White Gold Wielder

him. From the pit of his dismay, he brought up name and venom as if he meant to rid the Earth of all cold forever, tear Time from its foundations in order to shear away the gelid death which locked his brain.

But then there was another presence in him. It was alien and severe, desperate with alarm-and yet he found it strangely comforting. He struggled instinctively when it took his flame from him; but the cold and his impercipience made his strivings pointless. And the intrusion-an external identity which somehow inhabited his mind as if he had let down all his defences-gave him warmth in return: the warmth of its own strict desire for him and the heat of his fire combined. For a moment, he thought he knew that other presence, recognized it intimately. Then the world turned into white magic and passion; and the cold fled.

A few heart-beats later, his eyes squeezed back into focus, and he found himself on his hands and knees. Linden had withdrawn from him, leaving behind an ache of absence as if she had opened a door which enabled him to see how empty his heart was without her. Dull bereavement throbbed in his right forearm; but his ring still hung on the last finger of his half-hand. The wind sent chills ruffling through his clothes. The sun shone as if the desecration of the Sunbane would never be healed. He had failed again. And proved once more that she—

This time she had simply reached into him and taken possession.

There was no difference between that and what Lord Foul had done to Joan. What he was doing to the Land. No difference except the difference between Linden herself and the Despiser. And Gibbon-Raver had promised that she would destroy the Earth.

She had the power to fulfil that prophecy now. She could take it whenever she wanted it.

Urgent grief came over him-grief for both of them, for himself in his doomed inefficacy, for her in her dire plight. He feared he would weep aloud. But then the wind's flat rush was punctuated by hoarse, hard breathing; and that sound restored his awareness of his companions.

The ice which had held the Haruchai was gone, and Cail was coming back to life the hard way-fighting for every breath, wresting each inhalation with bared teeth from the near-death of cold. Even the merewives had not so nearly slain him. But Linden had restored him to the verge of survival. As Covenant watched, Cail carried himself the rest of the distance.

Honninscrave, Mistweave, and the First studied Cail and Linden and Covenant with concern and appreciation mixed together in their faces. Pitchwife had mastered his own gasping enough to grin like a grimace. But Linden had eyes only for Covenant She was wan with dismay at what she had done. From the first, her loathing for possession had been even greater than his; yet the necessity of it was thrust upon her time and again. She was forced to evil by the fundamental commitments which had made her a physician. And how was she forced? he asked himself. By her lack of power. If she were given his ring, as the Elohim desired, she would be saved the peril of this damnation.

He could not do it. Anything else; he would do anything else. But not this. More than once, she had challenged his protective instincts, protested his desire to spare her. But how could he have explained that everything else-every other attempt at protection or preservation-was nothing more than an effort to pay for this one refusal? To give her something in compensation for what he would not give.

Now he did it again. Ice-gnawed and frost-burned though he was-leprous, poisoned, and beaten-be wrenched his courage to its feet and faced her squarely. Swallowing grief, he said thickly, “I hope I didn't hurt anybody.”

It was not much. But for the time being it was enough. Her distress softened as if he had made a gesture of forgiveness. A crooked smile took the severity from her lips. Blinking at sudden tears, she murmured, “You're hard to handle. The first time I saw you-” he remembered the moment as well as she did: he had slammed his door in her face- “I knew you were going to give me trouble.”

The love in her voice made him groan because he could not go to her and put his arms around her. Not as long as he refused to make the one sacrifice she truly needed.

At her back, Mistweave had unpacked a pouch of diamondraught. When he handed it to her, she forced her attention away from Covenant and knelt to Can. Between heaving respirations, the Haruchai took several sips of the tonic liquor.

After that his condition improved rapidly. While his companions shared the pouch, he recovered enough strength to sit up, then to regain his feet. In spite of its flatness, his expression seemed oddly abashed. His pride did not know how to sustain the fact of defeat But after his experience with the seduction of the merewives, he appeared to place less importance on his self-esteem. Or perhaps Brinn's promise-that Cail would eventually be free to follow his heart-had somehow altered the characteristic Haruchai determination to succeed or die. In a moment, Cail's visage was as devoid of inflection as ever. When he indicated that he was ready to travel again, his word carried conviction.

No one demurred. At a wry glance from Pitchwife, however, the First announced that the company would eat a meal before going on. Cail appeared to think that such a delay was unnecessary; yet he accepted the opportunity for more rest While the companions ate. Linden remained tense. She consumed her rations as if she were chewing fears and speculations, trying to find her way through them. But when she spoke, her question showed that she had found, not an answer, but a distraction. She asked the First, “How much do you know about those arghuleh?”

“Our knowledge is scant,” replied the Swordmain. She seemed unsure of the direction of Linden's inquiry. “Upon rare occasion. Giants have encountered arghuleh. And there are tales which concern them. But together such stories and encounters yield little.”

“Then why did you risk it?” Linden pursued. “Why did we come this far north?”

Now the First understood. “Mayhap I erred,” she said in an uncompromising tone. “The southern ice was uncertain, and I sought safer passage. The hazard of the arghuleh I accepted because we are Giants, not readily slain or harmed by cold. It was my thought that four Giants would suffice to ward you.

“Moreover,” she went on more harshly. “I was misled in my knowledge.

“Folly,” she muttered to herself. “Knowledge is chimera, for beyond it ever lies other knowledge, and the incompleteness of what is known renders the knowing false. It was our knowledge that arghuleh do not act thus, They are savage creatures, as dire of hate as the winter in which they thrive. And their hate is not solely for the beasts and beings of blood and warmth which form their prey. It is also for their own kind. In the tales we have heard and the experience of our people, it is plain that the surest defence against the assault of one arghule is the assault of a second. for they will prefer each other's deaths above any other.

“Therefore,” the First growled, “did I believe this north to be the lesser peril. Against any arghule four Giants must surely be counted a sufficient company. I did not know,” she concluded, “that despite all likelihood and nature they had set aside their confirmed animosity to act in concert.”

Linden stared across the waste. Honninscrave watched the knot of his hands as if he feared it would not hold. After a moment Covenant cleared his throat and asked, “Why?” In the Land, the Law of nature was being steadily corrupted by the Sunbane. Had Lord Foul's influence reached this far? “Why would they change?”

“I know not,” the First said sourly. “I would have believed the substance of Stone and Sea to be more easily altered than the hate of the arghuleh.”

Covenant groaned inwardly. He was still hundreds of leagues from Revelstone; and yet his fears were harrying him forward as if he and his companions had already entered the ambit of the Despiser's malice.

Abruptly, Linden leapt to her feet, faced the east. She gauged the distance, then rasped, “They're coming. I thought they'd give up. Apparently co-operation isn't the only new trick they've learned.”

Honninscrave spat a Giantish obscenity. The First gestured him and Mistweave toward the sleds, then helped Pitchwife upright. Quickly, the Master and Mistweave packed and reloaded the supplies Covenant was cursing to himself. He wanted a chance to talk to Linden privately. But he followed her tense example and climbed back into his sled.

The First took the lead. In an effort to outdistance the pursuit, she set the best pace Pitchwife could maintain, pushing him to his already-worn limits. Yet Cail trotted between Covenant and Linden as if he were fully recovered.

Vain and Findail brought up the rear together, shadowing each other across the wind-cut wilderness.

That night, the company obtained little rest, though Pitchwife needed it urgently. Shortly after moonrise.