Against All Things Ending Part 53

When the company set out again, Linden rode wrapped in the ground-cloth that had covered the last of the Ardent's bedrolls. It gave her a measure of protection, slowed the seepage of cold into her bones. But it did not block the erratic flick and cut of rain that stung her exposed cheeks, her open eyes.

At her request, Stormpast Galesend had wrapped the blankets around Jeremiah. But the boy made no effort to hold them. He did not react to the smack of raindrops in thick gouts and thin spatters, the lash of shearing winds. Galesend was forced to walk at Khelen's side so that she could replace Jeremiah's coverings whenever they slipped from his shoulders.

Perhaps he did not need them. Perhaps his bestowed strength warded him from cold and wet and wind. It had done so for Anele. Still Linden was glad that Galesend did what she could to shield the boy.

Under the circ.u.mstances, Linden was not surprised to hear that Mahrtiir had lost Covenant's trail. The Manethrall sounded angry at himself; but she wondered how even the most cunning and sighted of the Ramen could have identified hoof-marks on this sodden ground in this weather. In any case, she knew where Covenant was headed. And Clyme and Branl were with him: he would not lose his way.

Still the Ranyhyn refused to travel faster than the Giants could walk. As the storms closed around Linden, constricting her percipience, they inspired a kind of claustrophobia; and she could not resist asking Hyn for haste. But Hyn ignored her. Together the horses maintained a trot that felt as slow as plodding.

Yet they were not tired. Linden could feel the ready power of Hyn's muscles. And the Ranyhyn did not lack for provender. At irregular intervals, they continued to find patches of sufficient gra.s.s for themselves, huddled clumps of aliantha aliantha for their riders. When they did so, they did not resume their battered trek until both they and their riders had eaten. Stubbornly they allowed Covenant and the Humbled to run farther and farther ahead. for their riders. When they did so, they did not resume their battered trek until both they and their riders had eaten. Stubbornly they allowed Covenant and the Humbled to run farther and farther ahead.

Did they seek to diminish the likelihood that the company would be caught by a caesure caesure? Linden did not know. Occasionally Narunal or Hynyn trumpeted a warning. At those times, however, she felt nothing except the moil and barrage of rain, the incessant to-and-fro of wind. Falls had apparently vanished from this region. Joan was concentrating her madness elsewhere, or she had exhausted her fury, or she was dead-or Linden was wrong. If the mounts were alert to some other peril, Linden could not detect it. Even when she used the Staff to extend her senses, she recognized no threat except the weather and her own frailty.

What could the great horses fear under these conditions, if they were not endangered by caesures caesures?

Gradually the terrain changed. For a time, there were mounds, and eroded thrusts of rock like worn-out teeth, and drenched ridges. Then the ground became poured sheets of dark stone as smooth as recent lava. Later the stone gave way to a plain so featureless that it seemed to have been pounded flat. Later still, erosion gullies like cracks in the landscape's flesh complicated the company's path. Then came more hills arrayed in lines like barricades raised to force anyone advancing from the northwest to turn eastward.

Doubtless the mounts and the Giants could have held to their course. Long millennia had softened the contours of the hills. Shaking their heads, however, and snorting in apparent disgust, the Ranyhyn allowed themselves to be deflected. For the first time, they began to travel more east than southeast.

Toward Foul's Creche? Linden had no idea.

Late in the afternoon, the storms finally resolved their contention. The winds became a rough blast out of the west: the rains dwindled. Soon the clouds broke open behind the company, letting sunlight touch them for the first time since dawn. Thunderheads scudded along. In a rush, the sky cleared.

But as Linden watched the clouds race away, she saw with a shudder that the revealed sky was not blue. Instead it had acquired a dun color tinged with grey like smoke as if the gales of an immense dust-storm had found untended flames somewhere on the Upper Land and fanned them into wildfires.

Like the storms, the hues staining the air did not feel wrong wrong or malevolent. Nonetheless they were palpably unnatural. The Upper Land was not a desert, or barren: it could not be lashed to produce so much dust. And the season was still spring. Its rains had been too plentiful to permit a conflagration on that scale. or malevolent. Nonetheless they were palpably unnatural. The Upper Land was not a desert, or barren: it could not be lashed to produce so much dust. And the season was still spring. Its rains had been too plentiful to permit a conflagration on that scale.

