White Gold Wielder t2cotc-3

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  His speed saved him from the full grasp of that ice. But the net caught his left arm, binding him by the elbow to the sled.

  Honninscrave had already pulled Covenant past Linden Covenant had no time to shout for the Master to stop: the arghule was poised to launch another web. Venom seemed to slam through his forearm. With wild magic clenched in his half-fist, he swung to hurl power in Linden's defence.

  In that instant, another arghule leaped from atop the nearest boulder and landed on Honninscrave. It bore him to the ground, buried him under sudden ice Covenant's sled overturned. He sprawled to the crust practically within reach of the beast.

  But his fear was fixed on Linden; he hardly comprehended his own peril. His head reeled. Shedding frost and snow in a flurry like a small explosion, a precursor of the blast within him, he surged to his feet.

  Stark and lorn against the bare white, she still sat in her trapped sled. She was not moving: the rapacious cold of the arghuleh overloaded her nerves, cast her back into her atavistic, immobilizing panic. For an instant, she bore no resemblance to the woman he had learned to love. Rather, she looked like Joan. At once, the inextricable venom/passion of his power thronged through him, and he became ready to tear down the very cromlechs and rive the whole region if necessary to protect her.

  But Mistweave was in his way.

  The Giant had not moved from the spot where he had stumbled to a halt. His head jerked from side to side as his attention snapped frantically between Linden's plight and Honninscrave's. Linden had once saved his life. He had left Starfare's Gem to take Cail's place at her side. Yet Honninscrave was the Master. Caught between irreconcilable exigencies, Mistweave could not choose. Helplessly, he Mocked Covenant from the arghuleh behind him.

  “Move!” Fury and cold ripped the cry from Covenant's throat But Mistweave was aware of nothing except the choice he was unable to make. He did not move.

  Over his right shoulder arced a second web. Gaining size and thickness as it sailed, it spread toward Linden. Its chill left a trail of frost across Covenant's sight.

  Cail had not been able to free his left arm. But he saw the net coming like all the failures of the Haruchai — Hergrom's slaughter and Ceer's death and the siren-song of the merewives encapsulated in one peril-and he drew himself up as if he were the last of his people left alive, the last roan sworn to succeed or die. His thews bunched, strained, stood out like bone-and his arm broke loose, still encased in a hunk of ice as big as a Giant's head.

  Swinging that chunk like a mace, he leaped above Linden and shattered the web before it reached her.

  She gaped through the spray of splinters as if she had gone blind.

  Before Covenant could react, the second arghule behind Mistweave reared up and ripped the Giant down under its frigid bulk.

  Then the First landed like the plunge of a hawk on the beast holding Honninscrave. Pitchwife dashed around one of the boulders toward Linden and Cail. And Covenant let out a tearing howl of power that blasted the first arghule to pieces in one sharp bolt like a rave of lightning.

  From somewhere nearby, Findail gave a thin cry: “Fool!”

  Over her shoulder, the Swordmain panted, “We are hunted!” Hammering and heaving at the ice, she fought to pull Honninscrave free. “The arghuleh are many! A great many!” Honninscrave lay among the ruins of the beast as if it had succeeded at smothering him. But as the First manhandled him upright, a harsh shudder ran through him All at once, he took his own weight, staggered to his feet “We must flee!” she cried.

  Covenant was too far gone to heed her. Linden was safe, at least momentarily: Pitchwife had already snapped the ice from Cail's arm; and the two of them could ward her for a little while. Tall and bright with fire, he stalked toward the beast still struggling to subdue Mistweave. Whatever force or change had overcome the native hate of the arghuleh had also left them blind to fear or self-preservation. The creature did not cease its attack on Mistweave until Covenant burned its life to water.

  In his passion, he wanted to turn and shout until the menhirs trembled, Come on! Come and get me! The scars on his forearm shone like fangs. I'll kill you all! They had dared to assail Linden.

  But she had come back to herself now, had found her way out of her old paralysis. She was running toward him; and she was saying, crying, "No! That's enough! You've done enough. Don't let go!”

  He tried to hear her. Her face was sharp with urgency; and she came toward him as if she meant to throw herself into his arms. He had to hear her. There was too much at stake.

