Fatal Revenant

the First.”

Briefly she bowed her head. Then she raised her countenance and her courage to the disconsolate stars. “However, this is no Search. It is not guided by Earth-Sight. It is a journey of sorrow, and after our fashion we are as truly lost as Lostson Longwrath.

When Widenedworld had mastered our more familiar skills, it fell to me to teach him cunning. Often we speak of cunning mirthfully, but the refinement of which I speak is no jest. It is the quality by which skill is transformed to art. I am the Ironhand, not because I am the mightiest of the Swordmainnir-”

“It is certain that she is not,” put in Grueburn affectionately.

“-but because,” Coldspray explained, “I am able to best those who are mightier. Therefore the teaching of Exalt Widenedworld became my particular task.

“Gifted as he was, and exuberant of heart, within brief decades I found myself hard pressed to master him. And one day, by doom or ill chance, I misjudged his growth in our craft. With cunning rather than strength, I caused what I believed to be a breach in his self-defence, and into that breach I struck, intending to slap his forehead with the flat of my blade, blunt stone which the Swordmainnir wield in training. However, he had in some measure foiled me. By his own cunning, he had drawn me beyond my balance, and there he strove to turn my blade. Sadly either too little cunning or too much betrayed him. Because he had unbalanced me, I struck with too much force. And because he turned but did not deflect my blade, I struck with its edge.”

Liand winced, and Pahni stifled a sigh. But they said nothing. Like Linden, they were held by the Giant’s tale.

“You have beheld the extent of his wound.” An undercurrent of self-recrimination troubled Coldspray’s tone. “At that time, we did not. We saw only that the bone of his visage had been broken. Therefore we tended him. Of necessity, the Swordmainnir study healing as well as warcraft. And Giants are hardy. We were grieved by the severity of his wound, but we did not fear for his life. Nor did Filigree and Gladbirth dread that he would perish, though they were likewise grieved.

Now we have learned that death would have been a gentler fate.”

The Ironhand accepted a few aliantha from Galesend; ate them without haste; discarded the seeds. Then she resumed.

“His recovery was slow and arduous, and even in delirancy he did not speak. Remembering Cable Seadreamer, whose gift or affliction of Earth-Sight resulted from a similar wound, and who was rendered mute by visions, we considered that perhaps Exalt Widenedworld would also display signs of Earth-Sight. But he did not. Rather he arose one day from his bed, seemingly without cause or alteration, and announced his intention to “slay” some nameless “her”. Then he struck down or forced aside the Giants tending him and hastened toward our harbourage, apparently seeking a vessel to bear him.

“The Swordmainnir captured him. What else might we have done? And when we discovered that we could not relieve his purpose-that no strength or kindness, no speech or expression of love, no medicament or diamondraught, calmed his violent resolve-we bound him. We had no recourse. Unrestrained, he harmed all who warded him. Again and again, he sought the harbour, and his mad wrath was terrible to those who opposed him.

“At first, his only words were, “Slay her”. Later he inquired if we were fools. And no binding held him. Mere rope he parted as though it were twine. So great was his strength that he sundered hawsers. Fetters of wood became kindling on his limbs. Finally we were compelled to fashion shackles of heavy granite. Unwilling to end his life or cripple him, we knew no other means to contain his fury.

“Thereafter we gathered in Giantclave to choose what we must do. And while we debated together, he whom none now called Exalt Widenedworld shattered his bonds. With his fists, he battered senseless Soar Gladbirth his father and caused the death of Filigree his mother. When his escape was discovered, he had already taken to the sea in a small craft, a tyrscull, apparently intending to sail alone to the ends of the Earth in search of the “her” whom he desired to “slay”.

Mahrtiir’s hands clenched each other as though he gripped his emotions in a garrote. Stave listened without expression.

“We recaptured him. Again we bound him in stone, he raving, “Slay her!” all the while, and, “Are you fools?” Only Swordmainnir stood guard over him, risking no other Giants.

“Now the disputes of the Giantclave had ceased to be, “How may we relieve his madness?” They had become simply, “How may we prevent further harm?” And our dilemma was this. We are lovers of stone. We are not cunning in ironwork. We disdain none of the metals of the Earth. Much we have acquired in trade and seafaring. But our hearts are turned elsewhere. Yet it had been made plain that we required iron to bind Lostson Longwrath. We could conceive of no other means to constrain his wildness.

“Therefore we resolved to convey Longwrath to the land of the Bhrathair, where iron is artfully forged-and commonly traded, for the Bhrathair meet the many needs of their inhospitable home with commerce. We ten of the Swordmainnir were given a compact dromond which we christened Dire’s Vessel. A crew was chosen so that we need not be distracted from Longwrath’s care. Grieving and baffled, we set our sails for Bhrathairealm.”

Linden held her breath without realising it. She felt neither the chill of the night nor the warmth of the fire. Long ago, she had visited Bhrathairealm with Covenant and the Giants of the Search. Kasreyn of the Gyre had tried to destroy them. Both Hergrom and Ceer had been slain.

“I will not consume the night with tales of our voyage,” Rime Coldspray promised, “though it was much beleaguered, and for a time we wandered, helpless, in the toils of the Soulbiter. I am content to say that at last we found our course to known seas. Among the fading storms of summer, we gained shelter in Bhrathairain Harbour.

“Our sojourn there was protracted for several causes. The shackles which we required could not be quickly fashioned. And the Bhrathair bargained stringently, perceiving the scale of our need. Their need also was great, for a fearsome calamity-or perchance an extraordinary redemption-had befallen them.

“Some centuries past, the eldritch prison of Sandgorgons Doom had frayed and failed. By unguessed means, the Sandgorgons of the Great Desert had achieved their freedom. Yet their bestial savagery was but rarely turned toward Bhrathairealm. Against all likelihood, the Bhrathair were left in peace for decades together. When they were struck, the damage was slight.

“But no more than a moon or two before our arrival, the Sandgorgons appeared to conceive an unprecedented assault. United by some unknown force, a considerable number attacked the Sandwall of Bhrathairealm in a bayamo of immeasurable strength.”

Remembering how Sandgorgons had slaughtered Roger’s Cavewights, Linden bit her lip until she tasted blood.

“The Bhrathair feared extermination. However, it transpired that the Sandgorgons had another purpose. They did not wage warfare. Rather they merely bludgeoned a path through an obstacle. When they had breached the Sandwall, maimed the Sandhold, and torn passage across the heart of Bhrathairain Town, they disappeared into the sea. To the wonder of the Bhrathair, an uncounted host of Sandgorgons had departed.

“Therefore the ironworkers of Bhrathairealm bartered greedily. They craved the service of Giants to restore the Sandwall, to secure the remnants of the Sandhold, and to clear the debris from Bhrathairain Town.

“Even discounting our need to bind Longwrath,” Coldspray admitted, “we would have aided the Bhrathair willingly, loving as we do both stone and friendship. But our stay among them was prolonged by another cause also. While we laboured, awaiting the preparation of shackles, we found that we were unable to imprison Longwrath. His madness appeared daily to increase his might. Or mayhap he gained aid by some unknown theurgy. Time and again, he escaped the donjons of the Bhrathair and our own vigilance. Time and again, we recaptured him in Bhrathairain Harbour while he strove to claim a vessel.

“Still he would say only, “Slay her”, and, “Are you fools?”

“Aye,” muttered the Giant who tended the fire. “and we came to abhor the sound of those words in his mouth. We were not inured by repetition. Rather each utterance appeared to augment the meaning of his