PARTI

Retribution

ONE: The Masters Scar

AWKWARD without its midmast, Starfare's Gem turned

heavily toward the north, putting its stern to the water clogged

with sand and foam which marked the passing of the One

Tree. In the rigging. Giants labored and fumbled at their tasks,

driven from line to line by the hoarse goad of Sevinhand's

commands, even though Seadreamer lay dead on the deck

below them. The Anchormaster stood, lean and rue-bitten, on

the wheeldeck and yelled up at them, his voice raw with sup-

pressed pain. If any compliance lagged, the Storesmaster,

Galewrath, seconded him, throwing her shout after his like a

piece of ragged granite because all the Search had come to

ruin and she did not know any other way to bear it. The

dromond went north simply to put distance between itself

and the deep grave of its hope.

But Grimmand Honninscrave, the Giantship's Master, hud-

dled on the afterdeck with his brother in his arms and did

not speak. His massive face, so strong against storms and

perils, looked like a yielded fortification; his beard tangled the

shadows as the sun declined toward setting. And beside him

stood the First of the Search and Pitchwife as if they were lost

without the Earth-Sight to guide them.

Findail the Appointed stood there also, wearing his old

misery like a man who had always known what would happen

at the Isle of the One Tree. Vain stood there with one heel of

the former Staff of Law bound around his wooden wrist and

his useless hand dangling. And Linden Avery stood there as

well, torn between bereavements: outrage and sorrow for Sea-

dreamer swimming in her eyes, need for Covenant aching in

her limbs.

But Thomas Covenant had withdrawn to his cabin like a

crippled animal going to ground; and he stayed there.

4                White Gold Wielder

He was beaten. He had nothing left.

Harsh with revulsion, he lay in his hammock and stared at

the ceiling. His chamber had been made for a Giant; it out-

sized him, just as his doom and the Despiser's manipulations

had outsized him. The red sunset through the open port

bloodied the ceiling until dusk came and leeched his sight

away. But he had been blind all along, so truncated of per-

ception that he had caught no glimpse of his true fate until

Linden had cried it into his face:

This is what Foul wants!

That was bow his former strengths and victories had been

turned against him. He could not feel Cail standing guard

outside his door like a man whose fidelity had been redeemed.

Beyond the slow rolling of the Giantship's pace, the salt of

futility in the air, the distant creak of rigging and report of

canvas, he could not tell the difference between this cabin and

the dungeon of the Sandhold or the betrayed depths of Revel-

stone. All stone was one to him, deaf to appeal or need, sense-

less, He might have destroyed the Earth in that crisis of power

and venom, might have broken the Arch of Time as if he were

indeed the Despiser's servant, if Linden had not stopped him.

And then he had failed at his one chance to save himself.

Horrified by love and fear for her, he had allowed Linden to

return to him, abandoning the stricken and dying body of.his

other life. Abandoning him to ruin, though she had not in-

tended any ruin.

Brinn had said to him. That is the grace which has been

given to you, to bear what must be borne. But it was a lie.

In darkness he lay and did not move, sleepless although he

coveted slumber, yearned for any oblivion which would bring

surcease. He went on staring upward as if he too were graven

of dead stone, a reification of folly and broken dreams snared

within the eternal ambit of his defeat. Anger and self-despite

might have impelled him to seek out his old clothes, might

have sent him up to the decks to bear the desolation of his

friends. But those garments he had left in Linden's cabin as

though for safe-keeping; and he could not go there. His love

for her was too corrupt, had been too severely falsified by

selfishness. Thus the one lie he had practiced against her from

the beginning came back to damn him.

He had withheld one important fact from her, hoping like

a coward that it would prove unnecessary—that his desire for

The Master's Scar                  5

her would be permissible in the end. But by the lie of with-

holding he had accomplished nothing except her miscompre-

hension. Nothing except the Search's destitution and the

Despiser*s victory. He had let his need for her blind both of

them.

No, it was worse than that. He did need her, had needed

her so acutely that the poignance of it had shredded his de-

fenses. But other needs had been at work as well: the need to

be the Land's rescuer, to stand at the center of Lord Foul's

evil and impose his own answer upon it; the need to demon-

strate his mortal worth against all the bloodshed and pain

which condemned him. He had become so wrapped up in his

isolation and leprosy, so certain of them and what they meant,

that they had grown indistinguishable from Despite.

Now he was beaten. He had nothing left for which he might

sanely hope or strive.