  But he could not. Behind her were more arghuleh.

  Pitchwife had rushed to help Mistweave. Cail was at Linden's side. Fighting to draw the sleds after them, the First and a dazed Honninscrave scrambled to form a cordon around Covenant and Linden. Findail had disappeared. Only Vain stood motionless.

  And from every side at once charged the vicious ice beasts, crowding between the monoliths, a score of them, twoscore, as if each of them wanted to be the first to feast on warm flesh. As if they had come in answer to Covenant's call. Enough of them to devour even Giants. Without wild magic, none of the company except Vain had any chance to survive.

  Something like an avid chuckle spattered across the background of Covenant's mind. In his own way, he was hungry for violence, fervid for a chance to stuff his helplessness back down the Despiser's throat. Thrusting Linden behind him, he went out to meet his attackers.

  His companions did not protest. They had no other hope.

  Bastards! he panted at the arghuleh. They were all around him, but he could barely see them. His brain had gone black with venom. Come and get me!

  Abruptly, the First shouted something-a call of warning or surprise, Covenant did not hear the words; but the iron in her voice made him turn to see what she had seen.

  Then plain shock stopped him.

  From the south side of the ring, grey shapes smaller than he was appeared among the arghuleh. They were roughly human in form, although their arms and legs were oddly proportioned. But their unclad bodies were hairless; their pointed ears sat high on the sides of their bald skulls. And they had no eyes. Wide fiat nostrils marked their faces above their slitted mouths.

  Barking in a strange tongue, they danced swiftly around the arghuleh. Each of them carried a short, slim piece of black metal like a wand which splashed a vitriolic fluid at the ice beasts.

  That liquid threw the arghuleh into confusion. It burned them, broke sections off their backs, chewed down into their bodies. Clattering in pain, they forgot their prey, thrashed and writhed blindly in all directions. Some of them collided with the cromlechs, lost larger sections of themselves, died. But others, reacting with desperate instinct, covered themselves with their own ice and were able to stanch their wounds.

  Softly, as if at last even he had become capable of surprise, Cail murmured, “Waynhim. The old tellers speak of such creatures.”

  Covenant recognized them. Like the ur-viles, they were the artificial creations of the Demondim. But they had dedicated themselves and their weird lore to pursuits which did not serve the Despiser. During Covenant's trek toward Revelstone, a band of Waynhim had saved him from a venom-relapse and death. But that had occurred hundreds of leagues to the south.

  Swiftly, the creatures girdled the company, dashing the fluid of their power at the arghuleh, Then Covenant heard his name called by an unexpected voice. Turning, he saw a man emerge between the southward rocks. “Thomas Covenant!” the man shouted once more. “Come! Flee! We are unready for this battle!”

  A man whose soft brown eyes, human face, and loss-learned kindness had once given Covenant a taste of both mercy and hope. A man who had been rescued by the Waynhim when the na-Mhoram's Grim had destroyed his home. During Stonedown. A man who served these creatures and understood them and loved them.

  Hamako.

  Covenant tried to shout, run forward. But he failed. The first instant of recognition was followed by a hot rush of pain as the implications of th
is encounter reached him. There was no reason why Hamako and this Waynhim rhysh should be so far from home-no reason which was not terrible.

  But the plight of the company demanded speed, decision. More arghuleh were arriving from the north. And more of those which had been damaged were discovering the expedient of using their ice to heal themselves. When Cail caught him by the arm, Covenant allowed himself to be impelled toward Hamako.

  Linden trotted at his side. Her face was set with purpose now. Perhaps she had identified Hamako and the Waynhim from Covenant's descriptions of them. Or perhaps her percipience told her all she needed to know. When Covenant seemed to lag, she grasped his other arm and helped Cail draw him forward.

  The Giants followed, pulling the sleds. Vain broke into a run to catch up with the company. Behind them, the Waynhim retreated from the greater numbers of the arghuleh.

  In a moment, they reached Hamako. He greeted Covenant with a quick smile. “Well met, ring-wielder,” he said. “You are an unlooked-for benison in this waste.” Then at once he added, “Cornel” and swung away from the ring. Flanked by Waynhim, he ran into the maze of the menhirs.

