“I don’t like this,” Covenant muttered. “It’s probably good news. Somebody tossed them here. We must be getting close to the Wightwarrens. But hellfire! I think we’re in trouble.”
In the krill’s silver, the bones looked desiccated, bleached: they seemed to ache with age. But when Linden studied them more closely, she saw that only some of them were old. Others still wore gobbets of flesh, shrouds of blood. The breeze drifting past her held a tang of new rot—
—and another odor, one which she did not want to recognize. She remembered it too well.
The fresher piles seethed with rats. They cleaned the bones fearlessly, creatures that had never been threatened. Occasionally a dark eye glittered at Linden. Whiskers twitched. Plump bodies fought for every shred of meat.
Long ago aboard Starfare’s Gem, she had seen them swarm at Covenant, possessed by a Raver and eager for his blood.
“Thomas,” she whispered: a dry croak.
He reached out to her. “What is it?” When she took his hand, he gripped her hard. “Do you sense something?”
“I can—” Linden tried to say; but her throat closed. She had to force out words. “Oh, Thomas. I can smell moksha.”
The precise evil of Ravers was imprinted on her nerves. Her memories of turiya were bad enough. What moksha had done to her was worse.
Covenant stared at her. “Damnation.” Darkness and light warred in the background of his gaze. Then he wheeled away.
“Branl!” he barked. “Coldspray! We’re going to be attacked!”
The Ironhand called a question; but her comrades reacted before he could answer. Bluntfist, Kindwind, and Grueburn urged Covenant, Jeremiah, and Linden farther along the ledge, closer to the wall. Between them and the plunge of the crevice, Stonemage drew her sword. Branl thrust the krill into Hurl’s hands, flourished Longwrath’s flamberge. He and Stave flanked Stonemage.
Baffled, the sailors heaved Baf Scatterwit above the edge. As she scrambled away, they stretched their arms for Squallish Blustergale.
“Are you sure?” Covenant panted to Linden.
“Of course she’s sure.” Jeremiah made a palpable effort to sound fierce, but his voice came out in a yelp. “We always get attacked.
“I can’t see!” He shoved at Kindwind’s back. “I can’t do anything if I can’t see.”
Gripping her longsword, Cirrus Kindwind shifted to cover him more completely. Bluntfist and Grueburn readied their blades.
Herding Scatterwit and Blustergale ahead of them, Coldspray and Stoutgirth strode closer. “Setrock!” the Anchormaster commanded. “Keenreef. Furledsail. Lead us! Clear bones from our path. If we are assailed, we must have sure footing.”
The three sailors surged forward. Scatterwit started after them, hopping. Two of her comrades caught her arms, dragged her aside. Blustergale and another Giant followed Setrock, Keenreef, and Furledsail to help sweep debris from the ledge.
Many of the bones crumbled when they were kicked aside. They released a fume of age.
Instinctively Linden siphoned Earthpower from the Staff, sent her health-sense farther. The holes in the far wall looked deep. They felt empty: tunnels leading nowhere. The rats had a musty fetor, the smell of carrion and ancient dust. And the Raver—
Implications of moksha Jehannum burned her nerves, but she could not locate their source, any source.
Hurl held the krill above his head to extend its light. Wiver Setrock and his companions brushed through the bones. The sailors behind them pushed more into the crevice. Rats scurried away, chittering angrily. Moksha remained hidden.
Abruptly Coldspray announced, “There is no gain in waiting.”
“Aye,” assented the Anchormaster. “If we are to be assailed, our foes must approach along our path. They cannot surprise us.”
At a word from the Ironhand, Stonemage and Bluntfist started after Blustergale. With Bluff Stoutgirth, Hurl, and the rest of the sailors, Coldspray followed. Kindwind and Grueburn drew Covenant, Linden, and Jeremiah away from the wall. With Branl and Stave, they trailed behind the rest of the company.
Without a cordon of defenders around her, Linden felt exposed. The holes in the stone across from her seemed to watch like eyes, black and malicious. But Jeremiah was visibly relieved: now he could see. He loosened his arms, swung the Staff from side to side as if he were testing its reach. Determination clenched his features. And Covenant strode after Setrock, Keenreef, and Furledsail as if he feared for them more than for himself.
