One Tree (54 page)

Outside the Sandhold, the sirens mounted in pitch, began to pulse like the ululation of the damned. Covenant paid no attention to them. Defended by fire, he moved to the next stairs and went up into the Tier of Riches.

The lights of that place had been extinguished; but it was empty of foes. Perhaps the Kemper had not expected his enemies to gain this level; or perhaps he did not wish to risk damage to centuries of accumulated treasure. At the top of the stairs, Covenant paused, gathered his armor of flame into one hot mass and hurled it downward to slow the pursuit. Then again he ran after Brinn, dodging through the galleries with his rage at Kasreyn fixed squarely before him.

Up the wide rich stairway from the Tier they spiraled like a gyre and burst into The Majesty.

Here the lights were undimmed. Huge cruses and vivid candelabra still focused their rumination toward the Auspice as if the dominion of the
gaddhi
’s seat were not a lie. But all the Guards had been withdrawn to serve Kasreyn elsewhere. Nothing interfered with Covenant’s advance as he swept forward, borne along by wild magic and sirens. With Findail trailing behind them like an expostulation, Brinn and the Unbeliever moved straight to the hidden door which gave access to Kemper’s Pitch, sprang upward toward Kasreyn’s private demesne.

Covenant mounted like a blaze into a night sky. The climb was long, should have been arduous; but wild magic inured him to exertion. He breathed air like fire and did not weaken. The sirens cast glaring echoes about his head; and behind that sound he heard
hustin
pounding heavily after them as rapidly as the constriction of the stairway permitted. But he was condor-swift and puissant, outrunning any pursuit. In passion like the leading edge of an apotheosis, he felt he could have entered Sandgorgons Doom itself and been untouched.

Yet under the wild magic and the exultation, his mind remained clear. Kasreyn was a mighty thaumaturge. He had reigned over this region of the Earth for centuries. And if Covenant did not contrive a defense against the pursuing Guards, he would be forced to slay them all. That prospect struck cold through him. When this transport ended, how would he bear the weight of so much bloodshed?

As he entered the large chamber where the Lady Alif had attempted his seduction, he fought down his power, reduced it to a guttering suggestion around his ring. The effort made his head spin like vertigo; but he ground his teeth until the pressure was contained. It labored in him; he feared he would not be able to hold it for long. Harshly he called Brinn back from the ironwork ascent to Kasreyn’s lucubrium.

The
Haruchai
looked at him with an inflection of surprise. In response, Covenant jerked a nod upward. “That’s my job.” His voice was stretched taut by restraint. Already the lid he had placed over the pressure seemed to bulge and crack. “You can’t help me there. I won’t risk you. And I need you here.” The sounds of pursuit rose clearly through the open doorway. “Keep those Guards off my back.”

Brinn measured Covenant with a stare, then nodded. The stairway was narrow. Alone he might be able to hold this chamber against any number of
hustin
. The task appeared to please him, as if it were condign work for an
Haruchai
. He gave the ur-Lord a formal bow. Covenant moved toward the stairs.

Still Findail remained at his back. The
Elohim
was speaking again, adjuring Covenant to withhold. Covenant did not listen to the words; but he used Findail’s voice to help him steady himself. In his own fashion, Findail represented a deeper danger than Kasreyn of the Gyre. And Covenant had conceived a way to confront the two of them together.

If he could retain control long enough.

Without the wild magic, he had to ascend on the ordinary strength of his legs. The desert night was chilly; but sweat stood on his brow as if it were being squeezed from his skull by the wailing of the sirens. His restraint affected him like fear. His heart thudded, breathing rasped, as he climbed the final stairs and came face to face with the Kemper.

Kasreyn stood near one wall of the lucubrium, behind a long table. The table held several urns, flasks, retorts, as well as a large iron bowl which steamed faintly. He was in the process of preparing his arts.

A few steps to one side was the chair in which he had once put Covenant to the question. But the chair’s apparatus had been altered. Now golden circles like enlarged versions of his ocular sprouted from it in all directions on thin stalks like wands.

Covenant braced himself, expecting an immediate attack. Fire heaved at the leash of his will. But the Kemper cast a rheumy glance at him, a look of old disdain, then returned his attention to his bowl. His son slept like a dead thing in the harness on his back. “So you have mastered a Sandgorgon.”

His voice rustled like the folds of his robe. For centuries, he had demonstrated that nothing could harm him. Honninscrave’s blow had left no mark. “That is a mighty deed. It is said among the
Bhrathair
that any man who slays a Sandgorgon will live forever.”

Covenant struggled for control. Venom and power raged to be released. He felt that he was suffocating on his own restraint. The blood in his veins was afire with reasons for this man’s death. But standing there now, facing the
gaddhi
’s Kemper, he found he could not self-consciously choose to kill. No reasons were enough. He had already killed too many people.

He answered hoarsely, like a rasp of bereavement, “I didn’t.”

That caught Kasreyn’s attention. “
Not
?” Suddenly he was angry. “Are you mad? Without death, no power can re-compel that beast to its imprisonment. Alone it may bring down upon us the former darkness. You are mighty, in good sooth,” he snapped. “A mighty cause of ruin for all
Bhrathairealm
.”

His ire sounded sincere; but a moment later he seemed to forget it. Other concerns preoccupied him. He looked back into his bowl as if he were waiting for something. “But no matter,” he murmured. “I will attend to that in my time. And you will not escape me. Already I have commanded the destruction of your much vaunted Giantship. Its flames brighten
Bhrathairain
Harbor even as you stand thus affronting me.”

Covenant flinched involuntarily. Starfare’s Gem in flames! Strands of wild magic slipped their fetters, reached for the Kemper. The effort of calling them back hurt Covenant’s chest like a rupture. His skull throbbed with strain as he articulated thickly, “Kasreyn, I can kill you.” White fire outlined each word. “You know I can kill you. Stop what you’re doing. Stop that attack on the ship. Let my friends go.” Power blurred his sight like the frightful imprecision of nightmare. “I’ll burn every bone in your body to cinders.”

“Will you, forsooth?” The Kemper laughed—a barking sound without humor. His gaze was as raw and pitiless as the sirens. “You forget that I am Kasreyn of the Gyre. By my arts was Sandgorgons Doom formed and this Sandhold raised, and I hold all
Bhrathairealm
in my hands. You are mighty in your way and possess that which I desire. But you are yet petty and incapable withal, and you offend me.”

He spoke sternly; but still he did not attack. With one hand, he made a slow, unthreatening gesture toward his chair. “Have you observed my preparation?” His manner was firm. “Such gold is rare in the Earth. Mayhap it may be found no otherwhere than here. Therefore came I hither, taking the mastery of
Bhrathairealm
upon myself. And therefore also do I strive to extend my sway over other realms, other regions, seeking more gold. With gold I perform my arts.” He watched Covenant steadily. “With gold I will destroy you.”

As he uttered those words, his hands jumped forward, tipped and hurled his iron bowl.

A black liquid as viscid as blood poured over the table, setting it afire—splashed to the floor, chewed holes in the stone—gusted and spattered toward Covenant.

Acid: vitriol as potent as the dark fluid of ur-viles. Instinctively Covenant flung up his arms, throwing white flame in all directions. Then, a fraction of a heartbeat later, he rallied. Focusing his power, he swept the black liquid away.

During that splinter of time, the Kemper moved. As Covenant’s eyes cleared, Kasreyn no longer stood behind his table. He was sitting in his chair, surrounded by small golden hoops.

Covenant could not hold back. The wild magic required utterance. Too swiftly for restraint or consideration, he flung silver-white at the Kemper—a blast feral enough to incinerate any mortal flesh.

He barely heard Findail’s anguished shout: “
No
!”

But his fire did not reach Kasreyn. It was sucked into the many circles around the chair. Then it recoiled, crashing throughout the lucubrium with doubled, tripled ferocity.

Tables shattered; shelves burst from the walls; shards scored the air with shrill pain. A rampage of debris and fire assailed Covenant from every side at once. Only his reflexive shout of wild magic saved him.

The concussion knocked him to the floor. The stone seemed to quiver under him like wounded flesh. Echoes of argent reeled across his vision.

The echoes did not dissipate. Kasreyn had taken hold of Covenant’s defensive conflagration. It burned wildly back and forth within the gold circles, mounting flare after flare. Its increase scalded the air.