  Covenant's numb feet and heavy boots found no purchase on the snow-pack. Repeatedly, he slipped and stumbled as he tried to dodge after Hamako among the rocks. But Cail gripped his arm, upheld him. Linden moved with small quick strides which enabled her to keep her footing.

  At the rear of the company, several Waynhim fought a delaying action against the arghuleh. But abruptly the ice-beasts gave up the chase as if they had been called back-as if whatever force commanded them did not want to risk sending them into ambush. Shortly, one of the grey, Demondim-made creatures spoke to Hamako; and he slowed his pace.

  Covenant pushed forward to the man's side. Burning with memory and dread, he wanted to shout. Well met like hell! What in blood and damnation are you doing here? But he owed Hamako too much past and present gratitude. Instead, he panted, “Your timing's getting better. How did you know we needed you?”

  Hamako grimaced at Covenant's reference to their previous meeting, when his rhysh had arrived too late to aid the ring-wielder. But he replied as if he understood the spirit of Covenant's gibe, “We did not.

  “The tale of your departure from the Land is told among the Waynhim,” He grinned momentarily. “To such cunning watchers as they are, your passage from Revelstone to the Lower Land and Seareach was as plain as fire.” Swinging around another boulder into a broad avenue among the stones, he continued, “But we knew naught of your return. Our watch was set rather upon these arghuleh, that come massed from the north in defiance of all Law, seeking ruin. Witnessing them gather here, we sought to discover their purpose. Thus at last we saw you. Well that we did so-and that our numbers sufficed to aid you. The mustering-place of the rhysh is not greatly distant”- he gestured ahead- “but distant enough to leave you unsuccoured in your need.”

  Listening hard Covenant grappled with his questions. But there were too many of them. And the cold bit into his lungs at every breath. With an effort of will, be concentrated on keeping his legs moving and schooled himself to wait.

  Then the group left the region of jumbled monoliths and entered a wide, white plain that ended half a league away in an escarpment which cut directly across the vista of the south. Eddies of wind skirled up and down the base of the escarpment, raising loose snow like dervishes; and Hamako headed toward them as if they were the sign-posts of a sanctuary.

  When Covenant arrived, weak-kneed and gasping for air, at the rock-strewn foot of the sheer rise, he was too tired to be surprised by the discovery that the snow-devils were indeed markers or sentinels of an eldritch kind. The Waynhim called out in their barking tongue; and the eddies obeyed, moving to stand like hallucinated columns OB either side of a line that led right into the face of the escarpment. There, without transition, an entrance appeared. It was wide enough to admit the company, but too low to let the Giants enter upright; and it opened into a tunnel warmly lit by flaming iron censers.

  Smiling a welcome, Hamako said, “This is the mustering-place of the Waynhim, their rhyshyshim. Enter without fear, for here the ring-wielder is acknowledged, and the foes of the Land are withheld. In these tunes, there is no true safety anywhere. But here you will find reliable sanctuary for one more day-until the gathered rhysh come finally to their purpose. To me it has been, granted to speak for all Waynhim that share this Weird. Enter and be welcome.”

  In response, the First bowed formally. “We do so gladly. Already your aid has been a boon which we are baffled to repay. In sharing counsel and stories and safety, we hope to make what return we may.”

  Hamako bowed in turn; his eyes gleamed pleasure at her courtesy. Then he led the company down into the tunnel.

  When Vain and the last of the Waynhim had passed inward, the entrance disappeared, again without transition, leaving in its place blunt, raw rock that sealed the company into the firelight and blissful warmth of the rhyshyshim.

  At first Covenant hardly noticed that Findail had rejoined them. But the Appointed was there as if Vain's side were a post he had never deserted. His appearance drew a brief, muted chittering from the Waynhim; but then they ignored him as if he were simply a shadow of the black Demondim-spawn.

  For a few moments, the tunnel was full of the wooden scraping of the sleds' runners. But when the companions reached a bulge in the passage like a rude antechamber, Hamako instructed the Giants to leave the sleds there, As the warmth healed Covenant's sore respiration, he thought that now Hamako would begin to ask the expected questions. But the man and the Waynhim bore themselves as if they had come to the end of all questions. Looking at Hamako more closely Covenant saw things which had been absent or less pronounced during their previous encounter-resignation, resolve, a kind of peace. Hamako looked like a man who had passed through a long grief and been annealed.

  With a small jolt Covenant realized that Hamako was not dressed for winter. Only the worn swath of leather around his hips made him less naked than the Waynhim. In Vague fear Covenant wondered if the Stonedownor had truly become Waynhim himself? What did such a transformation mean?

  And what in hell was this rhysh doing here?

  His companions had less reason for apprehension. Pitchwife moved as if the Waynhim had restored his sense of adventure, his capacity for excitement. His eyes watched everything, eager for marvels. Warm air and the prospect of safety softened the First's iron sternness, and she walked with her hand lightly on her husband's shoulder, willing to accept whatever she saw. Honninscrave's thoughts were hidden beneath the concealment of his brows. And Mistweave—

  At the sight of Mistweave's face Covenant winced. Too much had happened too swiftly. He had nearly forgotten the tormented moment of Mistweave's indecision. But the Giant's visage bore the marks of that failure like toolwork at the corners of his eyes, down the sides of his mouth-marks cut into the bone of his self esteem. His gaze turned away from Covenant's in shame.

  Damn it to hell! Covenant rasped to himself. Is every one of us doomed?

  Perhaps they all were. Linden walked at his side without looking at him, her mien pale and strict with the characteristic severity which he had learned to interpret as fear. Fear of herself-of her inherited capacity for panic and horror, which had proved once again that it could paralyze her despite every commitment or affirmation she made. Perhaps her reaction to the ambush of the arghuleh had restored her belief that she, too, was doomed.

  It was unjust. She judged that her whole life had been a form of flight, an expression of moral panic. But in that she was wrong. Her past sins did not invalidate her present desire for good. If they did, then Covenant himself was damned as well as doomed, and Lord Foul's triumph was already assured.

  Covenant was familiar with despair. He accepted it in himself. But he could not bear it in the people he loved. They deserved better.

  Then Hamako's branching way through the rock turned a corner to enter a sizable cavern like a meeting hall; an
d Covenant's attention was pulled out of its galled channel.

  The space was large and high enough to have held the entire crew of Starfare's Gem; but its rough walls and surfaces testified that the Waynhim had not been using it long. Yet it was comfortably well-lit. Many braziers flamed around the walls, shedding kind heat as well as illumination. For a moment Covenant found himself wondering obliquely why the Waynhim bothered to provide light at all, since they had no eyes. Did the fires aid their lore in some fashion? Or did they draw a simple solace from the heat or scent of the flames? Certainly the former habitation of Hamako's rhysh had been bright with warmth and firelight.

  But Covenant could not remember that place and remain calm. And he had never seen so many Waynhim before: at least threescore of them slept on the bare stone, worked together around black metal pots as if they were preparing vitrim or invocations, or quietly waited for what they might learn about the people Hamako had brought. Rhysh was the Waynhim word for a community; and Covenant had been told that each community usually numbered between one-and twoscore Waynhim who shared a specific interpretation of their racial Weird, their native definition of identity and reason for existence. (This Weird, he remembered, belonged to both the Waynhim and the ur-viles, but was read in vastly different ways.) So he was looking at at least two rhysh. And Bamako had implied that there were more. More communities which had been ripped from home and service by the same terrible necessity that had brought Bamako's rhysh here?

  Covenant groaned as he accompanied Hamako into the centre of the cavern.

  There the Stonedownor addressed the company again. “I know that the purpose which impels you toward the Land is urgent,” he said in his gentle and pain-familiar voice. “But some little time you can spare among us. The horde of the arghuleh is unruly and advances with no great speed. We offer you sustenance, safety, and rest as well as inquiries”- he looked squarely at Covenant- “and perhaps also answers.“ That suggestion gave another twist to Covenant's tension. He remembered clearly the question Hamako had refused to answer for him. But Hamako had not paused. He was asking, “Will you consent to delay your way a while?”