The One Tree

The gaddhi was not there.

But after only a moment's delay he emerged from the shadows behind his seat. He was alone, unaccompanied by either his women or the Kemper. And he was nervous. Linden sensed the trembling of his knees as he ascended the throne.

Rire Grist dropped to one knee. Linden and the Giants mimicked his obeisance. Her tension made her want to shout at Brinn and Cail, at Vain and Findail, to do the same; but she kept herself still. As Rant Absolain climbed through the brightness to take his seat, she studied him. He had put off his formal robe and now wore a light tunic which appeared to be a form, of bed-attire. But underneath his raiment, his inner state was clouded. It was clear that he had been drinking heavily. The wine obscured his emanations.

When he took his seat, she and the First arose without waiting for his permission. The other Giants and Rire Grist also stood. Seadreamer held Ceer into the light like an accusation.

Rant Absolain peered out at the company, but did not speak. His tongue worked the inside of his mouth as if he were dry with thirst. A patina of wine blurred his vision, made him squint until aches squeezed his temples.

The First gave him a moment of silence like an act of forbearance toward his weakness. Then she took a step forward, bowed formally, and began to speak,

“O gaddhi, you honour us with this hearing. We are your guests and desire to ask a boon of you.” The edge of her voice was masked in velvet. 'Word has come to us that our vessel is now replenished and repaired, according to your grace. O gaddhi, the quest which drives us across the seas is urgent and consuming. We ask your grant to depart, that we may pursue our purpose, bearing the honour of your name with us as we go.'

She spoke in a reassuring tone; but her words brought down consternation on Rant Absolain. He shrank against the Auspice. His hands gripped the arms of the seat for an answer it did not provide. While he wrestled for a response, his lips mumbled, No. No.

Linden felt a touch of pity for him; but it was not enough to ease the pressure which stretched her to her resolve.

At last, he rasped against the desert in his throat, “Depart?” His voice cracked helplessly. “I cannot permit it. You have suffered in Bhrathairealm.” Somehow, he found the strength to insist defensively, “Through no fault of mine. Blood was shed. I am required to exact justice.” But then he became timorous again, painfully aware of his isolation. “But you must not bear such tidings of me to the world. You are guests, and the gaddhi is not harsh to his guests. I will make restitution.” His eyes winced as his brain scrambled in search of inspiration. “Do you desire a sword? Take what you wish in the name of my goodwill and be content. You may not depart.” His gaze beseeched the First not to press him further.

But she did not relent. Her voice hardened. “O gaddhi, I have heard it spoken that the hustin are yours, answering to your will absolutely.”

She surprised him; but he did not perceive the nature of her attack. The thought of the hustin restored to him a measure of confidence. “That is true. The Guard is mine.”

“It is untrue.” The First slipped her intent like a dirk through his defences. “If you command them to permit our departure, they will refuse.”

The gaddhi sprang to his feet. “You lie!”

She overrode his protest. “Kasreyn of the Gyre commands them. He made them, and they are his.” Sharply, she drove the deepest wedge she could find between Rant Absolain and the Kemper. “They answer you only at his whim.”

“Lies!” he shouted at her. “Lies!” Magenta anger or fear suffused his visage. “They are mine!”

At once, Linden responded, “Then try it! Tell them to let us go. Give us permission to leave. You're the gaddhi. What have you got to lose?”

At her demand, all the colour drained from his face, leaving him as pallid as panic in the focus of the light. His mouth gaped, but no words came. His mind appeared to flee inward, reaving him of self-consciousness or choice. Dumbly, he turned, descended from the Auspice, came down to the level of the company. He trembled as he moved-as frail as if the moments were years and all the stone of the Sandhold had turned against him. Staring vaguely before him, he shuffled toward Linden, brought his fear to her. He swallowed several times; his gaze slowly clarified. In a hoarse whisper like an internal wound, he said, “I dare not.”

She had no reply. He was telling the truth-the whole truth of his life.

For a moment longer, he faced her, appealing to her with his dread. Then he turned away as if he understood that she had refused him. Stumbling over the gaps in the floor, he made his vulnerable way into the shadow of the Auspice and was gone.

The First looked at Linden.

“That does it.” Linden felt that she was near her breaking-point. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

With a deft movement, the First unbound her helm from her belt, settled it upon her head. Her shield she unslung from her back. Lashing her left forearm into the straps of the shield, she strode toward the stairs.

Rire Grist started after her, spouting expostulations. But Honninscrave caught hold of him. A precise blow stretched the Caitiffin senseless on the floor.

None of the Guards reacted. They gripped their spears at rest and stood where they were, waiting for some voice they recognized to tell them what to do.

Linden hurried after the First; but she did not let herself run. The time for running had not yet come. Her senses were alert and sharp, etching out perceptions. Her companions were behind her in formation, poised for violence. But here nothing threatened them. Below them, the Tier of Riches remained empty. Beyond that her percipience did not reach.

In silence marked only by the sounds of their feet, the questers spiralled down to the Tier. There the First did not hesitate. With a warrior's stride, she passed among the galleries until she reached the one which displayed the blade she coveted.

“Heard my ears aright?” she murmured in stern irony as she lifted the longsword from its mounts, hefted it to ascertain its balance. “Did the gaddhi not grant me this glaive?” The falchion's edges were as keen as the light in her eyes. Her mouth tasted names for this blade.

Chortling to himself, Pitchwife went with Honninscrave to find other weapons.

They rejoined the company at the stairs to the Second Circinate. Pitchwife bore a spiked cudgel as gnarled and massive as his own arms. And over one shoulder Honninscrave carried a huge iron-bound timber which must have been part of some large siege-engine. The thrust of his beard threatened peril to anyone who dared oppose him.

At the sight, Brinn's gaze brightened; and a look like a smile passed over Ceer's pain-disdaining visage.

Together, the companions started downward.

But when they reached the Second Circinate, Linden halted them. Her tension was scaling toward hysteria. “Down there,” All her senses rang like hammered metal. Opposition too dense to be enumerated crowded the forecourt of the First Circinate. “He's waiting for us.” Kasreyn's presence was as unmistakable as his hunger.

'That is well.“ The First stroked her new sword. Her certainty was iron and beauty in her countenance. ”His life in Bhrathairealm will no longer be what it was. If he is required to declare his tyranny, many things will be altered-not least among them the prosperity of this land.' Her voice was acutely eager.

The company arrayed itself for battle. Knotting her fear in her throat, Linden took Covenant from Brinn, freeing the Haruchai to fight. The First and Honninscrave, Pitchwife and the two Haruchai, positioned themselves around Seadreamer,

Ceer, Covenant, and Linden. Ignoring the Demondim-spawn and Findail, who needed no protection, the company walked defiantly down the stairs to the First Circinate.

There Kasreyn of the Gyre awaited them with four-or fivescore hustin and at least that many unmounted soldiers.

He stood with his back to the gates. The gates were closed.

The only illumination came from the sunlight striking in shafts through the unattainable windows.

“Hold!” The Kemper's shout was clear and commanding. “Return to your chambers! The