Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

He cannot. They blur at the limit of his senses. However, they advance as though they are certain of us. And their pace exceeds ours. Soon Galt will endeavour to number them.”

Coldspray glanced back at Mahrtiir and Linden. “Shall we run, then? Is there hope in flight’?”

Presumably the Giants could carry Pahni and Bhapa.

“Galt deems that there is not,” replied Stave flatly. “Trees and terrain do not hinder the skurj. And they appear capable of great speed. Can you outrun them at need? Can you do so until we have gained Loric’s krill ?”

The Ironhand shook her head. “We have run too much. Already weariness weighs upon us, though we are Giants, and proud of our strength. If it can be done, we must abide by the Manethrall’s counsel.”

“Then my Cords must be forewarned,” growled Mahrtiir. “They cannot hear the minds of the Humbled.”

“Cabledarm!” Coldspray called to one of the Giants. “This falls to you. Overtake the Cords. Aid them in their search.”

“Aye,” Cabledarm responded. “Who else?” She bared her teeth in a willing grin. “When wisdom and cunning exhaust themselves, simple strength must prevail.

“Observe and learn, Linden Giantfriend!” she shouted as she broke into a run. “It is with good cause that Cabledarm is acknowledged as the mightiest of the Swordmainnir!”

Assisted by the slope, she seemed to bound after Pahni.

“Mightiest, ha!” muttered Grueburn to her comrades. “I claim that title. Free my arms, and I will “acknowledge” any might that strives to prove itself against me.”

Several of the Giants chuckled; but Coldspray commanded sternly, “Quicken your strides, Swordmainnir. Haste now may earn a measure of respite ere the skurj assail us.”

The women picked up their pace. Linden expected them to race after Cabledarm, but they did not. Instead the Ironhand held them to a swift walk. After a moment, Linden realised that Coldspray did not want to overrun the Cords’ search for an abundance of loose stones- the ancient litter of scarps and tors - When-or if-Bhapa found a place that satisfied Mahrtiir’s requirements, Coldspray wished to head toward it without needing to double back.

Trembling as if she, too, had run for leagues, Linden touched her pocket to confirm that she still had Jeremiah’s racecar. Then she drew out Covenant’s ring.

Irregular splashes of sunshine caught the small metal circle as the sun rose toward midday. Whenever Covenant’s wedding band flared silver in her hand, Linden winced involuntarily. Please, God, she prayed without hearing herself. Please. The ring looked puny against the pale skin of her palm; too little to encompass either hope or contradiction.

Wild magic is only as powerful as the will, the determination, of the person it belongs to. The rightful white gold wielder.

With it, Covenant had mastered Nom; faced Kasreyn of the Gyre; denatured the virulence of the Banefire. Wielded by the Despiser, its savage ecstasy had exalted Covenant’s spirit to secure and sustain the Arch of Time. And Linden herself had caused a caesure. In the wrong hands, it’s still pretty strong. Nevertheless this immaculate instance of white gold was not hers.

It doesn’t really come to life until the person it belongs to chooses to use it.

Roger could have been lying; but she did not think so. Too much of what he had said matched her memories, her experiences.

Damn it. She clenched her fist around the ring. She had created one caesure : she could form another; catch the skurj in a mad whirl of instants and send them hurtling toward an imponderable future. If she were willing to take the risk-

When she had asked Roger about Falls, he had replied, Eventually they’ll destroy everything.

On that subject as well, she could believe that he had told the truth.

All right, she promised herself grimly. No more caesures . I’ll try something else.

But she did not know what she would be able to attempt.

In the distance ahead, she felt Cabledarm reach Pahni; felt the Giant sweep Pahni into her arms and go on running. They sought Bhapa, but they passed beyond Linden’s range without finding him.

Moving at Coldspray’s side, Stave spoke so that Linden and the Manethrall could hear him. “Branl reports no threat. It appears that Longwrath and his escort will not be assailed. And Clyme also descries no presage of harm. Therefore he and Branl come to join our defence.

“Galt will do likewise. However, he intends first to number the skurj. At present, he perceives less than a score. If he discovers no increase in their force, he will endeavour to learn if they may be made to turn aside.”

Linden flinched. One of those monsters could swallow Galt whole-

“Then he is a fool,” snapped the Ironhand.

Stolidly Stave replied, “He is Haruchai as well as Humbled, neither slow of wit nor weak of limb. He will not sacrifice himself except in our direct aid. Rather he will seek only to determine whether the skurj may be slowed or diverted.”

Coldspray started to respond, but a distant shout interrupted her. Muffled by trees and foliage, Cabledarm’s bellow was barely audible.

“A place is found! Alter your heading somewhat eastward!”

Eastward-Closer to the skurj.

The Ironhand stopped; turned to face Mahrtiir. “Manethrall,” she said tensely. our esteem for the Ramen grows ever greater. To say that your Cords have served us well is scant praise. We cannot delay for true gratitude. Know, however, that we are honoured to claim the friendship of a people who possess such fortitude and skill.”

Before he could answer, she spun away and began to run. At once, her comrades followed, angling slightly to the left as they rushed between the trees.

Linden did not know how far they ran. Fears confused her. Repeatedly she caught herself holding her breath. Nevertheless the pace of the Giants made it obvious that Salva Gildenbourne’s verdure was growing thin. As the soil lost its richness, it exposed new sheets of stone and older outcroppings of bedrock stained by weather and time and lichen. Few shrubs and saplings obstructed the strides of the Swordmainnir. Gilden, ancient oaks, and occasional, brittle birches stood farther apart, allowing swathes of sunlight to reach the ground. The Giants flashed through incursions of brightness as if they flickered in and out of predictable reality.

Ahead of them, the trees opened briefly. Through the gap, Linden spotted a rocky tor, high and rounded like the burial-mound of a titan. Then the Giants ran into full sunshine, brilliant as Staff-fire; and she found herself staring at a formation like a volcanic plug so immeasurably ancient that the eons had worn it down to rubble.

It seemed tall to her: she could not have thrown a pebble to reach its crown. Yet it stood lower than the surrounding trees. Without Bhapa’s guidance, and Pahni’s, the Giants might easily have missed it.

Boulders as big as dwellings supported its sides, but the rest of the mound was composed of broken rocks in all sizes and shapes. From Linden’s perspective, the crest looked wide enough for all of the Giants to stand together and wield their weapons.

Mahrtiir’s eagerness suggested that the tor was exactly what he wanted. But Linden was not convinced. If her companions chose to defend themselves atop the mound, they would have no line of escape.

Bhapa stood, panting urgently, at the foot of the knuckled slope. But Cabledarm had carried Pahni up the tor. The Swordmain waved dramatically as her comrades emerged from the forest. “I recant my vaunt!” she crowed: a shout of delight. “Skill may accomplish much which lies beyond the reach of muscle and thew! The Manethrall’s Cords have humbled me. I would not have stumbled upon this admirable redoubt!”