She was hardly recognizable as the Lady Alif. Her robe had been torn and blackened. Her hair hung about her in straggles; her scalp was mottled with sore bare patches. Four long red weals disfigured her right cheek.
Facing the First and Covenant, she panted. “The Sandgorgon— How is it that you—?” But an instant later, she registered Covenant’s fire, the alert heat in his eyes. She sagged momentarily. “Ah, I feared for you. You were my hope, and when the Sandgorgon— I came to look upon you, thinking to see my own death.” Her features winced around her wounds. But her thoughts came together quickly, and she cried out, “You must flee! Kasreyn will levy all the might of the Sandhold against you.”
The First shot a glance at Covenant; but he was not Linden, could not tell whether to trust this woman. Memories of the Lady filled him with unease. Would she be here now if he had been able to succumb to her?
Sternly the First said, “Lady, you have been harmed.”
She raised one hand to her cheek—a gesture of distress. She had been one of the Favored; her position had depended on her beauty. But a moment later she dropped her hand, drew her dignity about her, and met the First’s scrutiny squarely.
“The Lady Benj is not gentle in triumph. As she is the gaddhi’s Favored, I was not permitted to make defense.”
At that, the First gave a nod like a promise of violence. “Will you guide us from this place?”
The Lady did not hesitate. “Yes. There is no life for me here.”
The First started toward the stairs: the battered woman stopped her. “That way leads to the First Circinate. From thence there is no path outward but that which lies through the gates—the strength of the Sandhold. I will show another way.”
Covenant approved. But he had other plans. His form shed flickers of power at every heartbeat. “Tell me where you’re going.”
Rapidly she replied, “The Sandgorgon has made a great breach in the Sandhold. Following the beast’s path, we will gain the open sand within the Sandwall. Then the surest path to the Harbor lies atop the Sandwall itself. It will be warded, but mayhap the Kemper’s mind will be bent otherwhere—toward the gates.”
“And we will be less easily assailed upon the wall,” said the First grimly, “than within the gates, or in the streets of Bhrathairain. It is good. Let us go.”
But Covenant was already saying, “All right. I’ll find you on the wall. Somewhere. If I don’t show up before then, wait for me at the Spikes.”
The First swung toward him, burned a stare at him. “Where do you go?”
He was acute with venom and power. “It won’t do us any good to fight our way through the Guards. Kasreyn is the real danger. He can probably sink the ship without setting foot outside Kemper’s Pitch.” Memories swirled in him—flaring recollections of the way he had once faced Foamfollower, Triock, and Lena after the defense of Mithil Stonedown and had made promises. Promises he had kept. “I’m going to bring this bloody rock down around his ears.”
In those days, he had had little or no understanding of wild magic. He had made promises because he lacked any other name for his passion. But now Linden was silenced, had gone blank and blind for his sake; and he was limned in white fire. When the First gave him a nod, he left the company, went at a run toward the stairs.
Brinn was instantly at his side. Covenant cast a glance at the Haruchai. They would be two lone men against the entire Sandhold. But they would be enough. At one time, he and Brinn had faced all Revelstone alone—and had prevailed.
But as he started up the stairs, a flash of creamy white snagged his attention, and he saw Findail running after him.
He hesitated on the steps. The Elohim ran as easily as Vain. When he reached Covenant, Findail said intently, “Do not do this. I implore you. Are you deaf as well as mad?”
For an instant, Covenant wanted to challenge Findail. His palms itched with power; flames skirled up and down his arms. But he held himself back. He might soon have a better chance to obtain the answers he wanted. Swinging away from the Elohim, he climbed the stairs as swiftly as the fire in his legs.
The stairs were long; and when they ended, they left him in the maze of halls and passages at the rear of the First Circinate. The place seemed empty. Apparently, the forces of the Sandhold had already been summoned elsewhere. He did not know which way to go. But Brinn was certain. He took the lead; and Covenant followed him at a run.
The breaking of rocks had stopped. The stones no longer trembled. But from a distance came the sound of sirens—raw and prolonged cries like the screaming of gargoyles. They wailed as if they were mustering all Bhrathairealm for war.