He should have known better. The old man on Haven Farm

had spoken to Linden rather than to him. The Elohim had

greeted her as the Sun-Sage, him as the wrongness which im-

perilled the Earth. Even dead Elena in Andelain had said

plainly that the healing of the Land was in Linden's hands

rather than his. Yet he had rejected comprehension in favor

of self-insistence. His need or arrogance had been too great to

allow comprehension.

And still, with the destruction of everything he held pre-

cious laid squarely at his door, he would not have done other-

wise—would not give up his ring, not surrender the meaning

of his life either to Linden or to Findail. It was all that re-

mained to him: to bear the blame if he could not achieve the

victory. Failing everything else, he could still at least refuse

to be spared.

So he lay in his hammock like a sacrifice, with the stone

vessel spread out unreadably around him. Fettered by the iron

of his failures, he did not move or try to move. The first night

after the dark of the moon filled his eyes. In Andelain, High

Lord Mhoram had warned, He has said that you are his

Enemy. Remember that he seeks always to mislead you. It

was true: he was the Despiser's servant rather than Enemy.

Even his former victory had been turned against him. Suck-

ing the wounded places of his heart, he returned the sightless

stare of the dark and remained where he was.

He had no measure for the passage of time; but the night

6                 White Gold Wielder

was not far advanced when he heard a stiff, stretched voice

rumble outside his door. It uttered words he was unable to

distinguish. Yet Cail's reply was precise. 'The doom of the

Earth is upon his head," the Haruchai said. "Will you not

pity him?"

Too weary for indignation or argument, Honninscrave re-

sponded, "Can you believe that I mean him harm?"

Then the door opened, and a lantern led me Master's tall

bulk into the cabin.

The light seemed small against the irreducible night of the

world; but it lit the chamber brightly enough to sting Cove-

nant's eyes, like tears he had not shed. Still he did not turn

his head away or cover his face. He went on staring numbly

at the ceiling while Honninscrave set the lantern on the table.

The table was low for the size of the cabin. From the first

day of the quest's voyage, the Giantish furniture had been re-

placed by a table and chairs better suited to Covenant's stat-

ure- As a result, the lantern threw the hammock's shadow

above him. He seemed to lie in the echo of his own dark.

With a movement that made his sark sigh along the wall,

Honninscrave lowered himself to the floor. After long mo-

ments of silence, his voice rose out of the wan light.

"My brother is dead." The knowledge still wrung him.

"Having no other family since the passing of our mother and

father, I loved him, and he is dead. The vision of his Earth-

Sight gifted us with hope even as it blighted him with anguish,

and now that hope is dead, and he will never be released. As

did the Dead of The Grieve, he has gone out of life in horror.

He will never be released. Cable Seadreamer my brother,

bearer of Earth-Sight voiceless and valiant to his grave."

Covenant did not turn his head. But he blinked at the sting

in his eyes until the shadow above him softened it The way

of hope and doom, he thought dumbly. Lies open to you. Per-

haps for him that had been true. Perhaps if he had been

honest with Linden, or had heeded the Elohim, the path of the

One Tree might have held some hope. But what hope had

there ever been for Seadreamer? Yet without hope the Giant

had tried to take all the doom upon himself- And somehow at

the last he had found his voice to shout a warning.

Roughly, Honninscrave said, "I beseeched of the Chosen

that she speak to you, but she would not. When I purposed to

come to you myself, she railed at me, demanding that I for-

The Master's Scar                   7

bear. Has he not suffered sufficiently? she cried. Have you no

mercy?" He paused briefly, and his voice lowered. "She bears

herself bravely, the Chosen. No longer is she the woman of

frailty and fright who quailed so before the lurker of the

Sarangrave. But she also was bound to my brother by a kin-

ship which rends her in her way." In spite of her refusal, he

seemed to believe that she deserved his respect.

Then he went on, "But what have I to do with mercy or

forbearance? They are too high for me. I know only that

Cable Seadreamer is dead. He will never be released if you do

not release him."

At that. Covenant flinched in surprise and pain. If /

don't—? He was sick with venom and protest. How can / re-

lease him? If revelation and dismay and Linden had not

driven restraint so deeply into him during his struggle against

the aura of the Worm of the World's End, he would have

burned the air for no other reason than because he was hurt

and futile with power. How can I bear it?

