The One Tree

appeared to realize that he was now alone with people who had outfaced Kasreyn of the Gyre-that he was protected only by his women and the Guards. Squirming down from the Auspice, he thrust his way between his Favoured and hurried after the Kemper as if he had been routed. His women followed behind him in dismay.

The company was left with Rire Grist and fifteenscore hustin.

The Caitiffin was visibly shaken; but he strove to regain his diplomacy, “Ah, my friends,” he said thickly, “I pray that you will pardon this unsatisfactory welcome. As you have seen, the gaddhi is of a perverse temper-doubtless vexed by the pressure of his duties-and thus his Kemper is doubly stressed, both by his own labours and by his sovereign. Calm will be restored-and recompense made-I assure you.” He fumbled to a halt as if he were stunned by the inadequacy of his words. Then he grasped the first idea which occurred to him. “Will you accompany me to your guesting-rooms? Food and rest await you there.”

At that moment, Linden came out of her imposed passivity with a wrench of realisation which nearly made her scream.

Fifteen: “Don't touch me”

THOMAS Covenant saw everything. He heard everything. From the moment when the Elohim had opened the gift of Caer-Caveral, the location of the One Tree, all his senses had functioned normally. Yet he remained as blank as a stone tablet from which every commandment had been effaced. What he saw and heard and felt simply had no meaning to him. In him, the link between action and impact, perception and interpretation, had been severed or blocked. Nothing could touch him.

The strange self-contradictions of the Elohim had not moved him. The storm which had nearly wrecked Starfare's Gem had conveyed nothing to him. The dangers to his own life — and the efforts of people like Brinn, Seadreamer, and Linden to preserve him — had passed by him like babblings in an alien tongue. He had seen it all. Perhaps on some level he had understood it, for he lacked even the exigency of incomprehension. Nothing which impinged upon him was defined by the barest possibility of meaning. He breathed when breath was necessary. He swallowed food which was placed in his mouth. At times, he blinked to moisten his eyes. But these reflexes also were devoid of import. Occasionally an uneasiness as vague as mist rose up in him; but when he uttered his refrain, it went away.

Those three words were all that remained of his soul.

So he watched Kasreyn's attempt to gain possession of him with a detachment as complete as if he were made of stone. The hungry geas which burned from the Kemper's ocular had no effect. He was not formed of any flesh which could be persuaded. And likewise the way his companions defended him sank into his emptiness and vanished without a trace. When Kasreyn, Rant Absolain, and the Chatelaine made their separate ways out of The Majesty, Covenant was left unchanged.

Yet he saw everything. He heard everything. His senses functioned normally. He observed the appraising glance which Findail cast at him as if the Appointed were measuring this Elohim-wrought blankness against the Kemper's hunger. And he witnessed the flush of shame and dismay which rushed into Linden's face as Kasreyn's will lost its hold over her. Her neck corded at the effort she made to stifle her instinctive outcry. She feared possession more than any other thing-and she had fallen under Kasreyn's command as easily as if she lacked all volition. Through her teeth, she gasped, “Jesus God!” But her frightened and furious glare was fixed on Rire Grist, and she did not answer the consternation of her companions. Her taut self-containment said plainly that she did not trust the Caitiffin.

The sight of her in such distress evoked Covenant's miasmic discomfort; but he articulated his three words, and they carried all trouble away from him.

He heard the raw restraint in the First's tone as she replied to the Caitiffin, “We will accompany you. Our need for rest and peace is great. Also we must give thought to what has transpired.”

Rire Grist acknowledged the justice of her tone with a grimace. But he made no effort to placate the company. Instead, he led the gaddhi's guests toward the stairs which descended to the Tier of Riches.

Covenant followed because Brinn's grasp on his arm compelled him to place one foot in front of the other reflexively, as if he were capable of choosing to commit such an act.

Rire Grist took them down to the Second Circinate. In the depths of that level behind the immense forecourt or ballroom, he guided them along complex and gaily lit passages, among bright halls and chambers-sculleries and kitchens, music rooms, ateliers, and galleries-where the company encountered many of the Chatelaine who now contrived to mask their fear. At last he brought the questers to a long corridor marked at intervals by doors which opened into a series of comfortable bedrooms. One room had been set aside for each member of the company. Across the hall was a larger chamber richly furnished with settees and cushions. There the companions were invited to a repast displayed on tables intricately formed of bronze and mahogany.

But at the doorway of each bedroom stood one of the hustin, armed with its spear and broadsword; and two more waited near the tables of food like attendants or assassins. Rire Grist himself made no move to leave. This was insignificant to Covenant. Like the piquant aromas of the food, the unwashed musk of the Guards, it was a fact devoid of content. But it tightened the muscles of Honninscrave's arms, called a glint of ready ire from the First's eyes, compressed Linden's mouth into a white line. After a moment, the Chosen addressed Rire Grist with a scowl.

“Is this another sample of the gaddhi's welcome? Guards all over the place?”

“Chosen, you miscomprehend.” The Caitiffin had recovered his equilibrium. “The hustin are creatures of duty, and these have been given the duty of serving you. If you desire them to depart, they will do so. But they will remain within command, so that they may answer to your wants.”

Linden confronted the two Guards in the chamber. “Get out of here.”

Their bestial faces betrayed no reaction; but together they marched out into the hall.

She followed them. To all the hustin, she shouted, “Go away! Leave us alone!”

Their compliance appeased some of her hostility. When she returned, her weariness was apparent. Again, the emotion she aroused made Covenant speak. But his companions had become accustomed to his litany and gave it no heed.

“I also will depart,” the Caitiffin said, making a virtue of necessity. “As occasion requires, I will bring you word of the gaddhi's will, or his Kemper's. Should you have any need of me, summon the Guard and speak my name. I will welcome any opportunity to serve you.”

Linden dismissed him with a tired shrug; but the First said, “Hold yet a moment, Caitiffin.” The expression in her eyes caused his mien to tense warily. “We have seen much which we do not comprehend, and thereby we are disquieted. Ease me with one answer.” Her tone suggested that he would be wise to comply. “You have spoken of fourscore hundred Guards-of fifteenscore Horse. Battleremes we have seen aplenty. Yet the Sandgorgons are gone to their Doom. And the Kemper's arts are surely proof against any insurgence. What need has Rant Absolain for such might of arms?”

At that, Rire Grist permitted himself a slight relaxation, as if the question were a safe one. “First of the Search,” he replied, “the answer lies in the wealth of Bhrathairealm. No small part of that wealth has been gained in payment from other rulers or peoples for the service of our arms and ships. Our puissance earns much revenue and treasure. But it is a precarious holding, for our wealth teaches other lands and monarchs to view us jealously. Therefore our strength serves also to preserve what we have garnered since the formation of Sandgorgons Doom.”

The First appeared to accept the plausibility of this response. When no one else spoke, the Caitiffin bowed his farewell and departed. At once, Honninscrave closed the door; and the room was filled with terse, hushed voices.

The First and Honninscrave expressed their misgivings. Linden described the power of the Kemper's ocular,