Blankly, they lifted their spears.
Vain and Findail came last. They approached the gate and halted. Vain held himself as if he neither knew nor cared that he was no longer moving. But Findail gazed at the Guards with frank loathing. After a moment, he said grimly, “I do not give my name to such as these. They are an abomination, and he who made them is a wreaker of great ill.”
A shiver of tension went through the air. Reacting as one, the hustin dropped back a step, braced themselves for combat with their spears levelled.
At once, the Caitiffin barked, “Hold, you fools! They are the gaddhi's guests!” His voice echoed darkly along the passage.
Linden turned against the support of Cail's arms. Ceer and Hergrom had already leaped from their mounts, poised themselves behind the hustin.
The Guards did not attack. But they also did not lower their weapons. Their porcine eyes were locked on Findail and Vain, Balanced on thick, widely-splayed legs, they looked mighty enough to drive their spears through solid ironwood.
Linden did not fear for Vain or Findail. Both were impenetrable to ordinary harm. But they might trigger a struggle which would damn the entire company. She could see disdain translating itself into ire and action on Findail's eroded mien.
But the next instant a silent whisper of power rustled through the passage, touching her ears on a level too subtle for normal hearing. At once, the hustin withdrew their threat. Lifting their spears, they stepped out of the way, returned to their posts as if nothing untoward had happened.
To no one in particular, Findail remarked sardonically, “This Kasreyn has ears.” Then he passed into the gloom of the gate with Vain at his side like a shadow.
Linden let a sigh of relief leak through her teeth. It was repeated softly by the First.
Promptly, Rire Grist began apologising. “Your pardon, I beg you.” His words were contrite, but he spoke them too easily to convey much regret. “Again you have fallen foul of a duty which was not directed at you. Should the gaddhi hear of this, he will be sorely displeased. Will you not put the unwise roughness of these hustin from your hearts, and accompany me?” He made a gesture which was barely visible in the dimness.
“Caitiffin.” The First's tone was deliberate and hard. “We are Giants and love all amity. But we do not shirk combat when it is thrust upon us. Be warned. We have endured much travail, and our appetite for affront has grown somewhat short.”
Rire Grist bowed to her. “First of the Search, be assured that no affront was intended-and no more will be given. The Sandhold and the gaddhi's welcome await you. Will you come?”
She did not relent. “Perhaps not, What will be your word should we choose to return to our Giantship?”
At that, a hint of apprehension entered the Caitiffin's voice. “Do not do so,” he requested. “I tell you plainly that Rant Absolain is little accustomed to such spurning. It is not in the nature of rulers to smile upon any refusal of their goodwill.”
Out of the gloom, the First asked, “Chosen, how do you bespeak this matter?”
A tremor still gripped Linden's heart. After the sun's heat, the stone of the Sandwall felt preternaturally cold. Carefully, she said, “I think I want to meet the man who's responsible for those hustin”
“Very well,” the First replied to Rire Grist. “We will accompany you.”
“I thank you,” he responded with enough underlying sincerity to convince Linden that he had indeed been apprehensive. Turning his mount, he led the company on through the gate.
When she reached the end of the passage, Linden blinked the sun out of her eyes and found herself facing the sheer wall of the First Circinate.
A space of bare, open sand perhaps fifty feet wide lay between the Sandwall and the Sandhold. The inner curve of the wall here was also lined with banquettes; but these were not deserted. Hustin stood along them at precise intervals. Frequent entryways from the banquettes gave admittance to the interior of the wall. And opposite them the abutments of the First Circinate rose like the outward face of a donjon from which people did not return. Its parapets were so high that Linden could not see past them to any other part of the Sandhold.
Only one entrance was apparent-another massive stone gate which stood in line with the central gate of the outer Sandwall. She expected Rire Grist to ride in that direction; but instead he dismounted and stood waiting for her and Covenant to do the same. Cail promptly dropped to the sand, helped her down; Hergrom accepted Covenant from Brinn's grasp, lowering the ur-Lord as Brinn jumped lightly off his horse's back.
The Caitiffin's soldiers took the five mounts away to the left; but Rire Grist beckoned the company toward the gate. The heat of the sand rose through Linden's shoes; sweat stuck her shirt to her back. Bhrathairealm sprawled under a sempiternal desert sun like a distant image of the Sunbane. She felt ungainly and ineffectual as she trudged the yielding surface behind Honninscrave and the First. She had had nothing to eat or drink since dawn; and the wall before her raised strange tenebrous recollections of Revelstone, of Gibbon-Raver's hands. The sky overhead was the dusty hue of deserts. She had glanced up at it several times before she realised that it was empty of birds. None of the gulls and cormorants which flocked over Bhrathairain transgressed on the Sandhold.
Then an unexpected yearning for Pitchwife panged her: his insuppressible spirit might have buoyed her against her forebodings. Covenant had never looked as vulnerable and lost to her as he did in the sunlight which fell between these walls. Yet the hustin had done her one favour: they had reminded her of ill and anger. She did not permit herself to quail.
The gates of the Sandhold were closed; but at a shout from Rire Grist they opened outward, operated by forces or Guards within the walls. Honninscrave and the First entered with the Caitiffin. Clenching her fists, Linden followed.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, Rire Grist began speaking. “As you have perhaps heard, this is the First Circinate of the gaddhi's Sandhold.” They were in a forecourt or mustering-hall large enough for several hundred people. The ceiling was lost in shadow far above the floor, as if this whole space had been formed for the explicit purpose of humbling anyone admitted to the Sandhold. In the light which streaked the air from huge embrasures high above the gates, Linden saw two wide stairways opposite each other at the far end of the forecourt. "Here are housed the Guards and those like myself who are of the gaddhi's Horse.“ At least a score of the hustin stood on duty around the walls; but they did not acknowledge either the Caitiffin or the company. ”And here also are our kitchens, refectories, laving-rooms, training-halls. We number fourscore hundred Guards and fifteenscore Horse.“ Apparently, he sought to reassure the company by giving out information freely. ”Our mounts themselves are stabled within the Sandwall. Such was the Kemper's foresight that we do not yet fill this place, though our numbers grow with every passing year."
Linden wanted to ask him why the gaddhi- or the gaddhi's Kemper-required such an army. Or, for that matter, why Bhrathairealm needed all the warships she had seen in the Harbour. But she set those questions aside for another time and concentrated instead on understanding as much as possible of the Sandhold.
While he spoke, Rire Grist walked toward the stairway on the right. Honninscrave asked him a few seemingly disinterested questions about foodstores, water-supplies, and the like; and the Caitiffin's replies took the company as far as the stairs.