“You forget, Frostheart Grueburn,” retorted Coldspray, “you who laugh at all jests and comprehend none, that I am not merely immeasurably aged and wise. I am also ripe with cunning. And while I retain my sight, I have not grown deaf. I hear you when you scoff at me.”
Now the Ironhand’s comrades laughed outright, and one of them punched affectionately at the shoulder of the Swordmain called Frostheart Grueburn. With a shiver, Linden realised that Grueburn was the woman who had just carried her for several leagues through Salva Gildenbourne.
These Giants had rescued her from both Longwrath and Kastenessen’s monster; and she had barely thanked them-
While she searched herself for graciousness, Liand returned laden with firewood. As he crossed to the centre of the glade, an unnamed Swordmain produced a pair of rocks and a pouch of tinder from a pocket covered by her cataphract. When he had dropped his burden, she built a small mound of twigs, leaves, and bark, sprinkled them with flakes of tinder, and began striking sparks with her stones.
Brushing debris from his jerkin and leggings, Liand came to stand beside Linden. “Giants, Linden?” he asked in a whisper. “Are these indeed Giants? You have made no more than passing mention of such folk, and I did not think to query Pahni concerning them. Yet it is plain that you know them well.” His tone did not reproach her. When I beheld Sandgorgons, I conceived that the wide Earth held no greater wonder-aye, and no greater terror-for they were mighty and fearsome beyond my imagining. Now, however, I have felt the terrible puissance of the skurj. And I have been borne kindly by a Giant, when I had not grasped that such folk walked the world.
“Linden, I-” Liand’s eyes echoed sparks. “Perhaps my wits are sluggish. Only now does it occur to me that I do not comprehend how you are able to bear such knowledge. I am filled to bursting, and I have neither spoken with ancient Lords nor given battle in the depths of the Earth. We have witnessed powers which surpass me utterly, yet they revolve about you as moths do about a lamp-and with as little effect.
“I do not ask why you have not spoken more of Giants. They will soon speak of themselves. I ask how you contrive to endure all that you have known and done. You exceed forces and beings whose sheer magnitude turns my heart and mind to dust.”
The Ironhand drew closer as he spoke. “Do not be dismayed, Stonedownor,” she advised him. “There is no mystery here. She is Linden Avery, Chosen and Sun-Sage. Our tales say that she is merely magnificent.”
At the fringe of the jungle, Pahni’s slim form stepped out of deeper blackness. She, too, carried a load of dead branches.
“No,” Linden protested uncomfortably. “You’re thinking of Covenant. I’m just me.” Then she faced Liand. “And I’m not the only one who exceeds.” If she had ever done so. “I’m not the one who gave those Woodhelvennin their health-sense.”
Flames had begun to bloom from the mound of twigs and tinder. The Giant put away her pouch and stones, feeding larger bits of wood to the fire as it took hold. Aching for warmth and reassurance, Linden moved closer to the small blaze.
“It’s Jeremiah, Liand,” she murmured. “He’s how I do it. I would have fallen apart days ago, but I can’t afford to. I can’t let anything stop me. Lord Foul has my son.”
He’s belonged to Foul for years.
But if she found the krill- If she could evoke Thomas Covenant-
“And you do not forgive,” Stave remarked. “There is strength in ire, Chosen. But it may also become a snare.”
With the Staff in the crook of her arm, Linden held out her hands to the flames. Tell that to Kastenessen, she thought bitterly. Tell the Despiser. But she kept her retort to herself.
Pahni added her wood to Liand’s pile, then went to stand beside him. A moment later, Bhapa approached with his arms full. When Mahrtiir had studied the supply of firewood as though he could see it, he nodded. “You are weary,” he told the Cords. “Gather aliantha and rest. As more wood is needed, perhaps Stave will guide me to obtain it.”
Pahni and Bhapa started to obey; but Coldspray stopped them. “You have laboured much, and are indeed worn, Ramen. Permit us to perform this service.” She motioned for two of her comrades. “Stormpast Galesend and Onyx Stonemage have ears to hear. They will not be denied our tales while they gather treasure-berries.”
In response, Mahrtiir bowed. “Centuries have passed into millennia,” he pronounced. “but the Giants remain considerate and compassionate. Gladly we accept the honour of your courtesy.”
