With characteristic dispassion, the Haruchai ignored their uncleanliness. Brinn stood on the bank, studying the west. Hergrom moved away until he reached a tree he could climb. When he returned, he reported flatly that none of the green acid-creatures were in sight.
Still the company hurried. Beyond the slope, they dropped into a chaos of stunted copses and small poisonous creeks which appeared to run everywhere without moving. Twilight came upon them while they were still winding through the area, obeying Linden's strident command to let no drop of the water touch them.
In the dusk, they saw the first sign of pursuit. Far behind them among the copses was a glimpse of emerald. It disappeared at once. But no one doubted its meaning. “Jesus God,” Linden moaned. “I can't stand it.”
Covenant cast an intent look at her. But the gloaming obscured her face. The darkness seemed to gnaw at her features.
In silence, the quest ate a meal and tried to prepare to flee throughout the night.
Dark tensed about them as the sunset was cut off by Landsdrop. But then, strangely, the streams began to emit light. A nacreous glow, ghostly and febrile, shone out of the waters like diseased phosphorescence. And this light, haunting the copses with lines of pearly filigree, seemed to flow, though the water had appeared stagnant. The glow ran through the region, commingling and then separating again like a web of moonlight, but tending always toward the northeast.
In that direction, some distance away, Sarangrave Flat shone brightly. Eldritch light marked the presence of a wide radiance.
Covenant touched Brinn's arm, nodding toward the fire. Brinn organized the company, then carefully led the way forward.
Darkness made the distance deceptive; the light was farther away than it appeared to be. Before the questers covered half the intervening ground, tiny emerald fires began to gather behind them. Shifting in and out of sight as they passed among the copses, the acid-creatures stole after the company.
Covenant closed his mind to the pursuit, locked his gaze on the silver ahead. He could not endure to think about the coining attack-the attack which he had made inevitable.
Tracking the glow lines of the streams as if they were a map, Brinn guided the quest forward as swiftly as his caution permitted.
Abruptly, he stopped.
Pearl-limned, he pointed ahead. For a moment, Covenant saw nothing. Then he caught his breath between his teeth to keep himself still.
Stealthy, dark shapes were silhouetted between the company and the light. At least two of them, as large as saplings.
Firmly, Hergrom pressed Covenant down into a crouch. His companions hid against the ground. Covenant saw Brinn gliding away, a shadow in the ghost-shine. Then the Haruchai was absorbed by the copses and the dark.
Covenant lost sight of the moving shapes. He stared toward where he had last seen them. How long would Brinn take to investigate and return?
He heard a sound like a violent expulsion of breath.
Instinctively, he tried to jump to his feet. Hergrom restrained him.
Something heavy fell through underbrush. Blows were struck. The distance muffled them; but he could hear their strength.
He struggled against Hergrom. An instant later, the Haruchai released him. The company rose from hiding. Cail and Ceer moved forward. Stell and Harn followed with the Stonedownors.
Covenant took Linden's hand and pulled her with him after Sunder.
They crossed two streams diagonally, and then all the glowing rills lay on their right. The flow of silver gathered into three channels, which ran crookedly toward the main light. But the quest had come to firm ground. The brush between the trees was heavy. Only the Haruchai were able to move silently.
Near the bank of the closest stream, they found Brinn. He stood with his fists on his hips. Nacre reflected out of his flat eyes like joy-He confronted a figure twice as tall as himself. A figure like a reincarnation in the eldritch glow. A dream come to life. Or one of the Dead.
A Giant!
“The old tellers spoke truly,” Brinn said. “I am gladdened.” The Giant folded his thick arms over his chest, which was as deep and solid as the trunk of an oak. He wore a sark of mail, formed of interlocking granite discs, and heavy leather leggings. Across his back, he bore a huge bundle of supplies. He had a beard like a fist. His eyes shone warily from under massive brows. The blunt distrust of his stance showed that he and Brinn had exchanged blows-and that he did not share Brinn's gladness.
“Then you have knowledge which I lack.” His voice rumbled like stones in a subterranean vault. “You and your companions.” He glanced over the company. “And your gladness”- he touched the side of his jaw with one hand — “is a weighty matter.”
Suddenly, Covenant's eyes were full of tears. They blinded him; he could not blink away visions of Saltheart Foamfollower-Foamfollower, whose laughter and pure heart had done more to defeat Lord Foul and heal the Land than any other power, despite the fact that his people had been butchered to the last child by a Giant-Raver wielding a fragment of the Illearth Stone, thus fulfilling the unconscious prophecy of their home in Seareach, which they had named Coercri, The Grieve.
All killed, all the Unhomed. They sprang from a sea-faring race, and in their wandering they had lost their way back to their people. Therefore they had made a new place for themselves in Seareach where they had lived for centuries, until three of their proud sons had been made into Giant-Ravers, servants of the Despiser. Then they had let themselves be slain, rather than perpetuate a people who could become the thing they hated.
Covenant wept for them, for the loss of so much love and fealty. He wept for Foamfollower, whose death had been gallant beyond any hope of emulation. He wept because the Giant standing before him now could not be one of the Unhomed, not one of the people he had learned to treasure.
And because, in spite of everything, there were still Giants in the world.
He did not know that he had cried aloud until Hollian touched him. “Ur-Lord. What pains you?”
“Giant!” he cried. “Don't you know me?” Stumbling, he went past Linden to the towering figure. “I'm Thomas Covenant.”
“Thomas Covenant.” The Giant spoke like the murmuring of a mountain. With gentle courtesy, as if he were moved by the sight of Covenant's tears, he bowed. “The giving of your name honours me. I take you as a friend, though it is strange to meet friends in this fell place. I am Grimmand Honninscrave.” His eyes searched Covenant. “But I am disturbed at your knowledge. It appears that you have known Giants, Giants who did not return to give their tale to their people.”
“No,” Covenant groaned, fighting his tears. Did not return? Could not. They lost their way, and were butchered. “I've got so much to tell you.”
“At another time,” rumbled Honninscrave, “I would welcome a long tale, be it however grievous. The Search has been scarce of story. But peril gathers about us. Surely you have beheld the skest? By mischance, we have placed our necks in a garrotte. The time is one for battle or cunning rather than tales.”
“Skest?” Sunder asked stiffly over the pain of his ribs. “Do you speak of the acid-creatures, which are like children of burning emerald?”
“Grimmand Honninscrave.” Brinn spoke as if Sunder were not present. “The tale of which the ur-Lord speaks is known among us also. I am Brinn of the Haruchai. Of my people, here also are Cail, Stell, Harn, Ceer, and Hergrom. I give you our names in the name of a proud memory.” He met Honninscrave's gaze. “Giant,” he concluded softly, “you are not alone.”