Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

She knew now that she could not confront the skurj with her Staff and live: not unless she first freed the Land from Kevin’s Dirt. As matters stood, she needed Covenant’s ring.

Time passed, undefined except by the long strides of the Giants, the sharp breakage of branches and undergrowth. Pahni and Bhapa guided the company with unflagging stamina and woodcraft. No one spoke until Rime Coldspray asked abruptly, “Why do you accompany me, Master? Your comrades ward our way. Why do you not join their vigilance?”

Breathing easily in spite of the pace, Stave replied. “You have honoured us with your name, Ironhand. Intending honour, I offer mine. I am Stave of the Haruchai , outcast by the Masters of the Land for my service to Linden Avery the Chosen.

“The others are the Humbled, maimed to resemble the ur-Lord, Covenant Giantfriend. It is the task of the Humbled to affirm and preserve the commitments of the Masters. They ward us because they mistrust the Chosen. They consider that her powers and needs may compel her to commit Desecration. I do not. For that reason, I have been spurned by my kindred.

“I accompany you because I have claimed a place at her side, as have the Ramen and the Stonedownor-and also the old man, after his fashion.” The Giants of the Search had known Sunder and Hollian. Presumably these Swordmainnir would recognise Stave’s term for Liand. “I have learned to fear many things, but I no longer oppose any deed or desire of the Chosen’s.”

Coldspray strode forward sternly for a moment. Then she said. “Permit me to comprehend you, Stave of the Haruchai . Have I heard you aright? Were the choice yours, would you welcome the return of Giants to the Land’?”

In response, Stave made a sound that was as close as Linden had ever heard him come to laughter. “Rime Coldspray,” he answered, “Ironhand of the Swordmainnir, since the Chosen’s coming I have been humbled both profoundly and often. I no longer deem myself wise enough to discourage the friendship of Giants.”

To Linden’s ears, Stave seemed to be indulging in a peculiarly Haruchai form of humour.

“Then, Stave of the Haruchai ,” replied the Ironhand gravely. “I am indeed honoured by the gift of your name. Among us, the tales of the Haruchai are many and admirable. We have long been grieved by the dissuasion of the Masters, for we love friendship wherever it may be found. Take no offense when I ask if these Humbled are trustworthy to watch over us.”

Stave did not hesitate. “While they encounter no discrepancy among their commitments, they remain Haruchai . They will preserve any life with theirs, if doing so does not betray their opposition to Corruption, or to the corrupting use of Earthpower.”

Coldspray considered his answer. “And is this force which the Chosen wields not a ‘corrupting use of Earthpower?”

“The Masters are uncertain. Therefore the Humbled guard against her, but do not demand the surrender of her powers. In our present straits, they will grant to her-and to you-their utmost service.”

“Powers”, Coldspray mused. But she did not question Stave further.

The Giants of the Search must have taken back to their people stories of Covenant’s victory over Lord Foul, of Linden and her Staff-and of white gold. The First and Pitchwife had seen Covenant exert wild magic. They had seen Linden claim his ring when he was gone. Rime Coldspray and the other Swordmainnir would know everything that their ancestors had done and witnessed.

Longwrath must have learned that history as well. It may have shaped his insanity-

Linden sighed to herself. At least she would not have to explain how she intended to fight the skurj .

Belatedly she realised that she did not know the name of the woman who carried her. Weary and fearful, and troubled by her unpredictable relationship with Covenant’s ring, she had paid scant attention to the people around her.

One way or another, their lives were in her hands.

But she could not think of a way to address the woman without sounding brusque and graceless; too stilted to be polite. Like the courtesies of the Ramen, those of the Giants exceeded her.

While she groped for an approach, the dense canopy of Salva Gildenbourne opened unexpectedly. By starlight and percipience, she saw that Bhapa and Pahni had guided the Giants into a small glade. For some reason, the quality of the soil here discouraged trees. Instead wild grasses and brush flourished, interspersed with the piquant promise of aliantha .

The Cords awaited the Giants in the centre of the glade. There Clyme had joined them. When Coldspray and her comrades stopped to consider their surroundings-unrelieved jungle on all sides, dark as midnight-the Master said, “Even Giants rest betimes, though their hardiness is beyond question. Ranging widely, we have found no sign of peril. If you will accept our counsel, you will abide here until the dawn. And if you will not sleep, mayhap you will find succour in your tales.”

The lronhand’s posture stiffened. “The Masters mislike our tales,” she said coldly: an old grievance.

“For the present,” replied Clyme impassively, “we find no harm in them.” His lack of inflection seemed to suggest that he did not expect Linden or her companions to live long enough to speak of what they heard.

Coldspray glared at him for a moment. Then she turned to Stave. “What is your word, Stave of the Haruchai ?”

His manner conveyed a shrug. In this the Humbled counsel wisely. The Chosen and the Stonedownor require rest-aye, and the Ramen as well, though it would be foolish to doubt their fortitude or resolve. And we would be well served by an exchange of tales.”

Rime Coldspray looked at Linden. “Linden Avery?”

Linden nodded. “Please.” She was tired of being a burden. “I need time to think. And we really have to talk. I want to know what you’re doing here,” at this precise point in Lord Foul’s machinations, with a deranged man who craved her death. “You may not realise how much trouble you’re in.

“If we rest for a while,” she added. “the others can catch up with us.”

Then she said quickly, “But be careful with Anele.” She pointed at the old man. “Strange things happen to him when he stands on grass. This glade isn’t like any place that we’ve been before.” The grasses were wilder, tasseled like wheat, with thin, sawing blades. “Blankets seem to protect him, but stone would be better.”

“There is no stone, Ringthane,” Bhapa observed. “Here the loam lies deep.”

Coldspray studied Anele: his blind, staring eyes, his tangled hair and beard, his emaciated limbs; his air of madness and secret power. “Will any manner of stone suffice?”

Before Linden could answer, Anele announced, “He has no friend but stone. The stone of the Land is unkindly. It remembers. Yet it preserves him.”

The Swordmain chuckled humourlessly. “Then I will offer you stone which is not of the Land. Perchance it also will preserve you, and hold no remembrance.”

First she unslung her sheathed glaive from her shoulders. Then she undid the hidden clasps which secured her armour. When she set the heavy curved plates on the ground, they formed a kind of cradle. If the stone had not been moulded to fit her, Anele could have stretched out on it.

The Giant bearing Anele lowered him to the armour. At the same time, Linden, Liand, and Mahrtiir were placed on their feet. Immediately Liand moved toward Linden, brimming with questions. But the Manethrall told Bhapa and Pahni to gather deadwood from the forest. “Fire will comfort the darkness of our straits. In this, I do not fear the skurj . Their hungers are too vast to regard such small fare.”