White Gold Wielder Read online

  It was an incomparable expression of faith in the future, of hope for the time when the Sunbane would be healed and the Land might be dependent upon this one tiny pocket of natural life for its renewal.

  And it was gone. From the moment when he had recognized Hamako, Covenant had known the truth. Why else were the Waynhim here, instead of tending to their chosen work?

  Useless rage cramped his chest, and his courage felt as brittle as dead bone, as he waited for Hamako’s response.

  It was slow in coming; but even now the Stonedownor did not waver. “It is as you have feared,” he said softly. “We were driven from our place, and the work of our lives was destroyed.” Then for the first time his voice gave a hint of anger. “Yet you have not feared enough. That ruin did not befall us alone. Across all the Land, every rhysh was beaten from its place and its work. The Waynhim gathered here are all that remain of their race. There will be no more.”

  At that, Covenant wanted to cry out, plead, protest. No! Not again! Was not the genocide of the Unhomed enough? How could the Land sustain another such loss?

  But Hamako seemed to see Covenant’s thoughts in his aghast face. “You err, ring-wielder,” said the Stonedownor grimly. “Against Ravers and the Despiser, we were forewarned and defended. And Lord Foul had no cause to fear us. We were too paltry to give him threat. No. It was the ur-viles, the black and birthless kindred of the Waynhim, that wrought our ruin from rhysh to rhysh across the Land.”

  Wrought our ruin. Our ruin across the Land. Covenant was no longer looking at Hamako. He could not. All that beauty. Gone to grief where all dreams go. If he met those soft, brown, irreparable eyes, he would surely begin to weep.

  “Their assault was enabled to succeed because we did not expect it—for had not ur-vile and Waynbim lived in truce during all the millennia of their existence?—and because they have studied destruction as the Waynhim have not.” Slowly the edge of his tone was blunted. “We were fortunate in our way. Many of us were slain—among them some that you have known. Vraith, dhurng, ghramin.” He spoke the names as if he knew how they would strike Covenant; for those were Waynhim who had given their blood so that he could reach Revelstone in time to rescue Linden, Sunder, and Hollian. “But many escaped. Other rhysh were butchered entirely.

  “Those Waynhim that survived wandered without purpose until they encountered others to form new rhysh, for a Waynhim without community is a lorn thing, deprived of meaning. And therefore,” he concluded, “we are desperate in all sooth. We are the last. After us there will be no more.”

  “But why?” Covenant asked his knotted hands and the blurred light, his voice as thick as blood in his throat. “Why did they attack—? After all those centuries?”

  “Because—” Hamako replied; and now he did falter, caught by the pain behind his resolve. “Because we gave you shelter—and with you that making of the ur-viles which they name Vain.”

  Covenant’s head jerked up, eyes afire with protests. This crime at least should not be laid to his charge, though instinctively he believed it. He had never learned how to repudiate any accusation. But at once Hamako said, “Ah, no, Thomas Covenant, Your pardon. I have led you to miscomprehend me.” His voice resumed the impenetrable gentleness of a man who had lost too much. “The fault was neither yours nor ours. Even at Lord Foul’s command the ur-viles would not have wrought such harm upon us for merely sheltering you and any companion. Do not think it. Their rage had another source.”

  “What was it?” Covenant breathed. “What in hell happened?”

  Hamako shrugged at the sheer simplicity of the answer. “It was their conviction that you gained from us an explanation of Vain Demondim-spawn’s purpose.”

  “But I didn’t!” objected Covenant. “You wouldn’t tell me.”

  The Waynhim had commanded Hamako to silence. He had only replied. Were I to reveal the purpose of this Demondim-spawn, that revelation could well prevent the accomplishment of his purpose. And, That purpose is greatly desirable.

  Now he sighed. “Yes. But how could our refusal be conveyed to the ur-viles? Their loathing permitted them no understanding of our Weird. And they did not inquire of us what we had done. In our place, they would not have scrupled to utter falsehood. Therefore they could not have believed any reply we gave. So they brought down retribution upon us, compelled by the passion of their desire that the secret of this Vain not be untimely revealed.”

