think that she. Linden, could
change the Sunbane?

But Sunder strode toward Hollian urgently, then stopped
and stood trembling a few steps away. "No," he murmured.
"We are mortal, you and I. The attempt would reave us to the
marrow. Such power must not be touched."

She shook her head. "The need is absolute. Do you wish
to lose the lives of the ur-Lord and the Chosen—the hope of
the Land—because we dare not hazard our own?" He started
to expostulate. Suddenly, her voice rose like flame. "Sunder,
I have not been tested 1 I an unknown to myself. No measure
has been taken of that which I may accomplish." Then she
grew gentle again. "But your strength is known to me. I have
no doubt of it I have given my heart into your hands, and I
say to you, it is possible. It may be done."

From beyond the ridge came harsh screams as Vain ripped
and mangled the ur-viles. But the pace of their cries had
diminished; he was killing fewer of them. Linden's senses reg-
istered a rippling of power in the horde. Some of the clamor

The Eh-Brand

321

had taken on a chanting cadence. The monsters were sum-
moning their lore against the Demondim-spawn,

"Hellfiret" Covenant ejaculated. "Make sense! We've got to
do something!"

HolUan looked toward him. "I speak of the alteration of
the Sunbane."

Surprise leaped in his face. At once, she went on, "Not of
its power or its ill. But of its course, in the way that the
shifting of a stone may alter the course of a river."

His incomprehension was plain. Patiently, she added, "The
morrow's sun will be a sun of rain. And the pace of the
Sunbane increases as its power grows, ever shortening the
space of days between the suns. It is my thought that perhaps
the morrow's sun may be brought forward, so that its rain
will fall upon us now."

At that. Linden's apprehension jerked into clarity, and
she understood Sunder's protest- The strength required would
be enormous! And Hollian was pregnant, doubly vulnerable.
If the attempt ran out of control, she might rip the life out of
more than one heart.

The idea appalled Linden. And yet she could think of no
other way to save the company.

Covenant was already speaking, His eyes were gaunt with
the helplessness of his alloyed puissance. Thoughts of warped
black flesh and bloodshed tormented him. "Try it," he
whispered. "Please."

His appeal was directed at Sunder.

For a long moment, the Graveler's eyes went dull, and his
stature seemed to shrink. He looked like the man who had
faced Linden and Covenant in the prison-hut of Mithil Stone-
down and told them that he would be required to kill his
own mother. If she had been able to think of any alternative
at all—any alternative other than the one which horrified her
—Linden would have cried out. You don't have to do this!

But then the passion that Covenant had inspired in Sun-
der's life came back to him. The muscles at the comers
of his jaw bunched whitely, straining for courage. He was
the same man who had once lied to Gibbon-Raver under
extreme pain and coercion in an effort to protect the Un-
believer. Through bis teeth, he gritted, "We will do it. If it
can be done."

332 White Gold Wielder

"Praise the Earth!" the First exhaled sharply. Her sword
leaped into her hands. "Be swift. I must do what I may to
aid the Demondim-spawn." Swinging into motion, she passed
the rim and vanished in the direction of Vain's struggle.

Almost immediately, a roynish, guttural chorus greeted
her. Linden felt the mounting power of the ur-viles fragment
as they were thrown into frenzy and confusion by the First's
onset.

But Sunder and Hollian had room in their concentration
for nothing else. Slowly, woodenly, he placed himself before
her. She gave him a smile of secret eagerness, trying to re-
assure him; he scowled in reply. Fear and determination
stretched the skin of his forehead across the bones. He and
Hollian did not touch each other. As formally as strangers,
they sat down cross-legged, facing each other with their knees
aligned.

Covenant came to Linden's side. "Watch them," he
breathed. "Watch them hard. If they get into trouble, we've
got to stop them. I can't stand—" He muttered a curse at
himself. "Can't afford to lose them."

She nodded mutely. The clangor of battle frayed her
attention, urged it away from the Stonedownors. Gritting her
teeth, she forced herself into focus on Sunder and Hollian.
Around her, the edges of the landscape throbbed with the
sun's lambency, the hue of blood.

Sunder bowed his head for a moment, then reached into his
jerkin and drew out his Sunstone and the wrapped krill. The
orcrest he set down squarely between himself and Hollian.
It lay like a hollow space in the dead dirt; its strange translu-
cence revealed nothing.

Hollian produced her lianar, placed it across her ankles.
A soft invocation began to sough between her Ups as she
raised her palms to Sunder. She was the eh-Brand: she would
have to guide the power to its purpose.

Dread twisted Sunder's visage. His hands shook as he ex-
posed the krill, let its light shine into his eyes. Using the cloth
to protect his grip from the kriirs heat, he directed its tip at
Hollian's palms.

Covenant winced as the Graveler drew a cut down the
center of each of her hands.

Blood streaked her wrists. Her face was pale with pain,
but she did not flinch. Lowering her arms, she let thick drops

The Eh-Brand                 323

fall onto the orcrest until all its surface was wet. Then she
took up her wand.

Sunder sat before her as if he wanted to scream; but some-
how he forced his passion to serve him. With both fists, he
gripped the handle of the krill, its tip aimed upward in front
of his chest. The eh-Brand held her lianar likewise, echoing
his posture.

The sun was almost directly above them.

Faintly, Linden heard the First cursing, felt an emanation
of Giantish pain. Pieces of the ur-viles' power gathered to-
gether, became more effective. With a groan like a sob,
Pitchwife fore himself from the Stonedownors and ran past
the ridge to help his wife.

Sweating under the sun of pestilence, Linden watched as
Sunder and the eh-Brand reached krill and lianar toward each
other.

His arms shook slightly; hers were precise. Her knuckles
touched his, wand rested against krill-gem, along a line be-
tween the bloodied orcrest and the sun.

And hot force stung through Linden as a vermeil shaft
sprang from the Sunstone. It encompassed the hands of the
Stonedownors, the blade and the wand, and shot away into
the heart of the sun.

Power as savage as lightning: tfee keen might of the Sun-
bane. Sunder's lips pulled back from his teeth. Hollian's eyes
widened as if the sheer size of what she was attempting sud-
denly appalled her. But neither she nor the Graveler withdrew.

Covenant's half-hand had taken hold of Linden's arm.
Three points of pain dug into her flesh. On the Sandwall, for
entirely different reasons, Cail had gripped her in that same
way. She thought she could hear the First's sword hacking
against distorted limbs, hideous torsos. Vain's anger did not
relent. The strain of Pitchwife's breathing came clearly
through the blood-fury of the ur-viles.

Their lore grew sharper.

But the scalding shaft of Sunbane-force had a white core.
Argent blazed within the beam, reaching like the will of the
Stonedownors to pierce the sun. It came from the gem of the
krill and the clenched strength of Sunder's determination.

It pulled him so far out of himself that Linden feared he
Was already lost.

She started forward, wildly intending to hurl herself upon

324 White Gold Wielder

him, call him back. But then the eh-Brand put forth her
purpose; and Linden froze in astonishment.

In the heart of the gem appeared a frail, blue glimmer.

Sensations of power howled silently against Linden's nerves,
scaled upward out of comprehension, as the blue gleam stead-
ied, became stronger. Flickers of it bled into the beam and
flashed toward the sun. Still it became stronger, fed by the
eh-Brand's resolve. At first, it appeared molten and limited,
torn from itself drop after drop by a force more compelling
than gravity. But Hollian renewed it faster than it bled. Soon
it was running up the beam in bursts so rapid that the shaft
seemed to Sicker.

Yet the aura around the sun showed no sign of alteration.

The Stonedownors chanted desperately, driving their exer-
tion higher; but their voices made no sound. The incandescent
beam absorbed their invocations directly into itself. Sound-
less force screamed across Linden's hearing. Something
inside her gibbered. Stop them stop they'll kill themselves
stop! But she could not. She could not tell the difference
between their agony and the wailing in her mind.

The krilFs jewel shone blue. Constant azure filled the core
of the shaft, hurled itself upward. Still the aura around the
sun did not change.

The next instant, the power became too great.

The lianar caught fire. It burst in Hollian's hands, shedding
a bright vehemence that nearly blinded Linden. The wood
flared to cinders, bumed the eh-Brand's palms to the bone. A
cry ripped through her. The shaft wavered, faltered.

But she did not fall back. Leaning into the power, she
closed her naked hands around the blade of the krill.

At her touch, the shaft erupted, shattering the Sunstone,
shattering the heavens. The ground wrenched itself aside in
a convulsion of pain, sent Linden and Covenant sprawling.
She landed on him while the hills reeled. The air was driven
from his lungs. She rolled off him, fought to get her feet
under her. The earth quivered like outraged flesh.

Another concussion seemed to wipe everything else out of
the world. It rent the sky as if the sun had exploded. Linden
fell again, writhed on the heaving dirt. Before her face, the
dust danced like shocked water, leaving fine whorls in the
wake of the blast. The light faded as if the fist of the heavens
had begun to close.

The Eh-Brand                325

When she raised her head, she saw tremendous thunder-
heads teeming toward her from all the horizons, rushing to
seal themselves over the sun's blue corona-

For an instant, she could not think, had forgotten how to
move. There was no sound at all except the oncoming passion
of the rain. Perhaps the battle beyond the ridge was over. But
then awareness recoiled through her like a thunderclap.
Surging in panic to her hands and knees, she flung her per-
capience toward the Stonedownors.

Sunder sat as if the detonation of earth and sky had not
touched him. His head was bowed. The krill lay on the ground
in front of him, its handle still partially covered. The fringes
of the cloth were charred. His breathing was shallow, almost
undiscemible. In his chest, his heart limped like a mauled
thing from beat to beat. To Linden's first alarm, his life looked
like the fading smoke of a snuffed wick. Then her health-
sense reached deeper, and she saw that he would live.

But Hollian lay twisted on her back, her cut and heat-
mangled palms open to the mounting dark. Her black hair
framed the pale vulnerability of her face, pillowed her head
like the cupped hand of death. Between her lost lips trickled
a delicate trail of blood.

Scrambling wildly across the dirt. Linden dove for the
eh-Brand, plunged her touch into^HoIHan and tried to call
back her spirit before it Bed altogether. But it was going fast;

Linden could not hold it. Hollian had been damaged too
severely. Linden's fingers clutched at the slack shoulders, tried
to shake breath back into the lungs; but there was nothing
she could do. Her hands were useless. She was just an ordi-
nary woman, incapable of miracles—able to see nothing
dearly except the extent of her failure.

As she watched, the life ran out of the eh-Brand. The red
rivulet from her mouth slowed and stopped.

Power: Linden had to have power. But grief closed her
off from everything. She could not reach the sun. The Earth
Was desecrated and dying. And Covenant had changed. At
times in the past, she had tapped wild magic from him with-
out his volition; but that was no longer possible. He was a
new being, an alloy of fire and person. His might was inac-
cessible without possession. And if she had been capable of
doing that to him, it would have taken time—time which
Hollian had already lost.

326 White Gold Wielder

The eh-Brand looked pitifully small in death, valiant and
fragile beyond endurance. And her son also, gone without so
much as a single chance at life. Linden stared blindly at the
failure of her hands. The krill-gem. glared into her face.

From all directions at once, the rain ran forward, hissing
like flame across the dirt.

Drops of water splashed around her as Covenant took hold
of her, yanked her toward him. Unwillingly, she felt the feral
thrust of his pain. "I told you to watch!" he raged, yelling at
her because he had asked the Stonedownors to take this risk
in spite of his inability to protect them from the consequences.
"I told you to watch'."

Through the approaching clamor of the rain, she heard
Sunder groan.

He took an unsteady breath, raised his head. His eyes were
glazed, unseeing, empty of mind. For an instant, she thought
he was lost as well. But then his hands opened, stretching the
cramps from his fingers and forearms, and he blinked several
times. His eyes focused on the krill. He reached out to it
stiffly, wrapped it back in its cloth, tucked it away under his
jerkin.

Then the drizzle caught his attention. He looked toward
Hollian.

At once, he lurched to his feet. Fighting the knots in his
muscles, the ravages of power, he started toward her.

Linden shoved herself in front of him. Sunder! she tried
to say. It's my fault. I'm so sorry. From the beginning,
failure had dogged her steps as if it could never be redeemed.

He did not heed her. With one arm, he swept her out of
his way so forcefully that she stumbled. A blood-ridden in-
tensity glared from his orbs. He had lost one wife and son
before he had met Linden and Covenant. Now they had cost
him another. He bent over Hollian for a moment as if he
feared to touch her. His arms hugged the anguish in his
chest. Then, fiercely, he stooped to her and rose again, lifting
her out of the new mud, cradling her like a child. His howl
rang through the rain, transforming the downpour to grief:

"HalHan!"

Abruptly, the First hove out of the thickening dark with
Pitchwife behind her. She was panting hugely. Blood squeezed
from the wide wound in her side where the lore of the

The Eh-Brand                327

ur-viles had burned her. Pitchwife's face was aghast at the
things he had done.

Neither of them seemed to see Hollian. "Come!" called the
First. "We must make our way now! Vain yet withholds the
ur-viles from us. If we flee, we may hope that he will follow
and be saved!"

No one moved. The rain belabored Linden's head and
shoulders. Covenant had covered his face with his hands. He
stood immobile in the storm as if he could no longer bear
the cost of what he had become. Sunder breathed in great,
raw hunks of hurt, but did not weep. He remained hunched
over Hollian, concentrating on her as if the sheer strength of
his desire might bring her back.

The First gave a snarl of exasperation. Still she appeared
unaware of what had happened. Aggravated by her injury,
she brooked no refusal. "Come, I say!" Roughly, she took
hold of Covenant and Linden, dragged them toward the
watercourse.

Pitchwife followed, tugging Sunder.

They scrambled down into the riverbed. The water racing
there frothed against the thick limbs of the Giants, Linden
could hardly keep her feet She clung to the First. Soon the
river rose high enough to carry the company away.

Rain hammered at them as if it. were outraged by its
untimely birth. The riverbanks were invisible. Linden saw
no sign of the ur-viles or Vain. She did not know whether she
and her friends had escaped.

But the lightning that tore the heavens gave her sudden
glimpses around her. One of them revealed Sunder. He swam
ahead of Pitchwife. The Giant braced him with one hand
from behind.

He still bore Hollian in his arms. Carefully, he kept her
head above water as if she were alive.

At intervals through the loud rain and the thunder. Linden
heard him keening.

FOURTEEN, The Last Bourne

AT first, the water was so muddy that it sickened
Linden. Every involuntary mouthful left sand in her throat,
grit on her teeth. Rain and thunder fragmented her hearing.
At one moment, she felt totally deaf; the next, sound went
through her like a slap. Dragged down by her clothes and
heavy shoes, she would have been exhausted in a short time
without the First's support. The Swordmain's wound was a
throbbing pain that reached Linden in spite of the chaos of
water, the exertion of swimming. Yet the Giant bore both
Covenant and the Chosen through the turmoil.

But as the water rose it became clearer, less conflicted—
and colder. Linden had forgotten how cold a fast river could
be with no sunlight on it anywhere. The chill leeched into
her, sucking at her bones. It whispered to her sore nerves
that she would be warmer if she lowered herself beneath
the surface, out of the air and the battering rain. Only for
a moment, it suggested kindly. Until you feel warmer. You've
already failed. It doesn't matter anymore. You deserve to

feel warmer.

She knew what she deserved. But she ignored the seduc-
tion, clung instead to the First—concentrated on the hurt in
the Giant's side. The cleaner water washed most of the sand
and blood from the bum; and the First was hardy. Linden
was not worried about infection. Yet she poured her percipi-
ence toward that wound, put herself into it until her own side
wailed as if she had been gored- Then, deliberately, she
numbed the sensation, reducing the First's pain to a dull ache.

The cold frayed her senses, sapped her courage. Lightning
and thunder blared above her, and she was too small to

328

The Last Bourne               329

endure them. Rain nailed the face of the river. But she
clinched herself to her chosen use and did not let go while
the current bore the company hurtling down the length of the
long afternoon.

At last the day ended. The torrents thinned; the clouds
rolled back. Legs scissoring, the First labored across to the
west bank, then struggled out of the water and stood trem-
bling on the sodden ground. In a moment, Pitchwife joined
her. Linden seemed to feel his bones rattling in an ague of
weariness.

Covenant looked as pale as a weathered tombstone, his
Ups blue with cold, gall heavy on his features. "We need a
fire," he said as if that, too, were his fault.

Sunder walked up the wet slope without a glance at his
companions. He was hunched over Hollian as though his
chest were full of broken glass. Beyond the reach of the
river, he stumbled to his knees, lowered Hollian gently to
the ground. He settled her limbs to make her comfortable.
His blunt fingers caressed the black strands of hair from her
face, tenderly combed her tresses out around her head. Then
he seated himself beside her and wrapped his arms over his
heart, huddling there as if his sanity had snapped.

Pitchwife unshouldered his pack, took out a Giantish
firepot which had somehow remained sealed against the
water. Next he produced a few fagots'from his scant supply
of firewood. They were soaked, and he was exhausted; but
he bent over them and blew raggedly until they took flame
from the firepot. Nursing the blaze, he made it hot enough to
sustain itself. Though it was small and pitiable, it gave enough
heat to soften the chill in Linden's joints, the gaunt misery
in Covenant's eyes.

Then Pitchwife offered them diamondraught. But they re-
fused it until he and the First had each swallowed a quantity
of the potent liquor. Because of his cramped lungs and her
injury, the Giants were in sore need of sustenance. After that,
however. Linden took a few sips which ran true warmth at
last into her stomach.

Bitterly, as if he were punishing himself, Covenant ac-
cepted the pouch of diamondraught from her; but he did
not drink. Instead, he forced his stiff muscles and brittle bones
toward Sunder.

His offer produced no reaction from the Graveler. In a

330 White Gold Wielder

burned and gutted voice. Covenant urged, pleaded. Sunder
did not raise his head. He remained focused on Hollian as if
his world had shrunk to that frail compass and his companions
no longer impinged upon him. After a while. Covenant
shambled back to the fire, sat down, and covered his face with
his hands.

A moment later, Vain appeared.

He emerged from the night into the campfire's small illu-
mination and resumed at once his familiar blank stance. An
ambiguous smile curved his mouth. The passion Linden had
felt from him was gone. He appeared as insentient and un-
reachable as ever. His wooden forearm had been darkened
and charred, but the damage was only superficial.

His left arm was withered and useless, like a congenital
deformity. Pain oozed from several deep sores. Mottled
streaks the color of ash marred his ebony flesh.

Instinctively, Linden started toward him, though she knew
that she could not help him, that his wounds were as im-
ponderable as his essential nature. She sensed that he had
attacked the ur-viles for his own reasons, not to aid or even
acknowledge the company; yet she felt viscerally that the
wrong his sculptured perfection had suffered was intolerable.
Once he had bowed to her. And more than once he had saved
her life. Someone had to at least try to help him.

But before she reached him, a wide, winged shape came
out of the stars like the plunge of a condor. Changing shapes
as it descended, it landed lightly beside the Demondim-
spawn in human form.

Findail.

He did not look at Covenant or Linden, ignored Sunder*s
hunched and single-minded grief; instead, he addressed Vain.

"Do not believe that you will win my heart with bravery."
His voice was congested with old dismay, covert and un-
mistakable fear. His eyes seemed to search the Demondim-
spawn's inscrutable soul. "I desire your death. If it lay within
the permit of my Wurd, I would slay you. But these comrades
for whom you care nothing have again contrived to redeem
you." He paused as if he were groping for courage, then
concluded softly, "Though I abhor your purpose, the Earth
must not suffer the cost of your pain."

Suddenly lambent, his right hand reached out to Vain's left
shoulder. An instant of fire blazed from the touch, cast

The Last Bourne               331

startling implications which only Linden could hear into the
fathomless night. Then it was gone. Findail left Vain, went
to stand like a sentinel confronting the moonlit prospect of
tile east.

The First breathed a soft oath of surprise. Pitchwife gaped
in wonder. Covenant murmured curses as if he could not
believe what he had seen.

Vain's left arm was whole, completely restored to its
original beauty and function.

Linden thought she caught a gleam of relief from the
Demondim-spawn's black eyes.

Astonishment stunned her. Findail's demonstration gave
her a reason to understand for the first time why the Elohim
believed that the healing of the Earth should be left to
them, that the best choice she or Covenant could make would
be to give Findail the ring and simply step aside from the
doom Lord Foul was preparing for them. The restoration of
Vain's arm seemed almost miraculous to her. With all the
medical resources she could imagine, she would not have
been able to match Findail's feat.

Drawn by the power be represented, she turned toward him
with Sunder's name on his lips. Help him. He doesn't know
how to bear it.

But the silhouette of the Appointed against the moon re-
fused her before she spoke. In some- unexplained way, he
had aggravated his own plight by healing Vain. Like Sunder,
. he was in need of solace. His stance told her that he would
deny any other appeal.

Pitchwife sighed. Muttering aimlessly to himself, he began
to prepare a meal while the fire lasted,

Later that night. Linden huddled near Covenant and the
fading embers of the fire with a damp blanket hugged around
her in an effort to ward oS the sky-deep cold and tried to
explain her failure. "It was too sudden. I didn't see the danger
In time."

"It wasn't your fault," he replied gruffly. "I had no right
to blame you." His voice seemed to issue from an injury
hidden within the clenched mound of his blanket—hidden
and fatal. "I should've made them stay in Revelstone."

She wanted to protest his arrogation of responsibility. With-
out them, we would all be dead. How else were we going to

332 White Gold Wielder

get away from those ur-viles? But he went on, "I used to be
afraid of power. I thought it made me what I hate—another
Landwaster. A source of Despite for the people I care about.
But I don't need power. I can do the same thing by just
standing there."

She sat up and peered at him through the moon-edged
night. He lay with his back to her, the blanket shivering
slightly on his shoulders. She ached to put her arms around
him, find some safe warmth in the contact of their bodies.
But mat was not what he needed. Softly, harshly, she said,
"That's wonderful. You're to blame for everything. Next I
suppose you're going to tell me you bit yourself with that
venom, just to prove you deserve it."

He jerked over onto his back as if she had hit him between
the shoulderblades. His face came, pale and wincing, out
of the blanket. For a moment, he appeared to glare at her.
But then his emanations lost their fierce edge. "I know," he
breathed to the wide sky. "Atiaran tried to tell me'the same
thing. After all I did to her." Quietly, he quoted, " 'Castiga-
tion is a doom which achieves itself. In punishing yourself,
you come to merit punishment.' All Foul has to do is laugh."
His dark features concentrated toward her. "The same thing's
true for you. You tried to save her. It wasn't your fault."

Linden nodded. Mutely, she leaned toward him until he
took her into his embrace.

When she awoke in the early gray of dawn, she looked
toward Sunder and saw that he had not moved during the
night.

Hollian was rigid with death now, her delicate face pallid
and aggrieved in the gloom; but he appeared unaware of any
change, uncognizant of night or day—numb to anything
except the shards of pain in his chest and her supine form.
He was chilled to the bone, but the cold had no power to
make him shiver.

Covenant roused with a flinch, yanked himself roughly out
of his dreams. For no apparent reason, he said distinctly,
"Those ur-viles should've caught up with us by now." Then
he, too, saw Sunder. Softly, he groaned.

The First and Pitchwife were both awake. Her injury was
still sore; but diamondraught had quickened her native tough-
ness, and the damage was no longer serious. She glanced at

The Last Bourne               333

the Graveler, then faced Covenant and Linden and shook her
head. Her training had not prepared her to deal with Sunder's
stricken condition.

Her husband levered himself off the ground with his elbow
and crawled toward the sacks of supplies. Taking up a pouch
of diamondraught, he forced his cramped muscles to lift him
upright, carry him to the Graveler's side. Without a word, he
opened the pouch and held it under Sunder's nose.

Its scent drew a sound like a muffled sob from the Stone-
downor. But he did not raise his head.

Helpless with pity, Pitchwife withdrew.

No one spoke. Linden, Covenant, and the Giants ate a
cheerless meal before the sun rose. Then the First and Pitch-
wife went to find stone on which to meet the day. In shared
apprehension. Linden and Covenant started toward Sunder.
But, by chance or design, he had seated himself upon an
exposed face of rock. He needed no protection.

Gleaming azure, the sun crested the horizon, then dis-
appeared as black clouds began to host westward.

Spasms of wind kicked across the gravid surface of the
White River. Pitchwife hastened to secure the supplies. By
tile time he was finished, the first drizzle had begun to fall. It
mounted toward downpour with a sound like frying meat,

Linden eyed the quick current of the White and shuddered.
Its cold ran past her senses like the edge of a rasp. But she
had already survived similar immersions without diamon-
draught or metheglin to sustain her- She was determined to
endure as long as necessary. Grimly, she turned back to the
problem of Sunder.

He had risen to his feet. Head bowed, eyes focused on
nothing, he faced his companions and the River.

He held Hollian upright in his arms, hugging her to his
sore breast so that her soles did not touch the ground.

Covenant met Linden's gaze. Then he moved to stand in
front of Sunder. The muscles of his shoulders bunched and
throttled; but his voice was gentle, husky with rue. "Sunder,"
he said, "put her down." His hands clenched at his sides.
"You'll drown yourself if you try to take her with you. I
can't lose you too." In the background of his words blew a
wind of grief like the rising of the rain. "We'll help you bury
her."

Sunder gave no response, did not look at Covenant. He

White Gold Wielder

334

appeared to be waiting for the Unbeliever to get out of his

way.

Covenant's tone hardened. "Don't make us take her away
from you."

In reply. Sunder lowered Hollian's feet to the ground.
Linden felt no shift in his emanations, no warning. With his
right hand, he drew the krill from his jerkin.

The covering of the blade fell away, flapped out of reach
along the wind. He gripped the hot handle in his bare fingers.
Pain crossed his face like a snarl, but he did not flinch. White
light shone from the gem, as clear as a threat.

Lifting HolHan with his left arm, he started down toward

the River.

Covenant let him pass. Linden and the Giants let him pass.
Then the First sent Pitchwife after him, so that he would
not be alone in the swift, cold hazard of the current.

"He's going to Andelain," Covenant grated. "He's going
to carry her all the way to Andelain. Who do you think he

wants to find?"

Without waiting for an answer, he followed Pitchwife and

the Graveler.

Linden stared after them and groaned, His Dead! The Dead
in Andelain. Nassic his father. Kalina his mother. The wife
and son he had shed in the name of Mithil Stonedown.

Or Hollian herself?

Sweet Christ! How will he stand it? Hell go mad and never
come back.

Diving into the current. Linden went downriver in a wild
rush with the First swimming strongly at her side.

She was not prepared for the acute power of the cold. As
her health-sense grew in range and discernment, it made her
more and more vulnerable to what she felt. The days she had
spent in the Mithil River with Covenant and Sunder had not
been this bad. The chill cudgeled her flesh, pounded her raw
nerves. Time and again, she believed that surely now she
would begin to wail, that at last the Sunbane would master
her. Yet the undaunted muscle of the First's shoulder sup-
ported her. And Covenant stayed with her. Through the
bludgeoning rain, the thunder that shattered the air, the
lightning that ripped the heavens, his stubborn sense of pur-
pose remained within reach of her percipience. In spite of

The Last Bourne                335

numbing misery and desperation, she wanted to live—
wanted to survive every ill Lord Foul hurled against her.
Until her chance came to put a stop to it.

Visible by lightning burst, Pitchwife rode the River a stroke
or two ahead of the First. With one hand, he held up the
Graveler. And Sunder bore Hollian as if she were merely
sleeping.

Sometime during the middle of the day, the White dashed
frothing and tumbling into a confluence that tore the travelers
down the new channel like dead leaves in the wind. Joined
by the Grey, the White River bad become the Soulsease; and
for the rest of that day—and all the next—it carried the
company along. The rains blinded Linden's sense of direction.
But at night, when the skies were clear and the waning moon
rose over the pummeled wasteland, she was able to see that
the river's course had turned toward the east

The second evening after the confluence, the First asked
Covenant when they would reach Andelain. He and Linden
sat as close as possible to the small heat of their campfire;

and Pitchwife and the First crouched there also as if even
they needed something more than diamondraught to restore
their courage. But Sunder remained a short distance away in
the same posture he had assumed the two previous nights,
hunched over his pain on the sheetrock of the campsite with
Hollian outstretched rigidly in front' of him as if at any
moment she might begin to breathe again.

Side by side. Vain and Findail stood at the fringes of the
light. Linden had not seen them enter the River, did not
know how they traveled the rain-scoured waste. But each
evening they appeared together shortly after sunset and
waited without speaking for the night to pass.

Covenant mused into the flames for a moment, then re-
plied, "I'm a bad judge of distance. I don't know how far
we've come." His face appeared waxen with the consequences
of cold. "But this is the Soulsease. It goes almost straight to
Mount Thunder from here. We ought—" He extended his
hands toward the fire, put them too close to the flames, as if
he had forgotten the reason for their numbness. But then
his leper's instincts caused him to draw back. "It depends on
tile sun. It's due to change. Unless we get a desert sun, the
Riverll keep running. We ought to reach Andelain sometime
tomorrow."

336 White Gold Wielder

The First nodded and went back to her private thoughts.
Behind her Giantish strength and the healing of her injury,
she was deeply tired. After a moment, she drew her long-
sword, began to clean and dry it with the slow, methodical
movements of a woman who did not know what else to do.

As if to emulate her, Pitchwife took his flute from his
pack, shook the water out of it, and tried to play. But his
hands or his lips were too weary to hold any music. Soon he
gave up the attempt.

For a while. Linden thought about the sun and let herself
feel a touch of relief. A fertile sun or a sun of pestilence
would warm the water. They would allow her to see the sky,
open up the world around her. And a desert sun would
certainly not be cold.

But gradually she became aware that Covenant was still
shivering. A quick glance showed her he was not ill. After
his passage through the Banefire, she doubted that he would
ever be ill again. But he was clenched around himself, knotted
so tightly that he seemed feverish.

She put her hand over his right forearm, drew his atten-
tion toward her. With her eyes, she asked what troubled him.

He looked at her gauntly, then returned his gaze to the
fire as if among the coals he might find the words he needed.
When he spoke, he surprised her by inquiring, "Are you
sure you want to go to Andelain? The last time you had the
chance, you turned it down."

That was true. Poised at the southwest verge of the Hills
with Sunder and Hollian, she had refused to go with Covenant,
even though the radiance of health from across the Mithil
River had been vivid to her bruised nerves. She had feared the
sheer power of that region. Some of her fear she had learned
from Hollian's dread, Hollian's belief that Andelain was a
place where people lost their minds. But most of it had arisen
from an encompassing distrust of everything to which her
percipience made her vulnerable. The Sunbane had bored
into her like a sickness, as acute and anguished as any disease;

but as a disease she had understood it. And it had suited her:

it had been appropriate to the structure of her life. But for
that very reason Andelain had threatened her more intimately.
It had endangered her difficult self-possession. She had not
believed that any good could come of anything which bad
such strength over her.

The Last Bourne                337

And later Covenant had relayed to her the words of
Elena among the Dead. The former High Lord had said, /
rue that the woman your companion lacked heart to ac-
company you, for you have much to bear. But she must come
to meet herself in her own time. Care for her, beloved, so
that in the end she may heal us all. In addition, the Forestal
had said, It is well that your companions did not accompany
you. The woman of your world would raise grim shades here.
The simple recollection of such things brought back Linden's
fear.

A fear which had made its meaning clear in lust and dark-
ness when Gibbon-Raver had touched her and affirmed that
she was evil.

But she was another woman now. She had found the
curative use of her health-sense, the access to beauty. She
had told Covenant the stories of her parents, drawn some of
their sting from her heart. She had learned to call her
hunger for power by its true name. And she knew what she
wanted. Covenant's love. And the end of the Sunbane.

Smiling grimly, she replied, "Try to stop me."

She expected her answer to relieve him. But he only
nodded, and she saw that he still had not said what was in
him. Several false starts passed like^shadows across the back-
ground of his expression. In an effo^-t to reach him, she
added, "I need the relief. The sooner I get out of the Sun-
bane, the saner I'll be."

"Linden—" He said her name as if she were not making
his way easier. "When we were in Mithil Stonedown—and
Sunder told us he might have to kill his mother—" He
swallowed roughly. "You said he should be allowed to put
her out of her misery. If that was what he wanted." He looked
at her now with the death of her mother written plainly in his
gaze. "Do you still believe that?"

She winced involuntarily. She would have preferred to put
his question aside until she knew why he asked it. But his
frank need was insistent. Carefully, she said, "She was in
terrible pain. I think people who're suffering like that have
the right to die. But mercy killing isn't exactly merciful to
the people who have to do it. I don't like what it does to
them." She strove to sound detached, impersonal; but the
hurt of the question was too acute. "I don't like what it did
to me. If you can call what I did mercy instead of murder."

338 White Gold Wielder

He made a gesture that faltered and fell like a failed as-
suagement, His voice was soft; but it betrayed a strange ague.
"What're you going to do if something's happened to Ande-
lain? If you can't get out of the Sunbane? Caer-Caveral knew
he wasn't going to last. Foul's corrupted everything else.
What'U we do?" His larynx jerked up and down like a presage
of panic. "I can stand whatever I have to. But not that. Not
that"

He looked so belom and defenseless that she could not
bear it. Tears welled in her eyes. "Maybe it'll be all right,"
she breathed. "You can hope. It's held out this long. It can
last a little longer."

But down in the cold, dark roots of her mind she was
thinking. If it doesn't, I don't care what happens. I'll tear
that bastard's heart out. I'll get the power somewhere, and
I'll tear his heart out.

She kept her thoughts to herself. Yet Covenant seemed to
sense the violence inside her. Instead of reaching out to her
for comfort, he withdrew into his certainty. Wrapped in
decisions and perceptions she did not understand and could
not share, he remained apart from her throughout the night

A long time passed before she grasped that he did not
mean to reject her. He was trying to prepare himself for the
day ahead.

But the truth was plain in the sharp, gray dawn, when
he rolled, bleak and tense, out of his blankets to kiss her.
He was standing on an inner precipice, and his balance was
fragile. The part of him which had been fused in the Banefire
did not waver; but the vessel bearing that sure alloy looked
as brittle as an old bone. Yet in spite of his trepidation he
made the effort to smile at her.

She replied with a grimace because she did not know how
to protect him.

While Pitchwife prepared a meal for the company. Cove-
nant went over to Sunder. Kneeling behind the Graveler, he
massaged Sunder's locked shoulders and neck with his numb
fingers.

Sunder did not react to the gesture. He was aware of noth-
ing except Hollian's pallid form and his own fixed purpose.
To Linden's health-sense, his body ached with the weakness
of inanition. And she felt the hot blade of the krill scalding
his unshielded belly under his jerkin. But he seemed to draw

The Last Bourne                339

strength from that pain as if it were the promise that kept him
alive.

After a while, Covenant rejoined the two Giants and Lin-
den. "Maybe he'll meet her in Andelain," he sighed. "Maybe
she'll be able to get through to him."

"Let us pray for that outcome," muttered the First. "His
endurance must fail soon."

Covenant nodded. As he chewed bread and dried fruit for
breakfast, he went on nodding to himself like a man who had
no other hope.

A short time later, the sun rose beyond the rim of the
world; and the companions stood on the rainswept sheetrock
to meet the daybreak.

It crested the horizon in a flaring of emerald, cast green
spangles up the swift, broken surface of the River.

At the sight, Linden went momentarily weak with relief.
She had not realized how much she had feared another sun
of rain.

Warmth: the fertile sun gave warmth. It eased the vehe-
mence of the current, softened the chill of the water. And it
shone on her nerves like the solace of dry, fire-warmed blan-
kets. Supported by the First, with Covenant beside her and
Pitchwife and Sunder only a few short strokes away, she rode
the Soulsease and thought for the first time that perhaps the
River had not been gratuitously named.

Yet relief did not blind her to what was happening to the
earth on either side of the watercourse. The kindness of the fer-
tile sun was an illusion, a trick performed by the River's pro-
tection. On the banks, vegetation squirmed out of the ground
like a ghoul-ridden host. Flailed up from their roots, vines
and grasses sprawled over the rims of the channel. Shrubs
raised their branches as if they were on fire; trees clawed their
way into the air, as frantic as the damned. And she found that
her own relative safety only accentuated the sensations pour-
ing at her from the wild, unwilling growth. She was floating
through a wilderness of voiceless anguish: the torment around
her was as loud as shrieks. Tortured out of all Law, the trees
and plants had no defense, could do nothing for themselves
except grow and grow—and hurl their dumb hurt into the
sky.

Perhaps after all the Forestal of Andelain was gone. How
long could he bear to hear these cries and be helpless?

340 White Gold Wielder

Between rising walls of agony, the River ran on toward the
east and Mount Thunder after a long southeastward stretch.
Slowly, Linden fell into a strange, bifurcated musing. She held
to the First's shoulder, kept her head above water, watched
the riverbanks pass, the verdure teem. But on another level
she was not aware of such things. Within her, the darkness
which had germinated at Gibbon's touch also grew. Fed by
the Sunbane, it twined through her and yearned. She remem-
bered now as if she had never forgotten that behind the super-
ficial grief and pain and abhorrence had lurked a secret glee
at the act of strangling her mother—a wild joy at the taste
of power.

In a detached way, she knew what was happening to her.
She had been too long exposed to Lord Foul's corruption. Her
command over herself, her sense of who she wanted to be, was
fraying.

She giggled harshly to herself—a snapping of mirth like the
sound of a Raver. The idea was bitterly amusing. Until now
it had been the sheer difficulty and pain of traveling under the
Sunbane which had enabled her to remember who she was.
The Despiser could have mastered her long ago by simply al-
lowing her to relax.

Fierce humor rose in her throat Fertility seemed to caper
along her blood, frothing and chuckling luridly. Her percipi"
ence sent out sneaky fingers to touch Covenant's latent fire as
if at any moment she would muster the courage to take hold
of it for herself.