Branl kept pace with Covenant. Stave stayed with Linden.
Frostheart Grueburn rested a hand on Linden’s shoulder, kept Linden between her and the wall. Calmly she assured Linden, “Stoutgirth Anchormaster speaks sooth. Our foes cannot surprise us here. They will seek some advantage of position or concealment.”
Linden was not comforted. She could feel moksha Raver crouching somewhere near. Hurl’s grasp on the krill was not as steady as Branl’s. As he moved, shadows reeled across the walls, along the ledge. Threats seemed to lurk in all directions.
Urged by Coldspray, the company advanced more quickly. At the same time, Stoutgirth called to his sailors in the lead, ordered them to wait for Bluntfist and Onyx Stonemage.
Spread out along the ledge, the companions rounded the curve. Linden searched past the Giants for a glimpse ahead. Mutely she prayed for haste. The holes scattered across the far wall disturbed her. For no reason that she could name, she wanted to get out from under their black glower.
A moment later, Setrock shouted in frustration. When a gap opened between the Giants, Linden saw that the ledge ran straight for a short distance beyond the curve. Then it was blocked by a pile of large boulders. The last of the rats vanished among them.
Blustergale and his companions were still kicking away bones. Other Giants studied the boulders, testing their bulk, looking for a way past them.
As the Ironhand and the Anchormaster strode closer, Furledsail turned toward them. “The balance of this obstruction appears precarious,” she reported. “We may be able to shift the stones.” She hesitated, glanced at her comrades, then added, “Yet the formation is not natural. Moreover, it is recent. I deem that it was placed to thwart us.”
“Oh, hell,” Covenant muttered. “Hell and blood.”
He sounded tense enough, anxious enough, to tear the barricade aside with wild magic. He knew what moksha had done to Linden.
His power might shatter the ledge.
Biting her lip, Linden pushed her senses among the boulders. She wanted to discern what lay beyond them. But before she could extend her percipience far enough, a sharp cracking sound distracted her. From high above her came a granite impact, one rock massive as a menhir colliding with another—or bouncing off the wall.
She jerked up her head. Saw nothing.
An instant later, a boulder the size of a Giant struck somewhere far overhead. It rebounded in a spray of shards. Splinters as keen as knives hissed past the ledge. The remaining mass arced away, hammered the far wall below the holes, burst into rubble. She did not hear the fragments hit water. The fissure was too deep.
Giants yelled. Linden, Jeremiah, and Covenant were shoved against the wall again. Kindwind and Grueburn crouched over them, shielded them with lore-hardened armor.
Apparently unconcerned at the edge of the drop, Stave pointed at the line or ledge a long way up the fissure. “There,” he announced. “The stone fell from that height.”
“Don’t stand there!” snapped Covenant. “If it was supposed to hit us, there’s going to be more!”
Stave glanced at Covenant. “Indeed, Timewarden. From this vantage, I will have forewarning. The wall provides a measure of shelter, yet it also obscures sight.”
Peering upward, he said, “I discern no—” Then he spun toward the Giants near the blockade. “Beware!”
Too late, Linden felt the swift hurtle of another boulder.
This one did not strike the walls. It came straight down, hard as a meteor.
Sailors thrust Scatterwit aside as the second rock struck within a stride of where she had been. It tore off a chunk half the width of the ledge as it bounced away, squalling with debris.
More than half the width. Only an arm span remained.
Linden, Covenant, Jeremiah, and their immediate defenders would have to pass that break in order to follow their companions.
Covenant’s vertigo—
“Giants!” roared the Anchormaster. “Shift the barricade! We must pass onward!”
With Keenreef and Furledsail, Setrock began straining at the pile. Others of Dire’s Vessel rushed to add their strength. Hurl moved to give them more light. Scatterwit lurched after him.
One long stride took Stoutgirth past the break. Coldspray crossed behind him, then looked back to verify that the rear of the company was safe. Linden, Covenant, and Jeremiah. Branl and Stave. Kindwind and Grueburn.
A third boulder seemed to detonate against the far wall. A granite fusillade ripped across the ledge.