"Stave!" Linden cried. The wind tore his name from her mouth. "What is that that?" Shivering, she gestured at the sky.

At a word from Stave, Hynyn came to Hyn's side. The former Master leaned closer to Linden.

"Chosen, I know not. The Haruchai Haruchai have no experience of such weather. In a distant age, the Bloodguard saw evils storm from the east, the handiwork of Corruption. But this is altogether unlike those blasts." have no experience of such weather. In a distant age, the Bloodguard saw evils storm from the east, the handiwork of Corruption. But this is altogether unlike those blasts."

"You will observe, however," called Rime Coldspray, "that these strange taints do not ride the wind! They spread from the east. In Bhrathairealm Bhrathairealm, such skies prevail upon occasion. They arise among the nameless theurgies of the Great Desert. Elsewhere we have not witnessed their like!"

The Worm, Linden thought. Oh, G.o.d. Caesures Caesures had not filled the sky with dust and ash. Lethal forces of a different kind were starting to spread- had not filled the sky with dust and ash. Lethal forces of a different kind were starting to spread- The refusal of the Ranyhyn to hurry baffled her completely.

Yet the horses were sensitive to the condition of their drenched riders and companions. Without warning, Narunal veered aside into a breach between the nearest hills, a gap like Bargas Slit or the crooked cut of a plow. When Hyn followed the others, Linden soon found herself in a scallop on one side of the breach; a hollow of comparative shelter formed by the wearing away of softer soil from the hill's underlying rock. It resembled a scaur in miniature, barely wide and deep enough to hold Linden, Jeremiah, Stave, Mahrtiir, and eight Giants. Still it offered a degree of protection from the blast's flail.

The Manethrall dismounted; and at once, Narunal cantered away. Khelen did the same after Galesend lifted Jeremiah to the ground. Wearily Linden slipped off Hyn's back. As her legs took her weight, neglected pain stabbed her shin. Unable to hide her reaction, she flinched.

There was still too much wind, too much cold. Nevertheless she was reluctant to call fire from her Staff. She did not want to be reminded of flames as black and lamentable as the wood. And she did not want to announce the company's location to any being capable of spotting her power. But she and Mahrtiir needed heat, even if their companions-and Jeremiah, perhaps-did not.

Gritting her teeth so that they would not chatter, Linden summoned flames.

They were as dark as she had feared: an impenetrable ebony like obsidian which had never seen the light of day. Apparently the change in her was permanent. She could do nothing clean.

Nevertheless her fire was warm warm. Its effects remained benign: a tangible relief. Her chills receded in waves like a withdrawing tide. Around her, the Giants opened their arms to her blackness and smiled. After a moment, Mahrtiir's manner rediscovered its familiar edge, its implied craving for struggle. Only Stave and Jeremiah seemed to derive no comfort from her gentle efforts.

Ignoring her private revulsion, Linden sustained her exertion of Earthpower until every outward sign that her companions had suffered in the storms was eased. When she quenched her flames at last, she found that she, too, felt somewhat eased. Their benevolence was balm to her sore heart. The blackness was in her as it was in the wood, not in the magicks her Staff wielded. In spite of her sins and her despair, she had not tarnished the fundamental vitality of Earthpower and Law.

Not yet- In any case, the armor of the Giants had absorbed a surprising amount of warmth. It radiated in the hollow, as affectionate as grins and jests. Disregarding the truncated winds, the sodden ground, the promise of a chilled night, Cabledarm and Onyx Stonemage began unpacking food and waterskins. Stormpast Galesend took Jeremiah's steaming blankets, squeezed out as much water as she could, then draped them around him again.

While Stave set out Linden's ground-cloth so that she and a few others would have a dry place to sit, she asked him, "So where are we? How far have we come?"

He appeared to consult his store of memories. "These hills have urged us away from Landsdrop toward Sarangrave Flat. I gauge that we rest some three leagues north of the promontory of the Colossus."

"How close are we to the Sarangrave? Are we in danger?"

Why had Narunal and Hynyn whinnied so urgently during the day, when there were no caesures caesures?

Without hesitation, Stave answered, "I estimate the distance at less than a league. However, the Flat's proximity poses scant peril. In this region, the wetland is extensive but shallow, little more than a marsh sporadically snared with quagmires. The lurker prefers the deeper mire within the heart of the Sarangrave, and in Lifeswallower. Its vast bulk and ferocity require more noisome waters.