With an effort of will, she pulled at the First's shoulder. The
Giant turned her head, murmured over the wet mutter of the
River, "Chosen?"

So that Covenant would not hear her. Linden whispered,
"If I start to laugh, hit me. Hold me under until I stop."

The First returned a glance of piercing incomprehension.
Then she nodded.

Somehow, Linden locked her teeth against the madness and
did not let it out.

Noon rose above her and passed by. From the truncated
perspective of the waterline, she could see only a short dis-
tance ahead. The Soulsease appeared to have no future. The
world contained nothing except tortured vegetation and de-
spair. She should have been able to heal that. She was a doc-
tor. But she could not. She had no power.

The Last Bourne                341

But then without transition the terrain toward which the
company was borne changed. Beyond an interdict as precise
as a line drawn in the Earth, the wild fertility ended; and a
natural woodland began on both sides of the Soulsease.

The shock of it against her senses told her what it was. She
had seen it once before, when she Iiad not been ready for it.
It rushed into her even from this distance like a distillation of
all vitrim and diamondraught, a cure for all darkness.

The First nudged Covenant, nodded ahead. Thrashing his
legs, he surged up in the water; and his crow split the air;

"Andelain!"

As he fell back, he pounded at the current like a boy, sent
sun-glistened streams of spray arcing across the Soulsease.

In silence. Linden breathed, Andelain, Andelain, as if by
repeating that name she might cleanse herself enough to en-
ter among the Hills. Hope washed through her in spite of
everything she had to fear. Andelain.

Brisk between its banks, the River ran swiftly toward the
Porestal's demesne, the last bastion of Law.

As they neared the demarcation. Linden saw it more
acutely. Here thronging, tormented brush and bracken, mi-
mosas cracked by their own weight, junipers as grotesque as
the dancing of demons, all stopped as if they had met a wall:

there a greensward as lush as spnhgtime and punctuated with
peonies like music swept up the graceful hillslopes to the
stately poplars and red-fruited elders that crowned the crests.
At the boundary of the Forestal's reign, mute hurt gave way
to aliantha, and the Sunbane was gone from the pristine sky.

Gratitude and gladness and relief made the world new
around her as the Soulsease carried the company out of the
Land's brokenness into Andelain.

When she looked behind her, she could no longer see the
Sunbane's green aura. The sun shone out of the cerulean
heavens with the yellow warmth of loveliness.

Covenant indicated the south bank. The First and Pitch-
wife turned in that direction, angling across the current. Cov-
enant swam with all bis strength; and Linden followed. The
water had already changed from ordinary free-flowing clean-
ness to crystal purity, as special and renewing as dew. And
when she placed her hands on the grass-rich ground to boost
herself out of the River, she received a new thrill, a sensation
of vibrancy as keen as the clear air. She had been exposed

342 White Gold Wielder

to the Sunbane for so long that she had forgotten what the
Earth's health felt like.

But then she stood on the turf with all her nerves open and
realized that what she felt was more than simple health. It was
Law quintessenced and personified, a reification of the vitality
which made life precious and the Land desirable. It was an
avatar of spring, the revel of summer; it was autumn glory and
winter peace. The grass under her feet sprang and gleamed,
seemed to lift her to a taller stature. The sap in the trees rose
like fire, beneficent and alive. Flowers scattered color every-
where. Every breath and scent and sensation was sapid beyond
bearing—and yet they urged her to bear them. Each new ex-
quisite perception led her onward instead of daunting her,
carried her out of herself like a current of ecstasy.

Laughter and weeping rose in her together and could not
be uttered. This was Andelain, the heart of the Land Covenant
loved. He lay on his face in the grass, arms outspread as if
to hug the ground; and she knew that the Hills had changed
everything. Not in him, but in her. There were many thinga
she did not understand; but this she did: the bale of the Sun-
bane had no power here. She was free of it here. And the Law
which brought such health to life was worth the price any
heart was willing to pay.

That affirmation came to her like a clean sunrise. It was the
positive conviction for which she had been so much in need.
Any price. To preserve the last beauty of the Land. Any price
at all.

Pitchwife sat on the grass and stared hungrily up the hill-
sides, his face wide with astonishment. "I would not have
credited—" he breathed to himself. "Not have believed—"
The First stood behind him, her fingertips resting on his shoul-
ders. Her eyes beamed like the sun-flashes dancing on the gay
surface of the Soulsease. Vain and Findail had appeared while
Linden's back had been turned. The Demondim-spawn be-
trayed no reaction to Andelain; but Findail's habitual distress
had lightened, and he took the crisp air deep into his lungs as
if, like Linden, he knew what it meant-

Free of the Sunbane and exalted, she wanted to run—
wanted to stretch and bound up the Hills and tumble down
them, sport like a child, see everything, taste everything, race
her bruised nerves and tired bones as far as they would go into
the luxuriant anodyne of this region, the sovereign solace of

The Last Bourne                343

Andelain's health. She skipped a few steps away from the
River, turned to call Covenant after her-

He had risen to his feet, but was not looking at her. And
there was no joy in his face.

His attention was fixed on Sunder.

Sunder! Linden groaned, instantly ashamed that she had
forgotten him in her personal transport.

He stood on the bank and bugged Hollian upright against
his chest, seeing nothing, comprehending no part of the beauty
around him. For a time, he did not move. Then some kind of
focus came into his eyes, and he stumbled forward. Too weak
now to entirely lift the eh-Brand's death-heavy form, he half
dragged her awkwardly in front of him across the grass.

Ashen with hunger and exhaustion and loss, he bore her to
the nearest aliantha. There he laid her down. Under its holly-
like leaves, the bush was thick with viridian treasure-berries.
The Clave had proclaimed them poison; but after Marid had
bitten Covenant, aliantha had brought the Unbeliever back
from delirium. And that experience had not been lost on
Sunder. He picked some of the fruit.

Linden held her breath, hoping he would eat.

He did not. Squatting beside Hollian, he tried to feed the
berries between her rigid lips.    i.

"Eat, love." His voice was hoarse, .veined and cracked like
crumbling marble. "You have not eaten. You must eat."

But the fruit only broke on her teeth.

Slowly, he hunched over the pain of his fractured heart and
began to cry.

Pain twisted Covenant's face like a snarl as he moved to
the Graveler's side. But when he said, "Come on," his voice
was gentle. "We're still too close to the Sunbane. We need to
go farther in."

For a long moment. Sunder shook with silent grief as if at
last his mad will had failed. But then he scooped his arms un-
der Hollian and lurched, trembling, to his feet- Tears streamed
down his gray cheeks, but he paid them no heed.

Covenant gestured to the Giants and Linden. They joined
him promptly. Together, they turned to the southeast and
started away from the River across the first hillsides.

Sunder followed them, walking like a mute wail of woe.

His need conflicted Linden's reactions to the rich atmo-
sphere of Andelain. As she and her friends moved among the

344 White Gold Wielder

Hills, sunshine lay like immanence on the slopes; balm filled
the shade of the trees. With Covenant and the Giants, she ate
aliantha from the bushes along their way; and the savor of
the berries seemed to add a rare spice to her blood. The grass
gave a blessing back to the pressure of her shoes, lifting her
from stride to stride as if the very ground sought to encourage
her forward. And beneath the turf, the soil and skeleton of
Andelain were resonant with well-being, the good slumber of
peace.

And birds, soaring like melody above the treetops, squab-
bling amicably among the branches. And small woodland
animals, cautious of the company's intrusion, but not afraid.
And flowers everywhere, flowers without number—poppy,
amaryms, and larkspur—snapdragon, honeysuckle, and violet
—as precise and numinous as poetry. Seeing them. Linden
thought that surely her heart would burst with pleasure.

Yet behind her Sunder bore his lost love inward, as if he
meant to lay her at the feet of Andelain itself and demand
restitution. Carrying death into the arduously defended re-
gion, he violated its ambience as starkly as an act of murder.

Though Linden's companions had no health-sense, they
shared her feelings. Covenant's visage worked unself-con-
sciously back and forth between leaping eagerness and
clenched distress. Pitchwife's eyes devoured each new vista,
every added benison—and flicked repeatedly toward Sunder
as if he were flinching. The First held an expression of stem
acceptance and approval on her countenance; but her hand
closed and unclosed around the handle of her sword. Only
Vain and the Appointed cared nothing for Sunder.

Nevertheless the afternoon passed swiftly. Sustained by
treasure-berries and gladness, and by rills that sparkled like
liquid gem-fire across their path, Linden and her companions
moved at Sunder's pace among the copses and hUlcrests. And
then evening drew near. Beyond the western skyline, the sun
set in grandeur, painting orange and gold across the heavens.

Still the travelers kept on walking. None of them wanted
to stop.

When the last emblazonry of sunset had faded, and stars
began to wink and smile through the deepening velvet of the
sky, and the twittering communal clamor of the birds sub-
sided, Linden heard music.

The Last Bourne               345

At first it was music for her alone, melody sung on a pitch
of significance which only her hearing could reach. It sharp-
ened the star-limned profiles of the trees, gave the light of the
low, waning moon on the slopes and trunks a quality of etched
and lovely evanescence. Both plaintive and lustrous, it wafted
over the Hills as if it were singing them to beauty. Rapt with
eagerness, Linden held her breath to listen.

Then the music became as bright as phosphorescence; and
the company heard it. Covenant drew a soft gasp of recogni-
tion between his teeth.

Swelling and aching, the melody advanced. It was the song
of the Hills, the incarnate essence of Andelain's health. Every
leaf, every petal, every blade of grass was a note in the har-
mony; every bough and branch, a strand of singing. Power
ran through it—the strength which held back the Sunbane.
But at the same time it was mournful, as stem as a dirge; and
it caught in Linden's throat like a sob.

**0h, Andelain! Forgive! For I am doomed to fail this war.

I cannot bear to see you die—and live,
Foredoomed to bitterness and all the gray Despiser's lore.

But while I can I heed the call

Of green and tree; and for their worth,
I hold the glaive of Law against the Earth."

While the words measured out their sorrow and determina-
tion, the singer appeared on a rise ahead of the company—
became visible like a translation of song.

He was tall and strong, wrapped in a robe as fine and white
as the music which streamed from the lines of his form. In his
right hand, he gripped a long, gnarled tree-limb as though it
were the staff of his might For he was mighty—oh, he was
mighty! The sheer potency of him shouted to Linden's senses
as he approached, shinning her not with fear but with awe. A
long moment passed before she was able to see him clearly.

"Caer-CaveraI," whispered Covenant. "Hile Troy." Linden
felt his legs tremble as if he ached to kneel, wanted to stretch
himself prostrate in front of the eldritch puissance of the
Forestal. "Dear God, I'm glad to see you." Memories poured
from him, pain and rescue and bittersweet meeting.

Then at last Linden discerned through the phosphorescence

346 White Gold Wielder

and the music that the tall man had no eyes. The skin of his
face spread straight and smooth from forehead to cheek over
the sockets in which orbs should have been.

Yet he did not, appear to need sight. His music was the
only sense he required. It lit the Giants, entrancing them
where they stood, leaving them with a glamour in their faces
and a cessation of all hurt in their hearts. It trilled and swirled
through Linden, carrying her care away, humbling her to si-
lence. And it met Covenant as squarely as any gaze.

"You have come," the man sang, drawing glimmers of
melody from the greensward, spangled wreaths of accompani-
ment from the trees. "And the woman of your world with you.
That is well." Then his singing concentrated more personally
on Covenant; and Covenant's eyes burned with grief. Hile
Troy had once commanded the armies of the Land against
Lord Foul. But he had sold himself to the Forestal of Gar-
roting Deep to purchase a vital victory—and the price had
been more than three millennia of service.

"Thomas Covenant, you have become that which I may no
longer command. But I ask this of you, that you must grant
it." Melody flowed from him down the hillside, curling about
Covenant's feet and passing on. The music tuned itself to a
pitch of authority. "Ur-Lord and Illender, Unbeliever and
Earthfriend. You have earned the valor of those names. Stand
aside."

Covenant stared at the Forestal, his whole stance pleading
for comprehension.

"You must not intervene. The Land's need is harsh, and its
rigor falls upon other heads as well as yours. No taking of
life is gentle, but in this there is a necessity upon me, which
you are craved to honor. This Law also must be broken." The
moon was poised above the Hills, as acute as a sickle; but its
light was only a pale echo of the music that gleamed like drop-
lets of bright dew up and down the slope. Within the trunks
of the trees rose the same song which glittered on their
leaves. "Thomas Covenant," the Forestal repeated, "stand
aside."

Now the rue of the melody could not be mistaken. And
behind it shimmered a note of fear.

"Covenant, please," Caer-CaveraI concluded in a com-
pletely different voice—the voice of the man he had once

The Last Bourne                347

been. "Do this for me. No matter what happens. Don't in-
terfere."

Covenant's throat worked. "I don't—" he started to say. I
don't understand. Then, with a wrench of will, he stepped out
of the Forestal's way.

Stately and grave, Caer-CaveraI went down the hillside to-
ward Sunder.

The Graveler stood as if he did not see the tall, white fig-
ure, heard no song. Hollian he held upright against his heart,
her face pressed to his chest. But his head was up: his eyes
watched the slope down which Caer-CaveraI had come. A cry
that had no voice stretched his visage.

Slowly, like an action in a dream, Linden turned to look in
the direction of Sunder's gaze.

As Covenant did the same, a sharp pang sprang from him.

Above the company, moonshine and Forestal-fire condensed
to form a human shape. Pale silver, momentarily transparent.
then more solid, like an incarnation of evanescence and yearn-
ing, a woman walked toward the onlookers. A smile curved
her delicate mouth; and her hair swept a suggestion of dark
wings and destiny past her shoulders; and she shone like loss
and hope.

Hollian eh-Brand. Sunder's Dead, come to greet him.

The sight of her made him breathe in fierce, shuddering
gasps, as if she had set a goad to his heart.

She passed by Covenant, Linden, and the Giants without
acknowledging them. Perhaps for her they did not exist. Erect
with the dignity of her calling, the importance of her pur-
pose, she moved to the Forestal's side and stopped, facing
Sunder and her own dead body.

"Ah, Sunder, my dear one," she murmured. "Forgive my
death. It was my flesh that failed you, not my love."

Helpless to reply. Sunder went on gasping as if his life
were being ripped out of him.

Hollian started to speak again; but the Forestal raised his
staff, silencing her. He did not appear to move, to take any
action. Yet music leaped around Sunder like a swirl of moon-
sparks, and the Graveler staggered. Somehow, Hollian was
taken from him. She was enfolded tenderly in the crook of the
Porestal's left arm. Caer-CaveraI claimed her stiff death for
himself. The song became keener, whetted by loss and trepi-
dation.

348 White Gold Wielder

Wildly, Sunder snatched the krill from its resting place
against his burned belly. Its argent passion pierced the music.
All reason was gone from him. Wracked for air, he brandished
Loric's blade at the Forestal, mutely demanding that Hollian
be given back to him.

The restraint Hile Troy had asked of Covenant made him
shudder.

"Now it ends," fluted Caer-Caveral. The singing which con-
veyed his words was at once exquisitely beautiful and unbear-
able. "Do not fear for me. Though it is severe, this must be
done. I am weary, eager of release and called to rest. Your
love supplies the power, and none other may take the burden
from you. Son of Nassic"—the music contained no command
now, but only sorrow—"you must strike me."

Covenant flinched as if he expected Sunder to obey. The
Graveler was desperate enough for anything. But Linden
watched him with all her senses and saw his inchoate violence
founder in dismay. He lowered the krill. His eyes were wide
with supplication. Behind the mad obsession which had ruled
him since HoIIian's death still lived a man who loathed killing
—who had shed too much blood and never forgiven himself
for it. His soul seemed to collapse inward. After days of en-
durance, he was dying.

The Forestal struck the turf with bis staff, and the Hills
rang. "Strike!"

His demand was so potent that Linden raised her hands
involuntarily, though it was not directed at her. Yet some part
of Sunder remained unbroken, clear. The comers of his jaw
knotted with the old obduracy which had once enabled him to
defy Gibbon. Deliberately, he unbent his elbow, let the krill
dangle from his weak hand. His head slumped forward until
his chin rested on his chest. He no longer made any effort to
breathe.

Caer-Caveral sent a glare of phosphorescence at the Grave-
ler. "Very well," he trilled angrily. "Withhold—and be lost.
The Land is ill-served by those who will not pay the price of
love." Turning sharply away, he strode back through the com-
pany in the direction from which he had come. He still bore
HoIIian's physical form clasped in his left arm.

And the Dead eh-Brand went with him as if she approved.
Her eyes were silver and grieving.

The Last Bourne               849

It was too much. A strangled cry tore Sunder's refusal. He
could not let Hollian go; his desire for her was too strong.
Raising the krill above his head in both fists, he ran at the
Forestal's back.

Too late, Covenant shouted, "No!" and leaped after Sunder.

The Giants could not move. The music held them fasci-
nated and motionless. Linden was not certain that they were
truly able to see what was happening.

She could have moved. She felt the same stasis which en-
closed the First and Pitchwife; but it was not strong enough to
stop her. Her percipience could grasp the melody and make
it serve her. With the slow instantaneousness of visions or
nightmares, she knew she was able to do it. The music would
carry her after Sunder so swiftly that he might never reach
the Forestal.

Yet she did not. She had no way to measure the implications
of this crisis. But she had seen the pain shining in HoIIian's
eyes, the eh-Brand's recognition of necessity. And she trusted
the sum, brave woman. She made no effort to stop Sunder as
he hammered the point of the krill between Caer-Caveral's
shoulderblades with the last force of his life.

From the blow burst a deflagration of pearl flame which
rent away immobility, sent Linden and the Giants sprawling,
hurled Covenant to the grass. At^nce, all the music became
fire and raced toward the Forestal, sweeping around him—and
Sunder and Hollian with him—so that they were effaced from
sight, consumed in an incandescent whirlwind that spouted
into the heavens, reached like the ruin of every song toward
the bereft stars. A cacophony of fear clashed and wept around
the flame; but the flame did not hear it. In a rush of ascen-
sion, the blaze burned its hot, mute agony against the night as
if it fed on the pure heart of Andelain, bore that spirit writh-
ing and appalled through the high dark.

And as it rose, Linden seemed to hear the fundamental
fabric of the world tearing.

Then, before the sight became unendurable, the fire began
to subside. By slow stages, the conflagration changed to an
ordinary fire, yellow with heat and eaten wood, and she saw
it burning from the black and blasted stump of a tree trunk
which had not been there when Caer-Caveral was struck.

Stabbed deep into the charred wood beyond any hope of

White Gold Wielder

350

removal was the krill. Only the flames that licked the stump
made it visible: the light of its gem was gone.

Now the fire failed swiftly, falling away from the stricken
trunk. Soon the blaze was extinguished altogether. Smoke
curled upward to mark the place where the Forestal had been

slain.

Yet the night was not dark. Other illuminations gathered
around the stunned companions.

From beyond the stump, Sunder and Hollian came walking
hand-in-hand. They were limned with silver like the Dead; but
they were alive in the flesh—human and whole. Caer-Caveral's
mysterious purpose had been accomplished. Empowered and
catalyzed by the Forestal's spirit, Sunder's passion had found
its object; and the krill had severed the boundary which sep-
arated him from Hollian. In that way, the Graveler, who was
trained for bloodshed and whose work was killing, had
brought his love back into life.

Around the two of them bobbed a circle of Wraiths, danc-
ing a bright cavort of welcome. Their warm loveliness seemed
to promise the end of all pain.

But in Andelain there was no more music.

FIFTEEN; Enactors of
Desecration

IN the lush, untrammeled dawn of the Hills, Sunder
and Hollian came to say farewell to Covenant and Linden.

Linden greeted them as if the past night had been one of
the best of her life. She could not have named the reasons for
this; it defied expectation. With Caer-Caveral's passing, im-

Enactors of Desecration              351

portant things had come to an end. She should have lamented
instead of rejoicing. Yet on a level too deep for language
she had recognized the necessity of which the Forestal had
spoken. This Law also. Andelain had been bereft of music,
but not of beauty or consolation. And the restoration of the
Stonedownors made her too glad for sorrow. In a paradoxical
way, Caer-Caveral's self-sacrifice felt like a promise of hope.

But Covenant's mien was clouded by conflicting emotions.
With his companions, he had spent the night watching Sunder
and Hollian revel among the Wraiths of Andelain—and Lin-
den sensed that the sight gave him both joy aud rue. The heal-
ing of his friends lightened his heart; the price of that healing
did not. And surely he was hurt by his lack of any health-sense
which would have enabled him to evaluate what the loss of the
Forestal meant to Andelain.

However, there were no clouds upon the Graveler and the
eh-Brand. They walked buoyantly to the place where Linden
and Covenant sat; and Linden thought that some of the night's
silver still clung to them, giving them a numinous cast even
in daylight, like a new dimension added to their existence.
Smiles gleamed from Sunder's eyes. And Hollian bore herself
with an air of poised loveliness. Linden was not surprised to
perceive that the child in the eh-Brand's womb shared her
elusive, mystical glow.

For a moment, the Stonedownors gazed at Covenant and
Linden and smiled and did not speak. Then Sunder cleared
his throat. "I crave your pardon that we will no longer accom-
pany you." His voice held a special resonance that Linden had
never heard before in him, a suggestion of fire. "You have
said that we are the future of the Land. It has become our
wish to discover that future here. And to bear our son in
Andelain.

"I know you will not gainsay us. But we pray that you find
no rue in this parting. We do not—though you are precious to
us. The outcome of the Earth is in your hands. Therefore we
are unafraid."

He might have gone on; but Covenant stopped him with a
brusque gesture, a scowl of gruff affection. "Are you kidding?"
he muttered. "I'm the one who wanted you to stay behind. I
was going to ask you—" He sighed, and his gaze wandered
the hillside. "Spend as much time here as you can," he

353 White Gold Wielder

breathed. "Stay as long as possible. That's something I've
always wanted to do."

His voice trailed away; but Linden was not listening to its
resigned sadness. She was staring at Sunder. The faint silver
quality of his aura was clear—and yet undefinable. It ran out
of her grasp like water. Intuition tingled along her nerves, and
she started speaking before she knew what she would say.

"The last time Covenant was here, Caer-Caveral gave him
the location of the One Tree." Each word surprised her like a
hint of revelation. "But he hid it so Covenant couldn't reach
it himself. That's why he had to expose himself to the Elohim,
let them work then- plots." The bare memory brought a tremor
of anger into her voice. "We should never have had to go
there in the first place. Why did Caer-Caveral give him that
gift—and then make it such a secret?"

Sunder looked at her. He was no longer smiling* A weird
intensity filled his gaze like a swirl of sparks. Abruptly, he
said, "Are you not now companioned by the Appointed of the
Elohim7 How otherwise could that end have been achieved?"

The strangeness of the Graveler's tone snatched back Cove-
nant's attention. Linden felt him scrambling after inferences;

a blaze of hope shot up in him. "Are you—?" he asked. "Is
that it? Are you the new Forestal?"

Instead of answering. Sunder looked to Hollian, giving her
the opportunity to tell him what he was.

She met his gaze with a soft smile. But she answered quietly,
kindly, "No." She had spent time among the Dead and ap-
peared certain of her knowledge. "In such a transferral of
power, the Law which Caer-Caveral sought to rend would
have been preserved. Yet we are not altogether what we were.
We will do what we may for the sustenance of Andelain—and
for the future of the Land."

Questions thronged in Linden. She wanted a name for the
alteration she perceived. But Covenant was already speaking.

"The Law of Life." His eyes were hot and gaunt on the
Stonedownors. "Elena broke the Law of Death—the barrier
that kept the living and the dead from reaching out to each
other. The Law Caer-Caveral broke was the one that kept the
dead from crossing back into life."

•That is sooth," replied Hollian. "Yet it is a fragile cross-
ing withal, and uncertain. We are sustained, and in some man-
ner defined, by the sovereign Earthpower of the Andelainian

Enactors of Desecration              353

Hills. Should we depart this region, we would not long endure
among the living."

Linden saw that this was true. The strange gleam upon the
Stonedownors was the same magic which had given Caer-
Caveral's music its lambent strength. Sunder and Hollian were
solid, physical, and whole. Yet in a special sense they had be-
come beings of Earthpower—and they might easily die if they
were cut off from their source.

Covenant must have understood the eh-Brand's words also.
But he heard them with different ears than Linden's. As their
implications penetrated him, his sudden hope went out.

That loss sent a pang through Linden. She had been con-
centrating too hard on Sunder and Hollian. She had not real-
ized that Covenant had been looking for an answer to bis own
death.

At once, she reached out a band to his shoulder, felt the
effort he made to suppress his dismay. But the exertion was
over in an instant. Braced on his certainty, he faced the Stone-
downors. His tone belied the struggle he made to keep it firm.

"I'll do everything I can," he said. "But my time's almost
over. Yours is just beginning. Don't waste it."

Sunder returned a smile that seemed to make him young.
*Thomas Covenant," he promised, '^we will not."

No good-byes were said. This farewell could not be ex-
pressed with words or embraces. Arm in arm, the Graveler
and the eh-Brand simply turned and walked away across the
bedewed grass. After a moment, they passed the crest of the
hill and were gone.

Behind them, they left a silence that ached as if nothing
would be able to take their place.

Linden stretched her arm over Covenant's shoulders and
hugged him, trying to tell him that she understood.

He kissed her hand, then rose to his feet. As he scanned
the bright morning, the untainted sun, the flower-bedizened
landscape, he sighed, "At least there's still Earthpower."

"Yes," Linden averred, climbing erect to join him, "The
Hills haven't changed." She did not know how else to com-
fort him. "Losing the Forestal is going to make a difference.
^ But not yet." She was sure of that. Andelain's health still
^turged around her in every blade and leaf, every bird and
^ rock. No disease or weakness was visible anywhere. And the
-, ahining sun had no aura. She thought that the tangible world

354 White Gold Wielder

had never held so much condensed and treasurable beauty.
Like a prayer for Andelain's endurance, she repeated, "Not
yet."

A grin of grim relish bared Covenant's teeth. "Then he can't
hurt us. For a while, anyway. I hope it drives him crazy."

Linden breathed a secret relief, hoping that he had weath-
ered the crisis.

But all his moods seemed to change as soon as he felt them.
An old bleakness dulled his gaze; haggard lines marked his
mien. Abruptly, he started toward the charred stump which
had once been the Forestal of Andelain.

At once, she followed him. But she stopped when she un-
derstood that he had gone to say farewell.

He touched the inert gem of the krill with his numb fingers,
tested the handle's coldness with the back of his hand. Then
he leaned his palms and forehead against the blackened wood.
Linden could hardly hear him.

"From fire to fire," he whispered. "After all this time.
First Seadreamer and Brinn. Hamako. Then Honninscrave.
Now you. I hope you've found a little peace."

There was no answer. When at last he withdrew, his hands
and brow were smudged with soot like an obscure and contra-
dictory anointment. Roughly, he scrubbed his palms on his
pants; but he seemed unaware of the stain on his forehead.

For a moment, he studied Linden as if he sought to measure
her against the Forestal's example. Again she was reminded
of the way he had once cared for Joan. But Linden was not
his ex-wife; she faced him squarely. The encompassing health
of the Hills made her strong. And what he saw appeared to
reassure him. Gradually his features softened. Half to himself,
be murmured, "Thank God you're still here." Then he raised
his voice. "We should get going. Where are the Giants?"

She gave him a long gaze, which Hollian would have under-
stood, before she turned to look for the First and Pitchwife.

They were not in sight. Vain and Findail stood near the
foot of the slope exactly as they had remained all night; but
the Giants were elsewhere. However, when she ascended to
the hillcrest, she saw them emerge from a copse on the far
side of a low valley, where they had gone to find privacy.

They responded to her wave with a hail and a gesture east-
ward, indicating that they would rejoin her and Covenant in
that direction. Perhaps their keen eyes were able to descry the

Enactors of Desecration              355

smile she gave them, glad to see that they felt safe enough in
Andelain to leave their companions unguarded.

Covenant came to her wearily, worn by strain and lack of
sleep. But at the sight of the Giants—or of the Hills unfurled
before him like pleasure rolling along the kind breeze—he,
too, smiled. Even from this distance, the restoration of Pitch-
wife's spirit was visible in the way be hobbled at his wife's side
with a gait like a mummer's capriole. And her swinging stride
bespoke eagerness and a fondly remembered night. They were
Giants in Andelain. The pure expanse of the Hills suited them.

Softly, Covenant mused, "They aren't people of the Land.
Maybe Coercri was enough. Maybe they won't meet any
Dead here." As he remembered the slain Unhomed—and the
caamora of release he had given them in The Grieve—the
timbre of his voice conveyed pride and pain. But then his gaze
darkened; and Linden saw that he was thinking of Saltheart
Foamfollower, who had lost his life in Covenant's former vic-
tory over the Despiser.

She wanted to tell him not to worry. Perhaps the battle for
Revelstone had made Pitchwife familiar with despair and
doom. Yet she believed that eventually he would find the
song he needed. And the First was a Swordmain, as true as
her blade. She would not lightly submit to death.

But Covenant had his own strange .sources of surety and
did not wait for Linden's answer. With his resolve stiffening,
he placed his half-hand firmly in her clasp and drew her to-
ward the east along a way among the Hills which would inter-
sect the path of the Giants.

After a moment, Findail and Vain appeared behind them,
following them as always in the direction of their fate.

For a while. Covenant walked briskly, his smudged fore-
head raised to the sun and the savory atmosphere. But at the
first brook they encountered, he stopped. From under his belt,
he drew a knife which he had brought with him from Revel-
stone. Stooping to the crisp water, he drank deeply, then
soaked his ragged beard and set himself to shave.

Linden held her breath as she watched him. His grasp on
the blade was numb; and fatigue made his muscles awkward.
But she did not try to intervene. She sensed that this risk was
necessary to him.

When he had finished, however, and his cheeks and neck
were scraped clean, she could not conceal her relief. She knelt

356 White Gold Wielder

beside him, cupped water into her hands, and washed tile soot
from his forehead, seeking to remove the innominate impli-
cations of that mark.

An oak with a tremendous trunk spread its wide leaves over
that part of the brook. Satisfied with Covenant's face, she
pulled him after her and leaned back into the shade and the
grass. The breeze played down the length of her legs like the
sport of a lover; and she was in no hurry to rejoin the Giants.

But suddenly she felt a mute cry from the tree. a burst of
pain which shivered through the ground, seemed to violate the
very air. She whirled from Covenant's side and surged to her
feet, trembling to find the cause of the oak's hurt

The cry rose. For an instant, she saw no reason for it. Harm
shook the boughs; the leaves wailed; muffled rivings ran
through the heartwood. Around the oak, the Hills seemed to
concentrate as if they were appalled. But she saw nothing ex-
cept that Vain and Findail were gone.

Then, too swift for surmise, the Appointed came flowing
out of the wood's anguish.

As he transformed himself from oak to flesh, his care-cut
visage wore an unwonted shame. Vexed and defensive, he
faced Linden and Covenant. "Is he not Demondim-spawn?" he
demanded as if they had accused him unjustly. "Are not his
makers ur-viles, that have ever served the Despiser with their
self-abhorrence? And will you trust him to my cost? He must
be slain."

At his back, the oak's hurt sharpened to screaming.

"You bastard!" Linden spat, half guessing what Findail had
done—and afraid to believe it. *'You're killing it! Don't you
even care that this is Andelain?—the only place left that at
least ought to be safe?"

"Linden?" Covenant asked urgently. "What—?" He lacked
her percipience, had no knowledge of the tree's agony.

But he did not have to wait for an answer. A sundering pain
like the blow of an axe split Linden's nerves; and the trunk of
the oak sprang apart in a flail of splinters.

From the core of the wood. Vain stepped free. Unscathed,
he left the still quivering tree in ruins. He did not glance at
Pindail or anyone else. His black eyes held nothing but dark-
ness.

Linden stumbled to her knees in the grass and wrapped her
arms around the hurt.

Enactors of Desecration              357

For a stunned moment, grief held the Hills. Then Covenant
rasped, "That's terrific." He sounded as shaken as the dying
boughs. "I hope you're proud of yourself."

Findail's reply seemed to come from a great distance. "Do
you value him so highly? Then I am indeed lost"

"I don't give a good goddamn!" Covenant was at Linden's
side. His hands gripped her shoulders, supporting her against
the empathic force of the rupture. "I don't trust either of
you. Don't you ever try anything like that again!"

The Elohim hardened, "I will do what I must. From the
first, I have avowed that I will not suffer his purpose. The
curse of Kastenessen will not impel me to that doom."

Swirling into the form of a hawk, he flapped away through
the treetops. Linden and Covenant were left amid the wreck-
age.

Vain stood before them as if nothing had happened.

For a moment longer, the ache of the tree kept Linden
motionless. But by degrees Andelain closed around the de-
struction, pouring health back into the air she breathed,
spreading green vitality up from the grass, loosening the
knotted echo of pain. Slowly, her head cleared. Sweet Christ,
she mumbled to herself. I wasn't ready for that.

Covenant repeated her name; his concern reached her
through his numb fingers. She steadied herself on the under-
girding bones of the Hills and nodded to him. "I'm all right."
She sounded wan; but Andelain continued to lave her in its
balm. Drawing a deep breath, she pulled herself back to her
feet.

Across the greensward, the sunshine lay like sorrow among
the trees and shrubs, aliantha and flowers. But the shock of
violence was over. Already, the distant hillsides had begun to
smile again. The brook resumed its damp chuckle as though
the interruption had been forgotten. Only the riven trunk went
on weeping while the tree died, too sorely hurt to keep itself
alive.

"The old Lords—" Covenant murmured, more to himself
than to her. "Some of them could've healed this."

So could I, Linden nearly replied aloud. If I had your ring.
I could save it all. But she bit down the thought, hoped it did
not show in her face. She did not trust her intense desire for
power. The power to put a stop to evil.

However, he lacked the sight to read her emotions. His own

358 White Gold Wielder

grief and outrage blinded him. When he touched her arm and
gestured onward, she leaped the brook with him; and together
they continued among the Hills.

Unmarred except by the dead wood of his right forearm,
Vain followed them. His midnight countenance held no ex-
pression other than the habitual ambiguity of his slight grin.

The day would have been one of untrammeled loveliness
for Linden if she could have forgotten FindaU and the De-
mondim-spawn. As she and Covenant left the vicinity of the
shattered oak, Andelain reasserted all its beneficent mansue-
tude, the gay opulence of its verdure, the tuneful sweep and
soar and flash of its birds, the endearing caution and abun-
dance of its wildlife. Nourished by treasure-berries and rill-
water, and blandished from stride to stride by the springy surf,
she felt crowded with life, as piquant as the scents of the
flowers, and keen for each new vista of the Andelainian Hills.
After a time, the First and Pitchwife rejoined Linden and
Covenant, appearing from the covert of an antique willow
with leaves in their hair and secrets in their eyes. For greet-
ing, Pitchwife gave a roistering laugh that sounded like his old
humor; and it was seconded by one of his wife's rare, beauti-
ful smiles.

"Look at you," Linden replied in mock censure, leasing the
Giants. "For shame. If you keep that up, you're going to be-
come parents whether you're ready for it or not."

A shade like a blush touched the First's mien; but Pitchwife
responded with a crow. Then he assumed an air of dismay.
"Stone and Sea forfend! The child of this woman would surely
emerge bladed and bucklered from the very womb. Such a
prodigy must not be blithely conceived,"

The First frowned to conceal her mirth. "Hush, husband,"
she murmured. "Provoke me not. Does it not suffice you that
one of us is entirely mad?"

"Suffice me?" he riposted. "How should it suffice me? I
have no wish for loneliness."

"Aye, and none for wisdom or decorum," she growled in
feigned vexation. "You are indeed shameful."

When Covenant grinned at the jesting of the Giants, Linden
nearly laughed aloud for pleasure.

Yet she did not know where Findail had gone or what he
would do next. And the death of the oak remained aching in

Enactors of Desecration              359

the back of her mind. Ballasted by such things, her mood did
not altogether lose itself in the analystic atmosphere. There
was a price yet to be paid for the passing of the Forestal, and
the destination of the company had not changed. In addition,
she had no clear sense of what Covenant hoped to achieve
by confronting the Despiser. Caer-Caveral had once said of
her. The woman of your world would raise grim shades here.
She relished Pitchwife's return to glee, enjoyed the new light-
ness which the badinage of the Giants produced in Covenant.
But she did not forget.

As evening settled around Andelain, she experienced a faint
shiver of trepidation. At night the Dead walked the Hills. All
of Covenant's olden friends, lambent with meanings and mem-
ories she could not share. The woman he had raped. And the
daughter of that rape, who bad loved him—and had broken
the Law of Death in his name, trying as madly as hate to spare
him from his harsh doom. She was loath to meet those potent
revenants. They were the men and women who had shaped
the past, and she had no place among them.

Under a stately Gilden, the company halted. A nearby
stream with a bed of fine sand provided water for washing.
Aliantha were plentiful. The deep grass cushioned the ground
comfortably. And Pitchwife was a^wellspring of good cheer,
of diamondraught and tales. While the satin gloaming slowly
folded itself away, leaving Linden and her companions uncov-
ered to the darkness and the hushed stars, he described the
long Giantclave and testing by which the Giants of Home had
determined to send out the Search and had selected his wife
to lead it. He related her feats as if they were stupendous,
teasing her with her prowess. But now his voice held a hidden
touch of fever, a suggestion of effort which hinted at his more
fundamental distress. Andelain restored his heart; but it could
not heal his recollection of Revelstone and gratuitous blood-
shed, could not cure his need for a better outcome. After a
time, he lapsed into silence; and Linden felt the air of the
camp growing tense with anticipation.