Chewing the knowledge that no flight from the Sandhold or Bhrathairain Harbor could hope to succeed while Kasreyn of the Gyre lived, Covenant increased his pace.
Sooner than he expected, he left the complex backways and poured like a flow of silver into the immense forecourt of the First Circinate, between the broad stairways which matched each other upward.
The forecourt was heavily guarded by hustin and soldiers.
A shout sprang at the ceiling. The forces of the Sandhold were ranked near the gates to fend off an attempted escape. They looked vast and dim, for night had fallen and the forecourt was lit only by torches held among the Guards. At the shout, assailants surged forward.
Brinn ignored them. He sped lightly to the nearest stairs, started upward. Covenant followed on the strength of wild magic. Findail moved as if the air about him were his wings.
Answering the shout, a cadre of hustin came clattering from the Second Circinate. Scores of Guards must have been waiting there, intending to catch the company in a pincer. Shadows flickered like disconcertion across their bestial faces as they saw the three men rising to meet them instead of fleeing.
Brinn tripped one of them, staggered a second, wrested the spear from a third. Then Covenant swept all the hustin from the stair with a sheet of flame and raced on.
Pausing only to hurl that spear at the pursuit, Brinn dashed back into the lead.
The Second Circinate was darker than the First. The squadrons poised there did not betray their presence with torches. But Covenant’s power shone like a cynosure, exposing the danger. At every step, he seemed to ascend toward exaltation. Venom and fire conveyed him forward as if he were no longer making his own choices. Since the hustin and soldiers were too many for Brinn to attack effectively, Covenant called the Haruchai to his side, then raised a conflagration around the two of them and used it like the armor of a battlewain as he continued on his way. His blaze scored a trail across the floor. The attackers could not reach him through it. Spears were thrown at him, but wild magic struck them into splinters.
Outside the Sandhold, the sirens mounted in pitch, began to pulse like the ululation of the damned. Covenant paid no attention to them. Defended by fire, he moved to the next stairs and went up into the Tier of Riches.
The lights of that place had been extinguished; but it was empty of foes. Perhaps the Kemper had not expected his enemies to gain this level; or perhaps he did not wish to risk damage to centuries of accumulated treasure. At the top of the stairs, Covenant paused, gathered his armor of flame into one hot mass and hurled it downward to slow the pursuit. Then again he ran after Brinn, dodging through the galleries with his rage at Kasreyn fixed squarely before him.
Up the wide rich stairway from the Tier they spiraled like a gyre and burst into The Majesty.
Here the lights were undimmed. Huge cruses and vivid candelabra still focused their rumination toward the Auspice as if the dominion of the gaddhi’s seat were not a lie. But all the Guards had been withdrawn to serve Kasreyn elsewhere. Nothing interfered with Covenant’s advance as he swept forward, borne along by wild magic and sirens. With Findail trailing behind them like an expostulation, Brinn and the Unbeliever moved straight to the hidden door which gave access to Kemper’s Pitch, sprang upward toward Kasreyn’s private demesne.
Covenant mounted like a blaze into a night sky.
The climb was long, should have been arduous; but wild magic inured him to exertion. He breathed air like fire and did not weaken. The sirens cast glaring echoes about his head; and behind that sound he heard hustin pounding heavily after them as rapidly as the constriction of the stairway permitted. But he was condor-swift and puissant, outrunning any pursuit. In passion like the leading edge of an apotheosis, he felt he could have entered Sandgorgons Doom itself and been untouched.
Yet under the wild magic and the exultation, his mind remained clear. Kasreyn was a mighty thaumaturge. He had reigned over this region of the Earth for centuries. And if Covenant did not contrive a defense against the pursuing Guards, he would be forced to slay them all. That prospect struck cold through him. When this transport ended, how would he bear the weight of so much bloodshed?
As he entered the large chamber where the Lady Alif had attempted his seduction, he fought down his power, reduced it to a guttering suggestion around his ring. The effort made his head spin like vertigo; but he ground his teeth until the pressure was contained. It labored in him; he feared he would not be able to hold it for long. Harshly he called Brinn back from the ironwork ascent to Kasreyn’s lucubrium.