  And Vain stood behind the seated company as if he were deaf or impervious. The dead wood of his right forearm dangled from his elbow; but his useless hand was still undamaged, immaculate. As beautifully sculpted as a mockery of Covenant’s flawed being.

  But Hamako did not flinch or quail again, though his somber gaze now held a dusky hue of fear.

  “Thomas Covenant,” he said, his voice so soft that it barely carried across the circle of the company. “Ring-wielder.” His home, During Stonedown, had been destroyed by the na-Mhoram’s Grim; but the Waynhim had given him a new home with them. And then that new home had been destroyed, ravaged for something the rhysh had not done. Twice bereft. “Will you ask once more? Will you inquire of me here the purpose of this black Demondim-spawn?”

  At that, Linden sat up straighter, bit her lips to hold back the question. The First tensed, anticipating explanations. Pitchwife’s eyes sparkled like hope; even Mistweave stirred from his gloom. Cail cocked one dispassionate eyebrow.

  But Covenant sat like Honninscrave, his emotions tangled by Hamako’s apprehension. He understood the Stonedownor, knew what Hamako’s indirect offer meant. The Waynhim no longer trusted their former refusal—were no longer able to credit the unmalice of the ur-viles’ intent. The violence of their ruin had shaken them fundamentally. And yet their basic perceptions remained. The trepidation in Hamako’s visage showed that he had learned to dread the implications of both speaking and not speaking.

  He was asking Covenant to take the responsibility of decision from him.

  He and his rhysh had come here to die. Fiercely with all the attention of the company on him, Covenant forced himself to say, “No.”

  His gaze burned as he confronted Hamako across the rude stone. “You’ve already refused once.” Within himself, he swore bitterly at the necessity which compelled him to reject everything that might help or ease or guide him. But he did not shrink from it. “I trust you.”

  Linden gave him a glare of exasperation. Pitchwife’s face widened in surprise. But Hamako’s rue-worn features softened with undisguised relief.

  Later, while Covenant’s companions rested or slept in the warmth of the cavern, Hamako took the Unbeliever aside for a private conversation. Gently Hamako urged Covenant to depart before the coming battle. Night was upon the Northron Climbs, the night before the dark of the moon; but a Waynhim could be spared to guide the company up the escarpment toward the relative safety of Landsdrop. The quest would be able to travel without any immediate fear of the arghuleh.

  Covenant refused brusquely. “You’ve done too much for me already. Tm not going to leave you like this.”

  Hamako peered into Covenant’s clenched glower. After a moment, the Stonedownor breathed. “Ah, Thomas Covenant. Will you hazard the wild magic to aid us?”

  Covenant’s reply was blunt. “Not if I can help it.” If he had heeded the venom coursing in him, the itch of his scarred forearm, he would already have gone out to meet the arghuleh alone. “But my friends aren’t exactly useless.” And I don’t intend to watch you die for nothing.

  He knew he had no right to make such promises. The meaning of Hamako’s life, of the lives of the gathered Waynhim, was not his to preserve or sacrifice. But he was who he was. How could he refuse to aid the people who needed him?

  Scowling at unresolved contradictions, he studied the creatures. With their eyeless faces, gaping nostrils, and limbs made for running on all fours, they looked more like beasts or monsters than members of a noble race that had given its entire history to the service of the Land. But long
ago one of them had been indirectly responsible for his second summons to the Land. Savagely maimed and in hideous pain, that Waynhim had been released from the Despiser’s clutches to bait a trap. It had reached the Lords and told them that Lord Foul’s armies were ready to march. Therefore High Lord Elena had made the decision to call Covenant. Thus the Despiser had arranged for Covenant’s return. And the logic of that return had led ineluctably to Elena’s end, the breaking of the Law of Death, and the destruction of the Staff of Law.

  Now the last of the Waynhim people stood on the verge of ruin.

  A long time passed before Covenant was able to sleep. He saw all too clearly what Lord Foul might hope to gain from the plight of the Waynhim.