Across the turf, fireflies winked and wandered uncertainly,
as if they were searching for the Forestal's music. But even-
tually they went away. The company settled into a vigil. The
mood Covenant emitted was raw with fatigue and hunger. He,
too, appeared to fear his Dead as much as he desired them.

Then the First broke the silence. "These Dead," she began

White Gold Wielder

360

thoughtfully. "I comprehend that they are held apart from
their deserved rest by the breaking of the Law of Death. But
why do they gather here, where all other Law endures? And
what impels them to accost the living?"

"Companionship," murmured Covenant, his thoughts else-
where. "Or maybe the health of Andelain gives them some-
thing as good as rest." His voice carried a distant pang; he
also had been left forlorn by the loss of Caer-Caveral's song.
"Maybe they just haven't been able to stop loving."

Linden roused herself to ask, "Then why are they so cryp-
tic? They haven't given you anything except hints and mystifi-
cation. Why don't they come right out and tell you what you
need to know?"

"Ah, that is plain to me," Pitchwife replied on Covenant's
behalf. "Unearned knowledge is perilous. Only by the seeking
and gaining of it may its uses be understood, its true worth
measured. Had Gossamer Glowlimn my wife been mystically
granted the skill and power of her blade without training or
test or experience, by what means could she then choose
where to strike her blows, how extremely to put forth her
strength? Unearned knowledge rules its wielder, to the cost
of both."

But Covenant had his own answer. When Pitchwife fin-
ished. the Unbeliever said quietly, "They can't tell us what
they know. We'd be terrified." He was sitting with his back to
the Gilden; and his fused resolve gave him no peace. "That's
the worst part. They know how much we're going to be hurt.
But if they tell us, where will we ever get the courage to face
it? Sometimes ignorance is the only kind of bravery or at least
willingness that does any good."

He spoke as if he believed what he was saying. But the
hardness of his tone seemed to imply that he had no ignorance
left to relieve the prospect of his intent.

The Giants fell still, unable to deny his assertion or respond
to it. The stars shone bleak rue around the scant sliver of the
moon. The night grew intense among the Hills. Behind the
comforting glow of its health and wholeness, Andelain grieved
for the Forestal.

Terrified? Linden asked herself. Was Covenant's purpose as
bad as that?

Yet she found it impossible to question him. Not here, with
the Giants listening. His need for privacy was palpable to her.

£noc(ors of Desecration              361

And she was too restless to concentrate. She remained charged
with the energy and abundance of the Hills; and the night
seemed to breathe her name, urging her to walk off her ner-
vous anticipation. Covenant's Dead were nowhere in evidence.
Within the range of her percipience lay only the fine slumber
and beauty of the region.

A strange glee rose in her: she wanted to run and caracole
under the slight moon, tumble and roll and tumble again down
the lush hillsides, immerse herself in Andelain's immaculate
dark. Perhaps a solitary gambol would act as an anodyne for
the other blackness which the Sunbane had nourished in her
veins.

Abruptly, she sprang to her feet. "I'll be back," she said
without meeting the eyes of her companions. "Andelain is too
exciting. I need to see more of it."

The Hills murmured to her, and she answered, sprinting
away from the Gilden southward with all the gay speed of her
legs.

Behind her, Pitchwife had taken up his flute. At once
broken, piercing, and sweet, its awkward tones followed her
as she ran. They carried around her like the ghost-limbs of the
trees, the crouching midnight of the bushes, the unmoonlit
loom and pause of the shadows. He was trying to play the
song which had streamed so richly from Caer-Caveral.

For a moment, he caught it—or almost caught it—and it
went through her like loss and exaltation. Then she seemed
to outrun it as she passed over a rise and sped downward
again, deeper into the occult night of the Andelainian Hills.

The Forestal had said that she would raise grim shades
here; and she thought of her father and mother. Unintention-
ally, without knowing what they were doing, they had bred her
for suicide or murder. But now she defied them. Come on! she
panted up at the stars. I dare you! For good or ill, healing or
destruction, she had become stronger than her parents. The
passion surging in her could not be named or confined by the
harsh terms of her inheritance. She taunted her memories,
challenging them to appear before her. But they did not.

And because they did not, she ran on, as heedless as a child
•—altogether unready for the door of might which opened
suddenly against her, slapping her to the ground as if she were
not strong or real enough to be noticed by the old puissance
emerging from it.

362 White Gold Wielder

A door like a gap in the first substance of the night, as ab-
rupt and stunning as a detonation, and as tall as the heavens.
It opened so that the man could stride through it. Then it
closed behind him.

Her face was thrust into the grass. She fought for breath,
strove to raise her head. But the sheer force of the presence
towering over her crushed her prostrate. His bitter outrage
seemed to fall on her like the wreckage of a mountain. Be-
neath bis ire, he was so poignant with ruin, so extreme in the
ancient and undiminished apotheosis of his despair, that she
would have wept for him if she had been able. But his tremen-
dous wrath daunted her, turned her vulnerability against her-
self. She could not lever her face out of the turf to look at him.

He felt transcendently tall and powerful. For an instant,
she believed that he could not be aware of her, that she was
too small for his notice. Surely he would pass by her and go
about his fell business. But almost immediately her hope
failed. His regard lit between her shoulderblades like the
point of a spear.

Then he spoke. His voice was as desolate as the Land under
a desert sun, as twisted and lorn as the ravages of a sun of
pestilence. But anger gave it strength.

"Slayer of your own Dead, do you know me?"

No, she panted. No. Her finger? gouged into the loam as
she struggled to shift her abject posture. He had no right to
do this to her. Yet his glare impaled her, and she could not
move.

He replied as if her resistance had no meaning:

"I am Kevin. Son of Loric. High Lord of the CouncU.
Founder of the Seven Wards. And enactor of the Land's Dese-
cration by my own hand. I am Kevin Landwaster."

In response, she was able to do nothing except groan. Dear
God. Oh, dear God.

Kevin.

She knew who he was.

He bad been the last High Lord of Berek's lineage, the last
direct inheritor of the Staff of Law. The wonder and munifi-
cence of his reign in Revelstone had won the service of the
Bloodguard, confirmed the friendship of the Giants, advanced
the Council's dedication to the Earthpower, given beauty and
purpose to all the Land. And he had failed. Tricked and de-

Enactors of Desecration              363

feated by the Despiser, he had proved himself unequal to the
Land's defense. By his own mistakes, the object of his love
and service had been doomed. And because he had under-
stood that doom, be had fallen into despair.

Madly, he had conceived the ploy of the Ritual of Desecra-
tion, believing that Lord Foul would thereby be undone—
that the price of centuries of devastation for the Land would
purchase the Despiser's downfall. Therefore they bad met in
Kiril Threndor within the heart of Mount Thunder, mad Lord
and malign foe. Together, they had set in motion the dire
Ritual.

But in the end it was Kevin who fell while Lord Foul
laughed. Desecration had no power to rid the world of De-
spite.

Yet that was not the whole tale of his woe. Misled by the
confusion of her love and hate, the later High Lord, Elena,
daughter of Lena and Covenant, had thought that the Land-
waster's despair would be a source of irrefusable might; and
so she had selected him for her breaking of the Law of Death,
had rent him from his natural grave to hurl him in combat
against the Despiser. But Lord Foul had turned the attempt
against her. Both she and the Staff of Law had been lost; and
Dead Kevin had been forced to serve his foe.

The only taste of relief he had been granted had come when
Thomas Covenant and Saltheart Foamfollower had defeated
the Despiser.

But that victory was now three millennia past. The Sunbane
was rampant upon the Land, and Lord Foul had found the
;', path to triumph. Kevin's dismay and wrath poured from him
' in floods. His voice was as hard as a cable under terrific
stress.

"We are kindred in our way—the victims and enactors of
Despite. You must heed me. Do not credit that you may exer-
cise choice here. The Land's need admits no choice. You must
heed me. Must!"

The word hammered and echoed and pleaded through her.
Must. He had not come to appall her, meant her no harm.
Rather, he approached her because he had no other way to
reach out among the living, exert himself against the De-
Bpiser's machinations.

Must.

364 White Gold Wielder

She understood that. Her fingers relaxed their grasp on the
grass; her senses submitted to his vehemence. Tell me what
it is, she said as if she had no more need to choose. Tell me
what I should do.

"You will not wish to heed me. The truth is harsh. You will
seek to deny it. But it will not be denied. I have borne horror
upon my head and am not blinded by the hope which refuses
truth. You must heed me."

Must.

Yes.

Tell me.

"Linden Avery, you must halt the Unbeliever's mad intent.
His purpose is the work of Despite. As I have done before
him, he seeks to destroy that which he loves. He must not be
permitted.

"If no other means suffice, you must slay him."

No! In a rush of trepidation, she strove against his power—
and still she had no strength to raise her head. Slay him?
Ooaded by his gaze, her heart labored. No! You don't under-
stand. He wouldn't do that.

But his voice came down on her back like a fall of stone.

"No. It is you who do not understand. You have not yet
learned to comprehend the cunning of despair. Can you think
that I allowed my fellow Lords to guess my purpose when I
had set my heart to the Ritual? Have you been granted the
gift of such sight, and are you yet unable to see? When evil
rises in its full power, it surpasses truth and may wear the
guise of good without fear of discovery. In that way was I
brought to my own doom.

"He walks the path which his friends among the Dead have
conceived for him. But they also do not comprehend despair.
They were redeemed from it by his brave mastery of the
Despiser—and so they see hope where there is only Desecra-
tion. Their vision of evil is incomplete and false."

He gathered force in the night, became as shattering as a
shout of disaster.

"It is his intent to place the white ring into Lord Foul's
hand.

"If you suffer him to succeed, the term of our grief will be
slight, for all Earth and Time will be lost.

"You must halt him."

"Andelain! forgive!"               365

Repeating until all the Hills replied, Must. Must.
After a moment, he left her. The door of his power closed
behind him. But she did not notice his departure. For a long
time, she went on staring blindly into the grass.

SIXTEEN; "Andelain! forgive!"

LATER, it started to rain.

Drizzling lightly, clouds covered the stars and the moon.
The rain was as gentle as the touch of springtime, as clean and
kind and sad as the spirit of the Hills. It fed the grass, blessed
the flowers, garlanded the trees with droplets. In no way did
it resemble the hysterical fury of the sun of rain.

Yet it closed the last light out of the'world, leaving Linden
in darkness.

She lay outstretched on the turf. All will and movement
were gone from her. She had no wish to lift her head, to stir
from her prostration. The crushing weight of what she had
learned deprived her of the bare desire to breathe. Her eyes
accepted the rain without blinking.

^   The drizzle made a quiet stippling noise on the leaves and
•^ grass, a delicate elegy. She thought that it would carry her
$-. away, that she would never be asked to move again. But
1; then she heard another sound through the spatter of drops: a
^-Bound like the chime of a small, perfect crystal. Its fine note
!$ conveyed mourning and pity.

:    When she looked up, she saw that Andelain was not alto-
^ gether dark. A yellow light shed streaks of rain to the grass.
,'It came like the chinomg from a flame the size of her palm

.^Which bobbed in the air as if it burned from an invisible wick.

^

366 White Gold Wielder

And the dancing fire sang to her, offering her the gift of its
sorrow.

One of the Wraiths of Andelain.

At the sight, pain seized her heart, brought her to her feet.
That such things would be destroyedl That Covenant meant
to sacrifice even Wraiths and Andelain on (he altar of his
despair, let so much lom and fragile beauty be ripped out
of lifel Instinctively, she knew why the flame had come to

her.

"I'm lost in this rain," she said. Outrage rose behind her
clenched teeth. "Take me back to my people."

The Wraith bobbed like a bow; perhaps it understood her.
Dancing and guttering, it moved away through the drizzle.
Droplets crossed its light like falling stars.

She followed it without hesitation. Darkness crowded
around her and through her; but the flame remained clear.

It did not mislead her. In a short time, it guided her to
the place where she had left her companions,

Under the Gilden, the Wraith played for a moment above
the huge, sleeping forms of the Fust and Pitcbwife. They were
not natives of' the Land; unappalled by personal revenants,
they slumbered in the peace of the Hills.

The flitting flame limned Vain briefly, sparked the rain
beading on his black perfection so that he seemed to wear
an intaglio of glisters. His ebon orbs watched nothing, ad-
mitted nothing. His slight smile appeared to have no meaning.

But Covenant was not there.

The Wraith left her then as if it feared to go farther with
her. It chimed away into the dark like a fading hope. Yet
when her sight adjusted to the cloud-closed night, sh&
caught a glimpse of what she sought. In a low hollow to the
east lay a soft glow of pearl.

She moved in that direction, and the light became

brighter.

It revealed Thomas Covenant standing among his Dead.
His wet shirt dung to his torso. Rain-dark hair straggled
across his forehead. But he was oblivious to such things. And
he did not see Linden coming. All of him was concentrated
on the specters of his past.

She knew them by the stories and descriptions she had
heard of them. The Bloodguard Banner resembled Brinn too
closely to be mistaken. The man in the grave and simple robe

"Andelain! forgice!"               367

had dangerous eyes balanced by a crooked, humane mouth:

High Lord Mhoram. The woman was similarly attired be-
cause she also was a former High Lord; and her lucid beauty
was marred—or accentuated—by a prophetic wildness that
echoed Covenant's: she was Elena, daughter of Lena. And
the Giant with laughter and certainty and grief shining from
his gaze was surely Saltheart Foamfollower.

The power they emanated should have abashed Covenant,
though it was not on the same scale as Kevin's. But he had
no percipience with which to taste their peril. Or perhaps his
ruinous intent called that danger by another name. His whole
body seemed to yearn toward them as if they had come to
comfort him.

To shore up his resolve, so that he would not falter from
the destruction of the Earth.

And why not? In that way they would be granted rest from
the weary millennia of their vigil.

Must, Linden thought. The alternative was altogether ter-
rible. Yes. Her clothes soaked, her hair damp and heavy
against her neck, she strode down into the gathering; and her
rage shaped the night

Covenant's Dead were potent and determined. At one time,
she would have been at their mercy. But now her passion
dominated them all. They turned toward her and fell silent
in mingled surprise, pain, refusal. Banner's face closed against
her. Elena's was sharp with consternation. Mhoram and Foam-
follower looked at her as if she cast their dreams into con-
fusion.

But only Covenant spoke. "Linden!" he breathed thickly,
like a man who had just been weeping. "You look awful.
What's happened to you?"

She ignored him. Stalking through the drizzle, she went to
confront his friends.

They shone a ghostly silver that transcended moonlight.
The rain fell through their incorporeal forms. Yet their eyes
were keen with the life which Andelain's Earthpower and the
breaking of the Law of Death made possible for them. They
stood in a loose arc before her. None of them quailed.

Behind her, Covenant's loss and love and incomprehension
poured into the night But they did not touch her. Kevin had
finally opened her eyes, enabled her to see what the man she
loved had become.

368 White Gold Wielder

She met the gazes of the Dead one by one. The flat blade
of Mhoram's nose steered him between the extremes of his
vulnerability and strength. Plena's eyes were wide with specu-
lation, as if she were wondering what Covenant saw in Linden.
Banner's visage wore the same dispassion with which Brinn
had denounced her after the company's escape from Bhra-
thairealm. The soft smile that showed through Foamfol-
lower's jutting beard underscored his concern and regret.

For a fraction of a moment. Linden nearly faltered.
Foamfollower was the Pure One who had redeemed the
jheherrin. He had once walked into lava to aid Covenant
Elena had been driven into folly at least in part by her love
for the man who had raped her mother. Banner bad served
the Unbeliever as faithfully as Brinn or Cail. And Mhoram—
Linden and Covenant had embraced in his bed as if it were
a haven.

But it had not been a haven. She had been wrong about
that, and the truth appalled her. In her arms in Mhoram's bed.
Covenant had already decided on desecration—had already
become certain of it. It is his intent to place the white ring
into Lord Fours hand. After he had swom that he would not
Anguish surged up in her. Her cry ripped fiercely across me
rain.

"Why aren't you ashamed^*

Then her passion began to blow like a high wind. She
fanned it willingly, wanted to snuff out, punish, eradicate if
she could the faces silver-lit and aghast in front of her.

"Have you been dead so long that you don't know what
you're doing anymore? Can't you remember from one minute
to me next what matters here? This is Andelain\ He's saved
your souls at least once. And you want him to destroy it!

"You." She jabbed accusations at Elena's mixed disdain
and compassion. "Do you still think you love him? Are you
that arrogant? What good have you ever done him? None of
this would've happened if you hadn't been so eager to rule the
dead as well as the living."

Her denunciation pierced the former High Lord. Elena
tried to reply, tried to defend herself; but no words came.
She had broken the Law of Death. The blame of the Sunbane
was as much hers as Covenant's. Stricken and grieving, she
wavered, lost force, and went out. leaving a momentary
afterglow of silver in the ram.

"Andelain! forgive!"                369

But Linden had already turned on Banner.

"And you. You with your bloody self-righteousness. You
promised him service. Is that what you call this7 Your people
are sitting on their hands in Revelstone when they should be
here'. HoIHan was killed because they didn't come with us to
fight those ur-viles. Caer-Caveral is dead and it's only a
matter of lime before Andelain starts to rot. But never mind
that. Aren't you satisfied with letting Kevin ruin the Land
once?" She flung the back of her hand in Covenant's direction.
"They should be here to slop him\"

Banner had no answer. He cast a glance like an appeal at
Covenant; then he, too, faded away. Around the hollow, the
darkness deepened.

Fuming, Linden swung toward FoamfoIIower.

"Linden, no," Covenant grated. "Stop this." He was close
to fire. She could feel the burning in his veins. But his demand
did not make her pause. He had no right to speak to her. His
Dead had betrayed him—and now he meant to betray the
Land.

"And you. Pure One! You at least I would've expected to
care about him more than this. Didn't you learn anything
from watching your people die, seeing that Raver rip their
brains out? Do you think desecration is desirableT The Giant
flinched. Savagely, she went on, "You could've prevented this.
If you hadn't given him Vain. If you'hadn't tried to make
him think you were giving him hope, when what you were
really doing was teaching him to surrender. You've got him
believing he can afford to give in because Vain or some other
miracle is going to save the world anyway. Oh, you're Pure
all right. Foul himself isn't that Pure."

"Chosen—" FoamfoIIower murmured, "Linden Avery—"
as if he wanted to plead with her and did not know how. "Ah,
forgive. The Landwaster has afflicted you with this pain. He
does not comprehend. The vision which he lacked in life is
not supplied in death. The path before you is the way of
hope and doom, but he perceives only the outcome of his
own despair. You must remember that he has been made to
serve the Despiser. The ill of such service darkens his spirit.
Covenant, hear me. Chosen, forgive!"

Shedding gleams in fragments, he disappeared into the
dark.

"Damnationi" Covenant rasped. "Damnation!" But now his

White Gold Wielder

370

curses were not directed at Linden. He seemed to be swearing
at himself. Or at Kevin.

Transported out of all restraint. Linden turned at last to
Mhoram.

"And you," she said, as quiet as venom. "You. They called
you *seer and oracle.' That's what I've heard. Everytime I
turn around, he tells me he wishes you were with him. He
values you more than anyone." Her anger and grief were
one, and she could not contain them. Fury that Covenant
had been so misled; tearing me that he trusted her too little
to share his burdens, that he preferred despair and destruction
to any love or companionship which might ease his responsi-
bilities. "You should have told him the truth."

The Dead High Lord's eyes shone with silver tears—yet he
did not falter or vanish. The regret he emitted was not for
himself: it was for her. And perhaps also for Covenant. An
aching smile twisted his mouth. "Linden Avery*'—he made
her name sound curiously rough and gentle—"you gladden
me. You are worthy of him. Never doubt that you may
justly stand with him in the trial of all things. You have
given sorrow to the Dead. But when they have bethought
themselves of who you are, they will be likewise gladdened.
Only this I urge of you: strive to remember that he also is
worthy of you."

Formally, he touched his palms to his forehead, then
spread his arms wide in a bow that seemed to bare his
heart. "My friendsl" he said in a voice that rang, "I believe
that you will prevaill"

Still bowing, he dissolved into the rain and was gone.
Linden stared after him dumbly. Under the cool touch of
the drizzle, she was suddenly hot with shame.

But then Covenant spoke. "You shouldn't have done that."
The effort he made to keep himself from howling constricted
his voice. "They don't deserve it."

la response, Kevin's Must! shouted through her, leaving no
room for remorse. Mhoram and the others belonged to
Covenant's past, not hers. They had dedicated themselves to
the ruin of everything for which she had ever learned to care.
From the beginning, the breaking of the Law of Death had
served only the Despiser. And it served him still.

She did not turn to Covenant. She feared that the mere
shape of him, barely discernible through the dark, would

"Andelain! forgive!"               371

make her weep like the Hills. Harshly, she replied, "That's why
you did it, isn't it. Why you made the Haruchai stay behind.
After what Kevin did to the Bloodguard, you knew they
would try to stop you."

She felt him strive for self-mastery and fail. He had met
his Dead with an acute and inextricable confusion of pain
and Joy which made him vulnerable now to the cut of her
passion. "You know better than that," he returned. "What
in hell did Kevin say to you?"

Bitter as the breath of winter, she rasped, " TU never
give him the ring. Never.' How many times do you think
you said that? How many times did you promise—?" Ab-
ruptly, she swung around, her arms raised to strike out at him
•—or to ward him away. "You incredible bastard!" She could
not see him, but her senses picked him precisely out of the
dark. He was as rigid and obdurate as an icon of purpose
carved of raw granite hurt. She had to rage at him in order to
keep herself from crying out in anguish. "Next to you, my
father was a hero. At least he didn't plan to kill anybody
but himself." Black echoes hosted around her, making the
night heinous. "Haven't you even got the guts to go on
living?"

"Linden." She felt intensely how she pained him, how
every word she spat hit him like a gout of vitriol. Yet instead
of fighting her he strove for some comprehension of what
had happened to her. "What did Kevin say to you?"

But she took no account of his distress. He meant to betray
her. Well, that was condign: what had she ever done to
deserve otherwise? But his purpose would also destroy the
Earth—a world which in spite of all corruption and malice
still nurtured Andelain at its heart, still treasured Eartbpower
and beauty. Because he had given up. He had walked into
the Banefire as if he knew what he was doing—and he had
let the towering evil bum the last love out of him. Only
pretense and mockery were left.

"You've been listening to Findail," she flung at him. "He's
^ convinced you it's better to put the Land out of its misery
•t than to go on fighting. I was terrified to tell you about my
^mother because I thought you were going to hate me. But
l€this is worse. If you hated me, I could at least hope you might
j^go on fighting."

I; Then sobs thronged up in her. She barely held them back.

372 White Gold Wielder

"You mean everything to me. You made me live again when
I might as well have been dead. You convinced me to keep
trying. But you've decided to give up." The truth was as plain
as the apprehension which etched him out of the wet dark.
"You're going to give Foul your ring."

At that, a stinging pang burst from him. But it was not
denial. She read it exactly. It was fear. Fear of her recognition.
Fear of what she might do with the knowledge.

"Don't say it like that," he whispered. "You don't under-
stand." He appeared to be groping for some name with
which to conjure her, to compel acquiescence—or at least an
abeyance of judgment "You said you trusted me."

"You're right," she answered, grieving and weeping and
raging all at once. "I don't understand."

She could not bear any more. Whirling from him, she
fled into the rain. He cried after her as if something within
him were being torn apart; but she did not stop.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the drizzle took on
the full force of a summer storm. A cold, hard downpour
pelted the Hills; wind sawed at the boughs and brush. But
Linden did not seek shelter. She did not want to be pro-
tected. Covenant had already taken her too far down that
road, warded her too much from. the truth. Perhaps he
feared her—was ashamed of what he meant to do and so
sought to conceal it. But during the dark night of Andelain
she did him the justice of acknowledging that he had also
tried to protect her for her own sake—first from involvement
in Joan's distress and the Land's need, then from the impact
of Lord Foul's evil, then from the necessary logic of his
death. And now from the implications of his despair. So that
she would be free of blame for the loss of the Earth.

She did him that justice. But she hated it. He was a
classic case: people who had decided on suicide and had no
wish to be saved typically became calm and certain before
taking their lives. Sheer pity for him would have broken her
heart if she had been less angry.

Her own position would have been simpler if she could
have believed him evil. Or if she had been sure that he had
lost his mind. Then her only responsibility would have been
to stop him at whatever cost. But the most terrible aspect of
her dilemma was that his fused certainty betrayed neither

"Andelain! forgive!"               373

madness nor malice to her health-sense. In the grip of an
intent which was clearly insane or malign, he appeared more
than ever to be the same strong, dangerous, and indomitable
man with whom she had first fallen in love. She had never
been able to refuse him,

Yet Kevin had loved the Land as much as anyone, and his
protest beat at her like the storm. When evil rises in its full
power, it surpasses truth and may wear the guise of good
without fear.

Evil or crazy. Unless she fought her way into him, wrestled
his deepest self-conceptions away from him and looked at
them, she had no way to tell the difference.

But once before when she had entered him, trying to bring
him back from the silence imposed on his spirit by the
, Elokim^ he had appeared to her in the form of Marid—an
| innocent man made monstrous by a Raver and the Sunbane.
^ A tool for the Despiser.

Therefore she fled him, hastened shivering and desperate
among the Hills. She could not leam the- truth without
possessing him. And possession itself was evil. It was a kind
of killing, a form of death. She had already sacrificed her
mother to the darkness of her unhealed avarice for the
power of death.

She did not seek shelter because she did not want it. She
fled from Covenant because she feared what a confrontation
with him would entail. And she kept on walking while the
.storm blew and rushed around her because she bad no
alternative. She was traveling eastward, toward the place
where the sun would rise—toward the high crouched shoulders
and crown of Mount Thunder.
Toward Lord Foul.

Her aim was as grim as lunacy—yet what else could she do?
t, What else but strive to meet and outface the Despiser before
1| Covenant arrived at his crisis? There was no other way to
1. save him without possessing him—without exposing herself
J and him and the Land to the hot ache of her capacity for
^blackness.

^ That's right, she thought. I can do it I've earned it
^ She knew she was lying to herself. The Despiser would be
Ijhideously stronger than any Raver; and she had barely sur-
jyived the simple proximity of samadhi SheoL Yet she per-
"feted. In spite of the night, and of the storm which sealed

374 White Gold Wielder

away the moon and the stars, she saw as clearly as vision
that her past life was like the Land, a terrain possessed by
corruption. She had let the legacy of her parents denude her
of ordinary health and growth, had allowed a dark desire to
rule her days like a Raver. In a sense, she had been possessed
by hate from the moment when her father had said to her,
You never loved me anyway—a hatred of life as well as of
death. But then Covenant had come into her existence as he
had into the Land, changing everything. He did not deserve
despair. And she had the right to confront the Despite which
had warped her, quenched her capacity for love, cut her
off from the vitality of living. The right and the necessity.

Throughout the night, she went on eastward. Gradually,
the storm abated, sank back to a drizzle and then blew away,
unveiling a sky so star-bedizened and poignant that it seemed
to have been washed clean. The slim curve of the moon
setting almost directly behind her told her that her path
was true. The air was cold on her sodden clothes and wet
skin; her hair shed water like shivers down her back. But
Andelain sustained her. Opulent under the unfathomable
heavens, it made all things possible. Her heart lifted against
its burdens. She kept on walking.

But when she crossed a ridge and met the first clear sight
of the sunrise, she stopped—froze in horror. The slopes and
trees were heavy with raindrops; and each bead caught the
light in its core, echoing back a tiny piece of daybreak to
the sun, so that all the grass and woods were laced with
gleams.

Yellow gleams fatally tinged by vermilion.
The sun wore a halo of pestilence as the Sunbane rose over
the Hills.

It was so faint that only her sight could have discerned it.
But it was there. The rapine of the Land's last beauty had

begun.

For a long moment, she remained still, surprised into her
old paralysis by the unexpected swiftness with which the
Sunbane attacked Andelain's residual Law. She had no power.
There was nothing she could do. But her heart scrambled for
defenses—and found one. Her friends lacked her Land-bred
senses. They would not see the Sunbane rising toward them;

and so the Giants would not seek stone to protect themselves,

"Andelain! forgive!"

375

They would be transformed like Marid into creatures of
destruction and self-loathing.

She had left them leagues behind, could not possibly re-
turn to warn them in time. But she had to try. They needed
her.

Abandoning all other intents, she launched herself in a
desperate run back the way she had come.

The valley below the ridge was still deep in shadow. She
was racing frenetically, and her eyes were slow to adjust
Before she was halfway down the hillside, she nearly collided
with Vain,

He seemed to loom out of the crepuscular air without
transition, translated instantly across the leagues. But as she
reeled away from him, staggered for balance, she realized
that he must have been trailing her all night Her attention
had been so focused on her thoughts and Andelain that she
had not felt his presence.

Behind him in the bottom of the valley were Covenant,
the First, and Pitchwife. They were following the Demondim-
spawn.

After two nights without rest. Covenant looked haggard
and febrile. But determination glared from bis strides. He
would not have stopped to save his life—not with Linden
traveling ahead of him into peril.'" He did not look like the
kind of man who could submit to despair.

But she had no time to consider his contradictions. The
sun was rising above the ridge. **The Sunbanef she cried.
"It's herel Find stonel"

Covenant did not react. He appeared too weary to grasp
anything except that he had found her again. Pitchwife
stared dismay at the ridgecrest But the First immediately
began to scan the valley for any kind of rock.

Linden pointed, and the First saw it: a small, hoary out-
cropping of boulders near the base of the slope some distance
away. At once, she grabbed her husband by the arm and
pulled him at a run in that direction.

Linden glanced toward the sun, saw that the Giants would
reach the stones with a few moments to spare.

In reaction, all her strength seemed to wash out of her.
Covenant was coming toward her, and she did not know how
to face him. Wearily, she slumped to the grass. Everything

White Gold Wielder

376

she had tried to define for herself during the night had been
lost. Now she would have to bear his company again, would
have to live in the constant presence of his wild purpose. The
Sunbane was rising in Andelain for the first time. She covered
her face to conceal her tears.

He halted in front of her. For a moment, she feared that
he would be foolish enough to sit down. But he remained
standing so that his boots would ward him against the sun.
He radiated fatigue, lamentation, and obduracy.

Stiffly, he said, "Kevin doesn't understand. I have no
intention of doing what he did. He raised his own hand against
the Land. Foul didn't enact the Ritual of Desecration alone.
He only shared it. I've already told you I'm never going to
use power again. Whatever happens, I'm not going to be the
one who destroys what I love."

"What difference does that make?" Her bitterness was of
no use to her. All the severity with which she had once en-
dured the world was gone and refused to be conjured back.
"You're giving up. Never mind the Land. There're still three
of us left who want to save it. We'll think of something. But
you're abandoning yourself." Do you expect me to forgive
you for that?

"No." Protest made his tone ragged. "I'm not. There's just
nothing left I can do for you anymore. And I can't help the
Land. Foul took care of that long before I ever got here."
His gall was something she could understand. But the con-
clusion he drew from it made no sense. "I'm doing this for
myself. He thinks the ring will give him what he wants. I
know better. After what I've been through, I know better. He's

wrong."

His certainty made him impossible to refute. The only
arguments she knew were the ones she had once used to her
father, and they had always failed. They had been swallowed
in darkness—in self-pity grown to malice and hosting forth
to devour her spirit. No argument would suffice.

Vaguely, she wondered what account of her flight he had
given the Giants.

But to herself she swore, I'm going to stop you. Somehow.
No evil was as great as the ill of his surrender. The Sunbane
had risen into Andelain. It could never be forgiven.

Somehow.

"Andelain! forgive!"               377

Later that day, as the company wended eastward among
the Hills, Linden took an opportunity to drift away from
Covenant and the First with Pitchwife. The malformed Giant
was deeply troubled. His grotesque features appeared ag-
grieved, as if be had lost the essential cheer which preserved
his visage from ugliness. Yet he was plainly reluctant to speak
of his distress. At first, she thought that this reluctance arose
from a new distrust of her. But as she studied him, she saw
that his mood was not so simple.

She did not want to aggravate his unhappiness. But he had
often shown himself willing to be pained on behalf of his
friends. And her need was exigent. Covenant meant to give
the Despiser his ring.

Softly, so that she would not be overheard, she breathed,
•Titchwife, help me. Please."

She was prepared for the dismal tone of his reply, but not
for its import. "There is no help," he answered. "She will
not question him."

"She—?" Linden began, then caught herself. Carefully, she
asked, "What did he say to you?"

For an aching moment, Pitchwife was still. Linden forced
herself to give him time. He would not look at her. His
gaze wandered the Hills morosely, as if already they had
lost their luster. Without her senses, he could not see that
Andelain had not yet been damaged Ay the Sunbane. Then,
sighing, he mustered words out of his gloom.

"Rousing us from sleep to hasten in your pursuit, he an-
nounced your belief that it is now his intent to destroy the
Land. And Gossamer GIowlimn my wife will not question him.

**I acknowledge that he is the Earthfriend—worthy of all
trust But have you not again and again proven yourself alike
deserving? You are the Chosen, and for the mystery of your
place among us we have been accorded no insight. Yet the
Elohitn have named you Sun-Sage. You alone possess the
sight which proffers hope of healing. Repeatedly the burdens
of our Search have fallen to you—and you have borne them
well. I will not believe that you who have wrought so much
restoration among the Giants and the victims of the Clave
have become in the space of one night mad or cruel. And you
have withdrawn trust from him. This is grave in all sooth.
' It must be questioned. But she is the First of the Search. She
"-•forbids.

378 White Gold Wielder

"Chosen—" His voice was full of innominate pleading, as
if he wanted something from her and did not know what it
was. "It is her word that we have no other hope than him. If
he has become untrue, then all is lost. Does he not hold the
white ring? Therefore we must preserve our faith in him—
and be still. Should he find himself poised on the blade-edge
of his doom, we must not overpush him with our doubt.

"But if be must not be called to an accounting, what
decency or justice will permit you to be questioned? I will
not do it, though the lack of this story is grievous. If you are
not to be equally trusted, you must at least be equally left in
silence."

Linden did not know how to respond. She was distressed
by his troubled condition, gratified by his fairness, and in-
censed by the First's attitude. Yet would she not have taken
the same position in the Swordmain's place? If Kevin Land-
waster had spoken to someone else, would she not have been
proud to repose her confidence in the Unbeliever? But that
recognition only left her all the more alone. She had no right
to try to persuade Pitchwife to her cause. Both he and his
wife deserved' better than that she should attempt to turn
them against each other—or against Covenant. And yet she
had no way to test or affirm her own sanity except by direct
opposition to him.

Even in bis fixed weariness and determination, he was so
dear to her that she could hardly endure the acuity of her
desire for him.

A fatigue and defeat of her own made her stumble over
the uneven turf. But she refused the solace of Pitchwife's
support. Wanly, she asked him, "What are you going to do?"

"Naught," he replied. "I am capable of naught." His
empathy for her made him acidulous. "I have no sight to
equal yours. Before the truth becomes plain to me, the time
for all necessary doing will have come and gone. That which
requires to be done, you must do." He paused; and she
thought that he was finished, that their comradeship had
come to an end. But then he gritted softly through his
teeth, "Yet I say this. Chosen. You it was who obtained Vain
Demondim-spawn's escape from the snares of Elemesnedene.
You it was who made possible our deliverance from the
Sandhold. You it was who procured safety for all but Cable
Seadieamer from the Worm of the World's End, when the

"Andelaint forgive!9               379

Earthfriend himself had fallen nigh to ruin. And you it was
who found means to extinguish the Banefire. Your worth is
manifold and certain.

"The First will choose as she wishes. I will give you my
life, if you ask it of me."

Linden heard him. After a while, she said simply, "Thanks."
No words were adequate. In spite of his own baffled dis-
tress, he had given her what she needed.

They walked on together in silence.

The next morning, the sun's red aura was distinct enough
for all the company to see.

Linden's open nerves searched the Hills, probing Andelam's
reaction to the Sunbane. At first, she found none. The air had
its same piquant savor, commingled of flowers and dew and
treesap. Aliantha abounded on the hillsides. No discernible
ill gnawed at the wood of the nearby Gildens and willows.
And the birds and animals that flitted or scurried into view
and away again were not suffering from any wrong. The
Earthpower treasured in the heart of the region still withstood
the pressure of corruption.

But by noon that was no longer true. Pangs of pain began
t to run up the tree trunks, aching in the veins of the leaves.
^ The birds seemed to become frantic-as the numbers of insects
^. increased; but the woodland creatures 'had grown frightened
.', and gone into hiding. The tips of the grass-blades turned
y- jbrown; some of the shrubs showed signs of blight. A distant
fetor came slowly along the breeze. And the ground began to
give off faint, emotional tremors—an intangible quivering
which no one but Linden felt. It made the soles of her feet
hurt in her shoes.

Muttering curses. Covenant stalked on angrily eastward.
In spite of her distrust. Linden saw that his rage for Andelain
was genuine. He pushed himself past the limits of bis strength
to hasten his traversal of the Hills, his progress toward the
crisis of the Despiser. The Sunbane welded him to his purpose.
Linden kept up with him doggedly, determined not to let
him get ahead of her. She understood his fury, shared it:

in this place, the red sun was atrocious, intolerable. But
his ire made him appear capable of any madness which
might put an end to Andelain's hurt, for good or ill.

Dourly, the Giants accompanied their friends. Covenant's

White Gold Wielder

380

best pace was not arduous for Pitcbwife; the First could have
traveled much faster. And her features were sharp with
desire for more speed, for a termination to the Search, so that
the question which had come between her and her husband
would be answered and finished. The difficulty of restraining
herself to Covenant's short strides was obvious in her. While
the company paced through the day, she held herself grimly
silent Her mother had died in childbirth; her father, in the
Soulbiter. She bore herself as if she did not want to admit
how important Pitchwife's warmth had become, to her.

