Against All Things Ending (76 page)

This time, the silence was longer. When the loremaster finally replied, it spoke at some length, voluble and urgent. But Grueburn did not attempt a translation until the creature was finished.

“Your pardon,” she said at last. “I wished to confirm that I have understood the loremaster.” Puzzlement and speculation were eloquent in her gaze. “It responds thus.

“Had your efforts to forestall the bane failed, Timewarden, we would have attempted intervention, knowing that we must. Earlier, however, other possibilities constrained us.

“Their form and substance as we comprehend them cannot be expressed in your speech. The Giant has made the attempt. We do not fault her. Yet our tongue wields connotations and meanings which are not accessible to her. We cannot explain.

“Yet consider one matter. We could not be certain that the son of
merewives
would not counter us. He knew the intent of our manacles. He named you betrayed because we did not act to prevent him. Yet his nature was contradiction. He both craved and abhorred each of his deeds. Desiring the absolution of our manacles, he might nonetheless have forestalled us. Therefore we deemed it needful to ensnare him when he was unaware of us.

“Also there is this. Had we acted otherwise, how might the immeasurable strengths of the Vilesilencer’s instrument have been released for your use? The instrument was necessary to restrain the
croyel
. He whom you name Esmer had not yet revealed his purpose against the old man, the inheritor of Earthpower. Nor had the old man’s own purpose been revealed. And we had cause to fear that the
Haruchai
would oppose him. Inadvertently, perhaps, they might have precluded the
croyel
’s death.

“We see possibilities, Timewarden. We do not foreknow events. Yet portents abound. Guided by them, we saw no path to the present outcome which did not rely upon both the defeat of Esmer and the acquiescence of the
Haruchai
. For such reasons, we accepted the peril of the bane, and of white gold made impotent, knowing that events might prove fatal to you, and to the fruition of our Weird.”

When Grueburn was done, her posture—her whole body—seemed to plead for Covenant’s understanding; or for Linden’s.

Linden could not reply. The complexity of the creatures’ thinking stunned her. They read portents which were opaque to her; effectively invisible. How could they have guessed that Esmer’s attack might sway Galt?

For a moment, Covenant, too, seemed stunned. But then he turned a whetted grin on Linden and the rest of the company.

“There!” he said like a paean. “
That’s
why we aren’t doomed. No matter what Lord Foul has planned. He isn’t the only one who knows how to
think ahead
. He can still be taken by surprise.”

His affirmation seemed to hang in the air as he faced the loremaster once more. “I hope you’ll accept my gratitude. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already shown you’re worthy of anything you might ever want.” He swallowed roughly, then added, “What happened to Elena was my doing, not yours.”

When the creature replied, Frostheart Grueburn translated gruffly. “The ur-viles and Waynhim crave naught from you, Timewarden. Your tasks do not concern them. They desire only Linden Giantfriend’s leave to depart.”

Linden had the impression that every Waynhim and ur-vile was watching her. Waiting for her to say something that might imply comprehension. Something that might vindicate—

But she was not Covenant. Like the Demondim-spawn, he saw reasons for hope that she could not. Like Jeremiah, if in an entirely different fashion, she was trapped inside herself.

Nevertheless her own gratitude was as real as Covenant’s. And she did not believe that the creatures could have spared her any whit of the distress inflicted by She Who Must Not Be Named.

Deliberately she set aside her sorrow that she could not repay the Demondim-spawn; swallowed her surprise at Covenant’s reaction. Once again, she forced a hand through her tangled hair.

“Oh, go ahead,” she said like a sigh, “if that’s what you need to do. And take my blessing with you.” What else could she possibly offer them? “I agree with Covenant. You’re worthy of anything.” Then she added, “I stand by my promise. If you ever do think of some way that I can help you, just tell me.”

Her response seemed to release the creatures. Quickly the loremaster bowed to her as it had bowed to Covenant. Every Waynhim and ur-vile bowed. Then they dropped to all fours and began to run, heading like a pack of wild animals along the floor of the low ravine.

