“Linden, I-” Liand’s eyes echoed sparks. “Perhaps my wits are sluggish. Only now does it occur to me that I do not comprehend how you are able to bear such knowledge. I am filled to bursting, and I have neither spoken with ancient Lords nor given battle in the depths of the Earth. We have witnessed powers which surpass me utterly, yet they revolve about you as moths do about a lamp-and with as little effect.
“I do not ask why you have not spoken more of Giants. They will soon speak of themselves. I ask how you contrive to endure all that you have known and done. You exceed forces and beings whose sheer magnitude turns my heart and mind to dust.”
The Ironhand drew closer as he spoke. “Do not be dismayed, Stonedownor,” she advised him. “There is no mystery here. She is Linden Avery, Chosen and Sun-Sage. Our tales say that she is merely magnificent.”
At the fringe of the jungle, Pahni’s slim form stepped out of deeper blackness. She, too, carried a load of dead branches.
“No,” Linden protested uncomfortably. “You’re thinking of Covenant. I’m just me.” Then she faced Liand. “And I’m not the only one who
Flames had begun to bloom from the mound of twigs and tinder. The Giant put away her pouch and stones, feeding larger bits of wood to the fire as it took hold. Aching for warmth and reassurance, Linden moved closer to the small blaze.
“It’s Jeremiah, Liand,” she murmured. “He’s how I do it. I would have fallen apart days ago, but I can’t afford to. I can’t let anything stop me. Lord Foul has my son.”
But if she found the
“And you do not forgive,” Stave remarked. “There is strength in ire, Chosen. But it may also become a snare.”
With the Staff in the crook of her arm, Linden held out her hands to the flames. Tell that to Kastenessen, she thought bitterly. Tell the Despiser. But she kept her retort to herself.
Pahni added her wood to Liand’s pile, then went to stand beside him. A moment later, Bhapa approached with his arms full. When Mahrtiir had studied the supply of firewood as though he could see it, he nodded. “You are weary,” he told the Cords. “Gather
Pahni and Bhapa started to obey; but Coldspray stopped them. “You have laboured much, and are indeed worn, Ramen. Permit us to perform this service.” She motioned for two of her comrades. “Stormpast Galesend and Onyx Stonemage have ears to hear. They will not be denied our tales while they gather treasure-berries.”
In response, Mahrtiir bowed. “Centuries have passed into millennia,” he pronounced. “but the Giants remain considerate and compassionate. Gladly we accept the honour of your courtesy.”
Rime Coldspray smiled. “In appearance, the Ramen are a nomadic and brusque people. Yet their politeness would grace a courtly kingdom. Were the Masters as gracious, much that now lies fallow would flourish.”
Both Stave and Clyme gazed at her without expression, and said nothing.
When the Manethrall had seated himself near the fire, Bhapa sank to the ground beside him. Pahni linked her arm with Liand’s. In a more formal tone, the Ironhand continued. “Linden Avery, it is unmistakable that you are the intersection of our tales. Yet mayhap this truth is not evident to you. Therefore I will speak first, though we are far from Home, and beset by perils which we cannot comprehend. When you have heard of our ventures, you will be better able to determine how you may account for our needs as well as your own.”
Linden edged a bit closer to the crackling fire. Its dancing illumination cast light and shadows across the faces of the Swordmainnir. At one moment, their strong faces seemed grotesque and suspicious, and at another, fraught with mirth.
“Thank you,” she said as clearly as she could. “We just met a few hours ago, and already I haven’t thanked you enough. The Giants of the Search were my friends. I loved them. I hope that when we’ve talked, we’ll be able to face our problems together.”
She wanted the help of these women.
Coldspray nodded soberly. “A worthy desire. Thus I begin.”
She remained standing, tall against the heavens, while Frostheart Grueburn and the Giant who tended the fire sat cross-legged nearby, and Galesend and Stonemage wandered the glade, picking
“Giants live long, as you know,” began the Ironhand. “This is well, for we are not a fecund race, and our children, whom we treasure, are too few to content us. Thus we account for our restless roving of the Earth. Our hearts seldom find fullness among our families.
“It was with wonder, joy, and astonishment that we greeted the return of the Search, led by the First and her mate, Pitchwife. It was with mingled delight and weeping that we heard their tales, narratives of bitter loss and brave triumph, cruel suffering and dear friendship. But in the succeeding years, our happiness and amazement were multiplied when the First of the Search, Gossamer Glowlimn, gave birth to a son, and then to a second, and then in her later years to a third. This we deemed nigh miraculous, and our celebrations-which I will not describe, for one night is too brief-endured for decades.
“Yet wonder was compounded upon wonder, and joy upon joy, for as the centuries turned, the youngest son of Pitchwife and Gossamer Glowlimn, who was named Soar Gladbirth, found love and a mate in Sablehair Foamheart, called by all who knew her Filigree for her delicacy and loveliness. And in the fullness of time, Filigree also gave birth to sons, first one and then another. That alone would have made Glowlimn and Pitchwife a treasury of tales and pride, for across the millennia it has been rare and precious that two Giants were so blessed with descendants. Yet Filigree and Gladbirth were not done. When some decades had passed, they received the gift of a third son.
“Now our exultation knew no bounds. The Giants have ever lived their lives on the verge of diminishment. Our seafaring ways are in themselves hazardous, the loss of the Giants who became the Unhomed of the Land was rue and gall to us, and our children are not numerous, as I have said. In the sons of Filigree and Gladbirth, we felt that we had been granted an augury of hope, a promise that the seed of the Giants had regained its lost vitality.”
Firelight shed fraught shadows across Coldspray’s features. “Linden Avery, the third son of the third son of Glowlimn and Pitchwife was Exalt Widenedworld. But now the Giants of Home name him Lostson, and among the Swordmainnir he is called Longwrath.”
To herself, Linden groaned for Pitchwife’s sake, and for the First’s. But she did not interrupt the lronhand’s tale.
“The fault is mine,” continued Rime Coldspray, “if indeed the notion of “fault” retains its meaning in such matters. Rare among our men, Widenedworld was drawn to the Swordmain craft. In jest, we say that our men are too soft of heart for battle. However, the truth is merely that their passions flow differently. All Giants love stone and sea, “permanence at rest and permanence in motion”, but the adoration of our men is more direct. They are drawn to the fashioning of ships and dwellings intended to endure. Perhaps because the joy of birth and children is both uncommon and fleeting, our women seek skills and purposes which are likewise fleeting. So it occurs that we are women, as you have seen.”
While the Ironhand spoke, Galesend and Stonemage returned to the fire with their huge hands full of
“Yet Exalt Widenedworld wished to join the Swordmainnir,” Coldspray said without pausing, “and so he was made welcome. Thereafter his training revealed that he was prodigious in both might and aptitude, born to the sword and all weapons. Were our present plight a Search, and he whole in mind, I do not doubt that he would be