For that reason. Linden felt a strange, unspoken kinship
toward the First. She found it impossible to resent the Sword-
main's attitude. And she swore to herself that she would
never ask Pitchwife to keep his promise.

Vain strode blankly behind the companions. But of Findail
there was no sign. She watched for him at intervals, but he

did not reappear.

That evening. Covenant slept for barely half the night:

then he went on his way again as if he were trying to steal
ahead of his friends. But somehow through her weary slumber
Linden felt him leave. She roused herself, called the Giants
up from the faintly throbbing turf, and went after him.

Sunrise brought an aura of fertility to the dawn and a
soughing rustle like a whisper of dread to the trees and
brush. Linden felt the leaves whimpering on their boughs, the
greensward aching plaintively. Soon the Hills would be re-
duced to the victimized helplessness of the rest of the
Land. They would be scourged to wild growth, desiccated to
ruin, afflicted with rot, pommeled by torrents. And that
thought made her as fierce as Covenant, enabled her to keep
up with him while he exhausted himself. Yet the mute pain
of green and tree was not the worst effect of the Sunbane.
Her senses had been scoured to raw sensitivity: she knew that
beneath the sod, under the roots of the woods, the fever Of
Andelain's bones had become so argute that it was almost
physical. A nausea of revulsion was rising into the Earth-
power of the Hills. It made her guts tremble as if she were
walking across an open wound.

By degrees. Covenant's pace became labored. Andelain
no longer sustained him. More and more of its waning
strength went to ward off the corruption of the Sunbane. As
a result, the fertile sun had little superficial effect A few

"Andelain! forgive!"                381

trees groaned taller, grew twisted with hurt; some of the
shrubs raised their branches like limbs of desecration. All
the birds and animals seemed to have fled. But most of the
woods and grass were preserved by the power of the soil in
which they grew. Aliantha clung stubbornly to themselves, as
they had for centuries. Only the analystic refulgence of the
Hills was gone—only the emanation of superb and concen-
trated health—only the exquisite vitality.

However, the sickness in the underlying rock and dirt
mounted without cessation. That night, Covenant slept the
sleep of exhaustion and diamondraught. But for a long time
Linden could not rest, despite her own fatigue. Whenever
she laid her head to the grass, she heard the ground grinding
its teeth against a backdrop of slow moans and futile outrage.

Well before dawn, she and her companions arose and went
on. She felt now that they were racing the dissolution of the
Hills.

That morning, they caught their first glimpse of Mount
Thunder.

It was still at least a day away. But it stood stark and
fearsome above Andelain, with the sun leering past its
shoulder and a furze of unnatural vegetation darkening its
slopes. From this distance, it looked like a titan that had been
beaten to its knees.              *-

Somewhere inside that mountain. Covenant intended to find
Lord Foul.

He turned to Linden and the Giants, his eyes red-rimmed
and flagrant Words yearned m him, but he seemed unable
to utter them. She had thought him uncognizant of the
Giants* disconsolation, offended by her own intransigent
refusal; but she saw now that he was not. He understood
her only too well. A fierce and recalcitrant part of him felt
as she did, fought like loathing against his annealed purpose.
He did not want to die, did not want to lose her or the
Land. And he had withheld any explanation of himself from
the Giants so that they would not side with him against her.
So that she would not be altogether alone.

He wished to say all those things. They were plain to
her aggrieved senses. But his throat closed on them like a
fist, would not let them out.

She might have reached out to him then. Without altering
any of her promises, she could have put her love around

White Gold Wielder

382

him. But horror swelled in the ground on which they stood,
and it snatched her attention away from him.

Abhorrence. Execration. Sunbane and Earthpower locked
in mortal combat beneath her feet. And the Earthpower
could not win. No Law defended it Corruption was going
to tear the heart out of the Hills. The ground had become so
unstable that the Giants and Covenant felt its tremors.

"Dear Christ!" Linden gasped. She grabbed at Covenant's
arm. "Come on!" With all her strength, she pulled him away
from the focus of Andelain's horror.

The Giants were aghast with incomprehension; but they
followed her. Together, the companions began to run.

A moment later, the grass where they had been standing

erupted.

Buried boulders shattered. A large section of the green-
sward was shredded; stone-shards and dirt slashed into the
sky. The violence which broke the Earthpower in that place
sent a shock throughout the region, gouged a pit in the body
of the ground. Remnants of ruined beauty rained every-
where.

And from the naked walls of the pit came squirming and
clawing the sick, wild verdure of the fertile sun. Monstrous as
murder, a throng of ivy teemed upward to spread its pall over

the ravaged turf.

In the distance, another eruption boomed. Linden felt it
like a wail through the ground. Piece by piece, the life of
Andelaiu was being torn up by the roots.

"Bastard!" Covenant raged. "Oh, you bastard! You've
crippled everything else. Aren't you content?"

Turning, he plunged eastward as if he meant to launch
himself at the Despiser's throat.

Linden kept up with him. Pain belabored her senses. She
could not speak because she was weeping.

SEVENTEEN: Into the
Wightwarrens

EARLY the next morning, the company climbed into
the foothills of Mount Thunder near the constricted rush of
the Soulsease River. Covenant was gaunt with fatigue, his gaze
as gray as ash. Linden's eyes burned like fever in their sockets;

strain throbbed through the bones of her skull. Even the
Giants were tired. They had only stopped to rest in snatches
during the night The First's lips were the color of her fingers
clinching the hilt of her sword. Pitchwife's visage looked like
it was being torn apart. Yet the four of them were united by
their urgency. They attacked the lower slopes as if they were
racing the sun which rose behind me fatal bulk of the moun-
tain.

A desert sun.

Parts of Andelain had already become as blasted and
ruinous as a battlefield.

The Hills still clung to the life which had made them
lovely. While it lasted, Caer-CaveraI's nurture had been com-
plete and fundamental. The Sunbane could not simply flush
all health from the ground in so few days. But the dusty sun-
light reaching past the shoulders of Mount Thunder revealed
that around the fringes of Andelain—and in places across its
-heart—the damage was already severe.

The vegetation of those regions had been ripped up, riven,
effaced by hideous eruptions. Their ground was cratered and
pitted like the ravages of an immedicable disease. The pre-
vious day, the remnants of those woods had been overgrown
and strangled by the Sunbane's feral fecundity. But now, as

383

White Gold Wielder

384

the sun advanced on that verdure, every green and living
thing slumped into viscid sludge which the desert drank away.

Linden gazed toward the Hills as if she, too, were dying.
Nothing would ever remove the sting of that devastation
from her heart. The sickness of the world soaked into her
from the landscape outstretched and tormented before her.
Andelain still fought for its life and survived. Much of it
had not yet been hurt. Leagues of soft slopes and natural
growth separated the craters, stood against the sun's arid
rapine. But where the Sunbane had done its work the harm
was as keen as anguish. If she bad been granted the chance
to save Andelain's health with her own life, she would have
taken it as promptly as Covenant. Perhaps she, too, would

have smiled.

She sat on a rock in a field of boulders that cluttered the
slope too thickly to admit vegetation. Panting as if his lungs
were raw with ineffective outrage. Covenant bad stopped
there to catch his breath. The Giants stood nearby. The First
studied the west as if that scene of destruction would give
her strength when the time came to wield her blade. But
Pitchwife could not bear it He perched himself on a boulder
with his back to the Andelainian Hills, His hands toyed with
his flute, but he made no attempt to play it.

After a while. Covenant rasped, "Broken—'* There was a
slain sound in his voice, as if within him also something
vital were perishing. "All that beauty—" Perhaps during the
night he had lost his mind, " 'Your very presence here em-
powers me to master you. The ill that you deem most terrible
is upon you.' " He was quoting Lord Foul; but he spoke as if
the words were his. " There is despair laid up for you

here—'"

At once, the First turned to him. "Do not speak thus. It

is false."

He gave no sign that he had heard her, "It's not my fault,'*

he went on harshly. "I didn't do any of this. None of it
But I'm the cause. Even when I don't do anything. It's all
being done because of me. So I won't have any choice. Just
by being alive, I break everything I love." He scraped his
fingers through the stubble of his beard; but his eyes continued
staring at the waste of Andelain, haunted by it "You'd think
I wanted this to happen."

"No!" the First protested. "We hold no such conception.

Into the Wightwarrens              385

You must not doubt. It is doubt which weakens—doubt
which corrupts. Therefore is this Despiser powerful. He
does not doubt While you are certain, there is hope." Her
iron voice betrayed a note of fear. "This price will be exacted
from him if you do not doubt!"

Covenant looked at her for a moment. Then he rose stiffly
to his feet His muscles and his heart were knotted so tightly
that Linden could not read him.

"That's wrong." He spoke softly, in threat or appeal. "You
need to doubt. Certainty is terrible. Let Foul have it. Doubt
makes you human." His gaze shifted toward Linden. It
reached out to her like flame or beggary, the culmination
and defeat of all his power in the Banefire. "You need every
doubt you can find. I want you to doubt I'm hardly human
anymore."

Each flare and wince of his eyes contradicted itself. Stop
me. Don't touch me. Doubt me. Doubt Kevin. Yes. No.
Please.

Please.

His inchoate supplication drew her to him. He did not
appear strong or dangerous now, but only needy, appalled by
himself. Yet he was as irrefusable as ever. She touched her
hand to his scruffy cheek; her arms hurt with the tenderness
of her wish to hold him.

But she would not retreat from the commitments she had
made, whatever their cost. Perhaps her years of medical train-
ing and self-abnegation had been nothing more than a way
of running away from death; but the simple logic of that
flight had taken her in the direction of life, for others if not
for herself. And in the marrow of her bones she had experi-
enced both the Sunbane and Andelain. The choice between
them was as clear as Covenant's pain.

She bad no answer for his appeal. Instead, she gave him
one of her own. "Don't force me to do that" Her love was
naked in her eyes. "Don't give up."

A spasm of grief or anger flinched across his face. His
voice sank to a desert scraping in the back of his throat. "I
wish I could make you understand." He spoke flatly, all in-
flection burned away. "He's gone too far. He can't get away
with this. Maybe he isn't really sane anymore. He isn't going
to get what he wants."

But his manner and his words held no comfort for her. He

386               White Gold Wielder

might as well have announced to the Giants and Vain and
the ravaged world that he still intended to surrender his ring.

Yet he remained strong enough for his purpose, in spite
of little food, less rest, and the suffering of Andelain. Dourly,
be faced the First and Pitohwife again as if he expected
questions or protests. But die Swordmain held herself stem.
Her husband did not look up from his flute.

To their silence. Covenant replied, "We need to go north
for a while. Until we get to the river. That's our way into

Mount Thunder."

Sighing, Pitchwife gained his feet. He held his flute in
both hands. His gaze was focused on nothing as he snapped

the small instrument in half.
With all his strength, he hurled the pieces toward the

Hills.

Linden winced. An expostulation died on the Firsts lips.

Covenant's shoulders hunched.

As grim as a cripple, Pitchwife raised his eyes to the Un-
believer. "Heed me well,'* he murmured clearly. "I doubt"

"Good!'* Covenant rasped intensely. Then he started mov-
ing again, picking a path for himself among tfae boulders.

Linden followed with old cries beating against her heart
Haven't you even got the suts to go on living? You never
loved me anyway. But she knew as surely as vision that he
did love her. She had no means by which to measure what
had happened to him in the Banefire. And Gibbon*s voice
answered her, taunting her with the truth. Are you not evil?

The foothills of Mount Thunder, ancient Gravin Threndor,
were too rugged to bear much vegetation. And the light of the
desert sun advanced rapidly past the peak now, wreaking dis-
solution on the ground's residual fertility. The company was
hampered by strewn boulders and knuckled slopes, but not
by the effects of the previous sun. Still the short journey
toward the Soulsease was arduous. The sun's loathsome cor-
ruption seemed to parch away the last of Linden's strength.
Heatwaves like precursors of hallucination tugged at the
edges of her mind. A confrontation with the Despiser would
at least put an end to this horror and rapine. One way or the
other. As she panted at the hillsides, she found herself re-
peating the promise she had once made in Revelstone—the
promise she had made and broken. Never. Never again.
Whatever happened, she would not return to the Sunbane.

Into the Wightwarrens              387

Because of her weakness. Covenant's exhaustion, and the
difficulty of the terrain, the company did not reach the
vicinity of the River until midmoming.

The way the hills baffled sound enabled her to catch a
glimpse of the swift water before she heard it. Then she and
her companions topped the last rise between them and the
Soulsease; and the loud howl of its rush slapped at her.
Narrowed by its stubborn granite channel, the river raced
below her, white and writhing in despair toward its doom.
And its doom towered over it, so massive and dire that
the mountain filled all the east. Perhaps a league to Linden's
right, the river flumed into the gullet of Mount Thunder
and was swallowed away—ingested by the catacombs which
mazed the hidden depths of the peak. When that water
emerged again, on the Lower Land behind Gravin Threndor,
it would be so polluted by the vileness of the Wightwarrens,
so rank with the waste of chamals and breeding-dens, the
spillage of forges and laboratories, the effluvium of corrup-
tion, that it would be called the Denies Course—the source
of Sarangrave Flat's peril and perversion.

For a crazy moment. Linden thought Covenant meant to
ride that extreme current into the mountain. But then he
pointed toward the bank directly below him; and she saw
that a roadway had been cut into the foothills at some height
above the River. The River itself wa's declining: six days had
passed since the last sun of rain; and the desert sun was
rapidly drinking away the water which Andelain still pro-
vided. But the markings on the channel's sheer walls showed
that the Soulsease virtually never reached as high as the
roadway.

Along this road in ages past, armies had marched out of
Mount Thunder to attack the Land. Much of the surface was
ruinous, cracked and gouged by time and the severe alterna-
tion of the Sunbane, slick with spray; but it was still travers-
able. And it led straight into the dark belly of the mountain.

Covenant gestured toward the place where the walls rose
like cliffs to meet the sides of Mount Thunder. He had to
shout to make himself heard, and his voice was veined with
stress. 'That's Treacher's Gorge! Where Foul betrayed Kevin
and the Council openly for the first time! Before they knew
what he was! The war that broke Kevin's heart started there!"

The First scanned the thrashing River, the increasing con-

White Gold Wielder

388

striction of the precipitate walls, then raised her voice
through the roar. "Earthfriend, you have said that the pas-
sages of this mountain are a maze! How then may we discover
the lurking place of the Despiser?"

"We won't have tol" His shout sounded feverish. He looked
as tense and strict and avid as he had when Linden had first
met him—when he had dammed the door of his house
against her. "Once we get in there, all we have to do is wander
around until we run into his defenses. Hell take care of the
rest. The only trick is to stay alive until we get to himi"

Abruptly, he tamed to his companions. "You don't have to
cornel IT1 be safe. He won't do anything to me until he has
me in front of him.'* To Linden, he seemed to be saying the
same things he had said on. Haven Farm, You don't know
what's going on here. You couldn't possibly understand it.
Go away. I don't need you. "You don't need to risk it"

But me First was not troubled by such memories. She
replied promptly, "Of what worth is safety to us here? The
Earth itself is at risk. Hazard is our chosen work. How will
we bear the songs which our people will sing of us. if we do
not hold true to the Search? We will not part from you.**

Covenant ducked hia head as though he were ashamed
or afraid. Perhaps he was remembering Saltheart Foam-
follower. Yet his refusal or inability to meet Linden's. gaze
indicated to her that she had not misread him. He was stilt
vainly trying to protect her, spare her the consequences of her
choices—consequences she did not know how to measure.
And striving also to prevent her from interfering with what

he meant to do.

But he did not expose himself to what she would say if
he addressed her directly. Instead, he muttered, "Then let's
get going." The words were barely audible. "I don't know
how much longer I can stand this."

Nodding readily, me First at once moved ahead of him
toward an erosion gully which angled down to the roadway.
With one hand, she gripped the hilt of her longsword. Like
her companions, she had lost too much in this quest. She was
a warrior and wanted to measure out the price in blows.

Covenant followed her stiffly. The only strength left in his
limbs was the stubbornness of his will.

Linden started after him, then turned back to Pitchwife.
He still stood on the rim of the hill, gazing down into the

Into the Wighfwarrens

389

River's rush as if it would carry his heart away. Though he
was half again as tall as Linden, his deformed spine and
grotesque features made him appear old and frail. His mute
aching was as tangible as tears. Because of it, she put every-
thing else aside for a moment

"He was telling the truth about that, anyway. He doesn't
need you to fight for him. Not anymore." Pitchwife lifted his
eyes like pleading to her. Fiercely, she went on, "And if he's
wrong, I can stop him." That also was true: the Sunbane
and Ravers and Andelain's hurt had made her capable of it.
**The First is the one who needs you. She can't beat Foul with
just a sword—but she's likely to try. Don't let her get herself
killed." Don't do that to yourself. Don't sacrifice her for me.

His visage sharpened like a cry. His hands opened at his
sides to show her and the desert sky that they were empty.
Moisture blurred his gaze. For a moment, she feared he
would say farewell to her; and hard grief clenched her throat
But then a fragmentary smile changed the meaning of his face.

"Linden Avery," he said clearly, "have I not affirmed and
averred to all who would hear that you are well Chosen?"

Stooping toward her, he kissed her forehead. Then he
hurried after the First and Covenant.

When she had wiped the tears^from her cheeks, she fol-
lowed him.

Vain trailed her with his habitual blankness. Yet she
seemed to feel a hint of anticipation from him—an elusive
tightening which he had not conveyed since the company
had entered Elemesnedene.

Picking her way down the gully, she gained the rude shelf
of the roadway and found her companions waiting for her.
Pitchwife stood beside the First, reclaiming his place there;

but both she and Covenant watched Linden. The First's
regard was a compound of glad relief and uncertainty. She
welcomed anything that eased her husband's unhappiness—
but was unsure of its implications. Covenant's attitude was
simpler. Leaning close to Linden, he whispered against the
background of the throttled River, "I don't know what you
said to him. But thanks."

She had no answer. Constantly, he foiled her expectations.
When he appeared most destructive and unreachable, locked
away in his deadly certainty, he showed flashes of poignant
kindness, clear concern. Yet behind his empathy and courage

390               White Gold Wielder

lay bis intended surrender, as indefeasible as despair. He
contradicted himself at every turn. And how could she reply
without telling him what she had promised?

But he did not appear to want an answer. Perhaps he under-
stood her, knew that in her place he would have felt as she
did. Or perhaps he was too weary and haunted to suffer
questions or reconsider his purpose. He was starving for an
end to his long pain. Almost immediately, he signaled his

readiness to go on.

At once, the First started along the crude road toward the

gullet of Mount Thunder.

With Pitchwife and then Vain behind her. Linden followed,

stalking the stone, pursuing the Unbeliever to his crisis.

Below her, the Soulsease continued to shrink between its
walls, consumed by the power of the Sunbane. The pitch of
the rush changed as its roar softened toward sobbing. But
she did not take her gaze from the backs of the First and
Covenant, the rising sides of the gorge, the dark bulk of the
mountain. Off that sun-ravaged crown had once come crea-
tures of fire to rescue Thomas Covenant and the Lords from
the armies of Drool Rockworm, the mad Cavewigbt. But
those creatures had been called down by Law; and there was

no more Law.

She had to concentrate to avoid the treachery of the

road's surface. It was cracked and dangerous. Sections of the
ledge were so tenuously held in place that her precipience felt
them shift under her weight. Others had fallen into the
Gorge long ago, leaving bitter scars where the road should
have been. Only narrow rims remained to bear the company
past the gaps. Linden feared them more on Covenant's behalf
than on her own: his vertigo might make him fall. But he
negotiated them without help, as if his fear of height were
just one more part of himself that he had already given up.
Only the strain burning in his muscles betrayed how close he

came to panic.

Mount Thunder loomed into the sky. The desert sun
scorched over the rocks, scouring them bare of spray. The
noise of the Soulsease sounded increasingly like grief. In
spite of her fatigue. Linden wanted to run—wanted to pitch
herself into the mountain's darkness for no other reason than
to get out from under the Sunbane. Out of daylight into the
black catacombs, where so much power lurked and hungered.

Into the Wightwarrens              391

Where no one else would be able to see what happened
when the outer dark met the blackness within her and took
possession.

She fought the logic of that outcome, wrestled to believe
that she would find some other answer. But Covenant intended
to give Lord Foul his ring. Where else could she find the force
to stop him?

She had done the same thing once before, in a different
way. Faced with her dying mother, the nightmare blackness
had leaped up in her, taking command of her hands while her
brain had detached itself to watch and wail. And the darkness
had laughed like lust.

She had spent every day of every year of her adulthood
fighting to suppress that avarice for death. But she knew of
no other source from which she might obtain the sheer
strength she would need to prevent Covenant from destruc-
tion.

And she had promised—

Treacher's Gorge narrowed and rose on either side. Mount
Thunder vaulted above her like a tremendous cairn that
marked the site of buried banes, immedicable despair. As the
River's lamentation sank to a mere shout, the mountain
opened its gullet in front of the company.

The First stopped there, glowering distrust into the tunnel
that swallowed the Soulsease and the roadway. But she did
not speak. Pitchwife unslung his diminished pack, took out
his firepot and the last two fagots he bad bome from Revel-
stone. One he slipped under his belt; the other he stirred
into the firepot until the wood caught flame. The First took
it from him, held it up as a torch. She drew her sword.
Covenant's visage wore a look of nausea or dread; but he did
not hesitate. When the First nodded, he started forward.

Pitchwife quickly repacked his supplies. Together, he and
Linden followed his wife and Covenant out of the Gorge and
the desert sun.

Vain came after them like a piece of whetted midnight,
acute and imminent.

Linden's immediate reaction was one of relief. The First's
torch hardly lit the wall on her right, the curved ceiling above
her. It shed no light into the chasm beside the roadway. But
to her any dark felt kinder than the sunlight. The peak's
clenched granite reduced the number of directions from

392 White Gold Wielder

which peril could come. And as Mount Thunder cut off the
sky, she heard the sound of the Soulsease more precisely.
The crevice drank the River like a plunge into the bowels of
the mountain, carrying the water down to its defilement. Such
things steadied her by requiring her to concentrate on them.

In a voice that echoed hoarsely, she warned her com-
panions away from the increasing depth of the chasm. She
sounded close to hysteria; but she believed she was not. The
Giants had only two torches. The company would need her
special senses for guidance. She would be able to be of use
again.

But her relief was shoruived. She had gone no more than
fifty paces down the tunnel when she felt the ledge behind
her heave itself into rubble.

Pitchwife barked a warning. One of his long,, arms swept
her against the wall. The impact knocked the air from her
lungs. For an instant while her head reeled, she saw Vain
silhouetted against the daylight of the Gorge. He made no
effort to save himself.

Thundering like havoc, the fragments of the roadway bore
him down into the crevice.

Long tremors ran through the road, up the wall. Small
stones rained from the ceiling, pelted after the Demondim-
spawn like a scattering of hail. Linden's chest did not contain
enough air to cry out his name.

Torchlight splayed across her and Pitchwife. He tugged her
backward, kept her pressed to the wall. The First barred
Covenant's way. Sternness locked her face. Sputtering flames
reflected from his eyes. "Damnation," he muttered. "Damna-
tion!" Little breaths like gasps slipped past Linden's teeth.

The torch and the glow of day beyond the tunnel lit Findail
as he melted out of the roadway, transforming himself from
stone to flesh as easily as thought.

He appeared to have become leaner, worn away by pain.
His cheeks were hollow. His yellow eyes had sunk into his
skull; their sockets were as livid as bruises. He was rife with
mortification or grief.

"You did that," Linden panted. "You're still trying to kill
him."

He did not meet her gaze. The arrogance of his people
was gone from him. "The Wiird of the Elohim is strict and

Info the Wightwarrena

393

costly." If he had raised his eyes to Linden's, she might have
thought he was asking for understanding or acceptance. "How
should it be otherwise? Are we not the heart of the Earth
in all things? Yet those who remain in the bliss and blessing
of Elemesnedene have been misled by their comfort Because
the clachon is our home, we have considered that all questions
may be answered there. Yet it is not in Elemesnedene that
the truth lies, but rather in we who people the place. And
we have mistaken our Wiird. Because we are the heart, we
have conceived that whatever we will must perforce transcend
all else.

"Therefore we do not question our withdrawal from the
wide Earth. We contemplate all else, yet give no name to what
we fear."

Then he did look up; and his voice took on the anger of
self-justification. "But I have witnessed that fear. Chant and
others have fallen to it Infelice herself knows its touch. And
I have participated in the binding to doom of the Appointed.
I have felt the curse of Kastenessen upon my head.** He was
ashamed of what he had done to Vain—and determined not
to regret it "You have taught me to esteem you. You bear the
outcome of the Earth well. But my peril is thereby increased.

"I will not suffer that cost."

Folding his arms across his chest, he closed himself off
from interrogation.

In bafflement. Covenant turned to Linden. But she had no
explanation to offer. Her percipience had never been a match
for the Elohim. She had caught no glimpse of Findail until

; he emerged from the roadway, still knew nothing about him
except that he was Earthpower incarnate, capable of taking
any form of life he wished. Altogether flexible. And danger-
ously unbound by scruple. His people had not hesitated to
efface Covenant's mind for their own inhuman reasons. More
than once, he bad abandoned her and her companions to
death when he could have aided them.

His refusals seemed innumerable; and the memory of them
made her bitter. The pain of the tree he had slaughtered in
his last attempt on Vain's life came back to her. To Covenant,

.she replied, "He's never told the truth before. Why should

she start now?"

\ Covenant frowned darkly. Although he had no cause to

394 White Gold Wielder

trust FindaU's people, he appeared strangely reluctant to
judge them, as if instinctively he wanted to do them more
justice than they had ever done him.

But there was nothing any of the company could do about
Vain. The river-cleft was deep now—and growing sharply
deeper as it advanced into the mountain. The sound of the
water diminished steadily.

The First gestured with her touch. "We must hasten. Our
light grows brief." The fagot she held was dry and brittle;

already half of it had burned away. And Pitchwife had only
one other brand.

Swearing under his breath, Covenant started on down the
tunnel.

Linden was shivering. The stone piled imponderably around
her felt cold and dire. Vain's fall repeated itself across her
mind. Her breathing scraped in her throat No one deserved
to fall like that. In spite of Mount Thunder's chill atmosphere,
sweat trickled uncertainly between her breasts.

But she followed Covenant and the First. Bracing herself on
Pitchwife's bulky companionship, she moved along the road-
way after the wavering torch. She stayed so close to the wall
that it brushed her shoulder. Its hardness raised reminders of
the hold of Revelstone and the dungeon of the Sandhold.

Findail walked behind her. His bare feet made no sound.

As the reflected light from the mouth of the gullet faded,
the darkness thickened. Concentrated midnight seemed to
flow up out of the crevice. Then a gradual bend in the wall
cut off the outer world altogether. She felt that the doors of
hope and possibility were being closed on all sides. The First's
torch would not last much longer.

Yet her senses clung to the granite facts of the road and
the tunnel. She could not see the rim of the chasm; but she
knew where it was exactly. Pitchwife and Findail were also
explicit in spite of the dark. When she focused her attention,
she was able to read the surface of the ledge so clearly that
she did not need to stumble. If she had possessed the power
to repulse attack, she could have wandered the Wightwarrens
in relative safety.

That realization steadied her. The inchoate dread gnawing
at the edges of her courage receded.

The First's brand started to gutter.

Beyond it. Linden seemed to see an indefinable softening of

Into the Wightwarrena              395

the midnight. For a few moments, she stared past the First
and Covenant. But her perdpience did not extend so far.
Then, however, the Swordmain halted, lowered her torch; and
the glow ahead became more certain.

The First addressed Covenant or Linden. "What is the
cause of that light?'*

"Warrenbridge," Covenant replied tightly. "The only way
into the Wightwarrens." His tone was complex with memories.
"Be careful. The last time I was here, it was guarded."

The leader of the Search nodded. Placing her feet softly,
she moved forward again. Covenant went with her.
Linden gripped her health-sense harder and followed.
Gradually, the light grew clear. It was a stiff, red-orange
color; and it shone along the ceiling, down the wall of the
tunnel. Soon Linden was able to see that the roadway took a
•harp turn to the right near the glow. At the same time, the
overhanging stone vaulted upward as if the tunnel opened into
» vast cavern. But the direct light was blocked by a tre-
mendous boulder which stood like a door ajar across the
ledge. The chasm of the river vanished under that boulder.
r;   Cautiously, the First crept to the edge of the stone and
peered beyond it.

For an instant, she went rigid with surprise. Then she
breathed a Giantish oath and strode out into the light.

Advancing behind Covenant, Linden found herself in a
high, bright cavity like an entryhall to the catacombs.
^ The floor was flat, worn smooth by millennia of use. Yet
$tt was impassable. The deft passed behind the boulder, then
i; turned to cut directly through the cavern, disappearing finally
into the far wall. It was at least fifty feet wide, and there were
no other entrances to the cavity on this side. The only egress
. by beyond the crevice.

':- But in the center of the vault, a massive bridge of native
^•tone spanned the gulf. Warrenbridge. Covenant's memory
;>had not misled him.

The light came from the crown of the span. On either side
of it stood a tall stone pillar like a sentinel; and they shone
as if their essential rock were afire. They made the entire
tavern bright—too bright for any interloper to approach
.Warrenbridge unseen.

1 For an instant, the light held Linden's attention. It re-
Alinded her of the hot lake of graveling in which she and the

396 White Gold Wielder

company had once almost lost their lives. But these emana-
tions were redder, angrier. They lit the entrance to the Wight-
warrens as if no one could pass between them in hope or
peace.

But the chasm and the bridge and the light were not what
had surprised the First. With a wrench, Linden forced herself
to look across the vault.

Vain stood there, at the foot of Warrenbridge. He seemed
to be waiting for Covenant or Linden.

Near him on the stone sprawled two long-limbed forms.
They were dead. But they had not been dead long. The blood
in which they lay was still warm.

A clench of pain passed across Findail's visage and was
gone.

The First's torch sputtered close to her hand., She tossed
its useless butt into the chasm. Gripping her longsword m both
fists, she started onto the span.

"Wait!" Covenant's call was hoarse and urgent At once,
the First froze. The tip of her blade searched the air for perils
she could not see.

Covenant wheeled toward Linden, his gaze as dark as
bloodshed. Trepidation came from him in fragments.

"The last time—it nearly killed me. Drool used those pil-
lars—that rocklignt—I thought I was going to lose my mind."

Drool Rockworm was the Cavewight who had recovered the
Staff of Law after the Ritual of Desecration. He had used it
to delve up the Ulearth Stone from the roots of Mount Thun-
der. And when Covenant and the Lords had wrested the Staff
from Drool, they had succeeded only in giving the IIIearth
Stone into Lord Foul's hold.

Linden's perdpience scrambled into focus on the pillars.
She scrutinized them for implications of danger, studied the
air between them, the ancient stone of Warrenbridge. That
stone had been made as smooth as mendacity by centuries of
time, the pressure of numberless feet. But it posed no threat.
Rocklight shone like ire from the pillars, concealing nothing.

Slowly, she shook her head. 'There's nothing there."

Covenant started to ask, "Are you—?" then bit down his
apprehension. Waving the First ahead, he ascended the span
as if Warrenbridge were crowded with vertigo.

At the apex, be flinched involuntarily; his arms flailed,
grasping for balance. But Linden caught hold of him. Pitch-

Into the Wightwarrens              397

wife put his arms around the two of them. By degrees. Cove-
nant found his way back to the still center of his certitude,
the place where dizziness and panic whirled around him but
did not touch him. In a moment, he was able to descend to-
ward the First and Vain.

With the tip of her sword, the First prodded the bodies near
the Demondim-spawn. Linden had never seen such creatures
before. They had hands as wide and heavy as shovels, heads
like battering rams, eyes without pupil or iris, glazed by death.
The thinness of their trunks and limbs belied their evident
strength. Yet they had not been strong enough to contend with
Vain. He had broken both of them like dry wood.

"Cavewights," Covenant breathed. His voice rattled in his
throat. "Foul must be using them for sentries. When Vain
showed up, they probably tried to attack him."

"Is it possible"—the First's eyes glared in the rocklight—
"that they contrived to send alarm of us ere they fell?"

"Possible?" growled Covenant. "The way our luck's going,
can you think of any reason to believe they didn't?"

"It is certain." Findail's unexpected interpolation sent a
strange shiver down Linden's spine. Covenant jerked his gaze
to the Appointed. The First swallowed a jibe. But Findail did
not hesitate. His grieving features were set. "Even now," he
went on, "forewarning reaches thfc ears of the Despiser. He
savors the fruition of his malign dreams." He spoke quietly;

yet his voice made the air of the high vault ache. "Follow me.
I will guide you along ways where his minions will not dis-
cover you. In that, at least, his intent will be foiled."

Passing through the company, he strode into the dark maze
of the Wightwarrens. And as he walked the midnight stepped
back from him. Beyond the reach of the rocklight, his outlines
shone like the featureless lumination of Elemesnedene.

"Damn it!" Covenant spat. "Now he wants us to trust him."

The First gave a stem shrug. "What choice remains to us?"
Her gaze trailed Findail down the tunnel. "One brand we
have. Will you rather trust the mercy of this merciless
bourne?"

At once, Linden said, "We don't need him. I can lead us. I
don't need light."

Covenant scowled at her. "That's terrific. Where're you
going to lead us? You don't have any idea where Foul is."

She started to retort, I can find him. The same way I found

398 White Gold Wielder

Gibbon. All I need is a taste of him. But then she read him
more clearly. His anger was not directed at her. He was angry
because he knew he had no choice. And he was right. Until
she felt the Despiser's emanations and could fix her health-
sense on them, she had no effective guidance to offer.

Swallowing her vexation, she sighed, "I know. It was a bad
idea." Findail was receding from view; soon he would be out
of sight altogether. "Let's get going."

For a moment. Covenant faced her as though he wanted to
apologize and did not know how because he was unable to
gauge the spirit of her acquiescence. But his purpose still
drove him. Turning roughly, he started down the tunnel after
the Appointed.

The First joined him. Pitchwife gave Linden's shoulder a
quick clasp of comradeship, then urged her into motion.

Vain followed them as if he were in no danger at alL

The tunnel went straight for some distance; then side pas-
sages began to mark its walls. Glowing like an avatar of
moonlight, Pindail took the first leftward way, moved into a
narrow corridor which had been cut so long ago that the rock
no longer seemed to remember the violence of formation. The
ceiling was low, forcing the Giants to stoop as the corridor
angled upward, FindaiTs illumination glimmered and sheened
on the walls. A vague sense of peril rose behind Linden like
a miasma. She guessed that more of the Despiser's creatures
had entered the tunnel which the company had just left. But
soon she reached a high, musty space like a disused mustering-
hall; and when she and her companions had crossed it to a
larger passage, her impression of danger faded.

More tunnels followed, most of them tending sharply down-
ward. She did not know how the Appointed chose his route;

but he was sure of it. Perhaps he gained all the information he
needed from the mountain itself, as his people were said to
read the events of the outer Earth in the peaks and cols of
the Rawedge Rim which enclosed Elemesnedene. Whatever
his sources of knowledge, however, Linden sensed that he was
leading the company through delvings which were no longer
inhabited or active. They all smelled of abandonment, forgot-
ten death—and somehow, obscurely, of ur-viles, as if this sec-
tion of the catacombs had once been set apart for the products

Into the Wightwarrens              399

of the Demondim. But they were gone now, perhaps forever.
Linden caught no scent or sound of any life here.

No life except the breathing, dire existence of the mountain,
the sentience too slow to be discerned, the intent so imme-
morially occluded and rigid that it was hidden from mortal
perception. Linden felt she was wandering the vitals of an
organism which surpassed her on every scale—and yet was
too time-spanning and ponderous to defend itself against quick
evil. Mount Thunder loathed the banes which inhabited it, the
use to which its depths were put. Why else was there so much
anger compressed in the gutrock? But the day when the
mountain might react for its own cleansing was still centuries
or millennia away.

The First's bulk blocked most of Findail's glow. But Linden
did not need light to know that Vain was still behind her, or
that Covenant was nearly prostrate on his feet, frail with ex-
haustion. Yet he appeared determined to continue until he
dropped. For his sake, she called Findail to a halt. "We're
killing ourselves like this.'* Her own knees trembled with
strain; weariness throbbed in her temples. "We've got to rest."

Findail acceded with a shrug. They were in a rude chamber
empty of everything except stale air and darkness. She half
^ expected Covenant to protest; but he did not. Numbly, he
1 dropped to the floor and leaned his fatigue against one walL
?    Sighing to himself, Pitchwife rummaged through the packs
^ for diamondraught and a meal. Liquor and food he doled out
to his companions, sparing little for the future. The future of
the Search would not be long, for good or ill.

Linden ate as much as she could stomach, but only took a
sip of the diamondraught so that she would not be put to
sleep. Then she turned her attention to Covenant.

He was shivering slightly. Pindail's light made him look
, pallid and spectral, ashen-eyed, doomed. His body seemed to

draw no sustenance from the food he had consumed. Even
' diamondraught had little effect on him. He looked like a man
who was bleeding internally. On Kevin's Watch, he had healed
the wound in his chest with wild magic. But no power could
undo the blow which had pierced him back in the woods be-
hind Haven Farm. Now his physical condition appeared to be
merging with that of the body he had left behind, the torn
• flesh with the knife still protruding from its ribs.

White Gold Wielder

400

He had told her this would happen.

But other signs were missing. He had no bruises to match
the ones he had received when Joan had been wrested from
him. And he still had his beard. She clung to those things be-
cause they seemed to mean that he was not yet about to die.

She nearly cried out when he raised the knife be had
brought from Revelstone and asked Pitchwife for water.