"It is conceivable," he admitted impa.s.sively, "that the monstrous wight which the Ardent has named Horrim Carabal is cognizant of our presence. To the certain knowledge of the Haruchai Haruchai, the lurker is avid to devour all Earthpower"-he paused to glance at Mahrtiir-"including that which the Ranyhyn possess. It may crave any form of theurgy. But its hungers do not respond swiftly. The lurker is fearsome and fatal, but first it is slow, suggesting that its attention must be drawn to Earthpower from a considerable distance or depth.

"Perhaps the lurker has noted your son's pa.s.sage. Perhaps it is able to discern the Ranyhyn. Perhaps it has sensed your use of the Staff. Nevertheless its reach is not known to extend beyond the bounds of the Sarangrave."

"I am content," the Manethrall announced when Linden did not speak again. "The appet.i.te of the lurker for the Ranyhyn is familiar to us. It elicits a distress among the great horses which other hazards do not. Plainly some alarm troubled them during the day. Yet no caesure caesure appeared. Therefore I am inclined to believe that they were disturbed by the scent of the lurker. appeared. Therefore I am inclined to believe that they were disturbed by the scent of the lurker.

"Here, however, their spirits are resigned. For that reason, I likewise deem that there is no present peril."

"Then we will eat and rest while we may," said the Ironhand. "Linden Giantfriend's benisons have renewed our hearts. And no Giant born is fool enough to refuse viands and ease. Nor do we scorn slumber. Many are the storms through which we have slept, at sea and elsewhere. Indeed, Frostheart Grueburn did so in the toils of the Soulbiter"-she nudged her comrade while Latebirth, Halewhole Bluntfist, and Cirrus Kindwind chuckled-"though others aboard Dire's Vessel remained watchful, chary of horrors. Guarded by the valor and vigilance of the Ranyhyn, we fear nothing."

Sighing, Coldspray sank down to sit in her warmed cataphract against the wall of the small s.p.a.ce. Other Swordmainnir did the same. But Linden fretted over concerns that did not involve the lurker. The insistence of the Ranyhyn on taking the company farther into this region of wars and slaughter and evil appeared to confirm Stave's guess that the horses were intent on satisfying her need for death need for death. Hers, or Jeremiah's.

For her son's sake, she prayed that the need was hers. Nevertheless she feared it. She was sick of killing, morally nauseated, and had no cure. Her leg did not hurt enough.

G.o.d, she wished that Hyn had not interrupted her cutting. Shame was the wrong kind of pain.

As twilight and then darkness thickened like murk over the Lower Land, Linden and her friends ate as much of their dwindling supplies as they could spare. Chewing on her lip, Linden drew more ebon fire from her Staff and used it to heat the stone of the scant shelter. Then the Giants stretched out as best they could. Gradually they drifted to sleep.

Mahrtiir sat on the ground-cloth with Linden, apparently determined to wait with her until she allowed herself to rest. But she kept herself awake by galling her cuts with the damp fabric of her jeans, pretending to ma.s.sage them; and after a time, the Manethrall began to doze. Then only Stave remained to share her watchfulness and her fears.

Soon the night grew so deep that she could not see the far wall of the breach. Lulled by the warmed stone, she felt her attention fraying. She had not slept the previous night, and her cut shin did not hurt enough to sustain her. Before Stormpast Galesend went to sleep herself, she had wrapped Jeremiah in his blankets-again-and laid him carefully on the ground-cloth between Linden and Mahrtiir. If the boy's eyes had closed, Linden's might have done the same. But he stared upward, gazing at nothing as though he had outlived his need for rest or dreams.

Linden watched him like a mother with a sick child. More and more, the stained tint of his eyes seemed to resemble the milky hue of Anele's blindness. Jeremiah's new Earthpower had done nothing to relieve his dissociation. Instead it appeared to emphasize the silt that defined his sight, as if the ramifications of Anele's gift had driven him deeper into his graves.

For a time, anxiety kept Linden alert in spite of her weariness.

Eventually, however, her concentration faded. She was helpless to stop it. By degrees, her thoughts became so vague that she did not recognize Hynyn's stentorian call until she felt Stave slip silently out of the hollow.