But his restraint held. And Honninscrave looked preter-

naturally reduced as he sat on the floor against the wall, hug-

ging his unanswered grief. The Giant was Covenant's friend.

In that light, Honninscrave might have been an avatar of lost

Saltheart Foamfollower, who had given Covenant everything.

He still bad enough compassion left to remain silent.

"Giantfriend," the Master said without lifting his head,

"have you been given the tale of how Cable Seadreamec ay

brother came by his scar?"                            '

His eyes were hidden beneath his heavy brows. His beard

slumped on his chest. The shadow of the table's edge cut him

off at the torso; but his hands were visible, gripping each

other. The muscles of his forearms and shoulders were corded

with fatigue and strain.

"The fault of it was mine," he breathed into the empty

light. "The exuberance and foUy of my youth marked him for

all to see that I had been careless of him.

"He was my brother, and the younger by some years,

though as the lives of Giants are reckoned the span between

us was slight. Surely we were both well beyond the present

number of your age, but still were we young, new to our

manhood, and but recently prenticed to the sea-craft and the

ships we loved. The Earth-Sight had not yet come upon him,

and so there was naught between us beyond my few years and

8                 White Gold Wielder

the foolishness which he outgrew more swiftly than I. He

came early to his stature, and I ended his youth before its

time-

"In those days, we practiced our new crafts in a small ves-

sel which our people name a tyrscull—a stone craft near the

measure of the longboats you have seen, with one sail, a

swinging boom, and oars for use should the wind be lost

or displayed. With skill, a tyrscull may be mastered by one

Giant alone, but two are customary. Thus Seadreamer and I

worked and learned together. Our tyrscull we named Foam-

kite, and it was our heart's glee.

"Now among prentices it is no great wonder that we reveled

in tests against each other, pitting and honing our skills with

races and displays of every description. Most common of these

was the running of a course within the great harbor of Home

—far sufficiently from shore to be truly at sea, and yet within

any swimmer's reach of land, should some prentice suffer

capsize—a mishap which would have shamed us deeply,

young as we were. And when we did not race we trained for

races, seeking new means by which we might best our com-

rades.

"The course was simply marked. One point about which we

swung was a buoy fixed for that purpose, but the other was a

rimed and hoary rock that we named Salttooth for the sheer,

sharp manner in which it rose to bite the air. Once or twice

or many times around that course we ran our races, testing

our ability to use the winds for turning as well as for speed."

Honninscrave's voice had softened somewhat: remembrance

temporarily took him away from his distress. But his head re-

mained bowed. And Covenant could not look away from him.

Punctuated by the muffled sounds of the sea, the plain de-

tails of Honninscrave's story transfixed the atmosphere of the

cabin.

"This course Seadreamer and I ran as often as any and

more than most, for we were eager for the sea. Thus we came

to stand well among those who vied for mastery. With this my

brother was content. He had the true Giantish exhilaration

and did not require victory for his joy. But in that I was less

worthy of my people. Never did I cease to covet victory, or

to seek out new means by which it might be attained.

"So it befell that one day I conceived a great thought which

caused me to hug my breast in secret, and to hasten Sea-

The Masters Scar                 9

dreamer to Foamkite, that I might practice my thought and

perfect it for racing. But that thought I did not share with

him. It was grand, and I desired its wonder for myself. Not

questioning what was in me, he came for the simple pleasure

of the sea. Together, we ran Foamkite out to the buoy, then

swung with all speed toward upthrust Salttooth.

"It was a day as grand as my thought." He spoke as if it

were visible behind the shadows of the cabin. "Under the

faultless sky blew a wind with a whetted edge which offered

speed and hazard, cutting the wave-crests to white froth as it

bore us ahead. Swiftly before us loomed Salttooth, In such a

wind, the turning of a tyrscull requires true skill—a jeopardy

even to competent prentices—and it was there that a race

could be won or lost, for a poor tack might drive a small craft

far from the course or overturn it altogether. But my thought

was for that turning, and I was not daunted by the wind.

"Leaving Seadreamer to the tiller and the management of

the boom, I bid him run in as nigh to Salttooth as he dared.

All prentices knew such a course to be folly, for the turning

would then bear us beyond our way. But I silenced my broth-

er's protests and went to Foamkite's prow. Still preserving my

secret, hiding my hands from his sight, I freed the anchor and

readied its line."

Abruptly, the Master faltered, fell still. One fist lay knotted

in his lap; the other twisted roughly into his beard, tugging it

for courage. But after a moment, he drew a deep breath, then

let the air hiss away through his teeth. He was a Giant and

could not leave his story unfinished.

"Such was Seadreamer's skill that we passed hastening

within an arm's span of Salttooth, though the wind heeled us

sharply from the rock and any sideslip might have done

Foamkite great harm. But his hand upon the wind was sure,

and an instant later I enacted my intent. As we sped, I arose

and cast the anchor upon the rock, snagging us there. Then I

lashed the line.

"This was my thought for a turning too swift to be matched

by any other fryscull, that our speed and the anchor and Salt-

tooth should do the labor for us—though I was uncertain how

the anchor might be unsnared when the turn was done. But

I had not told Seadreamer my purpose." His voice had be-

come a low rasp of bitterness in his throat. "He was fixed

upon the need to pass Salttooth without mishap, and my act

10 White Gold Wielder

surprised him entirely. He half gained his feet, half started

toward me as if I had gone mad. Then the line sprang taut,

and Poamkite came about with a violence which might have

snapped the mast from its holes."

Again he stopped. The muscles of his shoulders bunched.

When he resumed, he spoke so softly that Covenant barely

heard him.

"Any child might have informed me what would transpire,

but I bad given no consideration to it. The boom wrenched

across the stem of Poamkite with a force to sliver granite.

And Seadreamer my brother had risen into its path.

"In that wind and my folly, I would not have known that he

had fallen, had he not cried out as he was struck. But at his

cry I turned to see him flung into the sea.

"Ah, my brother!" A groan twisted his voice. "I dove for

him, but he would have been lost had I not found the path

of his blood in the water and followed it. Senseless he hung in

my arms as I bore him to the surface.

"With the sea thus wind-slashed, I saw little of his injury

but blood until I had borne him to Foamkite and wrested him

aboard. But there his wound seemed so great that I believed

his eyes had been crushed in his head, and for a time I be-

came as mad as my intent had been. To this day, I know

nothing of our return to the docks of Home. I did not regain

myself until a healer ^poke to me, compelling me to hear that

my brother had not been blinded. Had the boom itself struck

him, mayhap he would have been slain outright. But the im-

pact was borne by a cable along the boom, taking him below

the eyes and softening the blow somewhat."

Once more he fell still. His hands covered his face as if to

stanch the flow of blood he remembered. Covenant watched

him mutely. He had no courage for such stories, could not

bear to have them thrust upon him. But Honninscrave was a

Giant and a friend; and since the days of FoamfoIIower Cov-

enant had not been able to close his heart. Though he was

helpless and aggrieved, he remained silent and let Honnin-

scrave do what he willed.

After a moment, the Master dropped his hands. Drawing a

breath like a sigh, he said, "It is not the way of Giants to

punish such folly as mine, though I would have found com-

fort in the justice of punishment And Cable Seadreamer was

The Master's Scar                  11

a Giant among Giants. He did not blame the carelessness

which marked his life forever." Then his tone stiffened. "But

I do not forget. The fault is mine. Though I too am a Giant

in my way, my ears have not found the joy to hear this story.

And I have thought often that perhaps my fault is greater than

it has appeared. The Earth-Sight is a mystery. None can say

why it chooses one Giant rather than another. Perhaps it

befell my brother because of some lingering hurt or alteration

done him by the puissance of that blow. Even in their youth,

Giants are not easily stricken senseless."

Suddenly Honninscrave looked upward; and his gaze struck

foreboding into Covenant's maimed empathy. His eyes under

his heavy brows were fierce with extremity, and the new-cut

lines around them were as intense as scars. 'Therefore have

I come to you," he said slowly, as if he could not see Cove-

nant quailing. "I desire a restitution which is not within my

power to perform. My fault must be assuaged.

"It is the custom of our people to give our dead to the sea.

But Cable Seadreamer my brother has met his end in horror,

and it will not release him. He is like the Dead of The Grieve,

damned to his anguish. If his spirit is not given its caamora"—

for an instant, his voice broke—"he will haunt me while one

stone of the Arch of Time remains standing upon another."

Then his gaze fell to the floor. "Yet there is no fire in all

the world that I can raise to give him surcease. He is a Giant.

Even in death, he is immune to flame."