Soon they were gone. Nevertheless their departure left Linden with the sensation that she had disappointed them. Too late, she realized that she could have asked them to translate Caerroil Wildwood’s runes. Once again, she had failed—

Jeremiah and her friends and the Land needed the kind of calm certainty that the ur-viles had found in the Waynhim; but she had none.

S
oon Covenant resumed his pacing. The Swordmainnir spent a while discussing the Demondim-spawn. Then they settled themselves on the sand to tend their weapons or rest. When Jeremiah no longer chewed or swallowed, Pahni stopped putting food in his mouth. With Bhapa’s help, she readied meals for Rime Coldspray, the Manethrall, and Stave. After that, the Cords repacked the company’s supplies. While Bhapa occupied himself with that simple task, obviously fretting, he watched the horizon where the absent companions might appear.

But Linden turned away and went to sit alone near the edge of the stream. There she gazed vacantly at the unresolved tumble and contradiction of the current, and tried to convince herself that her use of Covenant’s ring was not an abomination.

Good cannot be accomplished by evil means
.

She and everyone with her would have been slain if she had not killed so many Cavewights. And when Roger had finished with her and the Giants and the Humbled and the Ramen, he would have hunted down Covenant to complete his victory.

What else could she have done?

But she was not persuaded. Surely other answers had been possible, for someone else if not for her? She was so much less than she needed to be: too ignorant of lore and Law and her own powers to defend her friends without butchering their foes.

At her back, heat accumulated in the sand and on the hillsides: a mixed blessing. It eased sore nerves and muscles, dried her clothes—and made her thirsty again. The stream’s voices called to her, but she ignored them.

Stuck in a round of emotions and flaws that she did not know how to escape, she became as restless as the waters, as anxious as Bhapa. As impatient as Covenant. When the Ironhand, Mahrtiir, and Stave finally came within the range of her senses, she surged to her feet like a released spring and began striding toward them before she realized that they were not alone.

The Ardent followed close behind them, stumbling as if he were too weak to stay upright much longer.

For obvious reasons, Coldspray, Mahrtiir, and Stave were desperately tired, although Stave’s stoicism concealed much of his fatigue. The Ironhand and the Manethrall trembled as they walked, unsteady on their legs; severely dehydrated. In contrast, Stave seemed only dull, numbed, unable to focus. He did not react to Bhapa’s greeting or the calls of the Giants.

Nevertheless the condition of the Insequent was worse. His ribbands hung from his frame like long shreds of flesh; soiled streamers of suffering and loss. Inside his raiment, his former corpulence had melted away until he looked more than gaunt: he resembled a man in the last stages of a wasting disease. Emaciation or caducity made hollows of his cheeks, his eyes, even his mouth. Loose wattles hung from his jaw. As he lurched along, his gaze rolled from side to side as if he no longer had the strength to choose what he saw or thought.

He seemed oblivious to his own deranged chuckling. The sound scattered around him like broken bits of melody; disarticulated sanity.

The Ironhand and the Manethrall ignored him. With no more than nods for their comrades, they shambled forward until they had gone far enough to fall face-first into the stream. But Stave managed to halt among the company. He bowed to Linden, gave Covenant a vague nod. In a husk of a voice, a sound as desiccated as the hills, he said, “It is done. We have raised a cairn for Anele and Galt. The Ardent appeared when our task was complete.”

Linden stared at him, tried to say his name. But she succeeded only at gaping.

Without waiting for a reply, Stave followed Coldspray and Mahrtiir. In the stream, he did not stop until the water was deep enough to let him sink beneath the surface.

“Hellfire,” Covenant rasped to no one in particular. “Hell and blood.”

Instinctively Linden moved toward the Ardent with her Staff ready. But as soon as she looked at him closely, she saw that he was beyond help. The forces unbinding him were inexorable, as cruel as too much time. He needed the kind of mercy that Stave had given Esmer. Any other anodyne was impossible.