Inchoately alarmed, she jerked up her head, slapped at her cheeks. After an instant's hesitation, she took up the Staff and ground one iron heel against the cuts in her shin and calf until she broke them open; drew fresh blood.

After a few moments, Stave returned. Touching Mahrtiir's shoulder, he said softly, "Manethrall." Then he nudged the Ironhand's armor with one foot, spoke her name more loudly.

Linden struggled to her feet. "What is it?"

At the same time, Mahrtiir came instantly awake; surged upright. Coldspray shook her head as if she were scattering dreams, rubbed her face vigorously to dispel them.

Without preamble or inflection, Stave announced quietly, "We are approached. The Ranyhyn have departed."

Simultaneously Linden said, "Approached?" the Manethrall demanded, "Departed?" and Coldspray asked, "What comes?"

Before Linden could insist on an answer, Mahrtiir stated harshly, "The Ranyhyn do not flee any peril."

"They flee no peril," Stave countered, "except that of the lurker."

The lurker? Linden thought, scrambling to understand. Here? But you said- The Manethrall's whole body seemed to blaze with anger, but he did not contradict Stave.

"Swordmainnir!" Coldspray barked to her comrades. "We are needed!" Then she confronted Stave. "I await your explanation, Stave of the Haruchai Haruchai."

As the other Giants lurched awake and began to rise, Stave shrugged. "Whether we are threatened is beyond my discernment. I do not sense the lurker's presence. I am certain only that the Ranyhyn no longer watch over us, and that a small throng of wights approaches from the direction of the Sarangrave.

"However," he added, "these creatures are not entirely unknown. Upon occasion in more recent centuries, such wights have been observed by Masters who chanced to be scouting the boundaries of Sarangrave Flat.

"They appear to roam freely among the fens and quags, singly or in spa.r.s.e groups. They are man-shaped, short of stature, and hairless, with large eyes well formed for vision in darkness. Within sight of the Masters, they have not heretofore wandered beyond the waters of the Flat. Observed, they have betrayed no awareness of their observers.

"And there is this-" Stave paused; almost seemed to hesitate. "To the Masters, they have evinced no theurgy or other puissance. Indeed, they have appeared altogether harmless. Yet those that now draw nigh hold in their hands a green flame like unto the emerald hue of the skest skest. In some fashion, this fire sustains their emergence from their wonted habitation."

Linden scrambled-and could not catch up. She felt stupid with sleeplessness. What was Stave saying? He had not seen any indication of the lurker. But the Ranyhyn feared it: Mahrtiir had not denied that. And the horses were gone.

"My G.o.d," she breathed, hardly aware that she spoke aloud. "Are those things minions minions? Servants of the lurker?"

Millennia ago, the skest skest had served the ancient monster. Horrim Carabal? Those creatures of living acid had tried to herd Covenant and Linden, Sunder and Hollian, and a small party of had served the ancient monster. Horrim Carabal? Those creatures of living acid had tried to herd Covenant and Linden, Sunder and Hollian, and a small party of Haruchai Haruchai into the lurker's snare. Their quest for the One Tree would have died there, if Covenant had not risked his life to wound the lurker with Loric's into the lurker's snare. Their quest for the One Tree would have died there, if Covenant had not risked his life to wound the lurker with Loric's krill krill and wild magic. And if he, Linden, and their companions had not encountered Giants: the Giants of the Search. And if the and wild magic. And if he, Linden, and their companions had not encountered Giants: the Giants of the Search. And if the skest skest had not been opposed by creatures called the had not been opposed by creatures called the sur-jheherrin sur-jheherrin.

Now the skest skest cared for Joan. They had tended Jeremiah. cared for Joan. They had tended Jeremiah.

How many of them were there?

They did not match Stave's description.

Again the former Master shrugged. "Chosen, I know not. I cannot discern their intent, for good or ill. I am confident only that our presence has been marked. Now we are sought."

The Ranyhyn had abandoned their riders.

Oh, h.e.l.l! Without Hyn-Given room to move, the Giants could survive any force that resembled the skest skest. But without Hyn and Hynyn, Narunal and Khelen- G.o.d, please. Not more killing.

While the Ironhand's comrades chafed wakefulness into their cheeks, and donned their cataphracts, Coldspray commanded, "At once, Swordmainnir. We are too easily contained where we stand. Come boon or bane, we must meet it upon open ground."

