Fatal Revenant

the other, may accomplish his desires. The ending of life within the Arch will achieve it. It will consume his true foes. Therefore Kastenessen commits his creatures against you. Your efforts to withstand them will commingle with the madness of the other Wildwielder. Your puissance will conduce to the end of those who Appointed him to bereavement and agony.”

Again Linden shook her head. “No. That still doesn’t make sense. If Kastenessen wants me to use wild magic, why are you here? Didn’t you say that you were commanded?”

Esmer made a show of patience while his eyes frothed and his wounds wept. “The attack of the skurj is a blade with two edges. Because of my presence, you will perish. Then your ring will fall into the hands of some other being. Kastenessen does not covet it for himself. No Elohim truly desires white gold. For such beings, its peril transcends its promise of might. But lesser wights crave it avidly. Should Thomas Covenant’s son or the Harrow gain possession of your ring, they will evoke wild magic sufficient to feed Kastenessen’s hunger.

“However, my grandsire is wroth with me. He execrates my wish to serve you. Therefore I am commanded here, as both a punishment and a snare. My presence ensures your death-and his triumph. Yet should you discover some means to sway me, so that I am induced to betray him, you yourself will provide his triumph.”

Abruptly the entire for trembled. While Linden spread her feet to keep her balance, a scream of fire erupted beyond the eastern edge of the crest. Virulence shocked her senses as the skurj broke from the ground. From where she stood, the rim blocked her view of the beasts; but she recognised that they were many. Each roar exacerbated the others until the very air seemed to shriek with pain.

She closed her mind to the sound. She could not afford to quail. She would not. Therefore she chose to believe that the Giants would contrive to hold back the creatures.

“So either way Kastenessen wins,” she rasped at Esmer. “All right. I get that. But you still haven’t told me why you’re here. Since he can’t lose, why do you bother to do what he tells you? Why do you care?”

He ducked his head. His manner changed as unpredictably as wind-torn waves. “It is my nature. I must strive to serve you.”

“Then tell me how I can get enough Earthpower from my Staff to hold off those monsters.”

“You cannot,” he said as though he feared her in spite of her helplessness. “That is the true purpose of Kevin’s Dirt. My grandsire and I laboured long and assiduously among the fouled depths and banes of Gravin Threndor to procure this outcome.”

You? Linden thought, aghast. You did that?

“We have been aided,” Esmer admitted. “The extremes of Kastenessen’s excruciation madden him. His thoughts do not cohere. But he has been counselled by moksha Raver. Jehannum serves him, winning connivance from Thomas Covenant’s son as from Cavewights and other powers. At the Raver’s urging, my grandsire severed his hand to exalt Thomas Covenant’s son. The magic to raise Kevin’s Dirt from the roots of Mount Thunder was Kastenessen’s, and mine. But the ploy was moksha Jehannum’s.”

Linden swallowed her dismay. Esmer was helping her: she knew that. He had told her where to look for Kastenessen-and perhaps how to end Kevin’s Dirt. He had revealed how her disparate foes had been induced to work together. But he had given her nothing that would thwart the skurj.

If he answered her questions in order to betray Kastenessen, he was doing his grandsire no harm.

“You’re just talking, Esmer,” she said, deliberately dismissive. “You can say whatever you want because you know that I won’t live to do anything about it. If you want to prove that you’re worthy of your father,” of Cail, whose courage had been as boundless as Kastenessen’s rage. “tell me something useful. Tell me why no one wants me to go to Andelain.”

Without warning, the first of the skurj reared into view.

The sight staggered her; broke her concentration. Even in full daylight, the beast seemed to dominate the sky. Its heat washed over the tor, terrible and chancrous: its massive jaws gaped, blazing with repeated rows of fangs like magma shaped and whetted until the teeth resembled kukris. Heat shouted from the monster’s deep maw as if it articulated the Earth’s quintessential hunger.

The ur-viles and Waynhim huddled around Linden, apparently cowed. Their subdued chittering sounded like whimpers.

Rime Coldspray confronted the creature with her sword held ready. Yet she did not strike. She might have been immobilised; stricken with terror; helpless before the lambent ineluctable fangs of the skurj. But she was not. She was waiting-

The beast towered over her, savouring her death. Then the tremendous kraken jaws pounced for her head. If it caught her, it would bite her in half.

Branl interrupted the creature’s strike. Before it reached Coldspray, he flung a heavy rock down the throat of the skurj.

Reflexively the monster paused. It closed its jaws to swallow; concealed the sick radiance of its fangs.

In that instant, Coldspray swung her glaive. With all of her Giantish might and her Swordmainnir training, she cut into and through the heavy muscles at one hinge of the creature’s jaws.

The skurj fell into a convulsion of pain. Yowling through a spray of vile blood, it plunged out of sight.

Dear God- An abundance of loose stones. Now Linden understood. The mound was not a trap: it was an armoury. Her companions could use the autonomic reactions of the creatures against them. Branl, Galt, and Clyme-even Mahrtiir-could force the skurj to pause.

Any interruption would create openings for the Giants.

But Coldspray’s blow appeared to infuriate the rest of the skurj. Their roaring lashed the air: their heat stank like gangrene. Eight or ten of them charged upward simultaneously. The others were close behind. Threats of slaughter scaled into lunacy as the creatures arched above the tor to crash slavering toward the Giants.

In the space between heartbeats, one small sliver of time, Linden whirled toward Stave. “The Seven Words!” she panted. “They affect the skurj!”

The Giants believed that the monsters could not hear. But Linden had seen one of them hesitate before the implicit theurgy of the Seven Words.

Stave acknowledged her with a nod. Then he sprang away, shifting easily among the Demondim-spawn to inform her companions.

Around the entire rim of the crown, battle exploded.

“Wildwielder!” Esmer shouted. “Forswear your purpose in Andelain, and I will depart!” A cryptic desperation edged his voice. “Do as you will with the Harrow. Others will oppose your efforts to retrieve your son. I will not!”

Pallid with strain, Linden faced him again. The horrid gaping of fangs made his features ruddy and lurid: it seemed to fill his hurts with disease. A bloody sunset shone in his eyes. Her companions were fighting for their lives; everyone who had aided her; her friends-

There was nothing that she could do to help them.

“That’s not an answer, Esmer.” If she turned her back on Andelain-on Covenant and the krill- she would sacrifice her only chance to save the Land. Terror and evil would rampage wherever they wished. The Harrow isn’t here.”

“If I depart, he will come.” Esmer’s mien was rife with supplication. He will remove you from this doom. Your death would complicate his desires.”

Should you discover some means to sway me-

The Giants were too few. The Humbled and Mahrtiir were fewer still. Kindwind tried to stop a skurj by jamming her sword past its teeth into the back of its maw. She hurt it; drove it back. But it clamped its jaws as it pulled away, taking her sword and her hand and all of her forearm with it. Blood fountained from the severed stump.

Guided by percipience, Mahrtiir heaved stones bigger than his fists between the fangs of the beasts. He yelled the Seven Words with such ferocity that the for itself quivered. Skurj after skurj was forced to pause and swallow-or to falter. But that was the limit of what he could accomplish. If he touched one of the creatures, its hide would scald the flesh from his bones.

One of Clyme’s rocks interrupted a flash of fangs and incandescence. In that instant, Grueburn ducked beneath the skurj and drove her sword upward through its hide behind its jaws; buried her blade to the hilt.