Rime Coldspray smiled. “In appearance, the Ramen are a nomadic and brusque people. Yet their politeness would grace a courtly kingdom. Were the Masters as gracious, much that now lies fallow would flourish.”
Both Stave and Clyme gazed at her without expression, and said nothing.
When the Manethrall had seated himself near the fire, Bhapa sank to the ground beside him. Pahni linked her arm with Liand’s. In a more formal tone, the Ironhand continued. “Linden Avery, it is unmistakable that you are the intersection of our tales. Yet mayhap this truth is not evident to you. Therefore I will speak first, though we are far from Home, and beset by perils which we cannot comprehend. When you have heard of our ventures, you will be better able to determine how you may account for our needs as well as your own.”
Linden edged a bit closer to the crackling fire. Its dancing illumination cast light and shadows across the faces of the Swordmainnir. At one moment, their strong faces seemed grotesque and suspicious, and at another, fraught with mirth.
“Thank you,” she said as clearly as she could. “We just met a few hours ago, and already I haven’t thanked you enough. The Giants of the Search were my friends. I loved them. I hope that when we’ve talked, we’ll be able to face our problems together.”
She wanted the help of these women.
Coldspray nodded soberly. “A worthy desire. Thus I begin.”
She remained standing, tall against the heavens, while Frostheart Grueburn and the Giant who tended the fire sat cross-legged nearby, and Galesend and Stonemage wandered the glade, picking aliantha. Anele had curled himself into Coldspray’s armour as if he had lost interest in everything except the touch of her stone. But Linden, Liand, and Pahni rested on one side of the fire, and Mahrtiir and Bhapa squatted opposite them. Stave remained near Linden. After a moment, Clyme drifted into the night, presumably to join Galt and Branl as they watched over the glade. He must have trusted Stave to relay the story of the Swordmainnir.
“Giants live long, as you know,” began the Ironhand. “This is well, for we are not a fecund race, and our children, whom we treasure, are too few to content us. Thus we account for our restless roving of the Earth. Our hearts seldom find fullness among our families.
“It was with wonder, joy, and astonishment that we greeted the return of the Search, led by the First and her mate, Pitchwife. It was with mingled delight and weeping that we heard their tales, narratives of bitter loss and brave triumph, cruel suffering and dear friendship. But in the succeeding years, our happiness and amazement were multiplied when the First of the Search, Gossamer Glowlimn, gave birth to a son, and then to a second, and then in her later years to a third. This we deemed nigh miraculous, and our celebrations-which I will not describe, for one night is too brief-endured for decades.
“Yet wonder was compounded upon wonder, and joy upon joy, for as the centuries turned, the youngest son of Pitchwife and Gossamer Glowlimn, who was named Soar Gladbirth, found love and a mate in Sablehair Foamheart, called by all who knew her Filigree for her delicacy and loveliness. And in the fullness of time, Filigree also gave birth to sons, first one and then another. That alone would have made Glowlimn and Pitchwife a treasury of tales and pride, for across the millennia it has been rare and precious that two Giants were so blessed with descendants. Yet Filigree and Gladbirth were not done. When some decades had passed, they received the gift of a third son.
“Now our exultation knew no bounds. The Giants have ever lived their lives on the verge of diminishment. Ou
r seafaring ways are in themselves hazardous, the loss of the Giants who became the Unhomed of the Land was rue and gall to us, and our children are not numerous, as I have said. In the sons of Filigree and Gladbirth, we felt that we had been granted an augury of hope, a promise that the seed of the Giants had regained its lost vitality.”
Firelight shed fraught shadows across Coldspray’s features. “Linden Avery, the third son of the third son of Glowlimn and Pitchwife was Exalt Widenedworld. But now the Giants of Home name him Lostson, and among the Swordmainnir he is called Longwrath.”
To herself, Linden groaned for Pitchwife’s sake, and for the First’s. But she did not interrupt the lronhand’s tale.
“The fault is mine,” continued Rime Coldspray, “if indeed the notion of “fault” retains its meaning in such matters. Rare among our men, Widenedworld was drawn to the Swordmain craft. In jest, we say that our men are too soft of heart for battle. However, the truth is merely that their passions flow differently. All Giants love stone and sea, “permanence at rest and permanence in motion”, but the adoration of our men is more direct. They are drawn to the fashioning of ships and dwellings intended to endure. Perhaps because the joy of birth and children is both uncommon and fleeting, our women seek skills and purposes which are likewise fleeting. So it occurs that we are women, as you have seen.”
