The One Tree

“Your vessel is your own,” responded the Caitiffin easily. He seemed adept at smoothing the path of the gaddhi's will. “I do not presume to hasten you.”

“That is well.” A hard humour had returned to Honninscrave's eyes. “The Giants are not a hasty people.” With a bow like an ironic mimesis of courtesy, he moved away toward the wheeldeck.

Linden followed Honninscrave with the First, Seadreamer, and Pitchwife. Cail accompanied her; Brinn brought Covenant. Ascending to the wheeldeck, they gathered around Shipsheartthew, where they were safely beyond earshot of Rire Grist.

At once, Honninscrave dropped the role he had taken in front of the Bhrathair, resumed his accustomed deference to the First. In a soft voice, he asked her, “What think you?”

“I mislike it,” she growled. “This welcome is altogether too propitious. A people who must have the gaddhi's express command ere they will grant aid to the simple fact of sea-harm are somewhat unscrupling for my taste.”

“Yet have we choice in the matter?” inquired Pitchwife. “A welcome so strangely given may also be strangely rescinded. It is manifest that we require this gaddhi's goodwill. Surely we will forfeit that goodwill, should we refuse his proffer.”

“Aye,” the First retorted. “And we will forfeit it also if we set one foot or word amiss in that donjon, the Sandhold. There our freedom will be as frail as the courtesy of Bhrathairealm.”

She and Honninscrave looked at Seadreamer, asking him for the advice of the Earth-Sight. But he shook his head; he had no guidance to offer them.

Then all their attention was focused on Linden. She had not spoken since the arrival of the Harbour Captain. The hot sunlight seemed to cast a haze like an omen of incapacity over her thoughts. The Sandhold loomed over Bhrathairain- an image in stone of the gyring power which had created Sandgorgons Doom. Intuitions for which she had no name told her that the gaddhi and his Kemper represented both hazard and opportunity. She had to struggle against a growing inner confusion in order to meet the eyes of the Giants.

With an effort, she asked, “What did that Caitiffin say to the Harbour Captain?”

Slowly, Honninscrave replied, “Its purport was no other than the words he addressed to us-a strong reproof for trespass upon the gaddhi's will to welcome us. Yet his vehemence itself suggests another intent. In some way, this welcome is not merely eager. It is urgent. I suspect that Rire Grist has been commanded not to fail.”

Linden looked away. She had been hoping for some clearer revelation. Dully, she murmured, “We've already made this decision-when we chose to come here in the first place.” Her attention kept slipping away toward the Sandhold. Immense powers lay hidden within those blank walls. And powers were answers.

The Giants regarded each other again. When the First nodded grimly, Honninscrave straightened his shoulders and turned to Sevinhand. “Anchormaster,” he said quietly, “I leave Starfare's Gem in your hands. Ward it well. Our first requirement is the safety of the Giantship. Our second, stone for Pitchwife's wiving. Our third, replenishment of our stores. And you must contrive means to send warning of any peril. If you judge it needful, you must flee this Harbour. Do not scruple to abandon us. We will essay to rejoin you beyond the Spikes.”

Sevinhand accepted the command. His lean and weathered face showed no hesitance. Risk and decision were congenial to him because they distracted him from his old melancholy.

“I will remain with Starfare's Gem,” Pitchwife said. He looked uncomfortable at the idea. He did not like to leave the First's side. “I must begin my wiving. And at need Sevinhand will spare me to convey messages to the Sandhold.”

Again the First nodded. Honninscrave gave Pitchwife's shoulder a quick slap of comradeship, then faced toward the afterdeck. In a clear voice, he said, “Storesmaster, you may release the Harbour Captain. We will accept the gaddhi's gracious hospitality.”

Above the ships, the crows and gulls went on calling as if they were ravenous.

Fourteen: The Sandhold

LINDEN followed Honninscrave, the First, and Seadreamer down from the wheeldeck to rejoin the Caitiffin. She was trying to decide whether or not she should make an effort to prevent Brinn from taking Covenant to the Sandhold. She was instinctively leery of that place. But the haze on her thoughts blurred her thinking. And she did not want to be parted from him. He looked so vulnerable in his slack emptiness that she yearned to stand between him and any danger. Also, she was better able than anyone else to keep watch over his condition.

The Harbour Captain had already escaped over the side of the dromond, his dignity in disarray, Rire Grist delivered himself of several graceful assurances concerning the gaddhi Rant Absolain's pleasure at the company's acceptance of his welcome; and Honninscrave responded with his own grave politesse. But Linden did not listen to either of them. She was watching Vain and Findail.

They approached the gathering together as if they were intimately familiar with each other. However, Vain's ambiguous blackness formed an acute contrast to Findail's pale flesh, his creamy raiment and expression of habitual misery. The erosion of his face seemed to have worsened since Linden had last looked at him; and his yellow eyes conveyed a constant wince, as though Vain's presence were a nagging pain to him.

Clearly, they both intended to accompany her and Covenant to the Sandhold.

But if Rire Grist felt any surprise at the strangeness of these two beings, he did not show it. Including them in his courtesies, he started back down to the pier. The Giants made ready to follow him. The First gave Pitchwife a brief intent farewell, then swung over the side after the Caitiffin. Honninscrave and Seadreamer went next.

Supporting Covenant between them, Brinn and Hergrom paused at the railing as if to give Linden a chance to speak. But she had nothing to say. The lucidity oozed from her thoughts like the sweat darkening the hair at her temples, Brinn shrugged slightly; and the Haruchai lowered Covenant past the rail into Seadreamer's waiting grasp.

For a moment longer, she hesitated, trying to recover some clarity. Her percipience read something covert in Rire Grist: his aura tasted of subtle ambition and purposive misdirection. Yet he did not appear evil. His emanations lacked the acid scent of malice. Then why was she so uneasy?

She had expected Vain and Findail to follow Covenant at once; but instead they were waiting for her. Vain's orbs revealed nothing, perhaps saw nothing. And Findail did not look at her; he seemed reluctant to confront her penetration.

Their silent attendance impelled her into motion. Walking awkwardly to the rail, she set her feet on the rungs of the ladder and let her weight pull her down to the pier.

When she joined the company, the other four soldiers dismounted, and the Caitiffin offered their destriers to her and her immediate companions. At once, Brinn swung up behind one of the saddles. Then Hergrom lifted Covenant to sit between Brinn's arms. Ceer and Hergrom each took a mount, leaving one for Linden and Cail. Now she did not let herself hesitate. These beasts were far smaller and less threatening than the Coursers of the Clave. Though she had no experience as a horsewoman, she put a foot in the near stirrup, grasped the pommel with both hands, and climbed into the seat. In an instant, Cail was sitting behind her.

While Rire Grist mounted his own beast, his cohorts took the reins of their destriers. Honninscrave and the First positioned themselves on either side of the Caitiffin; Seadreamer moved between the horses which bore Covenant and Linden. Ceer and Hergrom followed, with Vain and Findail behind them. In this formation, they left the pier and entered the town of Bhrathairain like a cortege.

The crew shouted no farewells after them. The risk the company was taking invoked a silent respect from Starfare's Gem.

At Rire Grist's command, the throng on the docks parted. A babble of curious voices rose around Linden in tongues she did not know. Foremost among them were the brackish accents of the Bhrathair. Only a few onlookers chose to express their wonder in the common language