Without question, Pitchwife poured the last of the com-
pany's water into a bowl and handed it to the Unbeliever.

Awkwardly, Covenant wet his beard, then set the knife to
his throat. His hands trembled as if he were appalled. Yet by
his own choice he conformed himself to the image of his
death.

Linden struggled to keep herself from railing at his self-
abnegation, the surrender it implied. He behaved as if he had
indeed given himself up to despair. It was unbearable. But the
sight of him was too poignant; she could not accuse or blame
him. Wrestling down her grief, she said in a voice that still
sounded like bereavement, "You know, that beard doesn't
look so bad on you. I'm starting to like it" Pleading with him.

His eyes were closed as if in fear of the moment when the
blade would slice into his skin, mishandled by his numb fin-
gers. Yet with every stroke of the knife his hands grew calmer.

"I did this the last time I was here. An ur-vile knocked me
off a ledge. Away from everyone else. I was alone. So scared
I couldn't even scream. But shaving helped. If you'd seen me,
you would've thought I was trying to cut my throat in simple
terror. But it helps." Somehow, he avoided nicking himself.
The blade he used was so sharp that it left his skin clean. "It
takes the place of courage."

Then he was done. Putting the knife back under his belt,
he looked at Linden as if he knew exactly what she had been
trying to say to him. "I don't like it." His purpose was in his
voice, as hard and certain as his ring. "But it's better to choose
your own risks. Instead of just trying to survive the ones you
can't get out of."

Linden hugged her heart and made no attempt to answer
him. His face was raw—but it was still free of bruises. She
could still hope.

Gradually, he recovered a little strength. He needed far
more rest than he allowed himself; but he was noticeably more
stable as he climbed erect and announced his readiness.

Into the Wightwarrens              401

The First joined him without hesitation. But Pitchwife
looked toward Linden as if he wanted confirmation from her.
She saw in his gaze that he was prepared to find some way to
delay the company on Covenant's behalf if she believed it
necessary.

The question searched her; but she met it by rising to her
feet If Covenant were exhausted, he would be more easily
prevented from destruction.

At once, her thoughts shamed her. Even now—when he had
just given her a demonstration of his deliberate acquiescence
to death, as if he wanted her to be sure that Kevin had told
her the truth—she felt he deserved something better than the
promises she had made against him.

Mutely, Findail bore his light into the next passage. The
First shouldered her share of the company's small supplies.
drew her longsword. Muttering to himself, Pitchwife joined
her. Vain gazed absently into the unmitigated dark of the cata-
combs. In single file, the questors followed the Appointed of
the Elohim onward.

Still his route tended generally downward, deeper by irregu-
lar stages and increments toward the clenched roots of Mount
Thunder; and as the company descended, the character of the
tunnels changed. They became more ragged and ruinous.
Broken gaps appeared in the walls^and from the voids beyond
them came dank exhalations, distant groaning, cold sweat.
Unseen denizens slithered away to their barrows. Water oozed
through cracks in the gutrock and dripped like slow corrosion.
Strange boiling sounds rose and then receded.

With a Giant's unfear of stone and mountains. Pitch-
wife took a rock as large as his fist and tossed it into one of
the gaps. For a long time, echoes replied like the distant labor
of anvils.

The strain of the descent made Linden's thighs ache and
quiver.

Later, she did hear anvils, the faint, metallic clatter of
haipmers. And the thud of bellows—the warm, dry gusts of
exhaust from forges. The company was nearing the working
heart of the Wightwarrens. Sourceless sounds made her skin
crawl. But Findail did not hesitate or waver; and gradually the
noise and effort in the air lessened. Moiling and sulfur filled
the tunnel as if it were a ventilation shaft for a pit of brim-
stone. Then they, too, faded.

402 White Gold Wielder

The tremendous weight of the mountain impending over
her made Linden stoop. It was too heavy for her. Everywhere
around her was knuckled stone and darkness. Findail's light
was ghostly, not to be trusted. Somewhere outside Mount
Thunder, the day was ending—or had already ended, already
given the Land its only relief from the Sunbane. But the things
which soughed and whined through the catacombs knew no
relief. She felt the old protestations of the rock like the far-
off moaning of the damned. The air felt as cold, worn, and
dead as a gravestone. Lord Foul had chosen an apt demesne:

only mad creatures and evil could live in the Wightwarrens.

Then, abruptly, the wrought passages through which Findafl
had been traveling changed. The tunnel narrowed, became a
rough crevice with a roof beyond the reach of Linden's per-
cipience. After some distance, the crevice enaed at me rim
of a wide, deep pit And from the pit arose the fetor of a
chamaL

The stench made Linden gag. Covenant could barely stand
it But Findail went right to the edge of the pit, to a cut stair
which ascended the wall directly above the rank abysm. Cov-
enant fought himself to follow; but before he had climbed a
dozen steps he slumped against the wall. Linden felt nausea
and vertigo gibbering in his muscles.

Sheathing her blade, the First lifted him in her arms, bore
hhn upward as swiftly as Findail was willing to go.

Cramps knotted Linden's guts. The stench heaved in her.
The stair stretched beyond comprehension above her; she did
not know how to attempt it But the gap between her and the
light—between her and Covenant—was increasing at every
moment. Fiercely, she turned her percipience on herself,
pulled the cramps out of her muscles. Then she forced herself
upward.

The fetor called out to her like the Sunbane, urged her to
surrender to it—surrender to the darkness which lurked hun-
grily within her and everywhere else as well, unanswerable
and growing toward completion with every intaken breath. If
she let go now, she would be as strong as a Raver before she
hit bottom; and then no ordinary death could touch her. Yet
she clung to the rough treads with her hands, thrust at them
with her legs. Covenant was above her. Perhaps he was al-
ready safe. And she had learned how to be stubborn. The
mouth of the old man whose life she had saved on Haven

Into the Wight warrens              403

Farm had been as foul as this; but she had borne that putrid
halitus in order to fight for his survival. Though her guts
squirmed, her throat retched, she fought her way to the top
of the stair and the well.

There she found Findail, the First, and Covenant. And light
—a different light than the Appointed emitted. Reflecting
faintly from the passage behind him, it was the orange-red
color of rocklight. And it was full of soft, hot boiling, slow
splashes. A sulfurous exudation took the stench from the air.

Pitchwife finished the ascent with Vain behind him. Linden
looked at Covenant. His face was waxen, slick with sweat;

vertigo and sickness glazed his eyes. She turned to the First
and Findail to demand another rest.

The Elohim forestalled her. His gaze was shrouded, con-
cealing his thoughts. "Now for a space we must travel a com-
mon roadway of the Wightwarrens." Rockiight limned his
shoulders. "It is open to us at present—but shortly it will be
peopled again, and our way closed. We must not halt here."

Linden wanted to protest in simple frustration and help-
lessness. Roughly, she asked the First, "How much more do
you think he can take?"

The Giant shrugged. She did not meet Linden's glare. Her
efforts to refuse doubt left little room for compromise. "If he
falters, I will carry him."         ''

At once, Findail turned and started'down the passage.

Before Linden could object, Covenant shambled after the
Appointed. The First moved protectively ahead of the Unbe-
liever.

Pitchwife faced Linden with a grimace of wry fatigue. "She
is my wife," he murmured, "and I love her sorely. Yet she
surpasses me. Were I formed as other Giants, I would belabor
her insensate rather than suffer this extremity." He clearly did
not mean what he was saying; he spoke only to comfort
Linden.

But she was beyond comfort. Fetor and brimstone, exhaus-
tion and peril pushed her to the fringes of her self-control.
Fuming futilely, she coerced her unsteady limbs into motion.

The passage soon became a warren of corridors; but Findail
threaded them unerringly toward the source of the light. The
air grew noticeably warmer; it was becoming hot. The boiling
sounds increased, took on a subterranean force which
throbbed irrhythmically in Linden's lungs.

404 White Gold Wielder

Then the company gained a tunnel as broad as a road; and
the rocklight flared brighter. The stone thrummed with bot-
tomless seething. Ahead of Findail, the left wall dropped
away; acrid heat rose from that side. It seemed to suck the air
out of Linden's chest, tug her forward. Findail led the com-
pany briskly into the light.

The road passed along the rim of a huge abyss. Its sheer
walls were stark with rocklight; it blazed heat and sulfur.

At the bottom of the gulf burned a lake of magma.

Its boiling made the gutrock shiver. Tremendous spouts
reached massively toward the ceiling, then collapsed under
their own weight, spattering the walls with a violence that
melted and reformed the sides.

Findail strode down the roadway as if the abyss did not
concern him. But Covenant moved slowly, crouching close to
the outer wall. The rocklight shone garishly across his raw
face, made him appear lunatic with fear and yearning for
immolation. Linden followed almost on his heels so that she
would be near if he needed her. They were halfway around
the mouth of the gulf before she felt his emanations cleariy
enough to realize that his apprehension was not the simple
dread of vertigo and heat. He recognized this place: memories
beat about his head like dark wings. He knew that this road
led to the Despiser.

Linden dogged his steps and raged uselessly to herself. He
was in no shape to confront Lord Foul. No condition. She no
longer cared that his weakness might lessen the difficulty of
her own responsibilities. She did not want her lot eased. She
wanted him whole and strong and victorious, as he deserved
to be. This exhausting rush to doom was folly, madness.

Gasping at the heat, he reached the far side of the abyss,
moved two steps into the passage, and sagged to the floor.
Linden put her arms around him, trying to steady herself as
well as him. The molten passion of the lake burned at her
back. Pitchwife was nearly past the rim. Vain was several
paces behind.

"You must now be swift," Findail said. He sounded
strangely urgent. "There are Cavewights nigh."

Without warning, he sped past the companions, flashed back
into the rocklight like a striking condor.

As he hurtled down the roadway, his form melted out of
humanness and assumed the shape of a Sandgorgon.

Into the Wightwarrens              405

Fatal as a bludgeon, he crashed headlong against the
Demondim-spawn.

Vain made no effort to evade the impact. Yet he could not
withstand it. Findail was Earthpower incarnate. The shock of
collision made the road lurch, sent tremors like wailing
through the stone. Vain had proved himself stronger than
Giants or storms, impervious to spears and the na-Mhoram's
Grim. He had felt the power of the Worm of the World's End
and had survived, though that touch had cost him the use of
one arm. He had escaped alone from Elemesnedene and all
the Elohim. But Findafl hit him with such concentrated might
that he was driven backward.

Two steps. Three. To the last edge of the rim.

"Vain!" Covenant thrashed in Linden's grasp. Frenzy al-
most made him strong enough to break away from her.
"Vain!"

Instinctively, Linden fought him, held him.

Impelled by Covenant's fear, the First charged past Pitch-
wife after the Appointed.

Vain caught his balance on the Up of the abyss. His black
eyes were vivid with intensity. A grin of relish sharpened his
immaculate features. The iron heels of the Staff of Law
gleamed dully in the hot rocklight.

He did not glance away from Findail. But his good arm
made a warding gesture that knocked the First backward,
stretched her at her husband's feet, out of danger.

"Fall!" the Appointed raged. His fists hammered the air.
The rock under Vain's feet ruptured in splinters. "Fall and
die!"

The Demondim-spawn fell. With the slowness of nightmare,
he dropped straight into the abyss.

At the same instant, his dead arm lashed out, struck like a
snake. His right hand closed on FindaiTs forearm. The Ap-
pointed was pulled after him over the edge.

Rebounding from the wall, they tumbled together toward
the center of the lake. Covenants cry echoed after them, in-
articulate and wild.

Findail could not break Vain's grip.

He was Elohim, capable of taking any form of the living
Earth He dissolved himself and became an eagle, pounded the
air with his wings to escape the spouting magma. But Vain
dung to one of his legs and was borne upward.

406 White Gold Wielder

Instantly, Findail transformed himself to water. The heat
threw him in vapor and agony toward the ceiling. But Vain
clutched a handful of essential moisture and drew the Ap-
pointed back to him.

Swifter than panic, Findail became a Giant with a great-
sword in both fists. He hacked savagely at Vain's wrist. But
Vain only clenched his grip and let the blade glance off his
iron band.

They were so close to the lava that Linden could barely see
them through the blaze. In desperation, Findail took the shape
of a sail and rode the heat upward again. But Vain still held
him is an unbreakable grasp.

And before he rose high enough, a spout climbed like a
tower toward him. He tried to evade it by veering; but he was
too late. Magma took both Elohim and Demondim-spawn
and snatched them down into the lake.

Linden hugged Covenant as if she shared his cries.

He was no longer struggling. "You doa*t understand!" he
gasped. AH the strength had gone out of him. "That's the
place. Where the ur-viles got rid of their failures. When some-
thing they made didn't work, they threw it down there. That's
why Findail—" The words seized in his throat.

Why Findail had made his final attempt upon the Demon-
dim-spawn here. Even Vain could not hope to come back
from that fall.

Dear Christ! She did not understand how the Elohim saw
such an extravagant threat in one lone creation of the ur-viles.
Vain had bowed to her once—and had never acknowledged
her again. He had saved her life—and had refused to save it.
And after all this time and distance and peril, he was lost be-
fore he found what he sought. Before she understood—

He had gripped Findail with the hand that hung from his
wooden forearm.

Other perceptions demanded her attention, but she was slow
to notice them. She had not heeded the Appointed's warning.
Too late, she sensed movement in the passage which had led
the company to this abyss.

Along the rim of the pit, a party of Cavewights charged
into the rocklight.

At least a score of them. Upright on their long limbs, they
were almost as tall as Pitchwife. They ran with an exaggerated,
jerky awkwardness, like stick-figures; but their strength was

Info the Wightwarrens              407

unmistakable: they were the delvers of the Wightwarrens. The
red heat of lava burned in their eyes. Most of them were
armed with truncheons; the rest carried battle-axes with
wicked blades.

Still half stunned by the force of Vain's blow, the First
reeled to her feet. For an instant, she wavered. But the com-
pany's need galvanized her. Her longsword flashed in readi-
ness. Roaring, "Fleel" she faced the onset of the Cavewights.

Covenant made no effort to move. The people he loved
were in danger, and he had the power to protect them—power
he dared not use. Linden read his plight immediately. The ex-
ertion of will which held back the wild magic took all his
strength.

She fought herself into motion. Summoning her resolve, she
began to wrestle him down the tunneL

He seemed weightless, almost abject Yet his very slackness
hampered her. Her progress was fatally slow.

Then Pitchwife caught up with her. He started to take Cov-
enant from her.

The clangor of battle echoed along the passage. Linden
spun and saw the First fighting for her life.

She was a Swordmain, an artist of combat. Her glaive
flayed about her, at once feral an<| precise; rocklight flared in
splinters off the swift iron. Blood spattered from her attackers
as if by incantation rather than violence, her blade the wand
or scepter by which she wrought her theurgy.

But the roadway was too wide to constrict the Cavewights.
Their reach was as great as hers. And they were bom to con-
tend with stone; their blows had the force of granite. Most of
her effort went to parry clubs which would have shattered her
arms. Step by step, she was driven backward.

She stumbled slightly on the uneven surface, and a trun-
cheon flicked past her. On her left temple, a bloody welt
seemed to appear without transition. The Cavewight that hit
her pitched into the abyss, clutching his slashed chest. But
more creatures crowded after her.

Linden looked at Pitchwife. He was being torn apart by
conflicting needs. His eyes ached whitely, desperate and sup-
; pliant. He had offered her his life. Like Mistweave.
;   She could not bear it. He deserved better. "Help the Firsti"
she barked at him. "I'll take care of Covenanti"

408 White Gold Wielder

Pitchwife was too frantic to hesitate. Releasing the Unbe-
liever, he sped to the aid of his wife.

Linden grabbed Covenant by the shoulders, shook him
fiercely. "Come on!" she raged into his raw visage. "For God's
sake!"

His struggle was terrible to behold. He could have effaced
the Cavewights with a simple thought—and brought down the
Arch of Time, or desecrated it with venom. He was willing to
sacrifice himself. But his friends! Their peril rent at him. For
the space of one heartbeat, she thought he would destroy
everything to save the First and Pitchwife. So that they would
not die like Foamfollower for him.

Yet he withheld—clamped his ripped and wailing spirit in
a restraint as inhuman as his purpose. His features hardened;

his gaze became bleak and desolate, like the Land under the
scourge of the Sunbane. "You're right," he muttered softly.
"This is pathetic."

Straightening his back, he started down the tunnel.

She clinched his numb half-hand and fled with him into
darkness. Cries and blows shouted after them, echoed and
were swallowed by the Wightwarrens.

As the reflected rocklight faded, they reached an intersec-
tion. Covenant veered instinctively to the right; but she took
the leftward turning because it felt less traveled. Almost at
once. she regretted her choice. It did not lead away from the
light. Instead, it opened into a wide chamber with fissures
along one side that admitted the shining of the molten lake.
Sulfur and heat clogged the air. Two more tunnels gave access
to the chamber; but they did not draw off the accumulated
reek.

The roadway along the rim of the abyss was visible through
the fissures. This chamber had probably been intended to al-
low Mount Thunder's denizens to watch the road without be-
ing seen.

The First and Pitchwife were no longer upon the rim. They
had retreated into the tunnel after Linden and Covenant. Or
they had fallen.

Linden's senses shrilled an alarm. Too late: always too late.
Bitterly, she wheeled to face the Cavewights that thronged into
the chamber from all three entrances.

She and her companions must have been spotted from this
covert when they first made their way past the abyss. And the

Into the Wightviarrens               409

brief time they bad spent watching Vain and Findail had
given the Cavewights opportunity to spring this trap.

In the tunnel Linden and Covenant had used, the First and
Pitchwife appeared, battling tremendously to reach their
friends. But most of the Cavewights hurried to block the
Giants* way. The Swordmain and her husband were beaten
back.

Pitchwife's inchoate cry wrung Linden's heart. Then he and
the First were forced out of sight. Cavewigbts rushed in pur-
suit.

Brandishing cudgels and axes, the rest of the creatures ad-
vanced on Covenant and Linden.

He thrust her behind him. took a step forward. Rocklight
limned his desperate shoulders. "I'm the one you want." His
voice was taut with suppression and wild magic. "I'll go with
you. Leave her alone."

Rapt and grim, the Cavewights gave no sign that they beard
turn. Their eyes smoldered.

"If you hurt her," he gritted, 'Til tear you apart."
One of them grabbed him, manacled both his wrists in a
fcuge fist Another raised his club and leveled a crushing blow
. at Linden's bead.

lf   She ducked. The truncheon whipped through her hair, al-
. most touched her skull. Launching" herself from the wall, she
dodged toward Covenant.

The Cavewights seemed slow. awkward. For a moment,
i they did not catch her.

^  Somehow, Covenant twisted bis wrists free. He snatched his
^ knife from his belt, began slashing frenetically about him. A
I Cavewight howled, hopped back. But the blade was deep in

the creature's ribs, and Covenant's half-hand failed of its
If grip; the knife was ripped from him.
i  Weaponless, he spun toward Linden. His face stretched as
i if he wanted to cry out. Forgive—t
f  The Cavewights surrounded him. They did not use their
^cudgels or axes: apparently, they wanted him alive. With their
f-'Ssts, they beat him until he fell.

Linden tried to reach him. She was avid for power, futile
;yithout it. Her arms and legs were useless against the Cave-
[wights. They laughed coarsely at her struggles. Wildly, she
iped for Covenant's ring with her health-sense, tried to
;e hold of it The infernal air choked her lungs. Bottomless

410 White Gold Wielder

and hungry through the fissures came the boiling of the molten
lake. Vain and Findail had fallen. The First and Pitchwife
were lost. Covenant lay like a sacrifice on the stone. She had
nothing left,

She was still groping when a blow came down gleefully on
the bone behind her left ear. At once, the world turned over
and sprawled into darkness.

E1QHTEEN: No Other Way

THOMAS Covenant lay face down on the floor. It
pressed like flat stone against his battered cheek. Bruises mal-
formed the bones of his visage. Though he wanted nothing
but peace and salvation, he had become what he was by
violence—the consequences of his own acts. From somewhere
in the distance arose a throaty murmuring, incessant and dire,
like a litany of invocation, dozens of voices repeating the same
word or name softly, but with different cadences, at varying
speeds. They were still around him, the people who had come
to bereave him. They were taunting bis failure.

Joan was gone.

Perhaps he should have moved, rolled over, done something
to soften the pain. But the effort was beyond him. All his
strength was sand and ashes. And be had never been physi-
cally strong. They had taken her from him without any
trouble at all. It was strange, he reflected abstractly, that some-
one who had as little to brag of as he did spent so much time
trying to pretend he was immortal. He should have known
better. God knew he had been given every conceivable oppor-
tunity to outgrow his arrogance.

Real heroes were not arrogant. Who could have called

No Other Way                 411

Berek arrogant? Or Mhoram? Foamfollower? The list went
on and on, all of them humble. Even Hile Troy had finally
given up his pride. Only people like Covenant himself were
arrogant enough to believe that the outcome of the Earth de-
pended on their purblind and fallible choices. Only people
like himself. And Lord Foul. Those who were capable of
Despite and chose to refuse it And those who did not Lin-
den had told him any number of times that he was arrogant.

That was why he had to defeat Lord Foul—why the task
devolved on him alone.

Any minute now, he told himself. Any minute now he was
going to get up from the floor of his house and go exchange
himself for Joan. He had put it off long enough. She was not
arrogant—not really. She did not deserve what had happened
to her. She had simply never been able to forgive herself for
her weaknesses, her limitations.

Then he wanted to laugh. It would have done him a world
of good to laugh. He was not so different from Joan after all.
The only real difference was that he had been summoned to
the Land while it was still able to heal him—and while he
was still able to know what that meant He was sane—if he
was sane—by grace, not by virtue.

In a sense, she actually was arrogant. She placed too much
importance on her own faults ana failures. She had never
learned to let them go.

He had never learned that lesson either. But he was trying.
Dear God, he was trying. Any minute now, he was going to
take her place in Lord Foul's fire. He was going to let every-
thing go.

But somehow the floor did not feel right. The murmurous
invocation that filled his ears and his lungs and his bones
called on a name that did not sound like the Despiser's. It
perplexed him, seemed to make breathing difficult. He had
forgotten something.

Wearily, he opened his eyes, blinked at the blurring of his
vision, and remembered where he was.

Then be thought that surely his heart would fail. His bruises
throbbed in his skull. He had received them from Cavewights,
not from Joan's captors. He did not have long to live.

He lay near the center of a large cave with rough walls
and a ragged ceiling. The air smelled thickly of rocklight,

412 White Gold Wielder

which burned from special stones set into the walls at careless
intervals. The cave was crudely oval in shape; it narrowed at
both ends to dark, unattainable tunnels. The odor of the rock-
light was tinged with a scent of ancient moldering—rot so old
that it had become almost clean again.

It came from a large, high mound nearby. The heap looked
like a barrow, as if something revered had been buried there.
But it was composed entirely of bones. Thousands of skeletons
piled in one place. Most of them had been set there so long
ago that they had decomposed to fine gray dust, no longer of
interest even to maggots. But the top of the mound was more
recent. None of the skeletons were whole: all had been either
broken in death or dismembered afterward. Even the newer
ones had been cleaned of fiesh. However, a few of them still
oozed from the marrow.

They were not human bones, or ur-vile. Cavewight, then.
Apparently, the creatures that the First and Pitchwife had
slain had already been added to the mound.

The murmuring went on without let, as if dozens or hun-
dreds of predators were growling to themselves. He felt that
sound like the touch of panic in his vitals. Some name was
being repeated continuously, whispered or muttered at every
pitch and pace; but he could not distinguish it. Heat and
sound and rocklight squeezed sweat from the sore bones of
his head.

He was surrounded by Cavewights. Most of them squatted
near the walls, their knees jutting at their ears, their hot eyes
glowing. Others appeared to be dancing about the mound,
storklike and graceless on their long legs. Their hands at-
tacked the air like spades. They all murmured and murmured,
incantatory and hypnotic. He had no idea what they were
saying, or how much longer he would be lulled, snared.

He was afraid—so afraid that his fear became a kind of
lucidity. Not afraid for himself. He had met that particular
terror in the Banefire and burned it to purity. These creatures
were only Cavewights, the weak-minded and malleable chil-
dren of Mount Thunder's gutrock, and Lord Foul had mas-
tered them long ago. They could hardly hope to come between
Covenant and the Despiser. Though the way to it was hard,
his purpose was safe.

But in a small clear space against one wall sat Linden. He

No Other Way                 413

saw her with the precision of his fear. Her right shoulder
leaned on the stone. With her arms, she hugged her knees to
her chest like a lorn child. Her head was bowed; her hair had
fallen forward, hiding her face. But the side of her neck was
bare. It gleamed, pale and vulnerable, in the red-orange illu-
mination.

Black against the pallor, dried blood marked her skin. It
led in a crusted trail from behind her left ear down to the
collar of her shirt.

She, too—1 A tremor of grief went through him. She, too,
had been made to match the physical condition of the body
she had left behind in the woods behind Haven Farm.
- They did not have much time left.

He would have cried out, if he had possessed the strength.
Not much time—and to spend it like this! He wanted to hold
her in bis arms, make her understand that he loved her—that
no death or risk of ruin comd desecrate what she meant to
him. Lena had once tried to comfort him by singing. The soul
in which the flower grows survives. He wanted—

But perhaps the blow she had been struck had been harder
than either of them had realized, and she also was about to
die. Killed like Seadreamer because she had tried to save him.
And even if she did not die, she would believe that she had
lost him to despair. In Andelain^EIena had told him to Care
for her. So that in the end she may heal us all. He had failed
at that as at so many other things.

Linden. He tried to say her name, but no sound came. A
spasm of remorse twisted his face, made his bruises throb.
Ignoring the pain, the fathomless ache of his exhaustion, he
levered his elbows under him and strove to pry his weakness
off the stone.

A rough kick pitched him onto his back, closer to the
mound of bones. Gasping, he looked up into the leer of a
Cavewight.

"Be still, accursed!" the creature spat. "Punishment comes.
Punishment and apocalypse! Do not hasten it."

Cavorting grotesquely on his gangly limbs, he resumed his
muttering and danced away.

Covenant wrestled for breath and squirmed onto his side to
look toward Linden again.

She was facing him now, had turned toward him when the

414 White Gold Wielder

Cavewight spoke. Her visage was empty of blood, of hope.
The gaze she cast at him, was stark with abuse and dumb
pleading. Her hands clasped each other uselessly. Her eyes
seemed as dark and hollow as wounds.

She must have looked like that when she was a child, locked
in the attic with her father while he died.

He fought for his voice, croaked her name through the
manifold invocation of the Cavewights. But she did not ap-
pear to hear him. Slowly, she dropped her head, lowered her
gaze to the failure of her hands.

He could not go to her. He hardly knew where he might
find enough strength to stand. And the Cavewights would not
let him move. He had no way to combat them except with bis
ring—the wild magic he could not use. He and she were pris-
oners completely. And there was no name that either'of them
might call upon for rescue. '

No name except the Despiser's.

Covenant hoped like madness that Lord Foul would act
quickly.

But perhaps Lord Foul would not act. Perhaps he permitted
the Cavewights to work their will, hoping that Covenant
would once again be forced to power. Perhaps he did not un-
derstand—was incapable of understanding—the certainty of
Covenant's refusal.

The throaty chant of the Cavewights was changing: the in-
cessant various repetitions were shifting toward unison. One
creature started a slightly sharper inflection, a more specific
cadence; and his immediate neighbors fell into rhythm with
him. Cavewight by Cavewight, the unison spread until the in-
voked name took Covenant by surprise, jolted alarm through
him.

He knew that name.

Drool Rockworm.

More than three millennia ago. Drool Rockworm of the
Cavewights had recovered the lost Staff of Law—and had
conceived a desire to rule the Earth. But he had been too un-
skilled in lore to master what he had found. In seduction or
folly, he had turned to the Despiser for knowledge. And Lord
Foul had used the Cavewight for his own purposes.

Drool Rockworm.

First he had persuaded Drool to summon Covenant, luring

No Other Way                415

the Cavewight with promises of white gold. Then he had
snatched Covenant away, sent the Unbeliever instead to the
Council of Lords. And the Lords bad responded by chal-
lenging Drool's power. Sneaking into the Wightwarrens, they
had taken the Staff from him, had called down the Fire-Lions
of Mount Thunder to destroy him.

Thus armed, they had thought themselves victorious. But
they had only played into the Despiser's bands. They had rid
him of Drool, thereby giving him access to the terrible bane
he desired—the Illearth Stone. And from that time forward
the Cavewights had been forced to serve him like puppets.

Drool Rockworm.

The name vibrated like add in the air. The rocldight
throbbed. All the Cavewights held themselves still. Their laval
eyes focused on what they were invoking.

Beside Covenant, an eerie glow began to leak from the
mound of bones. Sick red flames licked like swampfire around
the pile. Fragments of bone seemed to waver and melt as if
they were passing into hallucination.

Suddenly, he no longer believed that these creatures served
the Despiser.

Drool Rockworm!

"Covenant." Linden's voice reached between the beats o(
the name. She had come out of^herself, drawn by what the
Cavewights were doing. 'There's something—" Fiercely, she
struggled to master her despair. "They're bringing it to life.**

Covenant winced in dismay. But he did not doubt her. The
Law that protected the living had been broken. Any horror
might now be summoned past the barrier of death, given the
will—and the power. The mound squirmed with fires and
gleamings like a monstrous cocoon, decay and dust ia the
throes of birth.

Then one of the Cavewights moved. He strode across the
chant toward Covenant. "Rise, accursed," he demanded. His
eyes were as feral as his grin. "Rise for blood and torment"

Covenant stared whitely up at him, did not obey.

"Rise!" the creature raged. With one spatulate hand, he
grabbed Covenant's arm and nearly dislocated it yanking him
to his feet.

Covenant bit down panic and pain. "You're going to regret
thisi" He had to shout to make himself heard. The invocation

White Gold Wielder

416

pounded in his chest "Foul wants mel Do you think you can
defy him and get away with it?"

"Hal" barked the Cavewight as if he were close to ecstasy.
"We are too wily! He does not know us. We have learned.
Learned. Him so wise." For an instant, all the voices shared
his contempt. Drool Rockworm! "He is blind. Believes we have
not found you." The creature spat wildness instead of laugh-
ter.

Then he wrenched Covenant around to face the mound.
Linden groaned Covenant's name. He heard a thud as one of
the creatures silenced her. His arm was gripped by fingers
that knew how to break stone.

Flames began to writhe like ghouls across the mound, cast-
ing anguish toward the roof of the cave.

"Witness!" the Cavewight grated. "The Wightbarrowl"

The invocation took on a timbre of lust.

*'We have served and served. Forever we have served. Chat-
tel. Fodder. Sacrifice. And no reward. Do this. Do that Dig.
Run. Die. No reward. None!

"Now he pays. Punishment and apocalypse^

The Cavewights* virulence staggered Covenant. The muscles
of his arm were being crushed. But he shut his mind to every-
thing else. Groping for a way to save Linden's life if not his
own, he protested hoarsely, "How? He's the Despiseri He'U
tear your hearts out!"

But the Cavewights were beyond fear. •'Witness!" Cove-
nant's captor repeated. "See it Fire. Life! The Wightbarrow
of Drool Rockwormi"

Drool Rockworm, hammered the chant. Drool Rockwormi

"From the dead. We have learned. Bloodshed. Sunbane.
Law broken. The blood of the accursed!" He almost capered
in his exultation. "You!"

His free hand clasped a long spike of rock like a dagger.

In litany, he shouted, "Blood brings powert Power brings
life! Drool Rockworm rises! Drool takes ring! Ring crashes
Despiser! Cavewights are free! Punishment and apocalypsel"

Brandishing his spike at Covenant's face, he added, "Soon.
You are the accursed. Bringer of ruin. Your blood shed upon
the Wightbarrow." The side of the spike stroked Covenant's
stiff cheek. "Soon."

Covenant heard Linden pant as she struggled for breath,

No Other Way

417

"Bones—" He winced, expecting her to be hit again. But still
she tried to make him hear her. "The bones—"

Her voice was congested with effort and intention; but he
had no idea what she meant.

The flames worming through the mound made his skin
crawl; yet he could not look away from them. Perhaps every-
thing he had decided or understood was false, Foul-begotten.
Perhaps the Banefire had been too essentially corrupt to give
him any kind of trustworthy caamora. How could he tell? He
could not see.

The pain in his arm made his head reel. The rocklight
seemed to yell orange-red heat, stoking the fire in the Wight-
barrow. He had lost the First and Pitchwife and Vain, had
lost Andelain itself. Now he was about to lose his life and
Linden and everything because there was no middle ground,
no wild magic without ruin. She was whispering his name, but
it no longer made any difference.

His balance drifted, and he found himself staring emptily
at the stone on which he barely stood. It was the only part of
the floor that had been purposefully shaped. The Cavewight
had placed him in the center of a round depression like a
basin. Its shallow sides had been rubbed smooth and polished
until they reflected rocklight around him like burnished metal.

From between his feet, a narrow trough led straight under
the mound. A trough to channel his blood toward what re-
mained of Drool Rockworm's bones. Fire rose hungrily
toward the ceiling.

Abruptly, the invocation was cut off, slashed out of the
air as if by the stroke of a blade. Its sudden cessation seemed
to leave him deaf. He jerked up his head.

The spike was poised to strike like a fang at the middle of
his chest. He planted bis feet, braced himself to try to twist
away, make one last effort for life.

But the blow did not fall. The Cavewight was not looking
at him. None of the creatures were looking at him. Around
the cave, they surged upright in outrage and fear.

An instant later, he recovered his hearing as the clamor of
battle resounded past the Wightbarrow.

Into the cave charged the First and Pitchwife.

They were alone; but they attacked as if they were as
potent as an army.

418 White Gold Wielder

Surprise made them momentarily irresistible. She was
battered and weary; but her longsword flashed in her hands
like red lightning, hit with the force of thunder. The Cave-
wights went down before her like wheat in a storm. Pitchwife
followed at her back with a battle-axe in each hand and
fought as if he were not wounded and scarcely able to draw
breath. Bright galls scored her sark where the mail had
deflected blows; his dripped blood where cudgels had crushed
it into his flesh. Exertion sheened their faces and limbs.

The Cavewights moiled against them in frenzy.

The creatures were too frantic to fight effectively. They
hampered each other, blocked their own efforts. The First
and Pitchwife were halfway to the Wightbarrow before the
sheer pressure of numbers stopped them.

But there the impetus of combat shifted. Desperation
rallied the Cavewights. And the widening of the cave allowed
the Giants to be surrounded, assailed from all sides. Their
attempted rescue was valiant and doomed. la moments, they
would be overwhelmed.

Sensing their opportunity, the creatures became less wild.
Their mountain-delving strength dealt out blows which forced
the First and Pitchwife back-to-back, drove them to fight
defensively, for bare survival.

Covenant's captor faced him again. The Cavewight's laval
eyes burned flame and fury. Rocklight gleamed on his spike
as he cocked his arm to stab out Covenant's life.

Hoarse with panic and insight. Linden yelled, "The bones!
Get the bones!"

At once, one of the creatures hit her so hard that she
sprawled into the basin at Covenant's feet. She lay there,
stunned and twisted. He feared her back had been broken.

But the Cavewights understood her if he did not. A sound
like a wail shrilled across the combat. They fought with
redoubled fever. The spike aimed at Covenant wavered as
the Cavewight looked fearfully toward the fray.

Covenant could not see the First or Pitchwife through the
fierce press. But suddenly her shout sprang at the ceiling—
the tantara of a Swordmain summoning her last resources:

"Stone and Sea!"

And the throng of Cavewights seemed to rupture as if she
had become a detonation. Abandoning Pitchwife, she crashed

No Other Way                 419

past the creatures, shed them from her arms and shoulders
like rubble. In a spray of blood, she hacked her way toward
the Wightbarrow.

Pitchwife could have been slain then. But he was not. His
assailants hurled themselves after the First. His axes bit into
their backs as he followed her.

The wailing scaled into a shriek when she reached the
mound.

Snatching up a bone, she whirled to face her attackers. The
bone shed flame like a fagot; but her Giantish fingers bore
the pain and did not flinch.

Instantly, all the creatures froze. Silence seized their cries;

horror locked their limbs.

Pitchwife wrenched one axe out of the spine of a Cave-
Wight, raised his weapons to parry blows. But none came. He
was ignored. Retching for air, he thrust through the crowd
toward the First No one moved.

He limped to her side, dropped one axe, and grasped
another burning bone. The paralysis of the Cavewights
tightened involuntarily. Their eyes pleaded. Some of them
began to shiver in chill panic.

By threatening the mound, the First and Pitchwife en-
dangered the only thing which had given these creatures
the courage to defy Lord Foul.

Covenant struggled against his captor, tried to reach Linden.
But the Cavewigbt did not release him, seemed oblivious to
his efforts—entranced by fear.

Stooping, the First wiped the blood from her glaive on the
nearest body. Then she sheathed the longsword and took up
a second bone. Fire spilled over her hands, but she paid it
no heed. "Now," she panted through her teeth. "Now you
will release the Earthfriend."

The Cavewight locked his fingers around Covenant's arm
and did not move. A few creatures at the fringes of the press
shifted slightly, moaned in protest.

Abruptly, Linden twitched. With a jerk, she thrust herself
out of the basin. When she got her feet under her, she
staggered and stumbled as if the floor were tilting. Yet
somehow she kept her balance. Her eyes were glazed with
anger and extremity. She had been pushed too far. Half
lurching, she passed behind Covenant.

420 White Gold Wielder

Among the Cavewights crouching there, she found a loose
truncheon. It was almost too heavy for her to lift. Gripping
its handle in both hands, she heaved it from the floor, raised
it above her head, and brought it down on the wrist of the
creature holding Covenant.

He heard a dull snapping noise. The Cavewight's fingers
were torn from his arm.