While the Ironhand spoke, Galesend and Stonemage returned to the fire with their huge hands full of aliantha. In silence, they shared treasure-berries liberally among Linden and her companions. Linden accepted her portion and ate, although she scarcely noticed her own hunger, or the piquant nourishment of the fruit. All of her attention was focused on Rime Coldspray.
“Yet Exalt Widenedworld wished to join the Swordmainnir,” Coldspray said without pausing, “and so he was made welcome. Thereafter his training revealed that he was prodigious in both might and aptitude, born to the sword and all weapons. Were our present plight a Search, and he whole in mind, I do not doubt that he would be the First.”
Briefly she bowed her head. Then she raised her countenance and her courage to the disconsolate stars. “However, this is no Search. It is not guided by Earth-Sight. It is a journey of sorrow, and after our fashion we are as truly lost as Lostson Longwrath.
When Widenedworld had mastered our more familiar skills, it fell to me to teach him cunning. Often we speak of cunning mirthfully, but the refinement of which I speak is no jest. It is the quality by which skill is transformed to art. I am the Ironhand, not because I am the mightiest of the Swordmainnir-”
“It is certain that she is not,” put in Grueburn affectionately.
“-but because,” Coldspray explained, “I am able to best those who are mightier. Therefore the teaching of Exalt Widenedworld became my particular task.
“Gifted as he was, and exuberant of heart, within brief decades I found myself hard pressed to master him. And one day, by doom or ill chance, I misjudged his growth in our craft. With cunning rather than strength, I caused what I believed to be a breach in his self-defence, and into that breach I struck, intending to slap his forehead with the flat of my blade, blunt stone which the Swordmainnir wield in training. However, he had in some measure foiled me. By his own cunning, he had drawn me beyond my balance, and there he strove to turn my blade. Sadly either too little cunning or too much betrayed him. Because he had unbalanced me, I struck with too much force. And because he turned but did not deflect my blade, I struck with its edge.”
Liand winced, and Pahni stifled a sigh. But they said nothing. Like Linden, they were held by the Giant’s tale.
“You have beheld the extent of his wound.” An undercurrent of self-recrimination troubled Coldspray’s tone. “At that time, we did not. We saw only that the bone of his visage had been broken. Therefore we tended him. Of necessity, the Swordmainnir study healing as well as warcraft. And Giants are hardy. We were grieved by the severity of his wound, but we did not fear for his life. Nor did Filigree and Gladbirth dread that he would perish, though they were likewise grieved.
Now we have learned that death would have been a gentler fate.”
The Ironhand accepted a few aliantha from Galesend; ate them without haste; discarded the seeds. Then she resumed.
“His recovery was slow and arduous, and even in delirancy he did not speak. Remembering Cable Seadreamer, whose gift or affliction of Earth-Sight resulted from a similar wound, and who was rendered mute by visions, we considered that perhaps Exalt Widenedworld would also display signs of Earth-Sight. But he did not. Rather he arose one day from his bed, seemingly without cause or alteration, and announced his intention to “slay” some nameless “her”. Then he struck down or forced aside the Giants tending him and hastened toward our harbourage, apparently seeking a vessel to bear him.
“The Swordmainnir captured him. What else might we have done? And when we discovered that we could not relieve his purpose-that no strength or kindness, no speech or expression of love, no medicament or diamondraught, calmed his violent resolve-we bound him. We had no recourse. Unrestrained, he harmed all who warded him. Again and again, he sought the harbour, and his mad wrath was terrible to those who opposed him.
“At first, his only words were, “Slay her”. Later he inquired if we were fools. And no binding held him. Mere rope he parted as though it were twine. So great was his strength that he sundered hawsers. Fetters of wood became kindling on his limbs. Finally we were compelled to fashion shackles of heavy granite. Unwilling to end his life or cripple him, we knew no other means to contain his fury.