Blustergale went down with blood spurting from his shoulder. A shard had pierced an artery. Fragments whined off Bluntfist’s armor, staggered Stonemage. A sailor whose name Linden did not recall was torn apart. For an instant, his whole body spasmed. Blood and fluids sprayed from half a dozen wounds. Trying to regain his balance, he pitched off the ledge.
A scream that she could not utter choked Linden. Heedless of the danger, Covenant ran toward the break. Jeremiah looked around wildly.
As if from nowhere, a stone spear appeared in the center of Hurl’s chest. He sprawled backward, crashed against the wall. The impact knocked the krill from his hand. It hit the ledge, skittered away—
Shadows pounced from all directions.
Faster than Linden’s fear, Branl leaped the break, dove headlong. Sliding in Blustergale’s blood, he snagged the dagger at the lip of the drop.
Somehow he kept his longsword.
More spears crossed the crevice, a volley of stone shafts. Setrock and his comrades were driven back from the blockade. Now Linden saw a Cavewight standing in each of the tunnels in the opposite wall. The holes spat spears. Then those Cavewights moved aside. More creatures with spears strode into view, stepped into the force of their throws.
Rime Coldspray shouted orders louder than Bluff Stoutgirth’s. At the same time, she returned over the breach to intercept Covenant. Ignoring his curses, she hauled him off his feet, swung him onto her back so that she could shield him.
Grueburn and Kindwind guarded Linden and Jeremiah with their armor. Grueburn’s blade batted a spear aside. Stave knocked another out of the air.
Bluntfist sprang close to the edge, protected as many sailors as she could. Limping, Stonemage joined her. Bluntfist let one spear splinter against her cataphract while she chopped at another. Stonemage deflected two shafts. The Giants behind her dodged.
Surging upright half cloaked in blood, Branl raised the krill. One-handed, he swung his flamberge. A spear shattered. Pieces fell into the crevice. Bright silver spread over the ledge, along the fissure. Shadows capered, jeering.
More spears came in continuing waves.
Years among shrouds and ratlines had made the sailors agile. They twisted and ducked; shoved each other out of the way; blocked spears with belaying-pins and fists. When they could, they armed themselves with the Cavewights’ weapons.
Sobbing, Scatterwit clamped her hands to Blustergale’s shoulder. “Ward yourself!” he gasped. “The wound is mine. I will stanch it.” But she ignored his protest.
Near Linden, Earthpower burgeoned. Abruptly Jeremiah pushed past Kindwind’s protection. Yelling words which he had heard Linden use, he found an open space, aimed the Staff of Law like a lance. “Melenkurion abatha!” From the wood’s iron-shod end, black flame blared. “Duroc minas mill!” Magic lashed like lightning across the fissure, scoured its way into one of the tunnels. “Harad khabaal!” The Cavewights there caught fire, blazed in agony.
“Take that, you bastards!” Like Scatterwit, he was sobbing. “I’m learning! I’ll kill you all!”
To Linden, Cavewights implied Roger Covenant. She shouted Jeremiah’s name, fearing an eruption of Roger’s laval fury. But she hardly heard herself over the roars and efforts of the Giants, the sharp strike of spears.
As the boy readied another blast, Stave reached him. Turning his back on the Cavewights, on the spears, Stave stepped in front of Jeremiah, forced Jeremiah to look at him. Calm as a breeze amid the turmoil, the former Master said, “Wield such strength with care, Chosen-son. It is new to you. Therefore it is uncertain.”
“Rockbrother!” called Frostheart Grueburn.
Stave did not glance at the Swordmain. “Also,” he told Jeremiah, “the ur-Lord’s maimed son may join the assault at any moment. You must prepare to oppose him.”
Cursing, Grueburn left Linden, leaped to stop a spear aimed at Stave. The frantic sweep of her sword missed: she took the shaft’s point on her breastplate. It glanced away, clattered on the ledge.
“Roger?” cried Jeremiah. “You want me to fight Roger? How am I supposed to do that?”
“With care,” Stave replied evenly. “With passion, certainly, but also with care.” Step by step, he urged Jeremiah back into the shelter of Cirrus Kindwind’s bulk and armor.
Frantic and afraid, Linden searched the confusion with her senses; but she found no sign of Roger.
Abruptly the barrage of spears stopped. Responding to a signal that Linden did not hear or feel, all of the Cavewights withdrew from the gaping tunnels.
