Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

Both Coldspray and Clyme indicated their agreement. When the Cords headed obediently for the trees, Liand shook himself, shrugged, and joined them. Holding Pahni’s hand, he let her lead him into the darker night of Salva Gildenbourne.

The Ironhand faced Linden again. “As I have said, Longwrath’s shackles hinder him. Some time will pass before my comrades join us. Yet I hold little fear for them. Of necessity, we have grown adept at discerning the evils which you name skurj . I have caught no fresh scent of them. And it appears that the Masters who ward us concur.”

“It is the word of the Humbled,” Clyme insisted. “that there is no imminent peril.”

Coldspray seemed to ignore him. “Therefore, Linden Avery, I deem that the time is apt for tales. By the light of the stars, and with a fire for warmth, let us each account for the strange fortune of our encounter.”

Now that she was no longer held by the heat of the Giant’s arms, or shrouded by the warm vitality of the forest, Linden found that the night had turned cold. A breeze seemed to flow down into the glade from the heavens, sharp and chill.

Hugging the Staff to her chest, she said, “I agree.” Then she asked, “But don’t you have any supplies? I haven’t seen your people carrying anything.”

The Ironhand chuckled again, still without humour. “You approach the conclusion of our tale. We are Giants, and love the journey from a tale’s birth to its ending. You observe truly that we bear neither sustenance nor unworn apparel. If our weapons fail us, we have no others. However, at need we are able to endure some measure of privation.” A brief spatter of laughter arose from the other Giants; but Coldspray did not pause. “And in this glade, none need fear hunger. Informed by tales, we know the virtue of aliantha . Neither our pleasure nor our solemnity will be hindered by inanition while we hold our Giantclave, seeking the import of our encounter. We must clarify our path toward a future which appears as tangled and trackless as this wood.”

“Solemnity, ha!” muttered one of the other Giants. “In her lifetime, Rime Coldspray has never drawn a solemn breath.”

The woman’s companions laughed softly again.

“You forget, Frostheart Grueburn,” retorted Coldspray, “you who laugh at all jests and comprehend none, that I am not merely immeasurably aged and wise. I am also ripe with cunning. And while I retain my sight, I have not grown deaf. I hear you when you scoff at me.”

Now the Ironhand’s comrades laughed outright, and one of them punched affectionately at the shoulder of the Swordmain called Frostheart Grueburn. With a shiver, Linden realised that Grueburn was the woman who had just carried her for several leagues through Salva Gildenbourne.

These Giants had rescued her from both Longwrath and Kastenessen’s monster; and she had barely thanked them-

While she searched herself for graciousness, Liand returned laden with firewood. As he crossed to the centre of the glade, an unnamed Swordmain produced a pair of rocks and a pouch of tinder from a pocket covered by her cataphract. When he had dropped his burden, she built a small mound of twigs, leaves, and bark, sprinkled them with flakes of tinder, and began striking sparks with her stones.

Brushing debris from his jerkin and leggings, Liand came to stand beside Linden. “Giants, Linden?” he asked in a whisper. “Are these indeed Giants? You have made no more than passing mention of such folk, and I did not think to query Pahni concerning them. Yet it is plain that you know them well.” His tone did not reproach her. When I beheld Sandgorgons, I conceived that the wide Earth held no greater wonder-aye, and no greater terror-for they were mighty and fearsome beyond my imagining. Now, however, I have felt the terrible puissance of the skurj . And I have been borne kindly by a Giant, when I had not grasped that such folk walked the world.

“Linden, I-” Liand’s eyes echoed sparks. “Perhaps my wits are sluggish. Only now does it occur to me that I do not comprehend how you are able to bear such knowledge. I am filled to bursting, and I have neither spoken with ancient Lords nor given battle in the depths of the Earth. We have witnessed powers which surpass me utterly, yet they revolve about you as moths do about a lamp-and with as little effect.

“I do not ask why you have not spoken more of Giants. They will soon speak of themselves. I ask how you contrive to endure all that you have known and done. You exceed forces and beings whose sheer magnitude turns my heart and mind to dust.”

The Ironhand drew closer as he spoke. “Do not be dismayed, Stonedownor,” she advised him. “There is no mystery here. She is Linden Avery, Chosen and Sun-Sage. Our tales say that she is merely magnificent.”

At the fringe of the jungle, Pahni’s slim form stepped out of deeper blackness. She, too, carried a load of dead branches.

“No,” Linden protested uncomfortably. “You’re thinking of Covenant. I’m just me.” Then she faced Liand. “And I’m not the only one who exceeds .” If she had ever done so. “I’m not the one who gave those Woodhelvennin their health-sense.”

Flames had begun to bloom from the mound of twigs and tinder. The Giant put away her pouch and stones, feeding larger bits of wood to the fire as it took hold. Aching for warmth and reassurance, Linden moved closer to the small blaze.

“It’s Jeremiah, Liand,” she murmured. “He’s how I do it. I would have fallen apart days ago, but I can’t afford to. I can’t let anything stop me. Lord Foul has my son.”

He’s belonged to Foul for years.

But if she found the krill - If she could evoke Thomas Covenant-

“And you do not forgive,” Stave remarked. “There is strength in ire, Chosen. But it may also become a snare.”

With the Staff in the crook of her arm, Linden held out her hands to the flames. Tell that to Kastenessen, she thought bitterly. Tell the Despiser. But she kept her retort to herself.

Pahni added her wood to Liand’s pile, then went to stand beside him. A moment later, Bhapa approached with his arms full. When Mahrtiir had studied the supply of firewood as though he could see it, he nodded. “You are weary,” he told the Cords. “Gather aliantha and rest. As more wood is needed, perhaps Stave will guide me to obtain it.”

Pahni and Bhapa started to obey; but Coldspray stopped them. “You have laboured much, and are indeed worn, Ramen. Permit us to perform this service.” She motioned for two of her comrades. “Stormpast Galesend and Onyx Stonemage have ears to hear. They will not be denied our tales while they gather treasure-berries.”

In response, Mahrtiir bowed. “Centuries have passed into millennia,” he pronounced. “but the Giants remain considerate and compassionate. Gladly we accept the honour of your courtesy.”

Rime Coldspray smiled. “In appearance, the Ramen are a nomadic and brusque people. Yet their politeness would grace a courtly kingdom. Were the Masters as gracious, much that now lies fallow would flourish.”

Both Stave and Clyme gazed at her without expression, and said nothing.

When the Manethrall had seated himself near the fire, Bhapa sank to the ground beside him. Pahni linked her arm with Liand’s. In a more formal tone, the Ironhand continued. “Linden Avery, it is unmistakable that you are the intersection of our tales. Yet mayhap this truth is not evident to you. Therefore I will speak first, though we are far from Home, and beset by perils which we cannot comprehend. When you have heard of our ventures, you will be better able to determine how you may account for our needs as well as your own.”

Linden edged a bit closer to the crackling fire. Its dancing illumination cast light and shadows across the faces of the Swordmainnir. At one moment, their strong faces seemed grotesque and suspicious, and at another, fraught with mirth.