The creature yowled. Madly, he cocked the spike to stab it
down at Linden's face.

"Hold!" The First's command rang through the cave. She
thrust one foot into the mound, braced herself to kick dust
and fragments across the floor.

The Cavewight froze in renewed terror.

Slowly, she withdrew her foot A faint sigh of relief
soughed around the walls of the cave.

Pain lanced through Covenant's elbow, knifed into his
shoulder. For a moment, he feared that he would not be
able to stand. The clutch of the Cavewight bad damaged
his arm; the blood pounding back into it felt like acid. The
cave seemed to roar in his ears. He heard no other sound
except Pitchwife's harsh respiration.

But he had to stand, had to move. The Giants deserved
better than this from him. Linden and the Land deserved
better. He could not afford such weakness. It was only pain
and vertigo, as familiar to him as an old friend. It had no
power over him unless he was afraid—unless he let himself
be afraid. If he held up his heart, even despair was as good
as courage or strength.

That was the center, the point of stillness and certainty.
Briefly, he rested. Then he let the excruciation in his arm lift
him out of the basin.

Linden came to him. Her touch made his body totter; but
inwardly he did not lose his balance. She would stop him if
he proved himself wrong. But be was not wrong. Together,
they moved toward the Giants.

Pitchwife did not look up from his gasping. His lips were
flecked with red spittle; his exertions had torn something in
his chest. But the First gave Covenant and Linden a nod of
greeting. Her gaze was as grim as a hawk's. "You gladden
me!" she muttered. "I had not thought to behold you again
alive. It is well that these simple creatures do not glance
often behind them. Thus we were able to follow when we had

No Other Way

421

foiled our pursuers. What dire rite do they seek to practice
against you?"

Linden answered for Covenant, "They're trying to bring
an old leader back from the dead. He's buried under there
somewhere." She grimaced at the Wightbarrow. "They want
Covenant's blood and the ring. They think this dead leader'!!
free them from Foul. We've got to get out of here."

"Aye," growled the First. Her eyes assayed the Cavewights.
"But they are too many. We cannot win free by combat. We
must entrust ourselves to the sanctity of these bones."

Covenant thought he smelted the faint reek of charring
flesh. But he had no health-sense, could not tell how seriously
the Giants' hands were being hurt.

"My husband," the First gritted, "will you lead us?"

Pitchwife nodded. A moment of coughing brought more
blood to his lips. Yet he rallied. When he raised his head,
the look in his eyes was as fierce as hers.

With a bone flaming like a brand in one hand, an axe in
the other, he started toward the nearer mouth of the cave.

At once, a snarl sharpened the air, throbbing from many
throats. A shiver ran through the Cavewights. The ones
farthest from the Wightbarrow advanced slightly, placed
themselves to block Pitchwife's path. Others tightened their
hands on their weapons.        '"

"No!" Linden snapped at Pitchwife. "Come back!"

He retreated. When he reached the mound, the Cave-
wights froze again.

Covenant blinked at Linden. He felt too dizzy to think.
He knew he ought to understand what was happening. But
it did not make sense.

"What means this. Chosen?" the First asked like iron. "Are
we snared in this place for good and all?"

Linden replied with a look toward Covenant as if she were
begging him for courage. Then, abruptly, she wrapped her
arms around her chest and strode away from the mound.

The First breathed a sharp warning. Linden's head flinched
from side to side. But she did not stop. Deliberately, she
moved among the Cavewights.

She was alone and small and vulnerable in their midst. Her
difficult bravery was no defense; any one of them could have
felled her with one blow. But none of them reacted. She
squeezed between two of them, passed behind a poised

422 White Gold Wielder

cluster, walked halfway to the cavemouth. Their eyes re-
mained fixed on the First and Pitchwife—on the bones and
the Wightbarrow.

As she moved, she raised her head, grew bolder. The
vindication of her percipience fortified her. Less timorously,
she made her way back to her companions.

Rocklight burned in Covenant's eyes. The First and Pitch-
wife stared at Linden. Grimly, she explained, *They won't
move while you threaten the mound. They need it. It's their
reason—the only answer they've got." Then she faltered; and
her gaze darkened at the implications of what she was say-
ing. "That's why they won't let us take any of the bones
out of here."

For one moment—a piece of time as acute as anguish—
the First looked beaten, overcome by everything she had
already lost and would still be required to lose. Honninscrave
and Seadreamer had been dear to her. Pitchwife was her
husband. Covenant and Linden and life were precious. Her
sternness broke down, exposing a naked hurt. Both her
parents had. given their lives for her, and she had become
what she was by grief.

Yet she was the First of the Search, chosen for her ability
to bear hard decisions. Almost at once, her visage closed
around itself. Her hands knotted as if they were hungry for
the fire of the bones.

"Then," she responded stimy, "I must remain to menace
this mould, so that you may depart." She swallowed a lump of
sorrow. "Pitchwife, you must accompany them. They will
have need of your strength. And I must believe that you live."

At that, Pitchwife burst into a spasm of coughing. A
moment passed before Covenant realized that the malformed
Giant was trying to laugh.

"My wife, you jest," he said at last. "I have found my
own reply to doubt. The Chosen has assigned me to your
side. Do not credit that the song which the Giants will sing
of this day will be sung of you alone."

"I am the First of the Search!" she retorted. "I command—"

"You are Gossamer Glowlimn, the spouse of my heart."
His mouth was bloody; but his eyes gleamed. "I am proud
of you beyond all endurance. Demean not your high courage
with foolishness. Neither Earthfriend nor Chosen has any
need of my accompaniment. They are who they are—and

No Other Way                 423

wfll not fail. I am sworn to you in love and fealty, and I
will remain."

She glared at him as if she were in danger of weeping
openly. "You will die. I have borne all else until my heart
breaks. Must I bear that also?"

"No." Around Covenant, the rock seemed to spin and fade
as if Mount Thunder itself were on the verge of dissolution;

but he clung to the center of his mortality and stood certain,
an alloy in human flesh and bone of wild magic and venom,
life and death. "No," he repeated when the First and Pitch-
wife met his gaze. 'There's no reason for either of you to die.
K won't take long. Kiril Threndor can't be very far from
here. AH I have to do is get there. Then it'll be over, one way
or the other. All you have to do is hang on until I get there."

Then Pitchwife did laugh, and his face lifted with gladness.
There, my wifel" he chortled. "Have I not said that they are
who they are? Accept that I am with you, and be content."
Abruptly, he dropped his axe. drew out his last fagot and lit
ft from the Wightbarrow, handed the sputtering wood to
Linden. "Begone!" he gleamed, "ere I become maudlin at
the witnessing of such valor. Fear nothing for us. We will
hold and hold until the mountain itself is astonished, and still
We will hold. Begone. I sayl"

**Aye, begone," growled the First as if she were angry; but
her tears belied her tone. "I must have opportunity to in-
ptruct this Pitchwife in the obedience which is his debt to
me First of the Search."

Covenant wanted words, but none came to hum. What
could he have said? He had made his promises long ago, and
they covered everything. He rubbed the heels of his hands into
his eyes to clear bis sight Then he turned toward Linden,

If he had spoken, he would have asked her to stay with
fte Giants. He had never forgotten the shock of her inter-
vention in the woods behind Haven Farm. And he had not
loved her then. Now everything was multiplied to the acuteness
of panic. He did not know how he might preserve the bare
shreds and tatters of dignity—not to mention clear courage
or conviction—if she accompanied tiirn.

But the look of her silenced him. She was baffled and
perceptive, frightened and brave; terrified of Cavewights
and Lord Foul, and yet avid for a chance to stand against
mem; mortal, precious, and irrefusable. Her face bad lost

424 White Gold Wielder

its imposed severity, had become in spite of wear and strain
as soft as her mouth and eyes. Yet its underlying structure
remained precise, indomitable. The sad legacy of her parents
had led her to what she was—but the saddest thing about
her was that she did not understand how completely she had
transformed that legacy, had made of herself something
necessary and admirable. She deserved a better outcome
than this. But he had nothing else to offer her.

She held his gaze as if she wanted to match him—and
feared she could not. Then she tightened her grip on her
torch and stepped out among the clenched Cavewights.

She had read them accurately: any threat to the Wight-
barrow outweighed all other considerations. When Covenant
left the First and Pitchwife, a raw muttering aggravated the
rocklight. Several Cavewights shifted their positions, raised
their weapons. But the First poised one foot to begin
scattering the mound; and the creatures went rigid again.
Covenant let weakness and fear and pain carry him like hope
toward the mouth of the cave.

"Go well, Earthfriend." the First breathed after them,
"hold faith. Chosen," as if she had become impervious to
doubt. Pitchwife's faint chuckling was torn and frayed; but
it followed Covenant and Linden like an affirmation of
contentment.

Barely upright on his feet. Covenant made his way past the
Cavewights. Their eyes flamed outrage and loss at him; but
they did not take the risk of striking out. The cave narrowed
to a tunnel at its end, and Linden began to hurry. He did his
best to keep up with her. The vulnerable place between his
shoulderblades seemed to feel the Cavewights turning to
hurl their truncheons; but he entrusted himself to the Giants,
did not look back. In a moment, he left the rocklight behind.
Linden's torch led him back into the darkness of the cata-
combs.

At the first intersection, she turned as if she knew where
she was going. Covenant caught up with her, put his hand on
her arm to slow her somewhat She acceded, but continued
to bear herself as though she were being harried by unseen
wings in Mount Thunder's immeasurable midnight. As her
senses hunted the way ahead for peril or guidance, she began
to mutter—to herself or to him, he could not tell which.

"They're wrong. They don't know enough. Whatever they

No Other Way                 423

brought back from the dead, it wasn't going to be Drool
Rockworm. Not just another Cavewight. Something monstrous.

"Blood brings power. They had to kill someone. But what
Caer-CaveraI did for Hollian can't be done here. It only
worked because they were in Andelain. And Andelain was
intact. All that concentrated Earthpower. Concentrated and
clean. Whatever those Cavewights resurrected, it was going
to be abominable."

When he understood that she was not talking about the
Cavewights and Drool—that she was trying to say something
rise entirely—Covenant stumbled. His throbbing arm struck
the wall of the passage, and he nearly lost his balance. Pain
made his arm dangle as if it were being dragged down by
the inconceivable weight of his ring. She was talking about
the hope which he had never admitted to himself—the hope
that if he died he, too, might be brought back.

"Linden—" He did not wish to speak, to argue with her.
They had so little time left. Fire gnawed up and down his
arm. He needed to husband his determination. But she had
already gone too far in his name. Swallowing his weakness,
he said, "I don't want to be resurrected.'*

She did not look at him. Roughly, he went on, "You're
going to go back to your own life. Sometime soon. And I
won't get to go with you. You know it's too late to save me.
Not back there. Where we come from, that kind of thing
doesn't happen. Even if I'm resurrected, I won't get to go
; with you.

;   "If I can't go with you"—he told her the truth as well as
; he could—"I'd rather stay with my friends. Mhoram and
' Foamfollower." Elena and Banner. Honninscrave. And the
;• wait for Sunder and Hollian would not seem long to him.

g   She refused to hear him. "Maybe not," she rasped. "Maybe
' we can still get back in time. I couldn't save you before
because your spirit wasn't there—your will to live. If you
would Just stop giving up, we might still have a chance." Her
voice was husky with thwarted yearning. "You're bruised and
exhausted. I don't know how you stay on your feet. But you
haven't been stabbed yet." Her gaze flashed toward the faint
scar in the center of his chest. "You don't have to die."

But be saw the grief in her eyes and knew that she did not
believe her own protestation.

He drew her to a halt. With his good hand, he wrested his

426 White Gold Wielder

wedding band from its finger. His touch was cold and numb,
as if he had no idea what he was doing. Fervent and silent
as a prayer, he extended the ring toward her. Its unmarred
argent cast glints of the wavering torchlight.

At once, tears welled in her eyes. Streaks of reflected fire
flowed down the lines which severity and loss had left on
either side of her mouth. But she gave the ring no more
than a glance. Her gaze clung to his countenance. "No," she
whispered. "Not while I can still hope."

Abruptly, she moved on down the passage.

Sighing rue and relief like a man who had been reprieved
or damned and did not know the difference—did not care if
there were no difference—he thrust the ring back into place
and followed her.

The timnel became as narrow as a mere crack in the rock,
then widened into a complex of junctions and chambers. The
torch barely lit the walls and ceiling; it revealed nothing of
what lay ahead. But from one passage came a breeze like a
scent of evil that made Linden wince; and she turned that
way. Covenant's hearing ached as he struggled to discern the
sounds of pursuit or danger. But he lacked her percipience;

he had to trust her.

The tunnel she had chosen angled downward until he
thought that even vertigo would not be strong enough to keep
him upright. Darkness and stone piled tremendously around
him. The torch continued to bum down. It was half con-
sumed already. Somewhere beyond the mountain, the Land
lay in day or night; but he had lost all conception of time.
Time had no meaning here, in the lightless unpity of Lord
Foul's demesne. Only the torch mattered—and Linden's pale-
knuckled grasp on the brand—and the fact that he was not
alone. For good or ill, redemption or ruin, he was not alone.
There was no other way.

Without warning, the walls withdrew, and a vast im-
pression of space opened above his head. Linden stopped,
searched the dark. When she lifted the torch, he saw that
the tunnel had emerged from the stone, leaving them at the
foot of a blunt gutrock cliff. Chill air tingled against his
cheek. The cliff seemed to go straight up forever. She looked
at him as if she were lost. The scant fire made her eyes
appear hollow and brutalized.

A short distance from the tunnel's opening rose a steep

No Other Way                 427

slope of shale, loam, and refuse—too steep and yielding to
be climbed. He and Linden were in the bottom of a wide

-crevice. Something high up in the dark had collapsed any
number of millennia ago, filling half the floor of the chasm
with debris.

Memories flocked at him out of the enclosed night: recogni-
tions ran like cold sweat down his spine. All his skin felt
clammy and diseased. This looked like the place— The place
where he had once fallen, with an ur-vile struggling to bite
off his ring and no light anywhere, nothing to defend him
from the ambush of madness except his stubborn insistence
on himself. But that defense was no longer of any use. Kiril
Threndor was not far away. Lord Foul was close.

"This way." Linden gestured toward the left, along the
sheer wall. Her voice sounded dull, half stupefied by the
effort of holding onto her courage. Her senses told her things
that appalled her. Though his own perceptions were fatally

'truncated, he felt the potential for hysteria creep upward in
her. But instead of screaming she became scarcely able to
move. How virulent would Lord Foul be to nerves as vulner-

' able as hers? Covenant was at least protected by his numbness.
But she had no protection, might as well have been naked.

- She had known too much death. She hated it—and ached to

•i share its sovereign power. She belisved that she was evil.
^  In the unsteady torchlight, he seemed to see her already

•falling into paralysis under the pressure of Lord Foul's
^emanations.

|  Yet she still moved. Or perhaps the Despiser's will coerced
| her. Dully, she walked in the direction she had indicated.

!He joined her. AH his joints were stiff with pleading. Hang
on. You have the right to choose. You don't have to be
trapped like this. Nobody can take away your right to
choose. But he could not work the words into his locked
throat. They were stifled by the accumulation of bis owa
dread.

Dread which ate at the rims of his certainty, eroded the
place of stillness and conviction where he stood. Dread that
he was wrong.

The air was as damp and dank as compressed sweat. Shiver-
ing in the chill atmosphere, he accompanied Linden along
the bottom of the chasm and watched the volition leak out
of her until she was barely moving.

428 White Gold Wielder

Then she stopped. Her head slumped forward. The torch
hung at her side, nearly burning her hand. He prayed her
name, but she did not respond. Her voice trickled like blood
between her lips:

"Ravers."

And the steep slope beside them arose as if she had
called it to life.

Two of them: creatures of scree and detritus from the
roots of the mountain. They were nearly as tall as Giants, but
much broader. They looked strong enough to crush boulders
in their massive arms. One of them struck Covenant a stone
blow that scattered him to the floor. The other impelled
Linden to the wall.

Her torch fell, guttered and went out. But the creatures
did not need that light. They emitted a ghastly luminatioa
that made their actions as vivid as atrocities.

One stood over Covenant to prevent him from rising. The
other confronted Linden. It reached for her. Her face
stretched to scream, but even her screams were paralyzed.
She made no effort to defend herself.

With a gentleness worse than any violence, the creature
began to unbutton her shirt.

Covenant gagged for breath. Her extremity was more than
he could bear. Every inch of him burned for power. Suddenly,
he no longer cared whether his attacker would strike him
again. He rolled onto his chest, wedged his knees under him,
tottered to his feet. His attacker raised a threatening arm.
He was battered and frail, barely able to stand. Yet the
passion raging from him halted the creature in midblow,
forced it to retreat a step. It was a Raver, sentient and
accessible to fear. It understood what his wild magic would
do, if he willed.

His half-hand trembling, he pointed at the creature in
front of Linden. It stopped at the last buttons. But it did
not turn away.

"I'm warning you." His voice spattered and scorched like
hot acid. "Foul's right about this. If you touch her, I don't
care what else I destroy. I'll rip your soul to atoms. You
won't live long enough to know whether I break the Arch or
not."

The creature did not move. It seemed to be daring him
to unleash his white gold.

No Other Way                 429

'Try me," he breathed on the verge of eruption. "Just
try me."

Slowly, the creature lowered its arms. Backing carefully,
it retreated to stand beside its fellow.

A spasm went through Linden. All her muscles convulsed
in torment or ecstasy. Then her head snapped up. The dire
glow of the creatures flamed from her eyes.

She looked straight at Covenant and began to laugh.

The laughter of a ghoul, mirthless and cruel.

"Slay me then, groveler!" she cried. Her voice was as
shrill as a shriek. It echoed hideously along the crevice. "Rip
my soul to atomsl Perchance it will pleasure you to savage
the woman you love as well!"

The Raver had taken possession of her. and there was
nothing in all the world that he could do about it.

He nearly fell then. The supreme evil had come upon her,
and he was helpless. The ill that you deem most terrible. Even
if he had groveled entirely, abject and suppliant, begging the
Ravers to release her, they would only have laughed at him.
Now in all horror and anguish there was no other way—
could be no other way. He cried out at himself, at his head
to rise, his legs to uphold him, his back to straighten. Sea-
dreameri he panted as if that were the liturgy of his con-
viction, his fused belief. Honninscrave. Hamako. Hile Troy.
All of them had given themselves. There was no other way.

"All right," he grated. The sound of his voice in the chasm
almost betrayed him to rage; but he clamped down his wild
magic, refused it for the last time, "Take me to Foul. I'll
give him the ring."

No way except surrender.

The Raver in Linden went on laughing wildly.

NINETEEN; Hold Possession

SHE was not laughing.

Laughter came out of her mouth. It sprang from her
corded throat to scale like gibbering up into the black abyss.
Her lungs drew the air which became malice and glee. Her
face was contorted like the vizard of a demon—or the rictus
of her mother's asphyxiation.

But she was not laughing. It was not Linden Avery who
laughed.

It was the Raver.

It held possession of her as completely as if she had been
born for its use, formed and nurtured for no other purpose
than to provide flesh for its housing, limbs for its actions,
lungs and throat for its malign joy. It bereft her of will and
choice, voice and protest At one time, she had believed that
her hands were trained and ready, capable of healing—a
physician's hands. But now she had no hands with which
to grasp her possessor and fight it. She was a prisoner in her
own body and fee Raver's evil.

And that evil excoriated every niche and nerve of her being.
It was heinous and absolute beyond bearing. It consumed her
with its memories and purposes, crushed her independent
existence with the force of its ancient strength. It was the
corruption of the Sunbane mapped and explicit in her per-
sonal veins and sinews. It was the revulsion and desire which
had secretly ruled her life, the passion for and against death.
It was the fetid halitus of the most diseased mortality con-
densed to its essence and elevated to the transcendence of
prophecy, promise, suzerain truth—the definitive command-
ment of darkness.

430

Hold Possession

431

All her life, she had been vulnerable to this. It had thronged
into her from her father's stretched laughter, and she had con-
firmed it by stuffing it down her mother's abject throat. Once,
she had flattered herself that she was like the Land under the
Sunbane, helplessly exposed to desecration. But that was
false. The Land was innocent
She was evil.

Its name was moksha Jehannum, and it brought its past
with it. She remembered now as if all its actions were her
own. The covert ecstasy with which it had mastered Marid—
the triumph of the blow that had driven hot iron into Nassic's
human back (and the rich blood frothing at the heat of the
blade)—the cunning which had led moksha to betray its
possession of Marid to her new percipience, so that she and
Covenant would be condemned and Marid would be exposed
to the perverting sun. She remembered bees. Remembered
the apt mimesis of madness in the warped man who had
set a spider to Covenant's neck. She might as well have done
those things herself.

But behind them lay deeper crimes. Empowered by a piece
of the Illearth Stone, she had mastered a Giant She had
named herself Fleshharrower and had led the Despiser's
armies against the Lords. And she had tasted victory when
She had trapped the defenders of me Land between her own
forces and the savage forest of Garro'ting Deep—the forest
| which she hated, had hated for all the long centuries, hated
| in every green leaf and drop of sap from tree to tree—the
| forest which should have been helpless against ravage and
^fire, would have been helpless if some outer knowledge had
not intervened, making possible the interdict of the Colossus
j of the Fall, the protection of the Forestals.

F  Yet she had been tricked into entering the Deep, and so
she had fallen victim to the Deep's guardian, Caerroil Wild-
wood. Unable to free herself, she had been slain in torment
and ferocity on Gallows Howe, and her spirit had been sorely
pressed to keep itself alive.

For that reason among many others, moksha Jehannum
was avid to exact retribution. Linden was only one small
morsel to the Raver's appetite. Yet her possessor savored the
pleasure her futile anguish afforded. Her body it left un-
harmed for its own use. But it violated her spirit as funda-
mentally as rape. And it went on laughing.

432 White Gold Wielder

Her father's laughter, pouring like a flood of midnight
from the old desuetude of the attic; a throng of nightmares
in which she foundered; triumph hosting out of the dire
cavern and plunge which had once been his frail mouth. You
never loved me anyway. Never loved him—or anyone else*
She had not mustered the bare decency to cry aloud as she
strangled her mother, drove that yoor sick woman terrified
and alone into the last dark.

This was what Joan had felt, this appalled and desperate
horror which made no difference of any kind, could not so
much as muffle die sound of malice. Buried somewhere within
herself, Joan had watched her own fury for Covenant's blood,
for the taste of his pain. And now Linden looked out at him
as if through moksha Jehannum's eyes, heard him with ears
that belonged to the Raver. Lit only by the ghoulish emana-
tions of the creatures, he stood in the bottom of the crevice
like a man who had just been maimed. His damaged arm
dangled at his side. Every line of his body was abused with
need and near-prostration. The bruises on his face made his
visage appear misshapen, deformed by the pressures building
inside him. where the wild magic was manacled. Yet his eyes
gleamed like teeth, focused such menace toward the Ravers
that moksha Jebannum's brother had not dared to strike him
again.

"Take me to Poul,'* he said. He had lost his mind. This was
not despair: it was too fierce for despair. It was madness. The
Banefire had cost him his sanity. "I'll give him the ring.'*

His gaze lanced straight into Linden. If she had owned a
voice, she would have cried out

He was smiling like a sacrifice.

Then she found that she did not have to watch him. The
Raver could not require consciousness of her. Its memories
told her that most of its victims had simply fled into mind-
lessness. The moral paralysis which had made her so acces-
sible to moksha Jehannum would protect her now, not from
use but from awareness. All she had to do was let go her final
hold upon her identity. Then she would be spared from wit-
nessing the outcome of Covenant's surrender.

With glee and hunger, the Raver urged her to let go. Her
consciousness fed it, pleased it, sharpened its enjoyment of
her violation. But if she lapsed, it would not need exertion to

Hold Possession                 433

master her. And she would be safe at last—as safe as she had
once been in the hospital during the blank weeks after her
father's suicide—relieved from excruciation, inured to pain—
as safe as death.

There were no other choices left for her to make.

She refused it. With the only passion and strength that
remained to her, she refused it.

She had already failed in the face of Joan's need—been
stricken helpless by the mere sight of Marid's desecration. Gib-
bon's touch had reft her of mind and will. But since then she
had learned to fight.

In the cavern of the One Tree, she had grasped power for
the first time and had used it, daring herself against forces
so tremendous—though amoral—that terror of them had im-
mobilized her until Findail had told her what was at stake.
And in the Hall of Gifts— There samadhi Sheet's nearness
had daunted her, misled her, tossed her in a whirlwind of
palpable ill; she had hardly known where she stood or what
she was doing. But she had not been stripped of choice.

Not, she insisted, careless of whether the Raver heard her.
Because she had been needed. By all her friends. By Covenant
before the One Tree. if not in the Hall of Gifts. And because
she had experienced the flavor of efficacy, had gripped it to
her heart and recognized it for wha.t it was. Power: the
ability to make choices that mattered. Power which came
from no external source, but only from her own intense self.

She would not give it up. Covenant needed her still, though
the Raver's mastery of her was complete and she had no way
to reach him. /'// give him the ring. She could not stop
him. But if she let herself go on down the blind road of her
paralysis, there would be no one left to so much as wish him
stopped. Therefore she bore the pain. Moksha Jehannum
crowded every nerve with nausea, filled every heartbeat with
vitriol and dismay, shredded her with every word and move-
ment. Yet she heeded the call of Covenant's fierce eyes and
flagrant intent. Consciously, she clung to herself and refused
oblivion, remained where the Raver could hurt her and hurt
her, so that she would be able to watch.

And try.

"Will you?" chortled her throat and mouth. "You are
belatedly come to wisdom, groveler." She raged at that

434 White Gold Wielder

epithet: he did not deserve it. But moksha only mocked him
more trenchantly. "Yet your abasement has been perfectly
prophesied. Did you fear for your life among the Cave-
wights? Your fear was apt Anile as the Dead, they would
have slain you—and blithely would the ring have been se-
duced from them. From the moment of your summoning,
all hope has been folly! All roads have led to the Despiser's
triumph, and all struggles have been vain. Your petty—"

"I'm sick of this," rasped Covenant. He was hardly able to
stay on his feet—and yet the sheer force of his determination
commanded the Ravers, sent an inward quailing through
them. "Don't flatter yourselves that I'm going to break down
here." Linden felt moksha's trepidation and shouted at it,
Coward! then gritted her teeth and gagged for bare life as
its fury crashed down on her. But Covenant could not see
what was happening to her, the price she paid for defiance.
Grimly, he went on, "You aren't going to get my ring. You'll
be lucky if he even lets you live when he's finished with me."
His eyes flashed, as hard as hot marble. 'Take me to him.'*

"Most assuredly, groveler," moksha Jehannum riposted.
"I tremble at your will."

Tearing savagery across the grain of Linden*s clinched
consciousness, tfae Raver turned her, sent her forward along
the clear spine of the chasm.

Behind her, the two creatures—both ruled now by moksha^s
brother—set themselves at Covenant's back. But she saw
with the senses of the Raver that they did not hazard touching
him.

He followed her as if be were too weak to do- more than
place one foot in front of the other—and too strong to be
beaten.

The way seemed long: every step, each throb of her heart
was interminable and exquisite agony. The Raver relished her
violation and multiplied it cunningly. From her helpless brain,
moksha drew images and hurled them at her, made them
appear more real than Mount Thunder's imponderable gut-
rock. Marid with his fangs. Joan screaming like a predator
for Covenant's blood, wracked by a Sunbane of the soul. Her
mother's mouth, mucus drooling at the comers—phlegm as
rank as putrefaction from the rot in her lungs. The incisions
across her father's wrists, agape with death and glee. There

Hold Possession                 435

was no end to the ways she could be tortured, if she refused
to let go. Her possessor savored them all.

Yet she held. Stubbornly, uselessly, almost without reason,
she clung to who she was, to the Linden Avery who made
promises. And in the secret recesses of her heart she plotted
moksha Jehannum's downfall

Oh, the way seemed long to her! But she knew, had no
defense against knowing, that for the Raver the distance was
short and eager, little more than a stone's throw along the
black gulf. Then the dank light of Covenant's guards picked
out a stairway cut into the left wall. It was a rude ascent,
roughly hacked from the sheer stone immemorially long ago
and worn blunt by use; but it was wide and safe. The Raver
went upward with strong strides, almost jaunty in its antici-
pation. But Linden watched Covenant for signs of vertigo or
collapse.

His plight was awful. She felt his bruises aching in the
bones of his skull, read the weary limp of bis pulse. Sweat
like fever or failure beaded on his forehead. An ague of
exhaustion made all his movements awkward and imprecise.
Yet he kept going, as rigid of intent as he had been on Haven
Farm when he had walked into the woods to redeem his
ex-wife. His very weakness and imbalance seemed to support
him.

He was entirely out of his mind; and Linden bled for him
while moksha Jehannum raked her with scorn.

The stairway was long and short. It ascended for several
hundred feet and hurt as if it would go on forever without
surcease. The Raver gave her not one fragment or splinter of
respite while it used her body as if she had never been so
healthy and vital. But at last she reached an opening in the
wall, a narrow passage-mouth with rocklight reflecting from
its end. The stairs continued upward; but she entered the
tunnel. Covenant followed her, his guards behind him in
single file.

Heat mounted against her face until she seemed to be
walking into fire; but it meant nothing to moksha. The Raver
was at home in dire passages and brimstone. For a while, all
the patients she had failed to help, all the medical mistakes
she had made beat about her mind, accusing her like furies.
In the false name of life, she was responsible for so much

436 White Gold Wielder

death. Perhaps she had employed it for her own ends. Perhaps
she had introduced pain and loss to her victims, needing them
to suffer so that she would have power and life.

Then the passage ended, and she found herself in the
place where Lord Foul had chosen to wield his machinations.

Kiril Threndor. Heart of Thunder.

Here Kevin Landwaster had come to enact the Ritual of
Desecration. Here Drool Rockworm had recovered the lost
Staff of Law, It was the dark center of all Mount Thunder's
ancient and fatal puissance.

The place where the outcome of the Earth would be
decided.

She knew it with moksha Jehannum's knowledge. The
Raver's whole spirit seemed to quiver in lust and expectation.

The cave was large, a round, high chamber. Entrances
gaped ,lflte mute cries, stretched in eternal pain, around its
circumference. The walls glared rocklight in all directions.
They were shaped entirely into smooth, irregular facets which
cast their illumination like splinters at Linden's eyes. And
that sharp assault was whetted and multiplied by a myriad
keen reflections from the chamber's ceiling. There the stone
gathered a dense cluster of stalactites, as bright and ponderous
as melting metal. Among them swarmed a chiaroscuro of
orange-red gleamings.

But no light seemed to touch the figure that stood on a
low dais in the middle of the time-burnished floor. It rose
there like a pillar, motionless and immune to revelation. It
might have been the back of a statue or a man; perhaps it
was as tall as a Giant. Even the senses of the Raver saw
nothing certainly. It appeared to have no color and no clear
shape or size. Its outlines were blurred as if they transcended
recognition. But it radiated power like a shriek through the
echoing rocklight.

The air reeked of sulfur—a stench so acrid that it would
have brought tears to her eyes if it had not given such
pleasure to her possessor. But under that rank odor lay a
different scent, a smell more subtle, insidious, and consuming
than any brimstone. A smell on which moksha fed like an
addict.

A smell of attar. The sweetness of the grave.
Linden was forced to devour it as if she were reveling.
The force of the figure screamed into her like a shout

Hold Possession                 437

poised to bring down the mountain, rip the vulnerable heart
of the Land to rubble and chaos.

Covenant stood a short distance away from her now, dis-
sociating his plight from hers so that she would not suffer
the consequences of his company. He had no health-sense.
And even if his eyes had been like hers, he might not have been
able to discern what was left of her—might not have seen
the way she cried out to have him beside her. She knew
everything to which he was blind, everything that could have
made a difference to him. Everything except how in his bat-
tered weakness he had become strong enough to stand there
as though be were indefeasible.

With moksfufs perceptions, she saw the two creatures and
the Raver which controlled them leave the chamber. They
were no longer needed. She saw Covenant look at her and
form her name, trying mutely to tell her something that he
could not say and she could not hear. The light flared at her
like a shattered thing, stone trapped in the throes of frag-
mentation, the onset of the last collapse. The stalactites shed
gleams and imminence as if they were about to plunge down
on her. Her unbuttoned shirt seemed to let attar crawl across
her breasts, teasing them with anguish. Heat closed around
her faint thoughts like a fist    *'

And the figure on the dais turned.'

Even moksha Jehannum's senses failed her. They were a
blurred lens through which she saw only outlines that dripped
and ran, features smeared out of focus. She might have been
trying to gauge the figure past the high, hot intervention of
a bonfire. But it resembled a man. Parts of him suggested a
broad chest and muscular arms, a patriarchal beard, a flow-
ing robe. Tall as a Giant, puissant as a mountain, and more
exigent than any conflagration of bloodshed and corruption,
he turned; and his gaze swept Kiril Threndor—swept her and
Covenant as if with a blink he could have brushed them out
of existence.

His eyes were the only precise part of him.

She had seen them before.

Eyes as bitter as fangs, carious and cruel; eyes of deliberate
force, rabid desire; eyes wet with venom and insatiation. In
the woods behind Haven Farm, they had shone out of the
blaze and pierced her to the pit of her soul, measuring and
disdaining every aspect of her as she had crouched in fright.

438 White Gold Wielder

They had required paralysis of her as if it were the first law
of her existence. When she had unlocked her weakness, run
down the hillside to try to save Covenant, they had fixed her
like a promise that she would never be so brave again, never
rise above her mortal contradictions. And now with infinitely
multiplied and flagrant virulence they repeated that promise
and made it true. Reaching past moksha Jehannum to the
clinched relict of her consciousness, they confirmed their
absolute commandment

Never again.

Never.

In response, her voice said, "He has come to cede his ring.
I have brought him to your will,*' and chortled like a burst
of involuntary fear. Even the Raver could not bear its
master's direct gaze and sought to turn that baleful regard
aside.

But for a moment Lord Foul did not look away. His eyes
searched her for signs of defiance or courage. Then he said,
"To you I do not speak." His voice came from the rocklight
and the heat, from the reek of attar and the chiaroscuro of
the stalactites—a voice as deep as Mount Thunder's bones
and veined with savagery. Orange-red facets glittered and
glared in every word. "I have not spoken to you. There was
no need—is none. I speak to set the feet of my hearers upon
the paths I design for them, but your path has been mine from
the first. You have been well bred to serve me, and all your
choices conduce to my ends. To attain that which I have
desired from you has been a paltry exercise, scarce requiring
effort. When I am free"—she heard a grin in the swarming
reflections—"you will accompany me, so that your present
torment may be prolonged forever. I will gladly mark myself
upon such flesh as yours."

With her mouth, the Raver giggled tense and sweating ap-
proval. The Despiser's gaze nailed dismay into her. She was
as abject as she had ever been, and she tried to wail; but no
sound came.

Then she would have let go. But Covenant did not. His
eyes were midnight with rage for her; his passion refused to
be crushed. He looked hardly capable of taking another step
—yet he came to her aid.

"Don't kid yourself," he snapped like a jibe. "You're al-

Hold Possession                 439

ready beaten, and you don't even know it. All these threats
are just pathetic."

Assuredly he was out of bis mind. But his sarcasm shifted
the Despiser toward him. Linden was left to the cunning tor-
tures of her possessor. They slashed and flayed at her, showed
her in long whipcuts all the atrocities an immortal could
commit against her. But when Lord Foul's gaze left her, she
found that she was still able to cling. She was stubborn enough
for that.

"Ah," the Despiser rumbled like the sigh of an avalanche,
"at last my foeman stands before me. He does not grovel—
but groveling has become needless. He has spoken words
which may not be recalled. Indeed, his abasement is complete.
though he is blind to it He does not see that he has sold
himself to a servitude more demeaning than prostration. He
has become the tool of my Enemy, no longer free to act
against me. Therefore he submits himself, deeming in his
cowardice that here the burden of havoc and ruin will pass
from him." Soft laughter made the rocklight throb; mute
Shrieks volleyed from the walls. "He is the Unbeliever in all
sooth. He does not believe that the Earth's doom will at last
be laid to his charge.

"Thomas Covenant"—he took an avid step forward—"the
spectacle of your puerile strivmgs gives me glee to repay my
long patience, for your defeat has ever been as certain as my
wilL Were I to be foiled, the opportunity belonged to your
companion, not to you—and you see how she has availed
herself of it." With one strong, blurred arm, he made a gesture
toward Linden that nearly unseated her reason. Again, he
laughed; but his laughter was devoid of mirth. "Had she se-
duced you of the ring—ah, then would I have been tested.
But therefore did I choose her, a woman altogether unable to
turn aside from my desires.

"You are a fooL" he went on, "for you have known your-
self doomed, and yet you have come to me. Now I require
your soul." The heat of his voice filled Linden's lungs with
suffocation. Moksha Jehannum shivered, hungry for violence
and ravage. The Despiser sounded unquestionably sane—but
that only made him more terrible. One of his hands—a bare
smear across the Raver's sight—seemed to curl into a fist; and
Covenant was jerked forward, within Lord Foul's reach. The

440 White Gold Wielder

walls spattered light like sobs, as if Mount Thunder itself
were appalled.

As soft as the whisper of death, the Despiser said, "Give
the ring to me."

Linden believed that she would have obeyed in Covenant's
place. The command of that voice was absolute- But he did
not move. His right arm hung at his side. The ring dangled
as if it were empty of import—as if his numb finger within the
band bad no significance. His left fist closed and unclosed
like the aggrieved labor of his heart. His eyes looked as dark
as the loneliness of stars. Somehow, he held his head up, his
back straight—upright in conviction or madness.