A moment later, the barricade beyond the company collapsed as if a keystone had been removed. Huge rocks rolled over the edge, dropped soundless into the dark. In an instant, most of the barrier was gone as though a door had been kicked open.
Along the ledge charged a throng of Cavewights, howling.
They were armed with spears and falchions, cudgels and axes. Plates of stone hanging from their shoulders served as armor. The hot red of their eyes scorned the krill’s wavering radiance.
Their suddenness caught the Giants off balance. A cudgel like a battering-ram struck the side of a sailor’s head, knocked him into the fissure. Cries followed him down. Furledsail fell back with gore spilling from a slash below her ribs. She, too, might have gone over the edge; but Setrock sprang after her, snatched her into his arms. Her attacker Keenreef stopped with one hard punch to the center of the forehead. Then he had to wheel away from the vicious stroke of an axe.
“Withdraw!” The Anchormaster’s command echoed up the wall. He sounded preternaturally unperturbed; accustomed to gales. Perhaps he was also accustomed to loss. “Withdraw, Dire’s Vessel! This is work for Swordmainnir!”
But he did not retreat himself. Jerking the spear out of Hurl’s chest, he advanced to meet the Cavewights. He seemed to be laughing.
Onyx Stonemage and Halewhole Bluntfist were already running to counter the charge. Rime Coldspray shouted for Branl; consigned Covenant to the Humbled. With her glaive in her fist, she raced after Stonemage and Bluntfist.
The ledge was too narrow for a massed assault. No more than four Cavewights led the attack; and even then, they hampered each other. Stonemage and Bluntfist let the remaining sailors scramble between them. Then the two Swordmainnir faced the creatures.
Coldspray stopped Stoutgirth three paces behind her comrades. She and the Anchormaster braced themselves for flung spears; prepared to cut down any Cavewight that fought past Stonemage and Bluntfist.
“Damn it, Branl!” Covenant demanded. “Do something! I can take care of myself!”
Branl studied Covenant for a moment; shrugged delicately. Then he handed Loric’s dagger to the Unbeliever. Springing away over the break in the ledge, he went to join the Ironhand.
Covenant, Linden, and Jeremiah were left behind. Stave, Grueburn, and Kindwind. But soon sailors came to them dragging Blustergale, carrying Furledsail. Harried along by Setrock, Scatterwit retreated from the fray.
Linden watched Giants and
Cavewights fight in darkness relieved only by the krill in Covenant’s grasp, and by the crimson glow of eyes. At first, Bluntfist and Stonemage seemed implausibly effective. They were skilled and mighty. They had room enough between them to swing their blades. And they could afford to let creatures lunge past them: Coldspray and Stoutgirth protected their backs. Rabid thrusts and slashes were beaten aside. Bodies toppled from the ledge in welters of blood.
But the Cavewights were mighty as well, born with the strength to delve in gutrock by hand. They were nearly as tall as Giants. Their arms were longer. And they were many, more than Linden could count. Eventually their sheer numbers would overwhelm the Giants. Already Bluntfist and Stonemage were driven backward. The Ironhand and the Anchormaster were forced to retreat as well.
Branl strode between the commanders. He passed Bluntfist and Stonemage, drifted like a shadow among the Cavewights. With the rippled edges of his longsword, he seemed to reap creatures all around him. Howls became shrieks. Bodies fell. In the press of Cavewights, his shorter stature was an advantage. Creatures fighting at the height of Giants could not block his flurry of cuts, his swift dance. For a moment, he stopped the advance. Linden almost believed that he would be able to turn the battle.
Still the Cavewights were too many. And they were not mindless. Quickly they adjusted their tactics. Those in the lead sprang aside, cleared a space which allowed other creatures to level their weapons and their strength at the Humbled.
Branl dodged a spear, cut off the arms of its wielder. As if in a single motion, he blocked a cudgel on one side, countered a sword on the other. He slashed at thighs, knees, ankles.
But more Cavewights came. In spite of his prowess, he was beaten backward.
Soon Covenant would have no choice. Jeremiah would have none.
At the edge of her vision, Linden thought that she saw another boulder plummet into the depths. She saw or imagined a Cavewight sprawling through the air after it.