The Haruchai looked at him with an inflection of surprise. In response, Covenant jerked a nod upward. “That’s my job.” His voice was stretched taut by restraint. Already the lid he had placed over the pressure seemed to bulge and crack. “You can’t help me there. I won’t risk you. And I need you here.” The sounds of pursuit rose clearly through the open doorway. “Keep those Guards off my back.”
Brinn measured Covenant with a stare, then nodded. The stairway was narrow. Alone he might be able to hold this chamber against any number of hustin. The task appeared to please him, as if it were condign work for an Haruchai. He gave the ur-Lord a formal bow. Covenant moved toward the stairs.
Still Findail remained at his back. The Elohim was speaking again, adjuring Covenant to withhold. Covenant did not listen to the words; but he used Findail’s voice to help him steady himself. In his own fashion, Findail represented a deeper danger than Kasreyn of the Gyre. And Covenant had conceived a way to confront the two of them together.
If he could retain control long enough.
Without the wild magic, he had to ascend on the ordinary strength of his legs. The desert night was chilly; but sweat stood on his brow as if it were being squeezed from his skull by the wailing of the sirens. His restraint affected him like fear. His heart thudded, breathing rasped, as he climbed the final stairs and came face to face with the Kemper.
Kasreyn stood near one wall of the lucubrium, behind a long table. The table held several urns, flasks, retorts, as well as a large iron bowl which steamed faintly. He was in the process of preparing his arts.
A few steps to one side was the chair in which he had once put Covenant to the question. But the chair’s apparatus had been altered. Now golden circles like enlarged versions of his ocular sprouted from it in all directions on thin stalks like wands.
Covenant braced himself, expecting an immediate attack. Fire heaved at the leash of his will. But the Kemper cast a rheumy glance at him, a look of old disdain, then returned his attention to his bowl. His son slept like a dead thing in the harness on his back. “So you have mastered a Sandgorgon.”
His voice rustled like the folds of his robe. For centuries, he had demonstrated that nothing could harm him. Honninscrave’s blow had left no mark. “That is a mighty deed. It is said among the Bhrathair that any man who slays a Sandgorgon will live forever.”
Covenant struggled for control. Venom and power raged to be released. He felt that he was suffocating on his own restraint. The blood in his veins was afire with reasons for this man’s death. But standing there now, facing the gaddhi’s Kemper, he found he could not self-consciously choose to kill. No reasons were enough. He had already killed too many people.
He answered hoarsely, like a rasp of bereavement, “I didn’t.”
That caught Kasreyn’s attention. “Not?” Suddenly he was angry. “Are you mad? Without death, no power can re-compel that beast to its imprisonment. Alone it may bring down upon us the former darkness. You are mighty, in good sooth,” he snapped. “A mighty cause of ruin for all Bhrathairealm.”
His ire sounded sincere; but a moment later he seemed to forget it. Other concerns preoccupied him. He looked back into his bowl as if he were waiting for something. “But no matter,” he murmured. “I will attend to that in my time. And you will not escape me. Already I have commanded the destruction of your much vaunted Giantship. Its flames brighten Bhrathairain Harbor even as you stand thus affronting me.”
Covenant flinched involuntarily. Starfare’s Gem in flames! Strands of wild magic slipped their fetters, reached for the Kemper. The effort of calling them back hurt Covenant’s chest like a rupture. His skull throbbed with strain as he articulated thickly, “Kasreyn, I can kill you.” White fire outlined each word. “You know I can kill you. Stop what you’re doing. Stop that attack on the ship. Let my friends go.” Power blurred his sight like the frightful imprecision of nightmare. “I’ll burn every bone in your body to cinders.”
“Will you, forsooth?” The Kemper laughed—a barking sound without humor. His gaze was as raw and pitiless as the sirens. “You forget that I am Kasreyn of the Gyre. By my arts was Sandgorgons Doom formed and this Sandhold raised, and I hold all Bhrathairealm in my hands. You are mighty in your way and possess that which I desire. But you are yet petty and incapable withal, and you offend me.”