“Thereafter we gathered in Giantclave to choose what we must do. And while we debated together, he whom none now called Exalt Widenedworld shattered his bonds. With his fists, he battered senseless Soar Gladbirth his father and caused the death of Filigree his mother. When his escape was discovered, he had already taken to the sea in a small craft, a tyrscull, apparently intending to sail alone to the ends of the Earth in search of the “her” whom he desired to “slay”.
Mahrtiir’s hands clenched each other as though he gripped his emotions in a garrote. Stave listened without expression.
“We recaptured him. Again we bound him in stone, he raving, “Slay her!” all the while, and, “Are you fools?” Only Swordmainnir stood guard over him, risking no other Giants.
“Now the disputes of the Giantclave had ceased to be, “How may we relieve his madness?” They had become simply, “How may we prevent further harm?” And our dilemma was this. We are lovers of stone. We are not cunning in ironwork. We disdain none of the metals of the Earth. Much we have acquired in trade and seafaring. But our hearts are turned elsewhere. Yet it had been made plain that we required iron to bind Lostson Longwrath. We could conceive of no other means to constrain his wildness.
“Therefore we resolved to convey Longwrath to the land of the Bhrathair, where iron is artfully forged-and commonly traded, for the Bhrathair meet the many needs of their inhospitable home with commerce. We ten of the Swordmainnir were given a compact dromond which we christened Dire’s Vessel. A crew was chosen so that we need not be distracted from Longwrath’s care. Grieving and baffled, we set our sails for Bhrathairealm.”
Linden held her breath without realising it. She felt neither the chill of the night nor the warmth of the fire. Long ago, she had visited Bhrathairealm with Covenant and the Giants of the Search. Kasreyn of the Gyre had tried to destroy them. Both Hergrom and Ceer had been slain.
“I will not consume the night with tales of our voyage,” Rime Coldspray promised, “though it was much beleaguered, and for a time we wandered, helpless, in the toils of the Soulbiter. I am content to say that at last we found our course to known seas. Among the fading storms of summer, we gained shelter in Bhrathairain Harbour.
“Our sojourn there was protracted for several causes. The shackles which we required could not be quickly fashioned. And the Bhrathair bargained stringently, perceiving the scale of our need. Their need also was great, for a fearsome calamity-or perchance
an extraordinary redemption-had befallen them.
“Some centuries past, the eldritch prison of Sandgorgons Doom had frayed and failed. By unguessed means, the Sandgorgons of the Great Desert had achieved their freedom. Yet their bestial savagery was but rarely turned toward Bhrathairealm. Against all likelihood, the Bhrathair were left in peace for decades together. When they were struck, the damage was slight.
“But no more than a moon or two before our arrival, the Sandgorgons appeared to conceive an unprecedented assault. United by some unknown force, a considerable number attacked the Sandwall of Bhrathairealm in a bayamo of immeasurable strength.”
Remembering how Sandgorgons had slaughtered Roger’s Cavewights, Linden bit her lip until she tasted blood.
“The Bhrathair feared extermination. However, it transpired that the Sandgorgons had another purpose. They did not wage warfare. Rather they merely bludgeoned a path through an obstacle. When they had breached the Sandwall, maimed the Sandhold, and torn passage across the heart of Bhrathairain Town, they disappeared into the sea. To the wonder of the Bhrathair, an uncounted host of Sandgorgons had departed.
“Therefore the ironworkers of Bhrathairealm bartered greedily. They craved the service of Giants to restore the Sandwall, to secure the remnants of the Sandhold, and to clear the debris from Bhrathairain Town.
“Even discounting our need to bind Longwrath,” Coldspray admitted, “we would have aided the Bhrathair willingly, loving as we do both stone and friendship. But our stay among them was prolonged by another cause also. While we laboured, awaiting the preparation of shackles, we found that we were unable to imprison Longwrath. His madness appeared daily to increase his might. Or mayhap he gained aid by some unknown theurgy. Time and again, he escaped the donjons of the Bhrathair and our own vigilance. Time and again, we recaptured him in Bhrathairain Harbour while he strove to claim a vessel.
“Still he would say only, “Slay her”, and, “Are you fools?”
“Aye,” muttered the Giant who tended the fire. “and we came to abhor the sound of those words in his mouth. We were not inured by repetition. Rather each utterance appeared to augment the meaning of his derangement. As by accretion, he acquired the authority of Earth-Sight.”
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