One Tree (57 page)

Her right arm hung at her side as if she had taken Covenant’s leprosy upon herself. Stiffly she started toward the Sandhold.

Cail caught her by the arm, swung her around as if he meant to strike her. But Pitchwife and Seadreamer had not left her. Pitchwife’s eyes burned as he slapped Cail’s grasp away from her. A distant part of her wondered if she were going to lose her arm. With a gesture, Pitchwife summoned Seadreamer. At once, the mute Giant lifted her into his embrace. Carrying her as he had carried her through Sarangrave Flat, he went in pursuit of Honninscrave and the First.

Gradually the sirens faded into the distance. The company was moving faster than Covenant would ever be able to follow. If he were still able to follow at all. The rims of her right shoulder ached dimly, like the shock after an amputation. When she looked up, she saw nothing but the long scar like a slash of old moonlight under Seadreamer’s eyes. The position in which he held her blocked Starfare’s Gem’s progress from view. She had been reduced to this and lacked even the strength for protest.

She was taken by surprise when Seadreamer abruptly wheeled back to the south and halted. The other Giants had also stopped. Cail stood poised on the balls of his feet. They all peered into the vague light toward Vain—or something beyond Vain.

Then she heard it: hooves beating the stone of the Sandwall. Iron-shod hooves, many of them. Twisting in Seadreamer’s grasp, she saw a massed cluster of shadows pour forward. They appeared to surge and seethe as they galloped.

“Honninscrave,” the First said like iron, “you and Seadreamer must continue to the Spikes. Bear the Chosen and Cail
Haruchai
with you. Pitchwife and I will do what we may to ward you.”

Neither brother protested. No Giant of the Search could have refused her when she used that tone. Slowly Honninscrave and Seadreamer withdrew. After only a fraction of hesitation, Cail also retreated. Vain moved to stay with Linden. Together the First and Pitchwife stood to meet the
gaddhi
’s Horse.

But soon both Honninscrave and Seadreamer stopped. Linden felt Seadreamer’s muscles yearning toward the First. Honninscrave clenched himself as if he did not know how to abandon a comrade. Caught between conflicting needs, they watched the mounted soldiers pound forward.

The First held her falchion in her hands and waited. Pitchwife hunched forward with his hands braced on his knees, gathering breath and strength for battle. In the immanent silver of the light, they looked like colossal icons, numinously silent and puissant.

Then a command was barked in the
Bhrathair
tongue. The horses bunched to a halt. Sparks squealed between iron and stone.

While the others stopped, one of the mounts came dancing with froth on its lips to confront the Giants. A familiar voice said, “First of the Search, I salute you. Who would have believed you capable of so casting
Bhrathairealm
into chaos?”

The First made a warning sign with the tip of her sword. “Rire Grist,” she said in a voice of quiet danger. “Return whence you have come. I do not desire to shed more blood.”

The Caitiffin’s mount fought its bit; he controlled the frightened animal roughly. “You mistake me.” His urbane diplomacy was gone. He sounded now like a soldier, and his tone held a note of eagerness. “Had I possessed the wisdom to take your true measure, I would have aided you earlier.” A note of ambition. “Kasreyn is dead. The
gaddhi
is little better than a madman. I have come to escort you to the Spikes, that at least you may hope for your vessel in safety.”

The First’s blade did not waver. Softly she asked, “Will you rule
Bhrathairealm
, Caitiffin?”

“If I do not, another will.”

“Perhaps,” she pursued. “Yet why do you seek to aid us?”

He had his answer ready. “I wish the goodwill of the tale you will bear to other lands. And I wish also that you should be gone swiftly, that I may set about my work free of powers I can neither comprehend nor master.”

He paused, then added with palpable sincerity, “Moreover, I am grateful. Had you failed, I would not have endured long in Kasreyn’s favor. Perhaps I would have been given to the Sandgorgons.” A shudder tinged his voice. “Gratitude has meaning to me.”

The First considered him for a moment. Then she demanded, “If you speak sooth, call back the warships which harry our
dromond
.”

His horse flinched. He wrestled with it momentarily before he answered. “That I cannot do.” He was taut with strain. “They obey the sirens, which I know not how to silence. I have no means to make myself heard at such a distance.”