"Aye," Stormpast Galesend agreed. "We hear you." Scooping up Jeremiah, she cradled him in one arm; kept the other free to wield her sword.

"Hear, indeed," growled Frostheart Grueburn, grinning. "When the Ironhand speaks in such dulcet tones, she is heard by the Lower Land entire."

As if Coldspray had slapped at her, Grueburn ducked. Then she drew her longsword and ran from the hollow, heading toward the place where the company had first entered among the hills.

Halewhole Bluntfist and Cabledarm followed immediately. The other Swordmainnir arrayed themselves like an escort around their smaller companions. With the Ironhand in the lead, Linden and her friends went after Cabledarm.

Sheltered by the breach, Linden had forgotten the full force of the wind. In the lowland between this line of hills and the next, however, icy air struck her like the rush of a flood. She felt pummeled and tossed as if she had fallen into a torrent. Even in darkness, she would have seen or felt her breath steaming, condensed to frost, if the wind had not torn it away.

Dirt crunched under her boot heels as she walked among the Giants. The ground was freezing- After High Lord Elena's disastrous use of the Power of Command, when her spirit had been forced to serve Lord Foul, she had used Berek's Staff of Law to inflict an unnatural winter upon the Land. Standing at the Colossus, she had scourged the Despiser's foes with snow and ice.

In Andelain, Linden had unleashed something worse. This day's deranged weather was only the leading edge of a far more savage storm.

Berek's spectre had said of Lord Foul, He may be freed only by one who is compelled by rage, and contemptuous of consequence. He may be freed only by one who is compelled by rage, and contemptuous of consequence.

Had she done that? Truly? Had she already accomplished the Despiser's release?

If so, she had earned the right to despair.

The cold made her leg ache as though the cuts had sunk into her bones.

The blast struck tears from her eyes: she could not see. Coldspray shouted demands or warnings that vanished along the wind. Cirrus Kindwind, Latebirth, and Onyx Stonemage joined Grueburn, Bluntfist, and Cabledarm to form a partial cordon. The Ironhand and Galesend stayed with Linden, Stave, and Mahrtiir.

Jeremiah still had not closed his eyes. He did not appear to blink. Perhaps he never blinked. If so, he would eventually go blind. As blind as Anele. It was inevitable.

Stave gripped Linden's arm. "Attend, Chosen."

She was already shivering.

She squeezed her eyes shut, scrubbed tears away, opened them again.

At first, she saw only small green flames bobbing like Wraiths in the distance. Their essential wrongness wrongness was palpable; but they were so little-Too minor to wield much force. was palpable; but they were so little-Too minor to wield much force.

Then she realized that the fires were not affected by the wind. They danced and moved blithely, oblivious to the blast.

That should have been impossible.

Blinking fervidly, she made out the forms of the creatures. As Stave had said, they looked vaguely human. Naked, lacking either pelts or garments. No taller than her shoulders. Cupped in each of their hands, they carried quick flaws of emerald like recollections of the Illearth Stone. Green glints reflected auguries or promises in their large round eyes. Small as they were, they resembled eidolons reeking with malice.

They advanced steadily, but not in a group. Instead they spread out across the lower ground and partway up the hillsides: at least a score of them; perhaps thirty. Straining her senses, Linden saw no bonds of theurgy between them, no reinforced power. Yet she felt certain that they had come with a shared intent.

While the nearest creatures were still a dozen Giantish strides away, Rime Coldspray swept out her stone glaive. "Hold!" she shouted at the caper of fires, the green reflections. "Friend or foe, we require a parley! Name your purpose. Explain your wishes. We mean to defend ourselves if we must!"

The wind carried her voice away as if it would never be heard.

Yet the-eight? ten?-creatures most directly in front of her halted. For a few paces, the others did not. Then, beginning on the lowland and spreading incrementally up the slopes on both sides, those creatures also stopped.

Now the company stood half-enclosed in a shallow arc of handheld fires that defied the wind.

A creature spoke, Linden could not tell which one. Perhaps they all did, using a single voice. Without apparent effort, or any hint of emotion, it said, "We are the Feroce."

Its sound was strangely squishy, damp and ill-defined, like mud squeezed between toes.

"We are Swordmainnir of the Giants," answered Coldspray. Her blade did not waver. "Why have you come?"

The pain in Linden's leg had begun to burn. Without the support of her Staff, she might not have been able to stand.