White Gold Wielder

forearm. With wild magic clenched in his half-fist, he swung to hurl power in Linden's defence.

In that instant, another arghule leaped from atop the nearest boulder and landed on Honninscrave. It bore him to the ground, buried him under sudden ice Covenant's sled overturned. He sprawled to the crust practically within reach of the beast.

But his fear was fixed on Linden; he hardly comprehended his own peril. His head reeled. Shedding frost and snow in a flurry like a small explosion, a precursor of the blast within him, he surged to his feet.

Stark and lorn against the bare white, she still sat in her trapped sled. She was not moving: the rapacious cold of the arghuleh overloaded her nerves, cast her back into her atavistic, immobilizing panic. For an instant, she bore no resemblance to the woman he had learned to love. Rather, she looked like Joan. At once, the inextricable venom/passion of his power thronged through him, and he became ready to tear down the very cromlechs and rive the whole region if necessary to protect her.

But Mistweave was in his way.

The Giant had not moved from the spot where he had stumbled to a halt. His head jerked from side to side as his attention snapped frantically between Linden's plight and Honninscrave's. Linden had once saved his life. He had left Starfare's Gem to take Cail's place at her side. Yet Honninscrave was the Master. Caught between irreconcilable exigencies, Mistweave could not choose. Helplessly, he Mocked Covenant from the arghuleh behind him.

“Move!” Fury and cold ripped the cry from Covenant's throat But Mistweave was aware of nothing except the choice he was unable to make. He did not move.

Over his right shoulder arced a second web. Gaining size and thickness as it sailed, it spread toward Linden. Its chill left a trail of frost across Covenant's sight.

Cail had not been able to free his left arm. But he saw the net coming like all the failures of the Haruchai — Hergrom's slaughter and Ceer's death and the siren-song of the merewives encapsulated in one peril-and he drew himself up as if he were the last of his people left alive, the last roan sworn to succeed or die. His thews bunched, strained, stood out like bone-and his arm broke loose, still encased in a hunk of ice as big as a Giant's head.

Swinging that chunk like a mace, he leaped above Linden and shattered the web before it reached her.

She gaped through the spray of splinters as if she had gone blind.

Before Covenant could react, the second arghule behind Mistweave reared up and ripped the Giant down under its frigid bulk.

Then the First landed like the plunge of a hawk on the beast holding Honninscrave. Pitchwife dashed around one of the boulders toward Linden and Cail. And Covenant let out a tearing howl of power that blasted the first arghule to pieces in one sharp bolt like a rave of lightning.

From somewhere nearby, Findail gave a thin cry: “Fool!”

Over her shoulder, the Swordmain panted, “We are hunted!” Hammering and heaving at the ice, she fought to pull Honninscrave free. “The arghuleh are many! A great many!” Honninscrave lay among the ruins of the beast as if it had succeeded at smothering him. But as the First manhandled him upright, a harsh shudder ran through him All at once, he took his own weight, staggered to his feet “We must flee!” she cried.

Covenant was too far gone to heed her. Linden was safe, at least momentarily: Pitchwife had already snapped the ice from Cail's arm; and the two of them could ward her for a little while. Tall and bright with fire, he stalked toward the beast still struggling to subdue Mistweave. Whatever force or change had overcome the native hate of the arghuleh had also left them blind to fear or self-preservation. The creature did not cease its attack on Mistweave until Covenant burned its life to water.

In his passion, he wanted to turn and shout until the menhirs trembled, Come on! Come and get me! The scars on his forearm shone like fangs. I'll kill you all! They had dared to assail Linden.

But she had come back to herself now, had found her way out of her old paralysis. She was running toward him; and she was saying, crying, 'No! That's enough! You've done enough. Don't let go!”

He tried to hear her. Her face was sharp with urgency; and she came toward him as if she meant to throw herself into his arms. He had to hear her. There was too much at stake.

But he could not. Behind her were more arghuleh.

Pitchwife had rushed to help Mistweave. Cail was at Linden's side. Fighting to draw the sleds after them, the First and a dazed Honninscrave scrambled to form a cordon around Covenant and Linden. Findail had disappeared. Only Vain stood motionless.

And from every side at once charged the vicious ice beasts, crowding between the monoliths, a score of them, twoscore, as if each of them wanted to be the first to feast on warm flesh. As if they had come in answer to Covenant's call. Enough of them to devour even Giants. Without wild magic, none of the company except Vain had any chance to survive.

Something like an avid chuckle spattered across the background of Covenant's mind. In his own way, he was hungry for violence, fervid for a chance to stuff his helplessness back down the Despiser's throat. Thrusting Linden behind him, he went out to meet his attackers.

His companions did not protest. They had no other hope.

Bastards! he panted at the arghuleh. They were all around him, but he could barely see them. His brain had gone black with venom. Come and get me!

Abruptly, the First shouted something-a call of warning or surprise, Covenant did not hear the words; but the iron in her voice made him turn to see what she had seen.

Then plain shock stopped him.

From the south side of the ring, grey shapes smaller than he was appeared among the arghuleh. They were roughly human in form, although their arms and legs were oddly proportioned. But their unclad bodies were hairless; their pointed ears sat high on the sides of their bald skulls. And they had no eyes. Wide fiat nostrils marked their faces above their slitted mouths.

Barking in a strange tongue, they danced swiftly around the arghuleh. Each of them carried a short, slim piece of black metal like a wand which splashed a vitriolic fluid at the ice beasts.

That liquid threw the arghuleh into confusion. It burned them, broke sections off their backs, chewed down into their bodies. Clattering in pain, they forgot their prey, thrashed and writhed blindly in all directions. Some of them collided with the cromlechs, lost larger sections of themselves, died. But others, reacting with desperate instinct, covered themselves with their own ice and were able to stanch their wounds.

Softly, as if at last even he had become capable of surprise, Cail murmured, “Waynhim. The old tellers speak of such creatures.”

Covenant recognized them. Like the ur-viles, they were the artificial creations of the Demondim. But they had dedicated themselves and their weird lore to pursuits which did not serve the Despiser. During Covenant's trek toward Revelstone, a band of Waynhim had saved him from a venom-relapse and death. But that had occurred hundreds of leagues to the south.

Swiftly, the creatures girdled the company, dashing the fluid of their power at the arghuleh, Then Covenant heard his name called by an unexpected voice. Turning, he saw a man emerge between the southward rocks. “Thomas Covenant!” the man shouted once more. “Come! Flee! We are unready for this battle!”

A man whose soft brown eyes, human face, and loss-learned kindness had once given Covenant a taste of both mercy and hope. A man who had been rescued by the Waynhim when the na-Mhoram's Grim had destroyed his home. During Stonedown. A man who served these creatures and understood them and loved them.

Hamako.

Covenant tried to shout, run forward. But he failed. The first instant of recognition was followed by a hot rush of pain as the implications of this encounter reached him. There was no reason why Hamako and this Waynhim rhysh should be so far from home-no reason which was not terrible.

But the plight of the company demanded speed, decision. More arghuleh were arriving from the north. And more of those which had been damaged were discovering the expedient of using their ice to heal themselves. When Cail caught him by the arm, Covenant allowed himself to be impelled toward Hamako.