He spoke sternly; but still he did not attack. With one hand, he made a slow, unthreatening gesture toward his chair. “Have you observed my preparation?” His manner was firm. “Such gold is rare in the Earth. Mayhap it may be found no otherwhere than here. Therefore came I hither, taking the mastery of Bhrathairealm upon myself. And therefore also do I strive to extend my sway over other realms, other regions, seeking more gold. With gold I perform my arts.” He watched Covenant steadily. “With gold I will destroy you.”
As he uttered those words, his hands jumped forward, tipped and hurled his iron bowl.
A black liquid as viscid as blood poured over the table, setting it afire—splashed to the floor, chewed holes in the stone—gusted and spattered toward Covenant.
Acid: vitriol as potent as the dark fluid of ur-viles. Instinctively Covenant flung up his arms, throwing white flame in all directions. Then, a fraction of a heartbeat later, he rallied. Focusing his power, he swept the black liquid away.
During that splinter of time, the Kemper moved. As Covenant’s eyes cleared, Kasreyn no longer stood behind his table. He was sitting in his chair, surrounded by small golden hoops.
Covenant could not hold back. The wild magic required utterance. Too swiftly for restraint or consideration, he flung silver-white at the Kemper—a blast feral enough to incinerate any mortal flesh.
He barely heard Findail’s anguished shout: “No!”
But his fire did not reach Kasreyn. It was sucked into the many circles around the chair. Then it recoiled, crashing throughout the lucubrium with doubled, tripled ferocity.
Tables shattered; shelves burst from the walls; shards scored the air with shrill pain. A rampage of debris and fire assailed Covenant from every side at once. Only his reflexive shout of wild magic saved him.
The concussion knocked him to the floor. The stone seemed to quiver under him like wounded flesh. Echoes of argent reeled across his vision.
The echoes did not dissipate. Kasreyn had taken hold of Covenant’s defensive conflagration. It burned wildly back and forth within the gold circles, mounting flare after flare. Its increase scalded the air.
Findail crouched in front of Covenant. “Withhold, you fool!” His fists pounded at Covenant’s shoulders. “Do you not hear me? You will havoc the Earth! You must withhold!”
Caught in a dazzling confusion of flares and pressure, Covenant could hardly think. But a hard grim part of him remained clear, wrestled for choice. He panted,
“I’ve got to stop him. If I don’t, he’ll destroy the quest.” Kill Linden. The Giants. The Haruchai. “There won’t be anybody left to defend the Earth.”
“Madman!” Findail retorted. “It is you who imperil the Earth, you! Are you blind to the purpose of the Despiser’s venom?”
At that, Covenant reeled; but he did not break. Holding himself in a grip of ire and fear, he demanded, “Then you stop him!”
The Appointed flinched. “I am Elohim. The Elohim do not take life.”
“One or the other.” Flame rose in Covenant’s voice. “Stop him. Or answer my questions. All of them. Why you’re here. What you’re afraid of. Why you want me to hold back.” Findail did not move. Kasreyn’s power mounted toward cataclysm moment by moment. “Make up your mind.”
The Elohim drew a breath like a sob. For an instant, his yellow eyes were damp with pain.
Then his form frayed, melted. He lifted into the air in the shape of a bird.
Fire coruscated around him. He flitted scatheless through it, a swift darting of Earthpower. Elongating and flattening himself as he flew, he swooped like a manta toward the Kemper.
Before Kasreyn could react, Findail flashed past his face, pounced onto his son.
At once, the Elohim became a hood over the infant’s head. He sealed himself under the small chin, behind the downy-haired skull, clung there like a second skin.
Suffocating the child.
A scream ripped from Kasreyn’s chest. He sprang upright, staggered out of the protection of his chair. His hands groped behind him, clawed at Findail; but he could not rake the Elohim loose. His limbs went rigid. Asphyxiation mottled his face with splotches of madness and terror.
Again he screamed—a cry of horror from the roots of his being:
“My life!”
The shriek seemed to break his soul. He toppled to the floor like a shattered tower.
Slowly the theurgy blazing about his chair began to fade.