As the company ascended the winding ways toward the Sandwall, the buildings slowly changed in character. The merchantries became fewer and more sumptuous, catering to a more munificent trade than the general run of sailors and townspeople. And dwellings of all kinds began to replace most of the taverns and shops. At this time of day-the sun stood shortly past noon-the streets here were not as busy as those lower down. There was no breeze to carry away the cloying scents; and the dry heat piled onto everything. Whenever a momentary gap appeared among the people, clearing a section of a street, the cobbles shimmered whitely.
But soon Linden stopped noticing such things. The Sandwall rose up in front of her, as blank and sure as a cliff, and she did not look at anything else.
Rire Grist was leading the company toward the central of the three immense gates which provided egress from Bhrathairain and access to the Sandhold. The gates were stone slabs bound with great knurls and studs of iron, as if they were designed to defend the Sandhold against the rest of Bhrathairealm. But they stood open; and at first Linden could see no evidence that they were guarded. Only when her mount neared the passage between them did she glimpse the dark shapes moving watchfully behind the slitted embrasures on either side of the gates.
The Caitiffin rode through with Honninscrave and the First beside him. Following them while her heart laboured unsteadily in her chest, Linden found the Sandwall to be at least a hundred feet thick. Reaching the sunlight beyond the gate, she looked up behind her and saw that this side of the wall was lined with banquettes. But they were deserted, as if Bhrathairealm's prosperity had deprived them of their function.
That gate brought the company to the smooth convex surface of another wall. The Sandhold was enclosed within its own perfect circle; and that wall was joined to the defences of Bhrathairain by an additional arm of the Sandwall on each side. These arms formed two roughly triangular open courts, one on either hand. And in the centre of each court arose one of Bhrathairealm's five springs. They had been fashioned into fountains by ornate stonework, so that they looked especially lush and vital against the pale walls. Their waters gathered in pools which were kept immaculately clean and from there flowed into underground channels, one leading toward Bhrathairain, the other toward the Sandhold.
In the arm of the Sandwall which enclosed each court, a gate stood open to the outer terrain. These provided the Bhrathair with their only road to their scant fields and three other springs.
Two more gates facing the fountains gave admittance to the fortifications of the Sandhold. Rire Grist led the company toward the gate in the eastern court; and the fountain made the atmosphere momentarily humid. Confident that they were in no danger, crows hopped negligently away from the hooves of the horses.
As her mount traversed the distance, Linden studied the inner Sandwall. Like the defences of Bhrathairain, it was as uncompromising as the Kemper's arts could make it; but over the gate its upper edge rose in two distinct sweeps to form immense gargoyles. Shaped like basilisks, they crouched above the entrance with their mouths agape in silent fury.
The portals here were similar to those of the town. But the guards were not hidden. A squat muscular figure stood on either side, holding erect a long razor-tipped spear. They were caparisoned in the same manner as Rire Grist and his cohorts; yet Linden perceived with a visceral shock that they were scarcely human. Their faces were bestial, with tigerlike fangs, apish hair, porcine snouts and eyes. Their fingers ended in claws rather than nails. They looked strong enough to contend with Giants.
She could not be mistaken. They were not natural beings, but rather the offspring of some severe and involuntary miscegenation.
As the company approached, they blocked the gate, crossed their spears. Their eyes shone hatefully in the sunlight. Speaking together as if they had no independent will, they said, “Name and purpose.” Their voices grumbled like the growling of old predators.
Rire Grist halted before them. To the company, he said, “These are hustin of the gaddhi's Guard. Like the Harbour Captain, they conceive their duty straitly. However,” he went on wryly, “they are somewhat less accessible to persuasion. It will be necessary to answer them. I assure you that their intent is caution, not discourtesy.”
Addressing the hustin, he announced himself formally, then described the purpose of the company. The two Guards listened as stolidly as if they were deaf. When he finished, they replied in unison, “You may pass. They must tell their names.”
The Caitiffin shrugged a bemused apology to Honninscrave.
Warnings knotted in Linden's throat. She was still shaken by her perception of the hustin. They were only tools, fashioned deliberately to be tools; yet the power or person that required such slaves-!
But the company was too far from Starfare's Gem. And Starfare's Gem was too vulnerable. If she spoke, she might spring the trap. In this place, she and her companions could only hope for safety and escape by playing the game devised for them by the gaddhi or his Kemper. Gritting her teeth, she remained silent.
Honninscrave did not hesitate; his decisions had already been made. He stepped up to the hustin and gave his answer. His voice was calm; but his heavy brows lowered as if he wished to teach the Guards more politeness.
“You may pass,” they replied without expression and parted their spears. Rire Grist rode between them into the dim passage of the gate, stopped there to wait. Honninscrave followed him.
Before the First could pass, the Guards blocked the way again.
Her jaws chewed iron. One hand flexed in frustration at the place where the hilt of her broadsword should have been. Precisely, dangerously, she said, “I am the First of the Search.”
The hustin stared primitive malice at her. “That is not a name. It is a title.”
“Nevertheless”-her tone made Linden's muscles tighten in preparation for trouble or flight-“it will suffice for you.”
For one heartbeat, the Guards closed their eyes as if they were consulting an invisible authority. Then they looked back at the First and raised their spears.
Glowering, she stalked between them to Honninscrave's side.
As Seadreamer stepped forward, the Master said with half-unintended roughness, “He is Cable Seadreamer my brother. He has no voice with which to speak his name.”
The Guards appeared to understand; they did not bar Seadreamer's way.
A moment later, the soldier leading Linden's horse approached the gates and spoke his name, then paused for her to do the same. Her pulse was racing with intimations of danger. The hustin dismayed her senses. She felt intuitively certain that the Sandhold would be as hard to leave as a prison-that this was her last chance to flee a secret and premeditated peril. But she had already done too much fleeing. Although she strove to match Honninscrave's steadiness, a faint tremor sharpened her voice as she said, “I'm Linden Avery the Chosen.”
Over her shoulder, Cail uttered his name dispassionately. The hustin admitted them to the gate.
Ceer and Hergrom were brought forward. They went through the same ritual and were allowed to enter.
Then came the soldier with Covenant and Brinn. After the soldier had given his name, Brinn said flatly, “I am Brinn of the Haruchai. With me is ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Giant-friend and white gold wielder.” His tone defied the hustin to challenge him.