  But when his grasp on consciousness frayed away, the vitrim he had consumed carried him into deep rest; and he slept until the activity around him became constant and exigent. Raising his head, he found that the cavern was full of Waynhim—at least twice as many as he had seen earlier. The bleary look in Linden’s face showed that she had just awakened; but the four Giants were up and moving tensely among the Waynhim.

  Pitchwife came over to Linden and Covenant “You have slept well, my friends,” he said, chuckling as if he were inured to the expectancy which filled the air. “Stone and Sea! this vitrim is a hale beverage. A touch of its savor commingled with our diamondraught would gladden even the dullest palate. Life be praised, I have at last found the role which will make my name forever sung among the Giants. Behold!” With a flourish, he indicated his belt which was behung on all sides with leather vitrim-skins. “It will be my dear task to bear this roborant to my people, that they may profit from its potency in the blending of a new liquor. And that unsurpassable draught will be named pitchbrew for all the Earth to adore.” He laughed. “Then will my fame outmeasure even that of great Bahgoon himself!”

  The misshapen Giant’s banter drew a smile from Linden. But Covenant had climbed out of sleep into the same mood with which the peril of the Waynhim had first afflicted him. Frowning at Pitchwife’s humor, he demanded. “What’s going on?”

  The Giant sobered rapidly. “Ah, Giantfriend,” he sighed, “you have slept long and long. Noon has come to the wasteland, and the Waynhim are gathered to prepare for battle. Although the arghuleh advance slowly, they are now within sight of this covert. I conceive that the outcome of their conflict will be determined ere sunset.”

  Covenant swore to himself. He did not want the crisis to be so near at hand.

  Linden was facing him. In her controlled, professional voice, she said, “There’s still time.”

  “Time to get out of here?” he returned sourly. “Let them go out there and probably get butchered as a race without so much as one sympathetic witness to at least grieve? Forget it.”

  Her eyes flared. “That isn’t what I meant.” Anger sharpened the lines of her face. “I don’t like deserting people any more than you do. Maybe I don’t have your background“—she snarled the word—“but I can still see what Hamako and the Waynhim are worth. You know me better than that.” Then she took a deep breath, steadied herself. Still glaring at him, she said, “What I meant was, there’s still time to ask them about Vain.”

  Covenant felt like a knotted thunderhead, livid and incapable of release. Her pointed jibe about his background underscored the extent to which he had falsified their relationship. From the time of their first meeting on Haven Farm, he had withheld things from her, arguing that she did not have the background to understand them. And this was the result. Everything be said to or heard from the woman he loved became gall.

  But he could not afford release. Lord Foul was probably already gloating at the possibility that he, Covenant, might unleash wild magic to aid the Waynhim. Grimly he stifled his desire to make some acerbic retort. Instead he replied, “No. I don’t want to hear it from Hamako. I don’t want to let Findail off the hook.”

  Deliberately he turned toward the Appointed. But Findail met him with the same trammeled and impenetrable rue with which he had rebuffed every challenge or appeal. More to answer Linden than to attack Findail, Covenant concluded, “I’m waiting for this bloody Elohim to discover the honesty if not the simple decency to start telling the truth.”

  Findail’s yellow eyes darkened; but he said nothing.

  Linden looked back and forth between Covenant and the Appointed. Then she nodded. Speaking as if Findail were not present, she said, “I hope he makes up his mind soon. I don’t like the idea of having to face the Clave when they still know more about Vain than we do.”

  Grateful for at least that much acceptance from her, Covenant tried to smile. But he achieved only a grimace.

  The Waynhim were milling around the cavern, moving as if each of them wanted to speak to every one else before the crisis; and their low, barking voices thickened the atmosphere. But the Giants were no longer among them. Honninscrave leaned against one wall, detached and lonely, his head bowed. Pitchwife had remained with Covenant, Linden, and Cail. And the First and Mistweave stood together near the opposite side of the space. Mistweave’s stance was one of pleading; but the First met whatever he said angrily. When be beseeched her further, her reply cracked over the noise of the Waynhim.

  “You are mortal, Giant. Such choices are harsh to any who must make them. But failure is only failure. It is not unwortb,

  You are sworn and dedicate to the Search, if not to the Chosen, and I will not release you.”