As if involuntarily, the First looked out into the Harbor. There, the swift trireme had forced Starfare’s Gem to turn. The Giantship sailed broadside to the galleass, exposed for attack. The penteconter was closing rapidly.

“Then I require evidence of your good faith.” For an instant, her voice quivered; but she quickly smothered her concern with sternness. “You must send your command back to the Sandhold in search of Thomas
Covenant. Those who oppose him must be stopped. He must have a mount, that he may overtake us with all haste. And you must accompany us alone. You will provide for our safety at the Spikes. And from that vantage you will seek means to be heard by these warships.” Her threat was as plain as her blade.

For a moment, the Caitiffin hesitated. He let his horse curvet as if its prancing could help him to a decision. But he had come too far to turn back. Wheeling toward his soldiers, he dismounted. One of them took the reins of his destrier while he barked a string of commands. At once, his squad turned, sprang into a gallop back up the long slope of the Sandwall.

When they were gone, Rire Grist bowed to the First. She acknowledged his decision with a nod. In silence, she put out her hand to Pitchwife’s shoulder. Together they started again toward the Spikes. If she recognized the disobedience of her companions, she did not reprove it.

With Cail at his side like a warder, Rire Grist hurried to keep pace with the Giants as they strode northward.

Another fireball revealed that Sevinhand had somehow eluded the snare of the warships. The
dromond
was once again cutting straight for the Spikes.

In the glare as the fireball burst across the water, the Spikes themselves were clearly visible. They rose ominously against the horizon, and the gap between them seemed too small for any escape.

Every tack and turn the Giantship was forced to make delayed its progress. The company was well in advance of the
dromond
as they approached the western tower. There the Caitiffin ran ahead with Cail beside him, shouted commands up at the embrasures. In moments, he was answered. The particular timbre of Seadreamer’s muscles told Linden that he understood what the
Bhrathair
said—and that Rire Grist was not betraying the company.

But his fidelity made no impression on her. She felt empty of everything except her arm’s numbness and Starfare’s Gem’s peril and Covenant’s absence. She did not listen to the
Bhrathair
. Her hearing was directed back along the Sandwall toward the sirens and the hope of hoofbeats.

Soldiers came out of the Spike, saluted Rire Grist. He spoke to them rapidly. They trotted back into the tower, accompanied by the Caitiffin. The First sent Honninscrave in Call’s place to ensure that Rire Grist did not change his mind. Shortly commands echoed in the narrows as the Caitiffin shouted across to the eastern Spike.

Together the Giants moved to the corner of the tower so that they could watch both the Harbor and the Sandwall. There they waited. In Seadreamer’s arms Linden also waited. But she felt that she shared nothing with them except their silence. Her eyes did not reach as far as theirs. Perhaps her hearing also did not reach as far. And the
dromond
’s granite dance of survival across the water frayed her concentration. She did not know how to believe that either Covenant or the Giantship would endure.

After a long moment, Pitchwife breathed, “If he comes belatedly—If Starfare’s Gem must await him within these narrows—”

“Aye,” growled the First. “No catapult will fail at such a target. Then Rire Grist’s good faith will count for nothing.”

Cail did not speak. He stood with his arms folded on his chest as if his rectitude were full of violence and had to be restrained.

Softly Pitchwife muttered, “Now, Sevinhand.” His fists beat lightly on the parapet. “Now.”

After a time which contained no sound except the distant and forlorn rage of the alarms and the faint wet soughing of water against the base of the Spike, the Sandwall suddenly echoed with the clamor of oars. Tricked by one of Sevinhand’s maneuvers, the trireme and the penteconter fought to avoid disabling each other. A fireball broke on the rocks directly below the company, sending tremors of detonation through the stone.

The blast absorbed Linden’s senses. White blotches burned toward red across her vision. She did not hear him coming.

Abruptly the Giants turned to face the crooked length of the Sandwall. Seadreamer set her on her feet. Her balance failed her; she nearly fell. Cail took three steps forward, then stopped like an act of homage.

A horse appeared to condense out of the moonlight at a run. As the thud and splash of the oars regained rhythm, hooves came staccato through the noise. Almost without transition, the horse neared the company. It stumbled to a halt, stood with its legs splayed on the edge of exhaustion. Brinn sat in the saddle.