"Talk's cheap. You can say anything you want. But you're
wrong, and you ought to know it. This time you've gone too
far. What you did to Andelain. What you're doing to
Linden—" He swallowed acid. "We aren't enemies. That's
just another lie. Maybe you believe it—but it's still a lie. You
should see yourself. You're even starting to look like me."
The special gleam of his gaze reached Linden like a gift. He
was irremediably insane—or utterly indomitable. "You're Just
another part of me. Just one side of what it means to be
human. The side that hates lepers. The poisonous side." His
certainty did not waver at all. "We are one."

His assertion made Linden gape at what he had become.
But it only drew another laugh from the Despiser—a short,
gruff bark of dismissal. "Do not seek to bandy truth and
falsehood with me," he replied. "You are too inane for the
task. Lies would better serve the trivial yearning which you
style love. The truth damns you here. For three and a half
millennia I have mustered my will against the Earth in your
absence, groveler. I am the truth. 7. And I have no use for
the sophistry of your Unbelief." He leveled his voice at
Covenant like the blade of an axe. Fragments of rocklighf
shot everywhere but could not bring his intense form into
any kind of focus. "Give the ring to me."

Covenant's visage slackened as if he were made ill by the
necessity of his plight. But still he withheld submission. In-
stead, he changed his ground.

"At least let Linden go." His stance took on an angle of
pleading. "You don't need her anymore. Even you should be
satisfied with how much she's been hurt. I've already offered
her my ring once. She refused it Let her go."

Hold Possession                 441

In spite of everything, he was still trying to spare her.

Lord Foul's response filled Kiril Threndor. "Have done,
groveler." Attar made the Raver ecstatic, wracked Linden.
"You weary my long patience. She is forfeit to me by her own
acts. Are you deaf to yourself? You have spoken words which
can never be recalled." Concentrated venom dripped from
his outlines. As distinct as the breaking of boulders, he de-
manded a third time, "Give the ring to me."

And Covenant went on sagging as though he bad begun
i.  to crumble. All his strength was gone. He could no longer
pretend to hold himself upright. One by one, his loves had
been stripped from him: he had nothing left. After all, he
was only one ordinary man, small and human. Without wild
magic, he was no match for the Despiser.

When he weakly lifted his half-band, began tugging the
^   ring from his finger. Linden forgave him. No choice but to

surrender it. He had done everything possible, everything
'•i   conceivable, had surpassed himself again and again in his
efforts to save the Land. That he failed now was cause for
grief, but not for blame.

Only his eyes showed no collapse. They burned like the
final dark, the last deep midnight where no Sunbane shone.

His surrender took no more than three heartbeats. One to
raise his hand, take bold of the ring. Another to pull the
band from his finger as if in voluntary riddance of marriage,
love, humanity. A third to extend the immaculate white gold
toward the Despiser.

But extremity and striving made those three moments as
long as agony. During them. Linden Avery pitted her ulti-
mate will against her possessor.

She forgave Covenant. He was too poignant and dear to be
blamed. He had given everything that her heart could ask
of him.

But she did not submit.

Gibbon had said. The principal doom of the Land is upon
your shoulders. Because no one else had this chance to come
between Covenant and his defeat. You are being forged as
iron is forged to achieve the ruin of the Earth. Forged to fail
here. Because you can see.

Now she meant to determine what kind of metal had been
made of her.

442 White Gold Wielder

Gibbon-Raver had also told her she was evil. Perhaps that
was true. But evil itself was a form of power.

And she had become intimately familiar with her possessor.
From the furthest roots of its past. she felt springing its con-
tempt for all things that had flesh and could be mastered—a
contempt bom of fear. Fear of any form of life able to refuse
it. The Forests. Giants. The Haruchai. It was unquenchably
hungry for immortal control, for the safety of sovereignty.
All refusals terrified it. The logic of its failures led inexorably
to death. If it could be refused, then it could also be slain.

She had no way to understand the lost communal mind of
the Forests. But Giants and Haruchai were another question.
Though moksha Jehannum ripped and shrieked at her, she
picked up the strands of what she knew and wove them to
her purpose.

The Giants and Haruchai had always been able to refuse.
Perhaps because they had not suffered the Land's long history
of Ravers, they had not learned to doubt their autonomy.
Or perhaps because they used little or no outward expressions
of power, they comprehended more fully that true choice was
internal. But whatever the explanation, they were proof
against possession where the people of the Land were not.
They believed in their capacity to make choices which
mattered.

That belief was all she needed.

Moksha was frantic now, savage and brutal. It assailed
every part of her that was able to feel pain. It desecrated her
as if she were Andelain. It made every horrifying memory
of her life incandescent before her: Nassic's murder and Gib-
bon's touch; the lurker of the Sarangrave; Kasreyn's malign
cunning; Covenant bleeding irretrievably to death in the
woods behind Haven Farm. It poured acid into every wound
which futility had ever inflicted upon her.

And it argued with her. She could not choose: she had
already made the only choice that signified. When she had
accepted the legacy of her father and stuffed it in handsful
of tissue down her mother's throat, she had declared her
crucial allegiance, her definitive passion—a passion in no
way different than her possessor's. Despite had made her
what she was, a lost woman as ravaged as the Land, and the
Sunbane dawning in her now would never set.

But the sheer intensity of her hurt made her lucid. She saw

Hold Possession                  443

the Raver's lie. Only once had she tried to master death by
destroying life. After that, all her striving had gone to heal
those who suffered. Though she had been haunted and afraid,
she had not been crueL Suicide and murder were not the
whole story. When the old man on Haven Farm had collapsed
in front of her, the stink issuing from his mouth had sickened
her like the foretaste of Despite; but she had willingly breathed
and breathed that fetor in her efforts to save him.

She was eviL Her visceral response to the dark might of
her tormentors gave her the stature of a Raver. And yet her
instinct for healing falsified moksha.

That contradiction no longer paralyzed her. She accepted
it

It gave her the power to choose.

Squalling like a butchered thing, the Raver fought her. But
she had entered at last into her true estate. Moksha Jehannum
was afraid of her. Her will rose up in its shackles. Tested the
iron of her possessor's malice. Took hold of the chains.

And broke free.

Lord Foul had not yet grasped the ring. There was still an
instant of space between his hand and Covenant's. Rocklight
yowled desire and triumph from the walls.

Linden did not move. She had no time to think of that
Motionless as if she were still frozen, she hurled herself for-
ward. With her Land-bora health-sense, she sprang into
Covenant, scrambled toward the fiery potential of bis wedding
band.

Empowered by wild magic, she drew back his hand.

At that, rage swelled Lord Foul: he sent out a flood of
fury which should have washed her away. But she ignored
him. She was sure that he would not touch her now—not
now, while she held possession of Covenant and the ring. She
was suddenly strong enough to turn her back upon the
Despiser himself. The necessity of freedom protected her.
The choice of surrender or defiance was hers to make.

In the silent privacy of his mind, she faced the man she
loved and took all his burdens upon herself.

He could not resist her. Once before, he had beaten back
her efforts to control him. But now he had no defense. With
his own strength, she mastered him as completely as ever the
Elohim or Kasreyn had mastered him.

No evil! she breathed at him. Not this time. Her previous

444 White Gold Wielder

attempt to possess him had been wrong, inexcusable. She
bad read in him his intent to risk the Banefire, and she had
reacted as if he meant to commit suicide. Instinctively, she
had tried to stop him. But then his life and the risk had been
his alone. She had had no right to interfere.

Now, however, he surrendered the Earth as well as himself.
He was not simply risking his own life: he was submitting
all life to certain destruction. Therefore she had the responsi-
bility to intervene. The responsibility and the right.

The rig/if! she cried. But he made no answer. Her will
occupied him completely.

She seemed to meet him where they had met once before,
when she had surrendered herself to save him from the
silence of the Elohim—in a field of flowers, under an in-
violate sky, a clean sun. But now she recognized that field
as one of the rich leas of Andelain, bordered by hills and
woods. And he was no longer young. He stood before her
exactly as he stood before the Despiser—altogether untouch-
able, bis face misshaped by bruises he did not deserve, his
body nearly prostrate with exhaustion, the old knife-cut in the
center of his shirt gaping. His eyes were fixed on her, and
they flamed hot midnight, the final extremity of the heavens.

No smile in the world could have softened his gaze.

He stood there as if he were waiting for her to search
him, catechize him, leam the truth. But she faued to close
the g^ilf between them. She ran and ran toward him, aching
to fling her arms around him at last; but the field lay as still as
the sunlight, and his eyes shone darkness at her, and all her
strength brought her no nearer. She knew that jf she reached
him she would understand—that the vision or despair which
he had found in the Banefire would be communicated to her
—that his certainty would become comprehensible. He was
certain, as sure as white gold. But she could not approach
him. He met her appeal with the indefeasible Don't touch me
of leprosy or ascension, apotheosis.

His refusal made grief well up in her like the wail of a
lost child.

Then she wanted to turn and hurl all her newfound force
at the Despiser, wanted to call up white fire and scourge him
from the face of the Earth, Some infections have to be cut
out. Why else do you have all that power? She could do it
He had hurt Covenant so deeply that she was no longer able

'Hold Possession                  445

to reach him. In her anguish she was greedy for fire. She
possessed him heart and limb—and his left hand held the
ring, gripped it on the brink of detonation. She was capable
of that. If no other hope remained, and she could not touch
her love, then let it be she who fought, she who ravaged, she
who ruled. Let Lord Foul leam the nature of what he had
forged!

Yet Covenant's gaze held her as if she were sobbing, too
weak to do anything except weep. He said nothing, offered her
nothing. But the purity of his regard did not let her turn. How
could he speak, do anything other than repudiate her? She
had taken his will from him—had dehumanized him as
thoroughly as if she were a Raver and relished his helpless-
ness. And yet he remained human and desirable and stubborn,
as dear as life to her. Perhaps he was mad. But was she not
something worse?

Are you not evil?

Yes. Beyond question.

But the black flame in his eyes did not accuse her of evil.
He did not despise her in any way. He only refused to be
swayed.

You said you trusted me.

And who was she to believe him wrong? If doubt was
necessary, why should it be douBt of him rather than of
herself? Kevin Landwaster had warned her, and she had felt
his honesty. But perhaps after all he did not understand, was
blinded by the consequences of his own despair. And Cov-
enant remained before her in sunshine and flowers as if the
beauty of Andelain were the ground on which he took his
stand. His darkness was as lonely as hers. But hers was like
the lightless cunning and violence of the Wightwarrens; his
resembled the heart of the true night, where the Sunbane
never shone.

Yes, she said again. She had known all along that possession
in every guise was evil; but she had tried to believe otherwise,
both because she wanted power and because she wanted to
save the Land. Destruction and healing: death and life. She
could have argued that even evil was Justified to keep the
white ring out of Lord Foul's grasp. But now she was truly
weeping. Covenant had said, I'm going to find some other
answer. That was the only promise which mattered.

Deliberately, she let him go—let love and hope and power

446 White Gold Wielder

go as if they were all one, too pure to be possessed or dese-
crated. Locking her cries in her throat, she turned and walked
away across the lea. Out of sunshine into attar and rockligbt

With her own eyes, she saw Covenant lift the ring once
more as if his last fears were gone. With her own ears, she
heard the savage relief of Lord Foul's laughter as he claimed
his triumph. Heat and despair seemed to close over her like
the lid of a coffin.

Moksha Jehannum tried to enter her again, cast her down.
But the Raver could not touch her now. Grief crowded
upward in her, thronged for utterance. She was hardly aware
of moksfw's failure.

The Despiser made Kiril Threndor shudder:

"Fooll"

He was crowing over Linden, not Covenant. His eyes bit a
trail of venom through her mind.

"Have I not said that all your choices conduce to my ends?
You serve me absolutelyl" The stalactites threw shards of
malice at her head. "It is you who have accorded the ring to
me!"

He raised one hand like a smear across her sight In his
grasp, the band began to blaze. His shout gathered force
until she feared it would shatter the mountain.

"Here at last I hold possession of all life and Time forever!
Let my Enemy look to his survival and be daunted 1 Freed of
my gaol and torment, I will rule the cosmosi"

She could not remain upright under the weight of his
exaltation. His voice split her hearing, hampered the rhythm
of her heart. Kneeling on the tremorous stone, she gritted her
teeth, swore to herself that even though she had failed at
everything else she would at least breathe no more of this
damnable attar. The walls threw argent in carillon from all
their facets. The Despiser's power scaled toward apocalypse.

Yet she heard Covenant. Somehow, he kept his feet. He
did not shout; but every word he said was as distinct as
augury.

"Big deal. I could do the same thing—if I were as crazy
as you." His certainty was unmatched. "It doesn't take power.
Just delusion. You're out of your mind."

The Despiser swung toward Covenant. Wild magic effaced
the rocklight, made Kiril Threndor scream white fire. "Grove"
ler, I will teach you the meaning of my suzerainty!'* His

ftold Possession

447

whole form rippled and blurred with ecstasy, violence. Only
his carious eyes remained explicit, as cruel as fangs. They
seemed to shred the substance from Covenant's bones. "I am
your Masteri"

He towered over Covenant; his arms rose in transport or
imprecation. In one fist, he held the prize for which he had
craved and plotted. The searing light he drew from the ring
should have blinded Linden entirely, scorched her eyes out of
their sockets. But from moksha Jehannum she had learned
how to protect her senses. She felt that she was peering into
the furnace of the desecrated sun; but she was still able to see.

Able to see the blow which Lord Foul hammered down on
Covenant as if the wild magic were a dagger.

It made Mount Thunder lurch, snapped stalactites from the
ceiling like a rain of spears which narrowly missed Linden. It
dapped Covenant to the floor as if all his limbs had been
broken. For an instant, a convulsion of lightning writhed over
him. Power and coruscation like the immaculate silver-white
of the ring clamored through him, shrilled along the lines of
his form. She tried to yell; but the air in her lungs had given
out

When the blow passed, it left white flame spouting from
the center of his chest.          ^

The wound bled argent: all his bipod was ablaze. Fire
fountained from his gaping hurt, spat gouts and plumes of
numinous and incandescent deflagration, untainted by any
darkness or venom. During that moment, he looked like he
was still alive.

But it was transitory. The fire faded rapidly. Soon it
flickered and failed. His blasted husk lay on the floor and did
not move again.

Too stunned to cry out. Linden hugged her arms around
herself and keened in the marrow of her bones.

But Lord Foul went on laughing.

Like a ghoul he laughed, a demon of torment and triumph.
His lust riddled the mountain; more stalactites fell. From wall
to wall, a crack sprang through the chamber; and shattered
stones burst like cries from the fissure. Kiril Threndor shrieked
argent. The Despiser became titanic with white fire.

"Ware of me. my Enemy!" His shout deafened Linden in
spite of her instinctive self-protection. She heard him, not with
her overwhelmed ears, but with the tissues and vessels of her

White Gold Wielder

lungs. "I hold the keystone of Time, and I will reave it to
rubble! Oppose me if you dare!"

Fire mounted around him, whipped higher and higher by
his fierce arms. The ring raged like a growing sun in his
fist. Already, his power dwarfed the Banefire, outsized every
puissance she had ever witnessed, surpassed even the haunted
faces of her nightmares.

Yet she moved. Crawling across the agonized lurch and
shudder of the stone, she wrestled her weak body toward
Covenant. She could not help him. She could not help herself.
But she wanted to hold him in her embrace one more time.
To ask his forgiveness, though he would never be able to hear
her. Lord Foul had become so tremendous that only the edges
of his gathering cataclysm were still discernible. She crept
past him as if she were ignoring him. Battered arid aggrieved
of body and soul, she reached Covenant, sat beside him, lifted
his head into her lap, and let her hair fall around his face.

In death, his visage wore a strange grimace of relief and
pain. He looked like a man who was about to laugh and weep
at the same- time.

At least I trusted you, she replied. Whatever else I did
wrong. I trusted you in the end.

Then anguish seized her heart.

You didn't even say good-bye.

None of the people who had died while she loved mem
had ever said good-bye.

She did not know how it was possible to continue breath-
ing. Lord Foul's attar had become as intense as the light. The
destruction he purposed tore a howl through the stone.
Kiril Threndor became the stretched mouth of the mountain's
hurt. Her mere flesh seemed to fray and dissolve in the
proximity of such power. His blast was nearly ready.

Instinctively, almost involuntarily, she looked up from
Covenant's guilt and innocence, impelled by an inchoate belief
that there should be at least one witness to the riving of
Time. While her mind lasted, she could still watch what the
Despiser did, still send her protest to hound him into the
heavens.                    l

A maelstrom swept around him and grew as if he meant to
break the Earth by consuming it alive. His fire was so ex-
treme that it pulsed through the mountain, made all of Mount
Thunder pound. But gradually he pulled the flame into him-

Hold Possession                 449

self, focused it in the hand that held the ring. Too bright to
be beheld, his fist throbbed like the absolute heart of the

world.

With a terrible cry, he hurled his globe-splitting power
upward.

An instant later, his exaltation changed to astonishment
and rage.

Somewhere in the rock which enclosed Kiril Threndor, his
blast shattered. Because it was aimed at the Arch of Time,
it was not an essentially physical force, though the concussion
of its delivery nearly reft Linden of consciousness. It did no
physical damage. Instead, it burst as if it had struck a mid-
night sky and snapped. In a fathomless abyss, ruptured frag-
ments of fire shot and blazed.

And the hot lines of light spread like etchwork, merged
and multiplied swiftly, took shape within the bulk of the
mountain. From wild magic and nothingness, they created
a sketch of a man.

A man who had placed himself between Lord Foul and
the Arch of Time.

The outlines gained substance and feature as they absorbed
the Despiser's attack.
Thomas Covenant.

He stood there inside Mount Thunder's gutrock, a specter
altogether different than the ponderous stone. All which re-
mained of his mortal being was the grimace of power and
grief that marked his countenance.
"No!" the Despiser howled. "Tvo/"
But Covenant replied, "Yes." He had no earthly voice,
made no human sound. Yet he could be heard through the
clamor of tormented stone, the constant repercussions of
Lord Foul's fury. Linden listened to him as if he were as
clear as a trumpet "Brinn showed me the way. He beat the
Guardian of the One Tree by sacrificing himself, letting him-
self fall. And Mhoram told me to 'Remember the paradox of
white gold.' But for a long time I didn't understand. I'm the
paradox. You can't take the wild magic away from me."
Then he seemed to move forward, concentrating more in-
tensely on the Despiser. His command was as pure as white
fire. "Put down the ring."

"Never!" Lord Foul shouted instantly- Might leaped in him,
wild for use. "I know not what chicane or madness has

450 White Gold Wielder

brought you before me from the Dead—but it will not avail!
You have once cast me down! I will not suffer a second de-
basement! Never! The white gold is mine, freely given! If
you combat me. Death itself will not ward you from my
Wrath!"

Something like a smile sharpened the specter's acute face.
"I keep telling you you're wrong. I wouldn't dream of fighting
you."

Lord Foul's retort was a bolt that sizzled the air like frying
meat. Power fierce enough to blow off the crown of the peak
sprang at Covenant, raging for his immolation.

He did not oppose it, made no effort to resist or evade the
attack. He simply accepted it The clench of pain between his
brows showed that he was hurt; but he did not flinch. The
blast raved and scourged into him until Linden feared that
even a dead soul could not survive it. Yet when it ended he
had taken it all upon himself. Bravely, be stood forth from
the fire.

"I'm not going to fight you." Even now, he seemed to pity
his slayer. "All you can do is hurt me. But pain doesn't last.
It just makes me stronger." His voice held a note of sorrow
for the Despiser. "Put down the ring."

But Lord Foul was so far gone in fury and frustration
that he might have been deaf. "No!" he roared again. No fear
hampered him: he was transported to the verge of absolute
violence.

"Nor

"N01'*

And with every cry he flung his utterest force against
the Unbeliever.

Blast after blast, faster and faster. Enough white power to
bring Mount Thunder down in rubble, cast it off Landsdrop
into the ruinous embrace of Sarangrave Flat. Enough to leave
the One Tree itself in ash and cinders. Enough to shatter the
Arch of Time. All Lord Foul's ancient puissance was multi-
plied and channeled by the argent ring. He struck and struck,
the unanswerable knell of his hunger adumbrating through
Kiril Threndor until Linden's mind reeled and her life almost
stopped, unable to support the magnitude of his rage. She
clung to Covenant's body as if it were her last anchor and
fought to endure and stay sane while Lord Foul strove to rip
down the essential definition of the Earth.

The Sun-Sage

451

But each assault hit nothing except the specter, hurt nothing
except Covenant. Blast after blast, he absorbed the power of
Despite and fire and became stronger. Surrendering to their
savagery, he transcended them. Every blow elevated him from
the mere grieving spectation of the Dead in Andelain, the
ritualized helplessness of the Unhomed in Coercri, to the
stature of pure wild magic. He became an unbreakable
bulwark raised like glory against destruction.

At the same time, each attack made Lord Foul weaker.
Covenant was a barrier the Despiser could not pierce because
it did not resist him; and he could not stop. After so many
millennia of yearning, defeat was intolerable to him. In
accelerating frenzy, he flung rage and defiance and immiti-
gable hate at Covenant. Yet each failed blow cost him more of
himself. His substance frayed and thinned, denatured moment
by moment, as his attacks grew more reckless and extravagant.
Soon he had reduced himself to such evanescence that he was
barely visible.

And still he did not stop. Surrender was impossible for
him. If he had not been limited and confined by the mortal
Time of his prison, he would have gone on forever, seeking
Covenant's eradication. For a while, his form guttered and
wailed as complete fury drove hinn to the threshold of banish-
ment. Then he failed and went out. •

Though she was stunned and stricken. Linden heard the
faint metallic clink of the ring when it fell to the dais and
rolled to a stop.

TWENTY; The Sun-Sage

SLOWLY, silence settled like dust back into Kiril Thren-
dor. Most of the rockligbt had been extinguished, but pieces
still flared along the facets of the walls, giving the chamber

452 White Gold Wielder

an obscure illumination. Without the cloying scent of attar,
the brimstone atmosphere smelled almost clean. Holes gaped
in the ceiling where many of the stalactites had hung. Long
tremors still rumbled into the distance, but they were no
longer dangerous. They subsided like sighs as they passed
beyond Linden's percipience.

She sat cross-legged near the dais, with Covenant's head
in her lap. No breath stirred his chest. He was already
growing cold. The capacity for peril which had made him
so dear to her had gone out. But she did not let him go. His
face wore a grimace of defeat and victory—a strange fusion
of commandment and grace—that was as close as he would
ever come to peace.

She did not look up to meet the argent gaze of his revenant
She did not need to see him bending over her as if his
heart bled to comfort her. The simple sense of his presence
was enough. In silence, she bowed over his body. Her eyes
streamed at the beauty of what he had become.

For a long moment, his empathy breathed about her,
clearing the last reek from the air, the taste of ruin from
her lungs. Then he said her name softly. His voice was
tender, almost human, as if he had not passed beyond the
normal strictures of life and death. "I'm sorry." He seemed
to feel that it was he who needed her forgiveness, rather than
she who ached for his. "I didn't know what else to do. I had to
stop him."

I understand, she answered. You were right Nobody else
could*ve done it If she had possessed half his comprehension,
a fraction of his courage, she might have tried to help him.
There had been no other way. But she would have failed.
She was too tainted by her own darkness for such pure
sacrifices.

Nobody else, she repeated. But any moment now she was
going to begin sobbing. She had lost him at last. When the
true grief started, it might never stop.

Yet he had already passed beyond compassion into neces-
sity. Or perhaps he felt the hurt rising in her and sought to
answer it. As gentle as love, he said, "Now it's your turn.
Pick up the ring.'*

The ring. It lay at the edge of the dais perhaps ten feet
from her. And it was empty—devoid of light or power—an
endless silver-white band with no more meaning than an

The Sun-Sage                 453

unused manacle. Without Covenant or Lord Foul to wield it,
it had lost all significance.

She was too weak and lorn to wonder why Covenant wanted
her to do something about his ring. If she had been given
gome reason to hope that his spirit and his flesh might be
brought back to each other, she would have obeyed him. No
frailty or incomprehension would have prevented her from
obeying him. But those questions had already been answered.
And she had no desire to let his body out of her embrace.

"Linden." His emanations were soft and kind; but she felt
their urgency growing. "Try to think. I know it's hard—after
what you've been through. But try. I need you to save the
Land."

She could not look up at him. His dead face was all that
remained to her, all that held her together. If she raised her
head to his unbearable beauty, she would be lost as well.
With her fingertips, she stroked the gaunt lines of his cheek.
In silence, she said, I don't need to. You've already done it.

"No," he returned at once. "I haven't" Every word made
his tension clearer. "All I did was stop him. I haven't healed
anything. The Sunbane is still there. It has a life of its own.
And the Earthpower's been too badly corrupted. It can't
recover by itself." His tone went straight into her heart.
"Linden, please. Pick up the ring." •

Into her heart, where a storm of lamentation brewed.
Instinctively, she feared it It seemed to rise from the same
source which had given birth to her old hunger for darkness,

I can't, she said. Gusts and rue tugged through her. You
know what power does to me. I can't stop hurting the people
I want to help. FU just turn into another Raver.

His spirit shone with comprehension. But he did not try to
answer her dread, to deny or comfort it. Instead, his voice
took on a note of harsh exigency.

"I can't do it myself. I don't have your hands—can't touch
that kind of power anymore. I'm not physically alive. And I
can be dismissed. I'm like the Dead. They can be invoked-—
and they can be sent away. Anybody who knows how can
make me leave." He appeared to believe he was in that danger.
"Even Foul could've done it, if he hadn't tried to use wild
magic against me.

"Linden, think." His sense of peril burned in the cave.
"Foul isn't dead. You can't kill Despite. And the Sunbane will

454 White Gold Wielder

bring him back. It'll restore him. He can't get past me to
break the Arch. But he'll be able to do anything he wants to
the Land—to the whole Earth.

"Linden!" The appeal broke from him. But at once he
coerced himself to quietness again. "I don't mean to hurt you.
I don't want to demand more than you can do. You've
already done so much. But you've got to understand. You're
starting to fade."

That was true. She recognized it with a dim startlement
like the foretaste of a gale. His body had become harder and
heavier, more real—or else her own flesh was losing defini-
tion. She heard winds blowing like the ancient respiration
of the mountain. Everything around her—the rocklight, the
blunt stone, the atmosphere of Kiril Threndor—sharpened
as her perceptions thinned. She was dwindling. Slowly, in-
exorably, the world grew more quintessential and necessary
than anything her trivial mortality could equal. Soon she would
go out like a snuffed candle.

"This is the way it usually works," Covenant went on.
"The power - that called you here recoils when whoever
summoned you dies. You're going back to your own life.
Foul isn't dead—but as far as your summons goes, he might
as well be. You'll lose your last chance." His demand focused
on her like anger. Or perhaps it was her own diminishment
that made him sound so fiercely grieved. "Pick up the ring!"

She sighed faintly. She did not want to move; the prospect
of dissolution struck her as a promise of peace. Perhaps she
would die from it—would be spared the storm of her pain.
That hurt cut at her, presaging the wind which blew be-
tween the worlds. She had lost him. Whatever happened
now, she had lost him absolutely.

Yet she did not refuse him. She had sworn that she would
put a stop to the Sunbane. And her love for him would not
let her go. She had failed at everything else.

She was in no hurry. There was still time. The process
leeching her away was slow, and she retained enough
percipience to measure it. Groaning at the ache in her bones,
she unbowed her back, lowered his head tenderly to her
thighs. Her fingers fumbled stiffly, as if they were no longer
good for anything; but she forced them to serve her—to
rebutton her shirt, closing at least that much protection over

The Sun-Sage                 455

her bare heart. In her nightmare, she had used her shirt to
try to stanch the bleeding. But she had failed then as well.

At that moment, a voice as precise as a bell rang in her
mind. She seemed to recognize it, though it could not be him,
that was impossible. Nothing had prepared her for his

desperation.

—Avaunt, shade! Your work is donel Urge me no more

dismay!

Commands clamored through the chamber; revocations
thronged against Covenant Instantly, his specter frayed and
faded like blown mist. His power was gone. He bad no way to
refuse the dismissal.

Crying Linden's name in supplication or anguish, he dis-
solved and was effaced. His passing left trails of argent across
her vision- Then they, too, were gone. There was nothing
left of him to which she might cling.

At once, the bell rang again, clarion and compulsory. It
was so close to frenzy that it nearly deafened her.

—Chosen, withhold! Do not dare the ring!

In the wake of the clangor, Findail and Vain entered Kirn
Threndor, came struggling forward as if they were locked in
mortal combat.

But the battle was all on one "side. Findail thrashed and
twisted, fought wildly; Vain simply ignored him. The Elohim
was Earthpower incarnate, so fluid of essence that he could
turn himself to any conceivable form. Yet he was unable to
break the Demondim-spawn's grip. Vain still clasped his
wrist The black creation of the ur-viles remained adamantine
and undaunted.

Together, they moved toward the ring. Findail's free hand
clawed in that direction. His mute voice was a tuneless
clatter of distress.

—He has compelled me to preserve him! But he must not
be suffered! Chosen, withhold!

Now Vain resisted Findafl, exerted himself to hold the
Elohim back. But in this Findail was too strong for him.
Fighting like hawks, they strove closer and closer to the dais.

Then Linden thought that she would surely move. She
would go to the ring and take it, if for no other reason than
because she trusted neither the Appointed nor his ebon
counterpart. Vain was either unreachable or utterly violent.

456 White Gold Wielder

Findail showed alternate compassion and disdain as if both
were simply facets of his mendacity. And Covenant had
tried to warn her. The abrupt brutality of his dismissal drew
anger from her waning heart.

But she had waited too long. The mounting winds blew
through her as if she were a shadow. Covenant's head had
become far more real than her legs; she could not shift
them. The ceiling leaned over her like a distillation of itself,
stone condensed past the obduracy of diamond. The snapped
fragments of the stalactites were as irreducible as grief. This
world was too much for her. In the end, it surpassed all her
conceptions of herself. Flashes of rocklight seemed to leave
lacerations across her sight. Findail and Vaia struggled and
struggled toward the ring; and every one of their movements
was as acute as a catastrophe. Vain wore the heels of the
Staff of Law like strictures. She was fading to extinction.
Covenant's dead weight held her helpless.

She tried to cry out. But she was too insubstantial to make
any sound which Mount Thunder might have heard.

Yet she was answered. When she believed that she had
wasted all hope, she was answered.

Two figures burst from the same tunnel which had brought
her to Kiril Threndor. They entered the chamber, stumbled
to a halt. They were desperate and bleeding, exhausted be-
yond endurance, nearly dead on their feet. Her longsword was
notched and gory; blood dripped from her arms and mail. His
breathing retched as if he were hemorrhaging. But their valor
was unquenchable. Somewhere, Pitchwife found the strength
to gasp urgently, "Chosen! The ring!"

The sudden appearance of the Giants defied comprehension.
How could they have escaped the Cavewights? But they were
here, alive and half prostrate and willing. And the sight of
them lifted Linden's spirit like an act of grace. They brought
her back to herself in spite of the gale pulling her away.

Findail was scarcely a step from the ring. Vain could not
hold him back.

But the Appointed did not reach it.

Linden grasped Covenant's wedding band with the thin
remains of her health-sense, drew fire spouting like an affirma-
tion out of the metal. It was her ring now, granted to her in
love and necessity; and the first touch of its flame restored
her with a shock at once exquisitely painful and glad, ferocious

The Sun-Sage                 45'

and blessed- Suddenly, she was as real as the stone and thi
light, as substantial as FindaiTs frenzy, Vain's intransigence
the Giants' courage. The pressure thrusting her out of existent
did not subside; but now she was a match for it Her lung
took and released the sulfur-tinged an* as if she had a righ
to it

With white fire, she repelled the Elohim. Then, as kindl
as if he were alive, she slid her legs from under Covenant*
head.

Leaving him alone there, she went to take the ring.

For an instant, she feared to touch it, thinking its flam
might bum her. But she knew better. Her senses were explicit
this blaze was hers and would not harm her. Deliberately, sh
closed her right fist around the fiery band.

At once, argent flame ran up her forearm as if her fles]
were afire. It danced and spewed to the beat of her pulse. Bu
it did not consume her, took nothing away from her: th
price of power would be paid later, when the wild magic wa
gone. Instead, it seemed to flow into her veins, infusm
vitality. The fire was silver and lovely, and it filled her wit
stability and strength and the capacity for choice as if it wer
a feast.

She wanted to shout aloud jor simple joy. This was powel
and it was not evil if she were not. The hunger which ha
dogged her days was only dark because she had feared i
denied it. It had two names, and one of them was life.

Her first impulse was to turn to the Giants, heal the Firs
and Pitchwife of their hurts, share her relief and vindicatio
with them. But Vain and Findail stood before her—the A[
pointed held by the clench of Vain's hand—and they df
manded her attention.

The Demondim-spawn was looking at her: a feral gri
shaped his mouth. Rough bark unmarked by lava or strai
enclosed his wooden forearm. But Findail could not meet he
gaze. The misery of his countenance was now complete. H
eyes were blurred with tears; his silver hair straggled to hi
shoulders in strands of pain. He sagged against Vain as if a
his strength had failed. His free hand clutched at his con
panion's black shoulder like pleading.

Linden had no more anger for them. She did not need i
But the focus of Vain's midnight eyes baffled her. She kne'
intuitively that he had come to the cusp of his secret purpos

438 White Gold Wielder

—and that somehow its outcome depended on her. But even
white gold did not make her senses sharp enough to read him.
She was sure of nothing except Findail's fear.

dinging to Vain's shoulder, the Appointed murmured like
a child, "I am Elohim. Kastenessen cursed me with death—
but I am not made for death. I must not die."

The Demondim-spawn's reply was so unexpected that
Linden recoiled a step. "You will not die." His voice was
mellifluous and clean, as perfect as his sculpted flesh—and
entirely devoid of compassion. He neither dismissed nor
acknowledged FindaiTs fear. "It is not death. It is purpose.
We will redeem the Earth from corruption."

Then he addressed Linden. Neither deference nor com-
mand flawed his tone. "Sun-Sage, you must embrace'us."

She stared at him. "Embrace—?"

He did not respond: his voice seemed to lapse as if he had
uttered all the words he had been given and would never
speak again. But his gaze and his grin met her like expecta-
tion, an unwavering and inexplicable certainty that she would
comply.

For a moment, she hesitated. She knew she had little time.
The pressure which sought to recant her summoning con-
tinued to grow. Before long, it would become too potent to
be resisted. But the decision Vain required of her was crucial.
Everything came together here—the purpose of the ur-viles,
the plotting of the Elohim, the survival of the Land—and
she had already made too many bad choices.

She glanced toward the Giants. But Pitchwife had no more
help to give her. He sat against the wall and wrestled with
the huge pain in his chest. Crusted blood rimmed his mouth.
And the First stood beside him, leaning on her sword and
watching Linden. She held herself like a mute statement that
she would support with her last strength whatever the Chosen
did.

Linden turned back to the Demondim-spawn.

For no sufficient reason, she found that she was sure of
him. Or perhaps she had become sure of herself. White fire
curled up and down her right arm, plumed toward her
shoulder, accentuated the strong rush of her life. He was rigid
and murderous, blind to any concerns but his own. But be-
cause he had been given to Covenant by Foamfollower—

The Sun-Sage                 459

because he had bowed to her once—because he had saved
her life—and because he had met with anger the warping of
his makers—she did what he asked.

When she put her arms around his neck and Findail's, the
Elohim flinched. But his people had Appointed him to this
peril, and their will held. At the last instant, he raised his
head to meet his personal Wiird.

In that instant. Linden became a staggering concussion of
power which she had not intended and could not control.

But the blast had no outward force: it cast no light or fire,
flung no fury. It might have been invisible to the Giants. All
its energy was directed inward.

At the two strange beings hugged in her arms.

Wild magic graven in every rock,
contained for white gold to unleash or control-
gold, rare metal, not born of the Land,
nor ruled, limited, subdued
by the Law, with which the Land was created—-
and white—white gold—
because white is the hue of bonef
structure of ftesh,
discipline of life.

it

Filled with white passion, her embrace became the crucible
in which Vain and Findail melted and were made new.

Findail, the tormented Elohim: Earthpower incarnate.
Amoral, arrogant* and self-complete, capable of everything.
Sent by his people to redeem the Earth at any cost. To obtain
the ring for himself if he could. And if he could not, to pay
the price of failure.

This price.

And Vain, the Demondim-spawn: artificially manufactured
by ur-viles. More rigid than gutrock, less tracible than bone.
Alive to bis inbred purpose and cruelly insensate to every
other need or value or belief.

In Linden's clasp, empowered by wild magic, their oppo-
site bodies bled together. While she held them, they began to
merge.

Findail's fluid Earthpower. Vain's hard, perfect structure.
And between them, the old definition forged into the heels of

White Gold Wielder

460

the Staff of Law. The Elohim lost shape, seemed to flow
through the Demondim-spawn. Vain changed and stretched
toward the iron bands which held his right wrist and left

ankle.

His forearm shed its bark, gleamed like new wood. And the
wood grew, spread out across the transformation, imposed its

form upon the merging.

When she understood what was happening. Linden poured
herself into the apotheosis. Wild magic supplied the power,
but that was not enough. Vain and Findail needed more from
her. Vain had been so perfectly made that he attained the
stature of natural Law, brought to beauty all the long self-
loathing of the ur-viles. But he had no ethical imperative, no
sense of purpose beyond this climax. Findail's essence sup-
plied the capacity for use, the strength which made Law ef-
fective. But he could not give it meaning: the Elohim were
too self-absorbed. The transformation required something
which only the human holder of the ring could provide.

