Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

Around her, the Giants drank small sips of diamondraught ; talked quietly among themselves; adjusted their armour and readied their weapons. Clyme and Branl watched the east for Galt and peril. Stave waited, apparently relaxed, beside Linden. At Mahrtiir’s command, the Cords gathered to protect Anele.

Two or three paces beyond the old man, Liand stood alone with the Staff and his unspoken desires.

For the first time, Linden noticed the breeze that gusted over the tor, rustling like whispers among the treetops on all sides. Its touch made her aware of tiny lines of pain like damp streaks on her cheeks and forehead. She had been scratched during the rush of the Giants through Salva Gildenbourne. Bits of scab crusted her small hurts.

But some of the branches must have caught at her shirt hard enough to snag and tear the red flannel. Minor rents were scattered over her shoulders and down her arms. A few of them held droplets of dried blood. Like the bullet hole over her heart-like the cryptic grass stains on her jeans-the tears and plucked threads seemed trivial; meaningless. They did not reveal her doom.

Jeremiah needed her. She needed Thomas Covenant. Nothing else mattered.

The door that opened on silver fire lay within her somewhere. She only had to find it.

But when she reached inward, there was no door. Instead a twist of nausea squirmed in her stomach.

Oh, God ! Sudden terror thudded through her. That’s it! That’s what he’s been waiting for!

Hardly realising what she did, Linden dropped the ring. It dangled, useless, from its chain as she sprang to her feet-

— and Esmer materialised in front of her as if he had created himself out of wind and sunlight.

Kastenessen’s grandson, by theurgy if not by blood. I serve him utterly. As I also serve you.

Without hesitation, Stave stepped between her and Cail’s son; the son of the merewives. Shouting in surprise, the Giants wheeled. Their ready blades hissed across the breeze. Branl moved toward Stave. Undisturbed or simply uncaring, Clyme continued to watch for Galt and the skurj.

“Mane and Tail!” Mahrtiir snapped. “Esmer, no ! This is not mere betrayal. It is Kastenessen’s triumph, and Fangthane’s.”

If Liand reacted, Linden did not hear or feel it.

Esmer’s presence precluded wild magic. Beyond question, this was what Kastenessen had been waiting for.

Yet Linden’s terror became dismay as she stared at Esmer. Unconsciously she had expected him to heal himself; to appear immaculate and severe, poised for power. But she was wrong. His graceful cymar hung in tatters, fouled with dirt and blood. And the wounds which he had suffered in his bizarre struggle with the Harrow, Roger, and the Demondim-spawn remained. His flesh had been burned and torn because he had declined to defend himself. Now his hurts stank of filth. Some of them were festering.

The green seethe of his gaze resembled weeping seas. Dolour and gall twisted his countenance. He looked like he had come to ensure Linden’s death; to make certain that both the Staff of Law and Covenant’s ring fell to Kastenessen-or to Roger and Lord Foul, if Kastenessen disdained such powers.

Coldspray stood behind him. “Is this indeed Esmer?” she asked through her teeth. “Then I will dismiss him.” Raising her stone sword, she demanded, “Turn, caitiff cateran, and make the acquaintance of my glaive.”

Without glancing away from Linden, Esmer cried, “Hold!” The word was a yelp of chagrin.

Sharply Stave said. “Do not, Rime Coldspray. His powers are unfathomable and virulent. Should he so choose, he will shatter this mound, sweeping us into the maws of the skurj. Your strength will merely provoke him. You cannot prevail.”

Coldspray hesitated, but did not lower her sword. “Linden Avery-” she began; then stopped as if in shock.

Until Mahrtiir barked her name, Linden did not see that the peak of the for teemed with ur-viles and Waynhim.

In silence, they swarmed like shadows around the far taller Giants: several score of them, all that had survived the Harrow, and Roger, and the weapons of the Cavewights. Once again, their lore had enabled them to divine Esmer’s intentions. And they had veiled their presence until he manifested himself. Now they massed around Linden and Cail’s son, encircling Stave and Branl.

“Linden Avery-” Coldspray repeated. With an effort, she quenched her surprise. “What is your will? Are these the creatures that have aided you? The Demondim-spawn? Why then do they now ward Esmer? We cannot oppose him without harming them.”

In response, the Waynhim and ur-viles began to shout, raucous as wild dogs. Their yipping howls and harsh coughs filled the air. They seemed to cast a pall over the tor as if their inherent darkness obscured the sunlight.

None of them brandished weapons. Even the loremaster did not.

Coldspray tried again. “Linden-”

Esmer cut her off. Suddenly disdainful, he rasped, They do not ward me, Giant. That is the import of their speech.

“You possess a gift of tongues obtained from the Elohim . By my will, it is withdrawn. At no time will you be permitted to comprehend these creatures.

“However, they command me to inform you that they serve the Wildwielder. They acknowledge Giants. They have known the Unhomed, for good or ill. If you strike at them, they will not guard themselves. For her sake, they will raise neither hand nor theurgy against you. Yet you play no part in their desires.”

Coldspray glanced around at her comrades, then shook her head in bafflement. By my will-Apparently Esmer had the power to enforce his word.

Linden had made a promise to the ur-viles and Waynhim. If you can ever figure out how to tell me what you need or want from me, I’ll do it. Now Esmer had erased her only chance to understand them.

“But they also wish you to apprehend,” he continued less scornfully. “that their lore will not slow the skurj. They cannot preserve you.” An emotion that resembled remorse troubled his gaze. “They intend only to ensure that I may harm neither you nor any of the Wildwielder’s companions. If they mean to proffer some further service, they do not speak of it.”

The lronhand’s shoulders sagged. As if in defeat, she dropped her glaive back into its sheath. “Then we must perish, son of malice. Kastenessen’s beasts are too many. We cannot defeat them without wild magic-and we are informed that your presence prevents any use of white gold.

Is that your purpose? Will you impose our deaths?”

“It is my nature.” Hauteur fumed like spray from Esmer’s eyes, but his voice winced. “I am made to be what I am. I do not command the skurj. Like them, I am commanded.”

Fierce with alarm and granite rage, Linden wanted to retort; but Stave spoke first. Facing Esmer impassively, he said, “You are swift to cast blame, Esmer mere -son. It is your word that because of the Haruchai “there will be endless havoc”. Yet is it not sooth that you fault Cail your sire and his kindred for your deeds rather than for theirs? The “havoc” will be of your making, not ours. When we fall”- his tone sharpened- “we fall by your hand, Esmer, not by any act or reticence of the Haruchai .”

Esmer flinched. But he did not respond. And he did not withdraw.

Before Linden could voice her own accusations, Clyme announced, “Galt approaches.” His voice carried, blunt as a fist, through the clamour of the Demondim-spawn. The skurj follow. They do not hasten, but they come.”

Involuntarily Linden imagined a path of blight and withering in Salva Gildenbourne’s abundance, formed by the fiery passage of Kastenessen’s monsters.