  Sternly she left his plain dismay, marched through the throng toward the rest of her companions. When she reached them, she answered their mute questions by saying, “He is shamed.” She looked at Linden. “His life you saved when Covenant Giantfriend’s was at risk. Now he deems that his indecision in your need is unpardonable. He asks to be given to the Waynhim, that he may seek expiation in their battle.” Unnecessarily she added, “I have refused him.”

  Linden muttered a curse. “I didn’t ask him to serve me. He doesn’t need—”

  Abruptly she cried, “Honninscrave! Don’t!” But the Master did not heed her. Fury clenched in his fists, he strode toward Mistweave as though he meant to punish the Giant’s distress.

  Linden started after him; the First stopped her. In silence, they watched as Honninscrave stalked up to his crewmember. Confronting Mistweave, the Master stabbed one massive finger at the Giant’s sore heart as if he knew the exact location of Mistweave’s bafflement. His jaws chewed excoriations; but the interchanges of the Waynhim covered his voice.

  Softly the First said, “He is the Master. It is enough for me that he has found room in his own pain for Mistweave. He will do no true harm to one who has served him aboard Starfare’s Gem.”

  Linden nodded. But her mouth was tight with frustration and empathy, and she did not take her eyes off Mistweave.

  At first, Mistweave flinched from what Honninscrave was saying. Then a hot belligerence rose up in him, and he raised one fist like a threat. But Honninscrave caught hold of Mistweave’s arm and snatched it down, thrust his jutting beard into Mistweave’s face. After a moment, Mistweave acquiesced. His eyes did not lose their heat; but he accepted the stricture Honninscrave placed upon him. Slowly the ire faded from the Master’s stance.

  Covenant let a sigh through his teeth.

  Then Hamako appeared among the Waynhim, came toward the company. His gaze was bright in the light of the braziers. His movements hinted at fever or anticipation. In his hands he bore a long scimitar that looked like it had been fashioned of old bone. Without preamble, he said, “The time has come. The arghuleh draw nigh. We must issue forth to give combat. What will you do? You must not remain here. There is no other egress, and if the entrance is sealed you will be ensnared.”

  The First started to reply; but Covenant forestalled her. Venom nagged at the skin of his forearm. “We’ll follow you out,” he said roughly. “We’re going to watch until we figure out the best way to help.” To the protest in Hamako’s mien, he added, “Stop worrying about us. We’ve survived worse
. If everything else goes to hell and damnation, well find some way to escape.”

  A grin momentarily softened Hamako’s tension. “Thomas Covenant,” he said in a voice like a salute, “I would that we had met in kinder times.” Then he raised his scimitar, turned on his heel, and started toward the throat of the cavern.

  Bearing curved, bony daggers like smaller versions of Hamako’s blade, all the Waynhim followed him as if they had chosen him to lead them to their doom.

  They numbered nearly two hundred, but they needed only a few moments to march out of the cavern, leaving the company behind in the imdiminished firelight.

  Honninscrave and Mistweave came to join their companions. The First looked at Covenant and Linden, then at the other Giants. None of them demurred. Linden’s face was pale, but she held herself firm. Pitchwife’s features worked as if he could not find the right jest to ease his tension. In their separate ways, the First, Mistweave, and Honninscrave looked as unbreachable as Cail.

  Covenant nodded bitterly. Together he and his friends turned their backs on warmth and safety, went out to meet the winter.

  In the tunnel, he felt the temperature begin to drop almost immediately. The change made no difference to his numb fingers and feet; but he sashed his robe tight as if in that way he might be able to protect his courage. Past the branchings of the passage he followed the Waynhim until the company reached the rude antechamber where the sleds were. Mutely Honninscrave and Mistweave took the lines. Their breath had begun to steam. Firelight transmuted the wisps of vapor to gold.

  The entrance to the rhyshyshim was open; and cold came streaming inward, hungry to extinguish this hidden pocket of comfort. Deep in Covenant’s guts, shivers mounted. His robe had previously kept him alive, if not warm; but now it seemed an insignificant defense against the frozen winter. When he looked at Linden, she answered as if his thoughts were palpable to her: