Linden felt the First's suppressed emotion as if it were a link between them. “He's unconscious.” She had become as lucid as perfect ice. “Somebody hit him pretty hard. But I think he's going to be all right. I don't hear any sign of concussion or coma. Nothing broken. He should come out of it soon.”
The ferocity of Honninscrave's exertions covered the First's initial relief. But then she lifted up her voice to say clearly, “Chosen, I thank you.” The intervening dark could not prevent Linden from tasting the First's silent tears.
Linden gripped her cold sharp lucidity and waited to make use of it.
Later, Pitchwife roused himself. Groaning and muttering, he slowly mastered his dismay. The First answered his questions simply, making no effort to muffle the ache in her voice.
But after a few moments, Linden stopped listening to them. From somewhere in the distance, she seemed to hear the sounds of feet. Gradually, she became sure of them.
Three or four sets of feet. Hustin- and someone else?
The iron clatter of the door silenced the company. Light sprang into the cell from a brightly lit corridor, revealing that the door was several high steps above the level of the floor. Two Guards bearing torches thudded heavily down the stairs.
Behind them came Rant Absolain.
Linden identified the gaddhi with her nerves. Blinded by the sudden illumination, she could not see him. Ducking her head, she blinked and squinted to drive the blur from her vision.
In the light on the floor between her and Vain lay Thomas Covenant.
All his muscles were limp; but his arms were flat against his sides and his legs were straight, betraying that he had been consciously arrayed in that position. His eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling as if he were no more than the husk of a living man. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest showed that he was not dead. Smudges of blackened blood marked his shirt like the handprints of Linden's culpability.
The cell seemed to become abruptly colder. For a moment like the onset of hysteria, Linden could not grasp what she was seeing. Here was Covenant, plainly visible-yet he was completely invisible to the other dimension of her senses. When she squeezed her eyes shut in wonder and fear, he appeared to vanish. Her percipience found no evidence of him at all. Yet he was there, materializing for her the instant she reopened her eyes.
With an inward quaver, she remembered where she had sensed such a phenomenon before. The Kemper's son. Covenant had become like the infant Kasreyn bore constantly on his back.
Then she noticed the golden band clasped around Covenant's neck.
She was unable to read it, did not understand it. But at once she was intuitively certain that it explained what had happened to him. It was Kasreyn's hold on him; and it blocked her senses as if it had been specifically designed for that purpose. To prevent her from reaching into him?
Oh, Kasreyn, you bastard!
But she had no time to think. The Guards had set their torches on either side of the door, and Rant Absolain advanced between them to confront the quest.
With a fierce effort, Linden forced her attention away from Covenant. When she looked at the gaddhi, she saw that he was feverishly drunk. Purple splashes sotted his raiment; his orbs were raw with inebriation and dread.
He was staring at Honninscrave. The Giant's relentless fury for escape appalled him. Slowly, rhythmically, Honninscrave knotted his muscles, hurled himself against the chains, and did not stop. From manacle to elbow, his arms were lined with thin trails of blood.
Quickly, Linden took advantage of Rant Absolain's transfixion to scan her companions.
In spite of his impassivity, Ceer's pallor revealed the extent of his pain. His bandages were soaked with the red of a reopened wound. Pitchwife's injury was less serious; but it left a livid swelling on his right temple.
Then Linden found herself gaping at the First. She had lost both shield and helm; but in her scabbard hung her new falchion. Its grip was just beyond the reach of her chained hands. It must have been restored to her to taunt her helplessness. Or to mock Rant Absolain? Did Kasreyn mean to task the gaddhi for that ill-considered gift?
But the First bore herself as if she were impervious to such malice. While Rant Absolain stared his alarm at Honninscrave, she said distinctly, “O gaddhi, it is not wise to speak in the presence of these hustin. Their ears are Kasreyn's ears, and he will learn the purpose of your coming.”
Her words pierced his stupefied apprehension. He looked away, staggered for balance, then shouted a dismissal in the Bhrathair tongue. The two Guards obeyed, leaving the door open as they departed.
Honninscrave fixed his gaze on that egress as he fought to break his fetters.
As soon as the Guards were gone, Rant Absolain fumbled forward as if the light were dim. For a moment, he tried to peer up at the First; but her height threatened his stability. He swung toward Linden, advanced on her until he was so close that she could not avoid breathing the miasma of his besottedness.
Squinting into her face, he hissed urgently, secretively, “Free me from this Kemper.”
Linden fought down her revulsion and pity, held her voice level. “Get rid of him yourself. He's your Kemper. All you have to do is exile him.”
He winced. His hands plucked at her shoulders as if he wanted to plead with her-or needed her help to keep from falling. “No,” he whispered. “It is impossible. I am only the gaddhi. He is Kasreyn of the Gyre. The power is his. The Guards are his. And the Sandgorgons-” He was shivering. “All Bhrathairealm knows-” He faltered, then resumed, Prosperity and wealth are his to give. Not mine. My people care nothing for me.“ He became momentarily lugubrious. But then his purpose returned to him. ”Slay him for me.“ When she did not reply at once, he panted, ”You must."
An odd pang for his folly and weakness touched her heart.
But she did not let herself waver. “Free us,” she said as severely as she could. “We'll find a way to get rid of him.”
“Free-?” He gaped at her. “I dare not. He will know. If you fail-” His eyes were full of beggary. “You must free yourselves. And slay him. Then I will be safe.” His lips twisted on the verge of sobs. “I must be safe.”
At that moment, with her companions watching her, Linden heard footsteps in the corridor and knew that she had a chance to drive another nail into his coffin. Perhaps it would have been the final nail. She did not doubt who was coming. But she had mercy on him. Probably he could never have been other than he was.
Raising her voice, she said distinctly, “We're your prisoners. It's cruel to mock us like this.”
Then Kasreyn stood in the doorway. From that elevation, he appeared commanding and indefeasible, certain of his mastery. His voice caressed the air like the soft stroke of a whip, playful and threatening. “She speaks truly, O gaddhi. You demean yourself here. They have slain your Guards, giving offense to you and all Bhrathairealm. Do not cheapen the honour of your countenance with them. Depart, I bid you.”
Rant Absolain staggered. His face stretched as if he were about to wail. But behind his drunkenness some instinct for self-preservation still functioned. With an exaggerated lurch, he turned toward the Kemper. Slurring his words, he said, “I desired to vent my wrath. It is my right.” Then he shambled to the stairs and worked his way up them, leaving the cell without a glance at either Kasreyn or the questers. In that way, he preserved the illusion which was his sole hope for survival.
Linden watched him go and clinched herself. Toward Kasreyn of the Gyre she felt no mercy at all.