Through his teeth, Honninscrave snarled instructions Sevinhand could not hear. The Master was desperate for his vessel. Linden held her breath involuntarily. No sound reached them. The tumult in Bhrathairain, the battle in the Harbour, were inaudible through the sirens. But then a new fireball kicked upward from the second galleass. It had been hastily launched, poorly aimed. It accomplished nothing except illumination.
In the glare, Linden saw Starfare's Gem veering through the wreckage of the trireme. The back of the attacker had been broken. Its remains went down under the dromond's heel. For a moment, the flames were full of tiny writhing shapes. Then the darkness returned, effacing Starfare's Gem as it moved to engage the nearest penteconter.
Honninscrave and Seadreamer were unable to look away from the combat. But the Lady Alif pulled at the First's arm. With an effort, the First wrenched her attention back from the Harbour.
“You must hasten to the Spikes,” the Lady was saying. “Be wary-they are warded. But only there may you hope to rejoin your vessel. And the way is long.”
“Do you not accompany us?” the First asked in quick concern.
“There is a stair nigh,” came the reply. “I will return to my people.”
“Lady.” The First's voice was soft with protest. “What life do you hope here? After this night, Bhrathairealm will not be what it was. You have risked much for us. Let us in return bear you from this place. Our way will be neither easy nor unjeopardous, but it will spare you the whims of tyrants.”
But the Lady Alif had found strengths in herself which appeared to surprise her. “You speak truly,” she said as if in wonder at her own audacity. “Bhrathairealm will not be what it was. And I have forgotten the trick of taking joy in the whims of tyrants. But now there will be work for any who no longer love the gaddhi. And I possess some of the secrets of the Sandhold. That knowledge may be of service to those who do not wish to replace one Rant Absolain with another.” She stood erect in her tattered robes, a woman who had at last come into her heart's estate. “I thank you for what you have offered-and for what you have wrought this night. But I will depart now. The Spikes are warded. Be wary.”
“Lady!” the First called after her; but she had already retreated into the dark, and the shadows along the parapets had swallowed her. Gently, the First sighed, “Go well. There is hope and beauty for any folk who give birth to such as you.” But no one heard her except Linden and Pitchwife.
Shivering to herself, Linden turned back toward the Harbour in time to see Dawngreeter burning like a torch.
Faintly, she descried Giants in the rigging. They cut loose the sail, sent it fluttering like a wounded bird into the sea. Before the light ended, they were busy clewing another sail to the yards.
The dromond had left more damage in its wake. One of the penteconters and a galleass had collided side-to-side. Many of the penteconter's oars were shattered; and that wreckage made a shambles of the galleass's decks, crippling the catapult. While the three remaining vessels scrambled to renew their attack, Starfare's Gem rode the night breeze toward open water.
“Now!” the First snapped, breaking the fixed attention of her comrades. “We must make speed toward the Spikes. The Giantship will gain them with fire and pursuit at its back. It must not be asked to delay there for our coming.”
Shadows of fear and wrath obscured Honninscrave's face; but he did not pause. Though he could not keep his gaze from the Harbour, he swung northward, broke into a trot.
Assuming that she would be obeyed, the First followed him.
But Linden hesitated. She was already exhausted. Ceer's death was slowly encrusting her pants, and she did not know what had become of Covenant. The things she had done left a metallic taste of horror in her mouth. First Hergrom and now Ceer. Like her mother. The doctors had refused to accept responsibility for her mother's death, and now she was a doctor, and she had tried to kill Ceer. Covenant was gone.
While the First fled, Linden turned back toward the Sandhold, hunting for any sign of power which would indicate that Covenant was still alive.
There was nothing. The donjon hunched against the night sky like a ruin. Behind its pale walls, it was full of a darkness which the moon could not assuage. The only discernible life was the life of the sirens. They squalled as if their rage would never be appeased.
Her right arm hung at her side as if she had taken Covenant's leprosy upon herself. Stiffly, she started toward the Sandhold.
Cail caught her by the arm, swung her around as if he meant to strike her. But Pitchwife and Seadreamer had not left her. Pitchwife's eyes burned as he slapped Cail's grasp away from her. A distant part of her wondered if she were going to lose her arm. With a gesture, Pitchwife summoned Seadreamer. At once, the mute Giant lifted her into his embrace. Carrying her as he had carried her through Sarangrave Flat, he went in pursuit of Honninscrave and the First.
Gradually, the sirens faded into the distance. The company was moving faster than Covenant would ever be able to follow. If he were still able to follow at all. The rims of her right shoulder ached dimly, like the shock after an amputation. When she looked up, she saw nothing but the long scar like a slash of old moonlight under Seadreamer's eyes. The position in which he held her blocked Starfare's Gem's progress from view. She had been reduced to this and lacked even the strength for protest.
She was taken by surprise when Seadreamer abruptly wheeled back to the south and halted. The other Giants had also stopped. Cail stood poised on the balls of his feet. They all peered into the vague light toward Vain-or something beyond Vain.
Then she heard it: hooves beating the stone of the Sandwall. Iron-shod hooves, many of them. Twisting in Seadreamer's grasp, she saw a massed cluster of shadows pour forward. They appeared to surge and seethe as they galloped.
“Honninscrave,” the First said like iron, “you and Seadreamer must continue to the Spikes. Bear the Chosen and Cail Haruchai with you. Pitchwife and I will do what we may to ward you.”
Neither brother protested. No Giant of the Search could have refused her when she used that tone. Slowly, Honninscrave and Seadreamer withdrew. After only a fraction of hesitation, Cail also retreated. Vain moved to stay with Linden. Together, the First and Pitchwife stood to meet the gaddhi's Horse.
But soon both Honninscrave and Seadreamer stopped. Linden felt Seadreamer's muscles yearning toward the First. Honninscrave clenched himself as if he did not know how to abandon a comrade. Caught between conflicting needs, they watched the mounted soldiers pound forward.
The First held her falchion in her hands and waited. Pitchwife hunched forward with his hands braced on his knees, gathering breath and strength for battle. In the immanent silver of the light, they looked like colossal icons, numinously silent and puissant.
Then a command was barked in the Bhrathair tongue. The horses bunched to a halt. Sparks squealed between iron and stone.
While the others stopped, one of the mounts came dancing with froth on its lips to confront the Giants. A familiar voice said, “First of the Search, I salute you. Who would have believed you capable of so casting Bhrathairealm into chaos?”
The First made a warning sign with the tip of her sword. “Rire Grist,” she said in a voice of quiet danger. “Return whence you have come. I do not desire to shed more blood.”