The One Tree

gaddhi's Guard. Like the Harbour Captain, they conceive their duty straitly. However,” he went on wryly, “they are somewhat less accessible to persuasion. It will be necessary to answer them. I assure you that their intent is caution, not discourtesy.”

Addressing the hustin, he announced himself formally, then described the purpose of the company. The two Guards listened as stolidly as if they were deaf. When he finished, they replied in unison, “You may pass. They must tell their names.”

The Caitiffin shrugged a bemused apology to Honninscrave.

Warnings knotted in Linden's throat. She was still shaken by her perception of the hustin. They were only tools, fashioned deliberately to be tools; yet the power or person that required such slaves-!

But the company was too far from Starfare's Gem. And Starfare's Gem was too vulnerable. If she spoke, she might spring the trap. In this place, she and her companions could only hope for safety and escape by playing the game devised for them by the gaddhi or his Kemper. Gritting her teeth, she remained silent.

Honninscrave did not hesitate; his decisions had already been made. He stepped up to the hustin and gave his answer. His voice was calm; but his heavy brows lowered as if he wished to teach the Guards more politeness.

“You may pass,” they replied without expression and parted their spears. Rire Grist rode between them into the dim passage of the gate, stopped there to wait. Honninscrave followed him.

Before the First could pass, the Guards blocked the way again.

Her jaws chewed iron. One hand flexed in frustration at the place where the hilt of her broadsword should have been. Precisely, dangerously, she said, “I am the First of the Search.”

The hustin stared primitive malice at her. “That is not a name. It is a title.”

“Nevertheless”-her tone made Linden's muscles tighten in preparation for trouble or flight-“it will suffice for you.”

For one heartbeat, the Guards closed their eyes as if they were consulting an invisible authority. Then they looked back at the First and raised their spears.

Glowering, she stalked between them to Honninscrave's side.

As Seadreamer stepped forward, the Master said with half-unintended roughness, “He is Cable Seadreamer my brother. He has no voice with which to speak his name.”

The Guards appeared to understand; they did not bar Seadreamer's way.

A moment later, the soldier leading Linden's horse approached the gates and spoke his name, then paused for her to do the same. Her pulse was racing with intimations of danger. The hustin dismayed her senses. She felt intuitively certain that the Sandhold would be as hard to leave as a prison-that this was her last chance to flee a secret and premeditated peril. But she had already done too much fleeing. Although she strove to match Honninscrave's steadiness, a faint tremor sharpened her voice as she said, “I'm Linden Avery the Chosen.”

Over her shoulder, Cail uttered his name dispassionately. The hustin admitted them to the gate.

Ceer and Hergrom were brought forward. They went through the same ritual and were allowed to enter.

Then came the soldier with Covenant and Brinn. After the soldier had given his name, Brinn said flatly, “I am Brinn of the Haruchai. With me is ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Giant-friend and white gold wielder.” His tone defied the hustin to challenge him.

Blankly, they lifted their spears.

Vain and Findail came last. They approached the gate and halted. Vain held himself as if he neither knew nor cared that he was no longer moving. But Findail gazed at the Guards with frank loathing. After a moment, he said grimly, “I do not give my name to such as these. They are an abomination, and he who made them is a wreaker of great ill.”

A shiver of tension went through the air. Reacting as one, the hustin dropped back a step, braced themselves for combat with their spears levelled.

At once, the Caitiffin barked, “Hold, you fools! They are the gaddhi's guests!” His voice echoed darkly along the passage.

Linden turned against the support of Cail's arms. Ceer and Hergrom had already leaped from their mounts, poised themselves behind the hustin.

The Guards did not attack. But they also did not lower their weapons. Their porcine eyes were locked on Findail and Vain, Balanced on thick, widely-splayed legs, they looked mighty enough to drive their spears through solid ironwood.

Linden did not fear for Vain or Findail. Both were impenetrable to ordinary harm. But they might trigger a struggle which would damn the entire company. She could see disdain translating itself into ire and action on Findail's eroded mien.

But the next instant a silent whisper of power rustled through the passage, touching her ears on a level too subtle for normal hearing. At once, the hustin withdrew their threat. Lifting their spears, they stepped out of the way, returned to their posts as if nothing untoward had happened.

To no one in particular, Findail remarked sardonically, “This Kasreyn has ears.” Then he passed into the gloom of the gate with Vain at his side like a shadow.

Linden let a sigh of relief leak through her teeth. It was repeated softly by the First.

Promptly, Rire Grist began apologising. “Your pardon, I beg you.” His words were contrite, but he spoke them too easily to convey much regret. “Again you have fallen foul of a duty which was not directed at you. Should the gaddhi hear of this, he will be sorely displeased. Will you not put the unwise roughness of these hustin from your hearts, and accompany me?” He made a gesture which was barely visible in the dimness.

“Caitiffin.” The First's tone was deliberate and hard. “We are Giants and love all amity. But we do not shirk combat when it is thrust upon us. Be warned. We have endured much travail, and our appetite for affront has grown somewhat short.”

Rire Grist bowed to her. “First of the Search, be assured that no affront was intended-and no more will be given. The Sandhold and the gaddhi's welcome await you. Will you come?”

She did not relent. “Perhaps not, What will be your word should we choose to return to our Giantship?”

At that, a hint of apprehension entered the Caitiffin's voice. “Do not do so,” he requested. “I tell you plainly that Rant Absolain is little accustomed to such spurning. It is not in the nature of rulers to smile upon any refusal of their goodwill.”

Out of the gloom, the First asked, “Chosen, how do you bespeak this matter?”

A tremor still gripped Linden's heart. After the sun's heat, the stone of the Sandwall felt preternaturally cold. Carefully, she said, “I think I want to meet the man who's responsible for those hustin”

“Very well,” the First replied to Rire Grist. “We will accompany you.”

“I thank you,” he responded with enough underlying sincerity to convince Linden that he had indeed been apprehensive. Turning his mount, he led the company on through the gate.

When she reached the end of the passage, Linden blinked the sun out of her eyes and found herself facing the sheer wall of the First Circinate.

A space of bare, open sand perhaps fifty feet wide lay between the Sandwall and the Sandhold. The inner curve of the wall here was also lined with banquettes; but these were not deserted. Hustin stood along them at precise intervals. Frequent entryways from the banquettes gave admittance to the interior of the wall. And opposite them the abutments of the First Circinate rose like the outward face of a donjon from which people did not return. Its parapets were so high that Linden could not see past them to any other part of the Sandhold.

Only one entrance was apparent-another massive stone gate which stood in line with the central gate of the outer Sandwall. She expected Rire Grist to ride in that direction; but instead he dismounted and stood waiting