“Or,” Linden interposed warily, studying Covenant as she spoke. “we could forget Seareach and head straight for Revelstone. I don't know the terrain, but it's bound to be quicker than detouring that far south.”
“Aye.” Honninscrave permitted himself a growl of disgust or trepidation. “Should this littoral lie within hope of our charts.” Emotion rose in his voice, slipping out of his rigid grasp. “And should the ice remain intact and traversable to that coast. And should this winter hold-for we are somewhat southerly to have encountered such ice in the natural course of the seas, and it may thaw beneath us unseasonably.” To keep himself from shouting, he ground out the words like shards of rock. “And should the northward reaches of the Land be not rugged or mountainous beyond all possibility of travel
His distress was acute in the confinement of me cabin. But the First did not relent. “We hear you,” she said sternly. “The choice is jeopardous. Complete your tale. Master.”
Honninscrave could not look at her. “Ah, my tale,” he grated. “It is no tale of mine. My brother is dead, and the
“You have offered to sunder the ice. Very good. To Cable Seadreamer my brother who gave his life, you refused the fire of release. But in the name of your mad desire for battle you will attempt a league of ice. Very good. But I say to you that Starfare’s Gem cannot sail. In this maimed state, no. And were the time taken to do what mending lies within our power time which is so precious to you-and were a channel opened to the sea, then still would our plight remain, for the
“But- ” Covenant began, then halted. For an instant, he was confused Honninscrave's grief covered an anger which he could not utter and Covenant could not decipher. Why was the Master so bitter?
But suddenly the implications of Honninscrave's speech swept over Covenant like a breaker; and his comprehension tumbled down the riptide. Starfare's Gem could not sail. And the First wanted the Search to leave the Giantship, set out afoot toward the Land. He found himself facing her with a knot of cold clenched around his heart. Dismay was all that kept him from fury.
“Nearly forty Giants.” Foamfollower's people, the kindred of the Unhomed. “You're talking about leaving them here to die.”
She was a Swordmain, trained to battle and difficult choices. Her sternness as she returned Covenant's gaze looked as careless of costs as a weapon. But behind her eyes moved shadows like spectres of pain.
“Aye.” Honninscrave's voice scraped the air. “They must be left to die. Or they must accompany us, and Starfare's Gem itself must be left to die. And from that day forward, no one of us shall ever again set gaze upon the crags and harbourage of Home. We have no means for the making of a new
It was intolerable. He was no sailor; he could bear to abandon the Giantship. But to leave nearly forty Giants behind without hope or to strand them in the Land as the Unhomed had been stranded-!
The First did not waver: she knew her duty and would not shirk it Covenant swung away from her, confronted Honninscrave down the length of the table. Its height made the Master appear tall and hurt beyond any mitigation. But Covenant could not accept that outcome.
“If we leave the crew here. With the ship.” He drove his gaze up at the Giant until Honninscrave met it. “What will they need? In order to have any chance at all?”
Honninscrave's head jerked in surprise. For a moment, his mouth parted his beard incredulously, as though he half believed he was being taunted. But then with a wrench he mastered himself. “Stores we have in plenty.” His eyes clung to Covenant like an appeal:
Time, Covenant thought He had already been away from the Land for more than sixty days-away from Revelstone for closer to ninety. How many more people had the Clave killed? But the only alternative was to leave Pitchwife behind with the ship. And he would surely refuse. The First herself might refuse. Stiffly, Covenant asked, “How much time?”
“Two days,” replied Honninscrave. “Perhaps three. Much pitch will be required. And the labour itself will be awkward and arduous.”
Damnation! Covenant breathed. Three days. But he did not back down. He was a leper: he knew the folly of trying to purchase the future by selling the present. Grimly, he turned to Pitchwife.
Fatigue seemed to emphasize the Giant's deformities. His back bent as if it had been damaged by the weight of his limbs and head. But his eyes glittered, and his expression had lifted. He looked at Covenant as though he knew what the Unbeliever was about to say-and approved of it.
Covenant felt wooden with failure. He had come here primed for fire; but all he had been able to offer his companions was a patience he did not possess. “Try to do it in one” he muttered. Then he left the cabin so that he would not have to endure the reactions of the Giants.
Pitchwife's voice followed him. “Stone and Sea!” the Giant chuckled. “It is a small matter. What need have I of an entire day?”
Glaring at nothing Covenant quickened his pace.
But as he reached the ladder leading to the afterdeck, Linden caught up with him. She gripped his arm as if something had changed between them. Her intent seriousness bore no resemblance to her old severity, and her eyes were damp. Her soft mouth, which he had kissed with such longing, wore the shape of a plea.
Yet he had not forgiven himself; and after a moment she dropped her hand. Her gaze retreated somewhat. When she spoke, she sounded like a woman who did not know the words she needed.
“You keep surprising me. I never know what to expect from you. Just when I think you're too far gone to be reached, you do something like that. Like what you did for Sunder and Hollian.” Abruptly, she stopped, silenced by the inadequacy of what she was saying.
Covenant wanted to cry out. His desire for her was too acute to be suffered. He had already perverted whatever authenticity he might have had with her. And she was a healer. She had more right to his ring than he did. Self-loathing made him harsh.
“Do you really think I just want to throw power around? Is that your opinion of me?”
At that, she winced. Her expression turned inward like a baffled wail. “No,” she murmured. “No. I was just trying to get your attention.” Then her eyes reached toward him again. “But you scared me. If you could see yourself- ”
“If I could see myself,” be rasped so that he would not put his arms around her, “I'd probably puke.”
Savagely, he flung himself up the ladder away from her.
But when he gained the open air and brittle cold of the afterdeck, he had to knot his arms across his chest to hold in the hurt.
While he ate his breakfast in the galley, trying to absorb some of the stoves' warmth, he could hear the sounds of work outside. At first. Sevinhand's voice and Galewrath's commanded alternately. He supervised the preparation of the foredeck; she led the breaking of the ice and the ritual songs for the burial of the three fallen crewmembers. But after a while Pitchwife made himself heard over the scuffle of feet and clatter of gear, the stiff hiss and thud of half-frozen cable. When Covenant had collected what little courage he had left, he went out to watch.
During the night, the crew had cleared and organized the wreckage. Now they were busy readying the truncated foremast. Pitchwife was hunched over a large stone vat of his special pitch; but his eyes and voice followed the sailors as they rigged lines between the intact yard and the splintered end of the mast. Except for the necessary questions and instructions, the Giants were unusually quiet, dispirited. The Dolewind had held them for a long time; and since their encounter with the Soulbiter they had had no rest at all. Now their future had become as fragile and arduous as ice. Even Giants could not carry so much strain indefinitely.
But Covenant had never seen Pitchwife at work before. Grateful for any distraction, he studied Pitchwife with fascination as the First's husband completed his preparations. Consigning his vat to another Giant, he hoisted a slab
