Stephen Donaldson - Fatal Revenant

Linden swallowed her dismay. Esmer was helping her: she knew that. He had told her where to look for Kastenessen-and perhaps how to end Kevin’s Dirt. He had revealed how her disparate foes had been induced to work together. But he had given her nothing that would thwart the skurj.

If he answered her questions in order to betray Kastenessen, he was doing his grandsire no harm.

“You’re just talking, Esmer,” she said, deliberately dismissive. “You can say whatever you want because you know that I won’t live to do anything about it. If you want to prove that you’re worthy of your father,” of Cail, whose courage had been as boundless as Kastenessen’s rage. “tell me something useful. Tell me why no one wants me to go to Andelain.”

Without warning, the first of the skurj reared into view.

The sight staggered her; broke her concentration. Even in full daylight, the beast seemed to dominate the sky. Its heat washed over the tor, terrible and chancrous: its massive jaws gaped, blazing with repeated rows of fangs like magma shaped and whetted until the teeth resembled kukris. Heat shouted from the monster’s deep maw as if it articulated the Earth’s quintessential hunger.

The ur-viles and Waynhim huddled around Linden, apparently cowed. Their subdued chittering sounded like whimpers.

Rime Coldspray confronted the creature with her sword held ready. Yet she did not strike. She might have been immobilised; stricken with terror; helpless before the lambent ineluctable fangs of the skurj. But she was not. She was waiting-

The beast towered over her, savouring her death. Then the tremendous kraken jaws pounced for her head. If it caught her, it would bite her in half.

Branl interrupted the creature’s strike. Before it reached Coldspray, he flung a heavy rock down the throat of the skurj.

Reflexively the monster paused. It closed its jaws to swallow; concealed the sick radiance of its fangs.

In that instant, Coldspray swung her glaive. With all of her Giantish might and her Swordmainnir training, she cut into and through the heavy muscles at one hinge of the creature’s jaws.

The skurj fell into a convulsion of pain. Yowling through a spray of vile blood, it plunged out of sight.

Dear God- An abundance of loose stones. Now Linden understood. The mound was not a trap: it was an armoury. Her companions could use the autonomic reactions of the creatures against them. Branl, Galt, and Clyme-even Mahrtiir-could force the skurj to pause.

Any interruption would create openings for the Giants.

But Coldspray’s blow appeared to infuriate the rest of the skurj. Their roaring lashed the air: their heat stank like gangrene. Eight or ten of them charged upward simultaneously. The others were close behind. Threats of slaughter scaled into lunacy as the creatures arched above the tor to crash slavering toward the Giants.

In the space between heartbeats, one small sliver of time, Linden whirled toward Stave. “The Seven Words!” she panted. “They affect the skurj!”

The Giants believed that the monsters could not hear. But Linden had seen one of them hesitate before the implicit theurgy of the Seven Words.

Stave acknowledged her with a nod. Then he sprang away, shifting easily among the Demondim-spawn to inform her companions.

Around the entire rim of the crown, battle exploded.

“Wildwielder!” Esmer shouted. “Forswear your purpose in Andelain, and I will depart!” A cryptic desperation edged his voice. “Do as you will with the Harrow. Others will oppose your efforts to retrieve your son. I will not!”

Pallid with strain, Linden faced him again. The horrid gaping of fangs made his features ruddy and lurid: it seemed to fill his hurts with disease. A bloody sunset shone in his eyes. Her companions were fighting for their lives; everyone who had aided her; her friends-

There was nothing that she could do to help them.

“That’s not an answer , Esmer.” If she turned her back on Andelain-on Covenant and the krill - she would sacrifice her only chance to save the Land. Terror and evil would rampage wherever they wished. The Harrow isn’t here. ”

“If I depart, he will come.” Esmer’s mien was rife with supplication. He will remove you from this doom. Your death would complicate his desires.”

Should you discover some means to sway me-

The Giants were too few. The Humbled and Mahrtiir were fewer still. Kindwind tried to stop a skurj by jamming her sword past its teeth into the back of its maw. She hurt it; drove it back. But it clamped its jaws as it pulled away, taking her sword and her hand and all of her forearm with it. Blood fountained from the severed stump.

Guided by percipience, Mahrtiir heaved stones bigger than his fists between the fangs of the beasts. He yelled the Seven Words with such ferocity that the for itself quivered. Skurj after skurj was forced to pause and swallow-or to falter. But that was the limit of what he could accomplish. If he touched one of the creatures, its hide would scald the flesh from his bones.

One of Clyme’s rocks interrupted a flash of fangs and incandescence. In that instant, Grueburn ducked beneath the skurj and drove her sword upward through its hide behind its jaws; buried her blade to the hilt. Somehow she struck a vital nerve-centre, perhaps the monster’s brain. Spasming frantically, the skurj toppled down the stones. When its bulk collided with another creature, that beast tumbled as well.

Giants began to shout the Seven Words: a cacophony of invocation.

It was not enough.

Grinding her teeth, Linden demanded, “And if he does? If the Harrow offers me a bargain that I can live with? Will he save my friends? Can he rescue all of us?”

Esmer snorted contemptuously. “Doubtless he is able to do so. He will not. He need not. He cares naught for your companions. Knowing where your son is imprisoned, he requires no other suasion. He will not hazard himself for any cause other than white gold and the Staff of Law. If you insist upon the salvation of your companions, he will merely await a later opportunity to acquire your powers.

“The might of wild magic will be diminished if it is not ceded voluntarily. That he will regret. Nevertheless this plight serves his ends also.”

Bhapa and Pahni hovered uselessly over Anele. When they could, they threw stones at the skurj. The old man made mewling noises deep in his throat. His hands clutched at granite and basalt as if he thought that the broken rocks might redeem him.

Emulating Grueburn, Onyx Stonemage ducked under a blaze of fangs and thrust her sword like a spear behind the beast’s jaws. But she missed her target. In a vast roar of pain and blood, the skurj struck at her; slammed her to the jagged stones.

For a moment, her armour blocked the monster’s bite. At the same time, however, the beast’s fury twisted her blade within its wound. Before her cataphract failed, her thrust became a killing stroke. The skurj recoiled, seized by death. Its blood drenched her, stinking like offal, as the creature fell.

Two skurj were dead. At least one had been badly wounded.

Too many remained.

Stave joined the Humbled. Together they hurled a barrage of rock. Risking her whole arm, Cabledarm succeeded at chopping one huge maw into a grin that could not close by cutting through the muscles at both corners of the jaw. With a volcanic howl, the skurj lurched away. A froth of vile blood spattered the tor.

“But he knows where Jeremiah is,” Linden insisted, panting urgently. “Isn’t that why you tried to suck him into a Fall? To keep him from helping me rescue my son?”

Esmer groaned. “It is. It was.” His pleading became a kind of frenzy. “Your son is beyond price. But if you will forswear your purpose in Andelain, the threat to Kastenessen is diminished. Therefore your son’s worth declines. The Harrow will serve Kastenessen’s desires, though he intends only his own glory. It cannot be otherwise when wild magic and Law are wielded by greed and aggrandisement.”