Findail crouched in front of Covenant. “Withhold, you fool!” His fists pounded at Covenant’s shoulders. “Do you not hear me? You will havoc the Earth! You must withhold!”

Caught in a dazzling confusion of flares and pressure, Covenant could hardly think. But a hard grim part of him remained clear, wrestled for choice. He panted, “I’ve got to stop him. If I don’t, he’ll destroy the quest.” Kill Linden. The Giants. The
Haruchai
. “There won’t be anybody left to defend the Earth.”

“Madman!” Findail retorted. “It is you who imperil the Earth,
you
! Are you blind to the purpose of the Despiser’s venom?”

At that, Covenant reeled; but he did not break. Holding himself in a grip of ire and fear, he demanded, “Then you stop him!”

The Appointed flinched. “I am
Elohim
. The
Elohim
do not take life.”

“One or the other.” Flame rose in Covenant’s voice. “Stop him. Or answer my questions. All of them. Why you’re here. What you’re afraid of. Why you want me to hold back.” Findail did not move. Kasreyn’s power mounted toward cataclysm moment by moment. “Make up your mind.”

The
Elohim
drew a breath like a sob. For an instant, his yellow eyes were damp with pain.

Then his form frayed, melted. He lifted into the air in the shape of a bird.

Fire coruscated around him. He flitted scatheless through it, a swift darting of Earthpower. Elongating and flattening himself as he flew, he swooped like a manta toward the Kemper.

Before Kasreyn could react, Findail flashed past his face, pounced onto his son.

At once, the
Elohim
became a hood over the infant’s head. He sealed himself under the small chin, behind the downy-haired skull, clung there like a second skin.

Suffocating the child.

A scream ripped from Kasreyn’s chest. He sprang upright, staggered out of the protection of his chair. His hands groped behind him, clawed at Findail; but he could not rake the
Elohim
loose. His limbs went rigid. Asphyxiation mottled his face with splotches of madness and terror.

Again he screamed—a cry of horror from the roots of his being:

“
My life
!”

The shriek seemed to break his soul. He toppled to the floor like a shattered tower.

Slowly the theurgy blazing about his chair began to fade.

Covenant was on his feet as if he had intended to rush to Kasreyn’s aid. Pressure for power and abomination of death shone from him like the onset of an involuntary ecstasy.

Lifting back into human shape, Findail stepped away from the Kemper’s body. His visage was engraved with grief. Softly he said, “That which he bore was no son of his flesh. It was of the
croyel—
beings of hunger and sustenance which demnify the dark places of the Earth. Those who bargain thus for life or might with the
croyel
are damned beyond redemption.” His voice sounded like mist and tears. “Ring-wielder, are you content?”

Covenant could not respond. He hung on the verge of eruption, had no choice but to flee the damage he was about to do. Fumbling for mastery, he went to the stairs. They seemed interminable. Yet somehow he withheld himself—a nerve-tearing effort he made more for Brinn’s sake than his own. So that Brinn would not die in the outcome.

In the chamber below, he found the
Haruchai
. Brinn had choked the stair so effectively with fallen
hustin
that he had nothing to do except wait until the Guards farther down were able to clear their way.

He looked a question at Covenant; but Covenant had no answer for him either. Trembling in every muscle, the Unbeliever unreined only enough wild magic to open the long dead gyre of the stairway. Then he went downward with Brinn and Findail behind him.

Before he reached The Majesty, he lost control. Flame tore him out of himself. He became a blaze of destruction. The stairs lurched. Cracks leaped through the stone.

Far above him, the top of Kemper’s Pitch began to crumble.

Linden Avery could see and hear normally. Cail was steering her along a subterranean passage lit only at distant intervals by torches. The First and Honninscrave were ahead of her, following a woman who appeared to be the Lady Alif. Pitchwife and Seadreamer were nearby. Seadreamer cradled Ceer across his massive forearms. Vain moved like a shadow at the rear of the company. But Covenant was gone. Brinn and Findail were nowhere to be seen. Linden observed these facts as clearly as the light permitted. In a sense, she understood them. Her upper arms throbbed, especially where Cail had bruised her.

But the reportage of her senses conveyed so little meaning that it might have been in an alien language. Covenant was gone. Behind what she saw and heard, behind her physical sensations, she was a child who had just lost a new friend; and nothing around her offered any solace for her grief.