Fatal Revenant

Waynhim.

In silence, they swarmed like shadows around the far taller Giants: several score of them, all that had survived the Harrow, and Roger, and the weapons of the Cavewights. Once again, their lore had enabled them to divine Esmer’s intentions. And they had veiled their presence until he manifested himself. Now they massed around Linden and Cail’s son, encircling Stave and Branl.

“Linden Avery-” Coldspray repeated. With an effort, she quenched her surprise. “What is your will? Are these the creatures that have aided you? The Demondim-spawn? Why then do they now ward Esmer? We cannot oppose him without harming them.”

In response, the Waynhim and ur-viles began to shout, raucous as wild dogs. Their yipping howls and harsh coughs filled the air. They seemed to cast a pall over the tor as if their inherent darkness obscured the sunlight.

None of them brandished weapons. Even the loremaster did not.

Coldspray tried again. “Linden-”

Esmer cut her off. Suddenly disdainful, he rasped, They do not ward me, Giant. That is the import of their speech.

“You possess a gift of tongues obtained from the Elohim. By my will, it is withdrawn. At no time will you be permitted to comprehend these creatures.

“However, they command me to inform you that they serve the Wildwielder. They acknowledge Giants. They have known the Unhomed, for good or ill. If you strike at them, they will not guard themselves. For her sake, they will raise neither hand nor theurgy against you. Yet you play no part in their desires.”

Coldspray glanced around at her comrades, then shook her head in bafflement. By my will-Apparently Esmer had the power to enforce his word.

Linden had made a promise to the ur-viles and Waynhim. If you can ever figure out how to tell me what you need or want from me, I’ll do it. Now Esmer had erased her only chance to understand them.

“But they also wish you to apprehend,” he continued less scornfully. “that their lore will not slow the skurj. They cannot preserve you.” An emotion that resembled remorse troubled his gaze. “They intend only to ensure that I may harm neither you nor any of the Wildwielder’s companions. If they mean to proffer some further service, they do not speak of it.”

The lronhand’s shoulders sagged. As if in defeat, she dropped her glaive back into its sheath. “Then we must perish, son of malice. Kastenessen’s beasts are too many. We cannot defeat them without wild magic-and we are informed that your presence prevents any use of white gold.

Is that your purpose? Will you impose our deaths?”

“It is my nature.” Hauteur fumed like spray from Esmer’s eyes, but his voice winced. “I am made to be what I am. I do not command the skurj. Like them, I am commanded.”

Fierce with alarm and granite rage, Linden wanted to retort; but Stave spoke first. Facing Esmer impassively, he said, “You are swift to cast blame, Esmer mere-son. It is your word that because of the Haruchai “there will be endless havoc”. Yet is it not sooth that you fault Cail your sire and his kindred for your deeds rather than for theirs? The “havoc” will be of your making, not ours. When we fall”- his tone sharpened- “we fall by your hand, Esmer, not by any act or reticence of the Haruchai.”

Esmer flinched. But he did not respond. And he did not withdraw.

Before Linden could voice her own accusations, Clyme announced, “Galt approaches.” His voice carried, blunt as a fist, through the clamour of the Demondim-spawn. The skurj follow. They do not hasten, but they come.”

Involuntarily Linden imagined a path of blight and withering in Salva Gildenbourne’s abundance, formed by the fiery passage of Kastenessen’s monsters.

“Are they eighteen?” asked Coldspray tensely. “Does that remain Galt’s count?”

“It does,” Clyme answered. He has discerned no others.”

Branl’s lack of expression suggested a sneer as he turned abruptly away from Linden, Esmer, and Stave. The ur-viles and Waynhim parted for him: their barking subsided as if they had given up demanding translation. A few of them watched Branl join Coldspray and Clyme. Others shifted their attention toward Anele and Liand.

“Eighteen.” The Ironhand bowed her head. “It cannot be done.” But then she raised her chin, bared her teeth. “Nevertheless we will attempt it.”

Her eyes flared dangerously as she began positioning her comrades to defend the tor.

Linden had tried before: she tried again. But she found no wild magic within herself. The door was gone. The sick clench of her stomach confirmed its absence. She could not pierce the barrier imposed by Esmer’s proximity.

And she could not oppose the skurj effectively with her Staff: not while Kevin’s Dirt held sway.

Nevertheless she was not beaten. She refused to accept it. Aid and betrayal. Esmer’s presence was a betrayal. Therefore he was vulnerable. His divided nature would compel him to help her, if she could ask the right questions, insist on the right answers; find the right lever-

You must be the first to drink of the EarthBlood.

His gaze remained fixed on her as if none of her companions existed. He ignored the Demondim-spawn. In a voice that steamed with pleading, he asked. “Wildwielder, why have you come to this place?” His wounds seemed to ooze concern like pus. “What madness drives you? Have you not been told that you must not enter Andelain? Do you hear neither friend nor foe?”

Linden shook her head. “Damn it, Esmer,” she countered. “can’t you even heal yourself? Is this really what Kastenessen wants?” Or Lord Foul?

She intended to put as much pressure on Esmer as she could. And she was not going to reveal her underlying purpose: the bedrock on which she had founded all of her actions since Melenkurion Skyweir.

His manner stiffened. “I have inherited many gifts. There is no healing among them.”

Cruelly Linden insisted, “Your own grandfather wants you like this?” Flagrantly wounded, suppurating with pain. “He doesn’t want you whole?’

Esmer squirmed. “Delivering the Demondim-spawn to this time, I displeased him. Defending them against the Harrow, I displeased him greatly. His wrath is boundless. Therefore I am here.”

Behind him, Galt appeared on the rim of the mound. The Master’s chest heaved, demanding air, but he did not look weak or hurt-or troubled. “They come,” he informed Coldspray and the other Giants. “Strength alone will not avail against them. Yet we will strive to create opportunities for your blades.”

The Ironhand nodded grimly. “Aye. Some few of them we will slay, with your aid. Then we must pray that they do not pause to feast upon their fallen and multiply.”

“That also,” replied Branl. “we will endeavour to prevent.”

“As will I,” Mahrtiir promised gruffly. “Blindness will not hamper my aim.”

Linden clenched her fists until her knuckles ached. Her palm and fingers missed the ciphered warmth of the Staff. “All right, Esmer,” she said through her teeth. “So Kastenessen is mad at you. So what? Give me something to count against this betrayal. Tell me why no one wants me to go to Andelain.”

She did not have much time.

His eyes bled anger and self-castigation. “I know not how to serve you, other than by preventing you from ruin.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she retorted. “I’m not going to ruin anything. If you go away-if you let me use wild magic-I won’t threaten the Arch. I can’t. I’m not the ring’s rightful wielder.” Roger had insisted on that. She believed him despite his many falsehoods. “I don’t have enough power.”

Esmer drew himself up. “You are mistaken.” Now he seemed to seethe with squalls as if she had insulted his intelligence. “There are two white golds. Each alone may damage Law. When both are wielded, their peril swells.”

Covenant had told her to be careful with wild magic. It feeds the caesures.

“Kastenessen’s desires are not the Despiser’s,” Esmer continued harshly. “He cares naught for the Arch of Time. Rather he yearns for the destruction of the Elohim. Yet he is but one against many. And the skurj are merely the skurj. He cannot sate his hunger by direct challenge. However, your white ring, and