Grueburn and two of the other Giants came closer to scrutinize the Ardent’s ravaged form. Then they shook their heads. With pity in their eyes, they stepped back, leaving the Insequent to Linden and Covenant.

“They got it wrong.” Covenant’s voice was choked with pity. “When I told you I wanted them to make an exception, I didn’t mean
this
.” His compassion gathered until it resembled outrage. “They didn’t by God
listen
.”

“Told,” chortled the Ardent. “Listen. Tell.” His voice scaled high; sank low. “The Insequent are not
told
. One stricture for all. One allowance unmakes all. Every life. They listen. Oh, they listen! Some grieve. But you do not
tell
the Insequent to end every life.”

“What?” Linden protested, unable to stop herself. “
Every
life? Are you saying that
every
Insequent dies, the whole race
dies
, if they let you live?”

“Listen,” he repeated. “The Ardent tells. You do not listen.” Ribbands flinched around him. “One stricture for all. One stricture for
all
.”

His condition was yet another consequence of Linden’s need to rescue her son.

While Covenant floundered in chagrin, Onyx Stonemage murmured thickly, “It is a
geas
, is it not? He has spoken of such matters. The will of the Insequent rules him still, though he stands at the outermost verge of his life.”

As if he were answering her, the Ardent said, “Such carnage.” He giggled softly. “Great death, aye. Great and needful. Incondign.” His gaze veered from place to place as if he were watching motes of fine dust circulate. “It does not suffice.”

Groaning to herself, Linden tried not to imagine what he meant.

“If this is indeed a
geas
,” Cirrus Kindwind suggested, “surely it is incomplete. I do not wish to conceive that the Insequent have imposed his presence here merely to demonstrate that he suffers a compulsory doom. They cannot lack all heart.”

None of her comrades responded. Covenant gritted his teeth, restraining himself until the muscles at the corners of his jaw bunched like knuckles.

The Ardent had done so much more than Linden could have asked of him. This was his reward.

Behind her, Stave emerged from the stream. A moment later, Rime Coldspray and Manethrall Mahrtiir did the same. Dripping, Stave approached Linden and Covenant while Coldspray walked stiffly to join the Swordmainnir. At the same time, Bhapa hurried down the slope with food for the Manethrall.

Linden feared that Mahrtiir’s aggrieved pride would require him to ignore Bhapa. But apparently the Manethrall was determined to accept that he, too, had been humbled. Leaning an arm across Bhapa’s shoulders, he acknowledged the Cord’s concern by taking a little food. However, he did not stop moving until he stood beside Linden.

Among her people, the Ironhand shared collective embraces, hugging the other Giants in clusters of two or three. From Latebirth, she received a double handful of fruit and meat, and began immediately to eat. Then she turned her attention to Linden, Covenant, and the Ardent.

Linden had no words for what she felt and feared; but Covenant seemed unable to contain himself. “Kindwind is right,” he growled to the Ardent. “Your people didn’t send you back just to convince us they can’t save you.

“There’s something you came to say. Something you still need to do.”

Abruptly the Ardent spasmed as if he had been struck by a galvanic shock. His head jerked up: his whole body flinched. In a completely different voice, compelled and straining, he said, “While you remain apart, events elsewhere conspire to thwart your defense of the Land.”

He seemed to quote someone else, mimicking someone else’s speech. “To the north of ancient Gravin Threndor, the Sandgorgons and the
skurj
have come together. It was our hope that they would expend their ferocity in mutual extermination. But our hope misled us. We misgauged the degree of Kastenessen’s mastery over the
skurj
, and the cunning of
moksha
Raver’s counsels, and the potency of those shreds of
samadhi
Sheol which endure among the Sandgorgons. Against all expectation, those monstrous beings have conjoined their strengths. Now they rampage together within Salva Gildenbourne, wreaking such a ruin of trees and verdure that you would weep to gaze upon it.”