She gave the best answer she had. Fear and distrust and
anger she set aside: they had no place here. Exalted by white
fire, she shone forth her passion for health and healing, her
Land-boro percipience, the love she had learned for Andelain
and Earthpower. By herself, she chose the meaning she de-
sired and made it true.

In her hands, the new Staff began to live.

Living Law filled the bands of lore; living power shone in
every fiber of the wood. The old Staff had been rune-carved
to define its purpose. But this Staff was alive, almost sentient:

it did not need runes.

As her fingers closed around the wood, she was swept away
in a flood of possibility.

Almost without transition, her health-sense became as huge
as the mountain. She tasted Mount Thunder's tremendous
weight and ancientness, felt the slow, wracked breathing of
the stone. Cavewights scurried like motes through the un-
measured catacombs. Far below her, two Ravers cowered
among the banes and creatures of the depths. Somewhere
above them, the few surviving ur-viles watched Kiril Threndor
in a reflective pool of acid and barked vindication at Vain's
success. Spouting lava cast its heat onto ber bare cheek. A
myriad passages, dens, offal-pits, and chamels ached emptily

The Sun-Sage                 461

and stank because the river which should have run through
Treacher's Gorge was dry, supplied no water to wash the
Wightwarrens. At the peak, Fire-Lions crouched, waiting in
eternal immobility for the invocation to life.

And still her range increased. Wild magic and Law carried
her outward. Before she could clarify half her perceptions,
they reached beyond the mountain, went out to the Land.

The sun was rising. Though she stood in Kiril Threndor as
if she were entranced, she felt the Sunbane dawn over her.

It was insanely intense. She had become too vulnerable: it
stabbed along her nerves like the life-thrust of a hot knife,
pierced her heart with venom like a keen fang. At once, she
snatched herself back toward shelter—recoiled as if she were
reeling to the cave where the Giants watched her in wide as-
tonishment and Covenant lay dead upon the floor.

A fertile sun. Visceral fever gripped her. Sunder and Hol-
lian had abhorred the sun of pestilence more than any other.
But for Linden the fertile sun was the worst. It was ill beyond
bearing, and everything it touched became a sob of anguish.

Echoes of her fire licked the walls. One long crack marked
the floor. Something precious had been broken here. The First
and Pitchwife stared at her as if she had become wonderful.

She had so little time left. She needed time, needed peace
and rest and solace in which to muster courage. But the pres-
sure of her dismissal continued to buud. And the Staff of Law
multiplied that force. Summons and return acted by rules
which the Staff affirmed. Only her fist on the ring and her grip
on the dean wood—only her clenched will—held her where
she was.

She knew what she would have to do.

The prospect appalled her.

But she had already borne so much, and it would all be ren-
dered meaningless if she faltered now. She did not have to
fail. This was why she had been chosen. Because she was fit
to fulfill Covenant's last appeal. It was too much—and yet it
was hardly enough to repay her debts. Why should she fail?
The mere thought that she would have to let the Sunbane
touch her and touch her made her guts writhe, sent nausea
beating down her veins. Horror raised mute cries of protest.
In a sense, she would have to become the Land—to expose
herself as fully as the Land to the Sunbane's desecration. It

462 White Gold Wielder

would be like being locked again in the attic with her dying
father while dark glee came hosting against her—like endur-
ing again her mother's abject blame until she was driven to
the point of murder. But she had survived those things. She
had found her way through them to a life worthy of more
respect than she had ever given it. And the old man whose life
she had saved on Haven Farm bad given her a promise to
sustain her.

Ah, my daughter, do not fear. You will not fail, however he
may assail you. There is also love in the world.

Because she needed at least one small comfort for herself,
she turned to the Giants.

They had not moved. They had no eyes to see what was
happening. But indomitability still shone in the First's face.
No grime or bloodshed could mar her iron beauty. She looked
as acute as an eagle. And when he met Linden's gaze. Pitch-
wife grinned as if she were the last benison he would ever
need.

With the Staff of Law and the white ring. Linden caressed
the fatigue out of the First's limbs, restored her Giantish
strength. The rupture in Pitchwife's lungs Linden effaced, heal-
ing his respiration. Then, so that she would be able to trust
herself later, she unbent his spine, restructured the bones in a
way that allowed him to stand straight, breathe normally.

But after that she had no more time. The wind between
the worlds keened constantly across the background of her
thoughts, calling her away. She could not refuse it much
longer.

Be true.

Deliberately, she opened her senses and went. by her own
choice back out into the Sunbane.

Its power was atrocious beyond belief; and the Land lay
broken under it—broken and dying, a helpless body slain like
Covenant in her worst nightmare, the knife driven by an
astonishing violence which had brought up more blood than
she had ever seen in her life. And from that wound corruption
welled upward.

Nothing could stop it. It ate at the ground like venom. The
wound grew wider with every sunrise. The Land had been
stabbed to its vitals. Murder spewed across the sodden hill-
sides, clogged the dry riverbeds, gathered and reeked in every

The Sun-Sage                 463

hollow and valley. Only the heart of Andelain remained un-
ruined; but even there the sway of slaughter grew. The very
Earth was bleeding to death. Linden had no way to save her-
self from drowning.

That was the truth of the Sunbane. It could never be
stanched. She was a fool to make the attempt.

But she held wild magic clenched like bright passion in her
right fist; and her left hand gripped the living Staff. Both were
hers to wield. Guided by her health-sense—by the same vul-
nerability which let the Sunbane run through her like a riptide,
desecrating every thew of her body, every ligament of her will
—she stood within her mind on the high slopes of Mount
Thunder and set herself to do battle with perversion.

It was a strange battle, weird and terrible. She had no op-
ponent. Her foe was the rot Lord Foul had afflicted upon the
Earthpower; and without him the Sunbane had neither mind
nor purpose. It was simply a hunger which fed on every form
of nature and health and life. She could have fired her huge
forces blast after blast and struck nothing except the ravaged
ground, done no hurt to anything not already lost. Only scant
moments after dawn, green sprouts of vegetation stretched
like screams from the soil.

And beyond this fertility lyrked rain and pestilence and
desert in erratic sequence, waiting to repeat themselves over
and over again, always harder and faster, until the founda-
tions of the Land crumbled. Then the Sunbane would be free
to spread.

Out to the rest of the Earth.

But she had learned from Covenant—and from the Raver's
possession. She did not attempt to attack the Sunbane. In-
stead, she called it to herself, accepted it into her personal
flesh.

With white fire she absorbed the Land's corruption.

At first, the sheer pain and horror of it excruciated her
hideously. One shrill cry as hoarse as terror ripped her throat,
rang like Kevin's despair over the wide landscape below her,
echoed and echoed in Kiril Threndor until the Giants were
frantic, unable to help her. But then her own need drove her
to more power.

The Staff named so intensely that her body should have
been burned away. Yet she was not hurt. Rather, the pain she

White Gold Wielder

464

had taken upon herself was swept from her—cured and
cleansed, and sent spilling outward as pure Earthpower. With
Law she healed herself.

She hardly understood what she was doing: it was an
act of exaltation, chosen by intuition rather than conscious
thought. But she saw her way now with the reasonless clarity
of Joy. It could be done: the Land could be redeemed. With
all the passion of her thwarted heart, all the love she had
learned and been given, she plunged into her chosen work.

She was a storm upon the mountain, a barrage of determi-
nation and fire which no eyes but hers could have witnessed.
From every league and hill and gully and plain of the Land,
every slope of Andelain and cliff of the peaks, every southern
escarpment and northern rise, she drew ruin into herself and
restored it to wholeness, then sent it back like silent rain,
anaiystic and invisible.

Her spirit became the medicament that cured. She was the
Sun-Sage, the Healer, Linden Avery the Chosen, altering the
Sunbane with her own life.

It fired green at her like the sickness of emeralds. But she
understood intimately the natural growth and decay of plants.
They found their Law in her, their lush or hardy order, their
native abundance or rarity; and then the green was gone.

Blue volleyed thunderously at her head, then lost the Land
as she accepted every drop of water and flash of violence.

The brown of deserts came blistering around her, scorched
her skin. But she knew the necessity of heat—and the restric-
tion of climate. She felt in her bones the rhythm of rise and
fall, the strict and vital alternation of seasons, summer and
winter. The desert fire was cooled to a caress by the Staff and
emitted gently outward again.

And last, the red of pestilence, as scarlet as disease, as
stark as adders. It swarmed against her like a world full of
bees, shot streaks of blood across her vision. In spite of her-
self, she was fading, could not keep from being hurt. But even
pestilence was only a distortion of the truth. It had its clear
place and purpose. When it was reduced, it fit within the new
Law which she set forth.

Sun-Sage and ring-wielder, she restored the Earthpower and
released it upon the wracked body of the Land.

She could not do everything. Already, she had made her-
self faint with self-expenditure, and the ground sprawling

r"'

The Sun-Sage                 465

below her to the horizons reeled. She had nothing left with
which she might bring back the Land's trees and meadows
and crops, its creatures and birds. But she had done enough.
She knew without questioning the knowledge that seeds re-
mained in the soil—that even among the wrecked treasures
of the Waynhim were things which might yet produce fruit
and young—that the weather would be able to find its own
patterns again. She saw birds and animals still nourishing in
the mountains to the west and south, where the Sunbane had
not reached: they would eventually return. The people who
stayed alive in their small villages would be able to endure.

And she saw one more reason for hope, one more fact that
made the future possible. Much of Andelain had been pre-
served. Around its heart, it bad mustered its resistance—and
had prevailed.

Because Sunder and Hollian were there.
In their human way, they contained as much Earthpower
as the Hills; and they had fought. Linden saw how they had
fought. The loveliness of what they were—and of what they
served—was lambent about them. Already, it had begun to
regain the lost region.

Yes, she breathed to herself. Yes.

Across the wide leagues, she spoke a word to them that
they would understand. Then she with'drew.

She feared the dismissal would take her while she was still
too far from her body to bear the strain. As keen as a gale,
the wind reached toward her. Too weary even to smile at what
she had accomplished, she went wanly back through the rock
toward Kiril Threndor and dissolution.

When she gained the cave, she saw in the faces of the"
Giants that she had already faded beyond their perceptions.
Grief twisted Pitchwife's visage; the First's eyes streamed.
They had no way of knowing what had happened—and would
not know it until they found their way out of the Wight-
warrens to gaze upon the free Land. But Linden could not
bear to leave them hurt. They had given her too much. With
her last power, she reached out and placed a silent touch of
victory in their minds. It was the only gift she had left.

But it, too, was enough. The First started in wonder: un-
expected gladness softened her face. And Pitchwife threw
back his head to crow like a clean dawn, "Linden Avery!
Have I not said that you are well Chosen?"

466 White Gold Wielder

The long wind pulled through Linden. In moments, she
would lose the Giants forever. Yet she clung to them. Some-
how, she lasted long enough to see the First pick up the Staff
of Law.

Linden still held the ring; but at the last moment she must
have dropped the Staff beside the dais. The First lifted it like
a promise. "This must not fall to ill hands," she murmured*
Her voice was as solid as granite: it nearly surpassed Linden's
hearing. "I will ward it in the name of the future which Earth-
friend and Chosen have procured with their lives. If Sunder
or Hollian yet live, they will have need of it"

Pitchwife laughed and cried and kissed her. Then he bent,
lifted Covenant into his arms. His back. was strong and
straight. Together, he and the First left Kiril Threndor. She
strode like a Swordmain, ready for the world. But he moved
at her side with a gay hop and caper, as if he were dancing.

There Linden let go. The mountain towered over her, as
imponderable as the gaps between the stars. It was heavier
than sorrow, greater than loss. Nothing would ever heal what
it had endured. She was only mortal; but Mount Thunder's
grief would go on without let or surcease, imambergrised for
all time.

Then the wind took her, and she felt herself go out.

Out into the dark.

EPILOQUE

Restoration

TWENTY-ONE;

"To Say Farewell"

BUT when she was fully in the grip of the wind, she no
longer felt its force. It reft her from the Land as if she were
mist; but like mist she could not be hurt now. She had been
battered numb. When the numbness passed, her pain would
find its voice again and cry out. But that prospect had lost its
power to frighten her. Pain was only the other side of love;

and she did not regret it.      ,.

Yet for the present she was quiet, and the wind bore her
gently across the illimitable dark. Her percipience was already
gone, lost like the Land: she had no way to measure the
spans of loneliness she traversed. But the ring—Covenant's
ring, her ring—lay in her hand, and she held it for comfort.

And while she was swept through the midnight between
worlds, she remembered music—little snatches of a song
Pitchwife had once sung. For a time, they were only snatches.
Then their ache brought them together.

My heart has rooms that sigh with dust

And ashes in the hearth.
They must be cleaned and blown away

By daylight's breath.
But I cannot essay the task,
For even dust to me is dear;

For dust and ashes still recall,

My love was here.

469

470               White Gold Wielder

I know not how to say Farewell,

When Farewell is the word
That stays alone for me to say

Or will be heard.
But I cannot speak out that word
Or ever let my loved one go:

How can I bear it that these rooms

Are empty so?

I sit among the dust and hope

That dust will cover me.
I stir the ashes in the hearth,

Though cold they be.
I cannot bear to close the door,
To seal my loneliness away
While dust and ashes yet remain

Of my love's day.

The song. made her think of her father.

He came back to her like Pitchwife's voice, sprawling
there in the old rocker while his last life bled away—driven
to self-murder by the possession of Despite. His loathing of
himself had grown so great that it had become a loathing of
life. It had been like her mother's religion, only able to prove
itself true by imposing itself upon the people around it. But
it had been false; and she thought of him now with regret
and pity which she had never before been able to afford. He
had been wrong about her: she had loved him deariy. She
had loved both her parents, although she had been badly
misled by her own bitterness.

In a curious way, that recognition made her ready. She was
not startled or bereft when Covenant spoke to her out of the

void.

"Thank you," he said gruffly, husky with emotion. "There
aren't enough words for it anywhere. But thanks."

The sound of his voice made tears stream down her face.
They stang like sorrow on her cheeks. But she welcomed
them and him.

"I know it's been terrible," he went on. "Are you all right?"

She nodded along the wind that seemed to rush without
motion around her as if it bad no meaning except loss. I

*To Say FareweW               471

think so. Maybe. It doesn't matter. She only wanted to hear
his voice while the chance lasted. She knew it would not
last long. To make him speak again, she said the first words
that occurred to her.

"You were wonderful. But how did you do it? I don't have
any idea how you did it"

In response, he sighed—an exhalation of weariness and
remembered pain, not of rue. "I don't think I did it at all. All
I did was want. The rest of it—

"Caer-Caveral made it possible. Hile Troy." An old longing
suffused his tone. "That was the 'necessity* he talked about.
Why he had to give his life. It was the only way to open
mat particular door. So that Hollian could be brought back.
And so that I wouldn't be like the rest of the Dead—unable
to act He broke the Law that would've kept me from oppos-
ing Foul. Otherwise I would*ve been just a spectator.

"And Foul didn't understand. Maybe be was too far gone.
Or maybe he just refused to believe it. But he tried to ignore
the paradox. The paradox of white gold. And the paradox of
himself. He wanted the white gold—the ring. But I'm the
white gold too. He couldn't change that by killing me. When
he hit me with my own fire, he did me one thing I couldn't
do for myself. He burned the venom away. After that, I was
free."

He paused for a moment, turned inward, "I didn't know
what was going to happen, I was Just terrified that he would
let me live until after he attacked the Arch." Dimly, she re-
membered the way Covenant had jibed at Lord Foul as if
he were asking for deam.

"We aren't enemies, no matter what he says. He and I are
one. But he doesn't seem to know that Or maybe he hates
it too much to admit it Evil can't exist unless the capacity to
stand against it also exists. And you and I are the Land—in
a manner of speaking, anyway. He's just one side of us. That's
his paradox. He's one side of us. We're one side of him.
When he killed me, he was really trying to kill the other
half of himself. He just made me stronger. As long as I ac-
cepted him—or accepted myself, my own power, didn't try to
do to him what he wanted to do to me—he couldn't get past

me.

There he fell silent But she had not been listening to him

472 White Gold Wielder

with any urgency. She had her own answers, and they sufficed.
She listened chiefly to the sound of his voice, cared only that
he was with her still. When he stopped, she groped for an-
other question. After a moment, she asked him how the First
and Pitchwife had been able to escape the Cavewights.

At that, a note like a chuckle gleamed along the wind. "Ah,
that" His humor was tinged with grimness; but she treasured
it because she had never heard him come so close to laugh-
ter. "That 111 take credit for.

"Foul gave me so much power. And it made me crazy to
stand there and not be able to touch you. I had to do some-
thing. Foul knew what the Cavewights were doing all along.
He let them do it to put more pressure on us. So I made
something rise out of the Wightbarrow. I don't kndw what it
was—it didn't last long. But while the Cavewights were bow-
ing, the First and Pitchwife had a chance to get away. Then
I showed them how to reach you."

She liked his voice. Perhaps guilt as well as venom had
been burned out of it. They shared a moment of companion-
ship. Thinking about what he had done for her, she almost
forgot that she would never see him alive again.

But then some visceral instinct warned her that the dark-
ness was shifting—that her time with him was almost over.
She made an effort to articulate her appreciation.

"You gave me what I needed. I should be thanking you. For
all of it. Even the parts that hurt. I've never been given so
many gifts. I just wish—"

Shifting and growing lighter. On all sides, the void modu-
lated toward definition. She knew where she was going, what
she would find when she got there; and the thought of it
brought all her hurts and weaknesses together into one lorn
outcry. Yet that cry went unuttered back into the dark. In
mute surprise, she realized that the future was something she
would be able to bear-
Just wish I didn't have to lose you.

Oh, Covenant!

For the last time, she lifted her voice toward him, spoke to
him as if she were a woman of the Land:

"Farewell, beloved."

His response came softly, receding along the wind. "There's
no need for that I'm part of you now. You'll always re-
member."

*To Say FarewelT

473

At the edge of her heart, he stopped. She was barely able
to hear him.

"I'll be with you as long as you live."

Then he was gone. Slowly, the gulf became stone against
her face.

Light swelled beyond her eyelids. She knew before she
raised her head that she had come back to herself in the
ordinary dawn of a new day.

The air was cool. She smelled dew and springtime and
cold ash and budding trees. And blood that was already dry.

For a long moment, she lay still and let the translation
complete itself. Then she levered her arms under her.

At once, a forgotten pain labored in the bones behind her
left ear. She groaned involuntarily, slumped again to the
stone.

She would have been willing to lie still while she persuaded
herself that the hurt did not matter. She was in no hurry to
took at her surroundings. But as she slumped, unexpected
hands came to her shoulders. They were not strong in the
way she had learned to measure strength; but they gripped
her with enough determination to lift her to her knees.
"Linden," a man's care-aged voice breathed. Thank God."

Her eyes were slow to focus; her sight seemed to come
back from a great distance. She w.as conscious of the dawn,
the blurred gray stone, the barren hollow set like a bowl of
death into the heart of the green woods. But gradually she
made out Covenant's form. He was stretched on the rock
nearby, within the painted triangle of blood. The light stroked
his dear face like a touch of annunciation.

From the center of bis chest jutted the knife which had
made everything else necessary.

The man holding her repeated her name. "I'm so sorry," he
murmured. "I never should've gotten you into this. We
shouldn't have let him keep her. But we didn't know he was
in this much danger."

Slowly, she turned her head and met the alarmed and
wearied gaze of Dr. Berenford.

His eyes seemed to wince in their sockets, making the
heavy pouches under tfaem quiver. His old moustache drooped
over his mouth. The characteristic wry dyspepsia of his tone
was gone; it failed him here. Almost fearfully, he asked her
the same question Covenant had asked. "Are you all right?'*

474 White Gold Wielder

She nodded as well as the pain in her skull allowed. Her
voice scraped like rust in her throat. "They killed him." But
no words were adequate to her grief.

"I know." He urged her into a sitting position. Then he
turned away to snap open his medical bag. A moment later,
she smelled the pungence of antiseptic. With reassuring gentle-
ness, he parted her hair, probed her injury, began to cleanse
the wound. But he did not stop talldng.

"Mrs. Jason and her three kids came to my house. You
probably saw her outside the courthouse the first day you
were here. Carrying a sign that said, 'Repent.' She's one of
those people who thinks doctors and writers Just naturally
go to hell. But this time she needed me. Got me out of bed
a few hours ago. AU four of them—'* He swallowed con-
vulsively. "Their right hands were terribly burned. Even the
kids."

He finished tending her hurt, but did not move to face her.
For a while, she stared sightlessly at the dead ash of the
bonfire. But then her gaze returned to Covenant. He lay
there in his worn T-shirt and old jeans as if no cerements in
all the world could give his death dignity. His features were
frozen in fear and pain—and in a kind of intensity that looked
like hope. If Dr. Berenford had not been with her. she would
have taken Covenant into her arms for solace. He deserved
better than to lie so untended.

"At first she wouldn't talk to me," the older man went on.
"But while I drove them to the hospital, she broke down.
Somewhere inside her, she had enough decency left to be
horrified. Her kids were wailing, and she couldn't bear it. I
guess none of them knew what they were doing. They thought
God had finally recognized their righteousness. They all had
the same vision, and they just obeyed it. They whipped them-
selves into a tizzy killing a horse to get the blood they used
to mark his house. They weren't sane anymore.

"Why they picked on him I don't know." His voice shook.
"Maybe because he wrote *unChristian' books. She kept talk-
ing about the maker of desecration.' When he was forced
to offer himself for sacrifice, the world would be purged of
sin. Retribution and apocalypse. And Joan was his victim.
She couldn't be rescued any other way." His bitterness
mounted. "What a wonderful idea. How could they resist it?

"To Say Fareweir               475

They thought they were saving the world when they put their
hands in that fire.

"They didn't snap out of it until you interrupted them."

Linden understood his dismay, his anger. But she had
passed the crisis. Without turning, she said, "They were like
Joan. They hated themselves—their lives, their poverty, their
ineffectuality." Like my parents. "It made them crazy." She
yearned with pity for the people who had done this to
Covenant.

*T suppose so," Dr. Berenford sighed. "It wouldn't be the
first time." Then he resumed, "Anyway, I left Mrs. Jason in
Emergency and got the Sheriff. He didn't exactly believe me
—but he came out to Haven Farm anyway. We found Joan.
She was asleep in the house. When we woke her up, she
didn't remember a thing. But she looked like she had her
mind back. I couldn't tell. At least she wasn't violent anymore.

"I made the Sheriff take her to the hospital Then I came
looking for you."

Again he swallowed at his distress. "I didn't want him with
me. I didn't want him to think you were responsible for this."

At that, she looked toward him in wonder. His concern
for her—his desire to spare her the conclusions which the
Sheriff might draw from finding her alone with Covenant's
body—touched the spring of something new in her; and it
opened as if it were blossoming. His face had sagged under
the weight of his baffled care; he appeared reluctant to meet
her gaze. But he was a good roan; and when she looked at him
she saw that Covenant's spirit was not dead. Without knowing
it, he showed her the one true way to say FarewelL

She placed her hand on his shoulder. Softly, she said,
"Don't blame yourself. You couldnt have known what would
happen. And he got what he wanted most. He made himself
innocent." Then she leaned on him so that she could rise to
her feet

The sunlight felt warm and kind to her weariness. Above
the bare slopes of me hollow stood trees wreathed in the new
green of spring, buoyant, ineffable, and clean. In this world
also there was health to be served, hurts to be healed.

When the older man joined her, she said, "Come on. We've
got work to do. Mrs. Jason and her kids weren't the only ones.
We have a lot more burned hands to take care of."

476 White Gold Wielder

After a moment. Dr. Berenford nodded. "I'll tell the
Sheriff where to find him. At least we can make sure he gets
a decent bunal."

"Yes," she answered. The sun filled her eyes with bright-
ness. Together, she and her companion started up the barren
hillside toward the trees.

With her nght hand. Linden Avery kept a sure hold on
her wedding nng.

Here ends
The Second Chronicles of Thomas Covenant.

Qlossary

ak-Haru: a supreme Haruchai honorific
aliantfw: treasure-berries
Amith; a woman of Crystal Stonedown
Anchormaster; second-in-command aboard a Giantship
Andelain, the Hills of; a region of the Land free of the Sun-
bane
Appointed, the; an Elohim chosen to bear a particular burden:

Findail
Arch of Time, the; symbol of the existence and structure of

time

arghule/arghuleh: ferocious ice-beasts
Atiaran: former woman of Mitha Stonedown; mother of Lena

Bahgoon: character in a Giantish tale

Banefire, the: fire by which the Clave wields the Sunbane

Baonor: former Bloodguard

Berek Halfhand; ancient hero; the Lord-Fatherer

Bern! Haruchai lost to the Clave

Bhrathair, the: a people who live on the verge of the Great

Desert

Bhrathairealm: the land of the Bhrathair
Bloodguard; former servants of the Council of Lords
Brinn: Haruchai; former protector of Covenant, now Guardian

of the One Tree

cdamwa: Giantish ordeal of grief by fire
Cable Seadreamer: a Giant; member of the Search; brother

of Honninscrave; possessed by the Earth-Sight; slam at the

One Tree

477

478

Glossary

Caer-Caveral; Forestal of Andelain; formerly Hile Troy

Caerroil Wildwood; former Forestal of Garroting Deep

Cail; Haruchai; former protector of Linden Avery; now pro-
tector of Covenant

Cavewights; evil earth-delving creatures living within Mount
Thunder

Ceer: Haruchai; slain in Bhrathairealm

Celebration of Spring, the: the Dance of the Wraiths of
Andelain on the dark of the moon in the middle night of
Spring

Center Plains, the; a region of the Land

Chant: one of the Elohim

Chosen, the; title given to Linden Avery

clachan, the; demesne of the Elohim               .

Clave, the i the rulers of the Land

Coercri: The Grieve; former home of the Giants in Seareach

Colossus of die Fall, the: ancient stone figure formerly guard-
ing the Upper Land

Corruption: Haruchai name for Lord Foul

Council of Lords: former rulers of the Land

Coursen beast of transport made by the Clave by the power
of the Sunbane

croyel: mysterious creatures which bargain for power

Crystal Stonedown: village of the Land; home of Hollian

Dancers of the Sea, the: merewives
Daphin: one of the Elohim

Dawngreeter; highest sail on the foremast of a Giantship
Dead, the: specters of those who have died
Defiles Course: a river of the Land
Demondim, the: spawners of ur-viles and Waynhim '
Demondim-spawn: Vain
Despiser, the; Lord Foul
Despite: evil
dhumgi a Waynhim
diamondraught; Giantish liquor
Dolewind, the; wind blowing to the Soulbiter
dromonds a Giantship
Drool Bookworm: former Cavewight
During Stonedown: home of Hamako; former village de-
stroyed by the Grim                                -,
Dun-is: Haruchai

Glossary                      479

Earthfriend: title given to Berek Halfiiand, then to Covenant
Earthpower, the: source of all power in the Land
Earth-Sight; Giantish ability to perceive distant dangers and

needs
eh-Brand: one who can use wood to read the Sunbane;

Hollian

Elemesnedene: home of the Elohim
Elena: former High Lord; daughter of Lena and Covenant
Elohim, the; a faery people first met by the wandering Giants
Enemy; Lord Foul's term of reference for the Creator

Far Woodhelven: a village of the Land

FindaO: one of the Elohim; the Appointed

Fire-Lions: fire-flow of Mount Thunder

First of the Search, the: leader of the Giants who follow the

Earth-Sight

FIeshharrower: former Giant-Raver; moksha Jehannum
Foamldte: tyrscull belonging to Honmnscrave and Seadreamer
Pole: Haruchai

Forestal: a protector of the forests of the Land
Foul's Creche; the Despiser's former home; destroyed by

Covenant
Furl Falls: waterfall at Revelstone

Gallows Howe; place of execution in Garroting Deep

Garroting Deep; a former forest of the Land

ghramin: a Waynhim

Giants: a seafaring people of the Earth

Giantclave: Giantish conference

Giantfriend; title given to Covenant

Giantship: stone sailing vessel made by Giants

Giant Woods; a forest of the Land

Gibbon: the na-Mhoram; leader of the Clave

Guden: a maplelike tree with golden leaves

Glimmermere: a lake on the upland above Revelstone

Gossamer GIowlimn: a Giant; the First of the Search

Graveler: one who uses stone to wield the Sunbane; Sunder

graveling: fire-stones

Gravin Threndor: Mount Thunder

Great Desert, the: a region of the Earth; home of the

Bhrathair and the Sandgorgons
Great Swamp, the; a region of the Land

480 Glossary

Grey River, tho a river of the Land

Grieve, The; Coercri

Grim, the: destructive storm sent as a curse by the Clave

Grimmand Honninscrave: a Giant; Master of Starfare's Gem;

member of the Search; brother of Cable Seadreamer
Guardian of the One Tree, the: mystical figure warding the

approach to the One Tree; also ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol

Halfhand: title given to Covenant as well as to Berek
Hall of Gifts, the: large chamber in Revelstone devoted to

artworks of the Land

Bamako: former Stonedownor adopted by Waynhim
Ham: Haruchai; protector of Hollian
Haruchai, the: a people who live in the Westron Mountains
Hearthcoal: a Giant; cook of Starfare's Gem; wife of Se'asauce
Heft Galewrath: a Giant; Storesmaster of Starfare's Gem
Herem; a Raver

Hergrom: Haruchai', slain in Bhrathairealm
High Lord: former leader of the Council of Lords
Hile Troyi a man formerly from Covenant's world who be-
came a Forestal
Hollian: daughter of Amith; eh-Brand formerly of Crystal

Stonedown

Home: homeland of the Giants
Hotash Slay* flow of lava formerly protecting FouFs Creche

IIlearth Stone, the: green stone; a source of evil power

Mender; title given to Covenant

Infelice: reigning leader of the Elohim

Isle of the One Tree, the; location of the One Tree

Jehannum: a Raver; also known as moksha
iheherrin; living by-products of Lord Foul's misshaping

Kalina: wife of Nassic; mother of Sunder; former woman of

Mithil Stonedown
Kasreyn of the Gyres a thaumaturge; former power in

Bhrathairealm

Kastenessen: one of the Elohim; former Appointed
Keep of the na-Mhoram: Revelstone
Kemper, the; chief minister of Bhrathairealm; Kasreyn

Glossary                      481

Kemper's Pitch: highest level of the Sandhold
Kenaustin Ardenol: a figure of Haruchai legend; paragon and

measure of all Haruchai virtues
Kevin Landwaster; son of Loric; former Lord; enactor of the

Ritual of Desecration

Kevin's Watch; mountain lookout near Mithil Stonedown
Kiril Threndor: Heart of Thunder; chamber of power within

Mount Thunder
fa-itt, the: knife of power formed by Loric

Land, the: a focal region of the Earth

Landsdrop: great cliff separating the Upper and Lower Lands

Landsverge Stonedown: a village of the Land

Landwaster: title given to Kevin

Law, the: the natural order

Law of Death, the; separation of the living from the dead

Law of Life, the: separation of the dead from the living

Lena: former woman of Mithil Stonedown; daughter of

Atiaran; mother of Elena
Uanari wood of power used by an eh-Brand
Lord-Fatherer, the; title given to Berek
Lord Foul: the Despiser
Lords, the: former rulers of the Land
Lord's Keep: Revelstone
Loric Vilesilencer; son of Damelon; father of Kevin; former

Lord

Lower Land, the: region east of Landsdrop
lurker of the Sarangrave: a swamp-monster

Marid: a man of Mithil Stonedown; Sunbane victim

Master: Clave-name for Lord Foul

Master, the: captain of a Giantship

master-rukh: iron triangle in Revelstone which feeds and reads

all other rukhs

Memla; a former Rider of the Clave
merewives: the Dancers of the Sea
meiheglin: a beverage; mead
Mhoram: former High Lord
Mistweave; a Giant
Mithil Eiver: a river of the Land
Mithil Stonedown: a village of the Land

482 Glossary

moksha: a Raver; also known as Jehannum
Mount Thunder; a peak at the center of Landsdrop

na-Mhoram, thes leader of the Clave

na-Mhoram-in: highest rank of the Clave

na-Mhoram-wist: middle rank of the Clave

Nassic; a former man of Mithil Stonedown; father of Sunder,

inheritor of the Unfettered One's mission to welcome

Covenant
Nicon great sea-monsters; said to be offspring of the Worm of

the World's End
Noro: a Sandgorgon

North Plains, the: a region of the Land
Northron Climbs, thci a region of the Land

Old Lords, the; the Lords of the Land prior to the Ritual of

Desecration
One Forest, the; ancient sentient forest which once covered

most of the Land
One Tree, the; mystic tree from which the Staff of Law was

made
orcresfi Sunstone; a stone of power, used by a Graveler

pitchbrew: a beverage combining diamondraught and Wfrfm,
conceived by Pitchwife

Pitchwife; a Giant; member of the Search; husband of Gossa-
mer Glowlimn

Prover of Life; title given to Covenant

Pure One, the; redemptive figure of fheherrin legend; Saltheart
Foamfollower

Kamen: a people of the Land; tenders of the Ranyhyn
Baoyhyni the great horses; formerly inhabited the Plains of Ra
Ravers; Lord Foul's three ancient servants
Kawedge Him, the: mountains around Elemesnedene
Header! a member of the Clave who tends and uses the

master-rukh

Kevelstone; mountain-city of the Clave
rhysh: a community of Waynhim
rhy shy shim: a gathering of rhysh; a place in which such

gathering occurs
Eider; a member of the Clave                          -,

Glossary                      483

ring-wlelder: Elohim term of reference for Covenant
Ritual of Desecration: act of despair by which Kevin Land-
waster destroyed much of the Land
rocklighti light emitted by glowing stone
ruJUt; iron talisman by which a Rider wields power

sacred enclosure; former Vespers hall in Revelstone; now site

of the Banefire and the master-rukh
Saltheart Foamfollower: former Giant
Salttooth; jutting rock in the harbor of Home
samadhi: a Raver: also known as Sheol
Sandgorgon; a monster of the Great Desert
Sandgorgons Dooms imprisoning storm created by Kasreya to

trap the Sandgorgons

Sandhold, the: castle of the rulers of Bhrathairealm
Saodwall, the: great wall defending Bhrathairealm
Sarangrave Flat; a region of the Lower Land
Search, the: quest of the Giants for the wound in the Earth

seen by the Earth-Sight

Seareach; a region of the Land; formerly inhabited by Giants
Seasauce: a Giant; cook of Starfare's Gem; husband of

Hearthcoal                 ^
Seven Wards, the: collection of knowledge hidden by Kevin
Sevinhand: a Giant; Anchormaster of Starfare's Gem
Sheol: a Raver; also known as samadhi
Shipsheartthew; the wheel of a Giantship
Sivit: a Rider

goothtell: ritual of prophecy practiced by the Clave
Soulbiter, the: dangerous ocean of Giantish legend
Soulsease River, the: a river of the Land
South Plains, the: a region of the Land
Staff of Law, the: a tool of power formed by Berek from the

One Tree

Starfare's Gem: Giantship used by the Search
Stell: Haruchai; former protector of Sunder
Stonedown; a village of the Land
Stonedownor; inhabitant of a Stonedown
Stonemight Woodhelven: a village of the Land
Storesmaster; third-in-command aboard a Giantship
Sunbane, the; a power arising from the corruption of nature

by Lord Foul
Sunder; son of Nassic; former Graveler of Mithi! Stonedown

484                     Glossary

Sun-Sage, the; title given to Linden Avery by the Elohim; one

who can affect the progress of the Sunbane
Sunstone; orcrest

Swordmain/ Swordmainnir; Giant trained as a warrior

thronehall, the; the Despiser's former seat in Foul's Creche
Toril: Haruchai lost to the Clave
Treacher's Gorge: river-opening into Mount Thunder
treasure-berries: aliantha\ a nourishing fruit
Trothgardi a region of the Land

tyrscull: a Giantish training vessel for apprentice sailors

Unbeliever, thci title given to Covenant
Unhomed, the; former Giants of Seareach
upland: plateau above Revelstone
Upper Land, the; region west of Landsdrop
ur-Lord; title given to Covenant

ur-vuesi spawn of the Demondim; creatures of power; creators
of Vain

ussusimiel: nourishing melon grown by the people of the Land

Vain: Demondim-spawn; bred by the ur-viles for a secret
purpose

citrim: nourishing fluid created by Waynhim
coure: a plant-sap which wards off insects; a medicine for

Sunbane-sickness

Vow, the: BIoodguard oath of service to the Lords
craifhi a Waynhun

Warrenbridge: bridge leading to the catacombs under Mount
Thunder

Waynhim: spawn of the Demondim; opposed to ur-viles
Weird of the Waynhim, the: Waynhim concept of doom,
destiny, or duty

Westron Mountains: mountains bordering the Land
white gold; a metal of power not found in the Earth
White Biver, the: a river of the Land

Wightbarrow, the; caim under which Drool Rockworm is
buried

Wightwarrens; catacombs; home of the Cavewights under
Mount Thunder

Glossary                     485

wild magict the power of white gold; considered the keystone

of the Arch of Time
Woodhelven: a village of the Land
Worm of the World's End, Ac: mystic creature believed by

the Elohim to have formed the foundation of the Earth
Wraiths of Andelaim creatures of living light which inhabit

Andelain
Wurd of the Earth, thci term used by the Elohim to suggest

variously their own nature, the nature of the Earth, and

their ethical compulsions; could be read as Word, Worm,

or Weird

About the Author

Born in 1947 in Cleveland, Ohio, Stephen R. Donaldson made
his publishing debut with the first Covenant trilogy in 1977.
Shortly thereafter he was named best New Writer of the Year
and given the prestigious John W. Campbell Award. He
graduated from the College of Wooster (Ohio) in 1968, served
two years as a conscientious objector doing hospital work in
Alo-on, then attended Kent State University where he received
his M.A. in English in 1971. Donaldson now lives in New
Mexico.