He saluted the Giants. Lifting one leg over the saddle horn, he dismounted. Only then did Covenant become visible. He had been crouching against the
Haruchai
’s back as if he feared for his life—dismayed by the speed and height of the horse. Brinn had to help him down.

“Well come, Giantfriend,” the First murmured. Her tone expressed more gladness than a shout. “Well come indeed.”

From out of the dark, wings rustled. A shadow flitted up the roadway toward Covenant. For a moment, an owl poised itself in the air above him as if it meant to land on his shoulder. But then the bird and its shadow dissolved, poured together on the stone as Findail reshaped his human form. In the vague light, he looked like a man who had been horrified and could see no end to it.

Covenant stood where Brinn had set him as if all the courage had run out of him. He seemed benighted and beyond hope. He might have fallen back under the power of the
Elohim
. Linden started toward him without thinking. Her good arm reached out to him like an appeal.

His power-ravaged gaze turned toward her. He stared at her as if the sight surpassed everything he had suffered. “Linden—” His voice broke on her name. His arms hung at his sides as if they were weighed down by pity and need. His tone rasped with the effort he made to speak. “Are you all right?”

She dismissed the question. It had no importance compared to the anguish reflecting from his face. His dismay at all the killing he had done was palpable to her. Urgently she said, “You had to do it. There was no other way. We’d already be dead if you hadn’t.” Covenant, please! Don’t blame yourself for saving our lives.

But her words brought back his pain, as if until now only his concern for her and the company had protected him from what he had done. “Hundreds of them,” he groaned; and his face crumpled like Kemper’s Pitch. “They didn’t have a chance.” His features seemed to break into tears, repeating the fires of the Harbor and the Spike in fragments of grief or sweat. “Findail says I’m the one who’s going to destroy the Earth.”

Oh, Covenant! Linden wanted to embrace him, but her numb arm dangled from her shoulder as if it were withering.

“Giantfriend,” the First interposed, driven by exigency. “We must go down to Starfare’s Gem.”

He bore himself like a cripple. Yet somewhere he found the strength to hear the First, understand her. Or perhaps it was guilt rather than strength. He moved past Linden toward the Spike as if he could not face his need for her. He was still trying to refuse her.

Unable to comprehend his abnegation, she had no choice but to follow him. Her pants had become as stiff and necessary as death after Ceer’s last wound. Her arm would not move. After all, Covenant was right to refuse her. Sooner or later, the
Haruchai
would tell him about Ceer. Then she would never be able to touch him. When Pitchwife took the place Cail had repudiated at her side, she let him steer her into the tower.

There Honninscrave rejoined the company. Guided by information Rire Grist had given him, he led the way down a series of stairs which ended on a broad shelf of rock no more than the height of a Giant above the sea. Starfare’s Gem had already thrust its prow between the Spikes.

Here at last the sirens became inaudible, drowned by the echoing surge of water. But Honninscrave made himself heard over the noise, caught the
dromond
’s attention. Moments later, as Starfare’s Gem drew abreast of the rock, lines were thrown outward. In a flurry of activity, the companions were hauled up to the decks of the Giantship.

The huge penteconter came beating into the gap hardly a spear’s cast behind the
dromond
. But as Starfare’s Gem fled, Rire Grist kept his word. He and his soldiers launched a volley of fire-arrows across the bows of the penteconter, signaling unmistakably his intent to prevent any pursuit of the Giantship. Like the Lady Alif, he had found his own conception of honor in the collapse of Kasreyn’s rule.

The warship could not have been aware of that collapse. But Rire Grist was known as the Kemper’s emissary. Accustomed to the authority and caprice of tyrants, the crew of the penteconter began to back oars furiously.

Lifting its sails to the wind, Starfare’s Gem ran scatheless out into the open sea and the setting of the moon.

Finally Linden’s arm began to hurt. Her blood became acid, a slow dripping of corrosion from her shoulder down along the nerves above her elbow. Her forearm and hand still remained as numb and heavy as dead meat; but now she knew that they would eventually be restored as well. Every sensate inch of her upper arm burned and throbbed with aggrievement.