Fatal Revenant

Coldspray considered his answer. “And is this force which the Chosen wields not a ‘corrupting use of Earthpower?”

“The Masters are uncertain. Therefore the Humbled guard against her, but do not demand the surrender of her powers. In our present straits, they will grant to her-and to you-their utmost service.”

“Powers”, Coldspray mused. But she did not question Stave further.

The Giants of the Search must have taken back to their people stories of Covenant’s victory over Lord Foul, of Linden and her Staff-and of white gold. The First and Pitchwife had seen Covenant exert wild magic. They had seen Linden claim his ring when he was gone. Rime Coldspray and the other Swordmainnir would know everything that their ancestors had done and witnessed.

Longwrath must have learned that history as well. It may have shaped his insanity-

Linden sighed to herself. At least she would not have to explain how she intended to fight the skurj.

Belatedly she realised that she did not know the name of the woman who carried her. Weary and fearful, and troubled by her unpredictable relationship with Covenant’s ring, she had paid scant attention to the people around her.

One way or another, their lives were in her hands.

But she could not think of a way to address the woman without sounding brusque and graceless; too stilted to be polite. Like the courtesies of the Ramen, those of the Giants exceeded her.

While she groped for an approach, the dense canopy of Salva Gildenbourne opened unexpectedly. By starlight and percipience, she saw that Bhapa and Pahni had guided the Giants into a small glade. For some reason, the quality of the soil here discouraged trees. Instead wild grasses and brush flourished, interspersed with the piquant promise of aliantha.

The Cords awaited the Giants in the centre of the glade. There Clyme had joined them. When Coldspray and her comrades stopped to consider their surroundings-unrelieved jungle on all sides, dark as midnight-the Master said, “Even Giants rest betimes, though their hardiness is beyond question. Ranging widely, we have found no sign of peril. If you will accept our counsel, you will abide here until the dawn. And if you will not sleep, mayhap you will find succour in your tales.”

The lronhand’s posture stiffened. “The Masters mislike our tales,” she said coldly: an old grievance.

“For the present,” replied Clyme impassively, “we find no harm in them.” His lack of inflection seemed to suggest that he did not expect Linden or her companions to live long enough to speak of what they heard.

Coldspray glared at him for a moment. Then she turned to Stave. “What is your word, Stave of the Haruchai?”

His manner conveyed a shrug. In this the Humbled counsel wisely. The Chosen and the Stonedownor require rest-aye, and the Ramen as well, though it would be foolish to doubt their fortitude or resolve. And we would be well served by an exchange of tales.”

Rime Coldspray looked at Linden. “Linden Avery?”

Linden nodded. “Please.” She was tired of being a burden. “I need time to think. And we really have to talk. I want to know what you’re doing here,” at this precise point in Lord Foul’s machinations, with a deranged man who craved her death. “You may not realise how much trouble you’re in.

“If we rest for a while,” she added. “the others can catch up with us.”

Then she said quickly, “But be careful with Anele.” She pointed at the old man. “Strange things happen to him when he stands on grass. This glade isn’t like any place that we’ve been before.” The grasses were wilder, tasseled like wheat, with thin, sawing blades. “Blankets seem to protect him, but stone would be better.”

“There is no stone, Ringthane,” Bhapa observed. “Here the loam lies deep.”

Coldspray studied Anele: his blind, staring eyes, his tangled hair and beard, his emaciated limbs; his air of madness and secret power. “Will any manner of stone suffice?”

Before Linden could answer, Anele announced, “He has no friend but stone. The stone of the Land is unkindly. It remembers. Yet it preserves him.”

The Swordmain chuckled humourlessly. “Then I will offer you stone which is not of the Land. Perchance it also will preserve you, and hold no remembrance.”

First she unslung her sheathed glaive from her shoulders. Then she undid the hidden clasps which secured her armour. When she set the heavy curved plates on the ground, they formed a kind of cradle. If the stone had not been moulded to fit her, Anele could have stretched out on it.

The Giant bearing Anele lowered him to the armour. At the same time, Linden, Liand, and Mahrtiir were placed on their feet. Immediately Liand moved toward Linden, brimming with questions. But the Manethrall told Bhapa and Pahni to gather deadwood from the forest. “Fire will comfort the darkness of our straits. In this, I do not fear the skurj. Their hungers are too vast to regard such small fare.”

Both Coldspray and Clyme indicated their agreement. When the Cords headed obediently for the trees, Liand shook himself, shrugged, and joined them. Holding Pahni’s hand, he let her lead him into the darker night of Salva Gildenbourne.

The Ironhand faced Linden again. “As I have said, Longwrath’s shackles hinder him. Some time will pass before my comrades join us. Yet I hold little fear for them. Of necessity, we have grown adept at discerning the evils which you name skurj. I have caught no fresh scent of them. And it appears that the Masters who ward us concur.”

“It is the word of the Humbled,” Clyme insisted. “that there is no imminent peril.”

Coldspray seemed to ignore him. “Therefore, Linden Avery, I deem that the time is apt for tales. By the light of the stars, and with a fire for warmth, let us each account for the strange fortune of our encounter.”

Now that she was no longer held by the heat of the Giant’s arms, or shrouded by the warm vitality of the forest, Linden found that the night had turned cold. A breeze seemed to flow down into the glade from the heavens, sharp and chill.

Hugging the Staff to her chest, she said, “I agree.” Then she asked, “But don’t you have any supplies? I haven’t seen your people carrying anything.”

The Ironhand chuckled again, still without humour. “You approach the conclusion of our tale. We are Giants, and love the journey from a tale’s birth to its ending. You observe truly that we bear neither sustenance nor unworn apparel. If our weapons fail us, we have no others. However, at need we are able to endure some measure of privation.” A brief spatter of laughter arose from the other Giants; but Coldspray did not pause. “And in this glade, none need fear hunger. Informed by tales, we know the virtue of aliantha. Neither our pleasure nor our solemnity will be hindered by inanition while we hold our Giantclave, seeking the import of our encounter. We must clarify our path toward a future which appears as tangled and trackless as this wood.”

“Solemnity, ha!” muttered one of the other Giants. “In her lifetime, Rime Coldspray has never drawn a solemn breath.”

The woman’s companions laughed softly again.

“You forget, Frostheart Grueburn,” retorted Coldspray, “you who laugh at all jests and comprehend none, that I am not merely immeasurably aged and wise. I am also ripe with cunning. And while I retain my sight, I have not grown deaf. I hear you when you scoff at me.”

Now the Ironhand’s comrades laughed outright, and one of them punched affectionately at the shoulder of the Swordmain called Frostheart Grueburn. With a shiver, Linden realised that Grueburn was the woman who had just carried her for several leagues through Salva Gildenbourne.

These Giants had rescued her from both Longwrath and Kastenessen’s monster; and she had barely thanked them-

While she searched herself for graciousness, Liand returned laden with firewood. As he crossed to the centre of the glade, an unnamed Swordmain produced a pair of rocks and a pouch of tinder from a pocket covered by her cataphract. When he had dropped his burden, she built a small mound of twigs, leaves, and bark, sprinkled them with flakes of tinder, and began striking sparks with her stones.

Brushing debris from his jerkin and leggings, Liand came to stand beside Linden. “Giants, Linden?” he asked in a whisper. “Are these indeed Giants? You have made no more than passing mention of such folk, and I did not think to query Pahni concerning them. Yet it is plain that you know them well.” His tone did not reproach her. When I beheld Sandgorgons, I conceived that the wide Earth held no greater wonder-aye, and no greater terror-for they were mighty and fearsome beyond my imagining. Now, however, I have felt the terrible puissance of the