At that. Covenant understood; and all his dreads came to-

gether in a rush; the apprehension which had crouched in him

since Honninscrave had first said, // you do not release him;

the terror of his doom, to destroy the Earth himself or to sur-

render it for destruction by ceding his ring to Lord Foul. The

Despiser had said. The ill that you deem most terrible is upon

you. Of your own volition you will give the white gold into my

hand. Either that or bring down the Arch of Time. There

was no way out. He was beaten. Because he had kept the truth

from Linden, seeking to deny it. And Honninscrave asked—!

"You want me to cremate him?" Clenched fear made him

harsh. "With my ring? Are you out of your mind?"

Honninscrave winced. "The Dead of The Grieve—" he

began.

"No!" Covenant retorted. He had walked into a bonfire to

12

White Gold Wielder

save them from their reiterated hell; but risks like that were

too great for him now. He had already caused too much

death. "After I sink the ship, I won't be able to stopi"

For a moment, even the sounds of the sea fell still, shocked

by his vehemence. The Giantship seemed to be losing head-

way. The light of the lantern flickered as if it were going out.

Perhaps there were shouts like muffled lamentations in the dis-

tance. Covenant could not be sure. His senses were con-

demned to the surface of what they perceived. The rest of the

dromond was hidden from him.

If the Master heard anything, he did not react to it. His

head remained bowed. Moving heavily, like a man hurt in

every limb, he climbed to his feet. Though the hammock hung

high above the floor, he stood head and shoulders over the

Unbeliever; and still he did not meet Covenant's glare. The

lantern was below and behind him as he took one step closer.

His face was shadowed, dark and fatal.

In a wan and husky voice, he said, "Yes, Giantfriend." The

epithet held a tinge of sarcasm. "I am gone from my mind.

You are the ring-wielder, as the Elohim have said. Your

power threatens the Earth. What import has the anguish of

one or two Giants in such a plight? Forgive me."

Then Covenant wanted to cry out in earnest, torn like dead

Kevin Landwaster between love and defeat. But loud feet had

come running down the companionway outside his cabin, had

already reached his door. The door sprang open without any

protest from Call. A crewmember thrust her head past the

threshold.

"Master, you must come." Her voice was tight with alarm.

"We are beset by Nicor."

TWOs Lepers Qround

HONNINSCRAVE left the cabin slowly, like a, man re-

sponding by habit, unconscious of the urgency of the sum-

mons. Perhaps he no longer understood what was happening

around him. Yet he did respond to the call of his ship.

When the Master reached the companionway, Cail closed

the door behind him. The Haruchai seemed to know instinc-

tively that Covenant would not follow Honmnscrave.

Nicor! Covenant thought, and his heart labored. Those tre-

mendous serpentlike sea-beasts were said to be the offspring of

the Worm of the World's End. Starfare's Gem had passed

through a region crowded with them near the Isle of the One

Tree. They had been indifferent to the dromond then. But

now? With the Isle gone and the Worm restive?

And what could one stone vessel do against so many of

those prodigious creatures? What could Honninscrave do?

Yet the Unbeliever did not leave his hammock. He stared

at the dark ceiling and did not move. He was beaten, defeated.

He dared not take the risk of confronting the Giantship's

peril. If Linden had not intervened at the One Tree, he would

already have become another Kevin, enacting a Ritual of

Desecration to surpass every other evil. The threat of the

Nicor paled beside the danger he himself represented.

Deliberately, he sought to retreat into himself. He did not

want to know what transpired outside his cabin. How could

he endure the knowledge? He had said, I'm sick of guilt—but

such protests had no meaning. His very blood had been cor-

rupted by venom and culpability. Only the powerless were

truly innocent, and he was not powerless. He was not even

honest The selfishness of his love had brought all this to pass.

13

14 White Gold Wielder

Yet the lives at stake were the lives of his friends, and he

could not close himself to the dromond's jeopardy. Starfare's

Gem rolled slightly in the water as if it had lost all headway.

A period of shouts and running had followed Honninscrave's

departure, but now the Giantship was silent. With Linden's

senses, he would have been able to read what was happening

through the stone itself; but he was blind and bereft, cut off

from the essential spirit of the world. His numb hands

clutched the edges of the hammock.

Time passed. He was a coward, and his dreads swarmed

darkly about him as if they were bom in the shadows above

his head. He gripped himself with thoughts of ruin, held him-

self still with curses. But Hoaninscrave's face kept coming

back to him: the beard like a growth of pain from his cheeks,

the massive brow knuckled with misery, the hands straining.

Covenant's friend. Like Foamfollower. My brother has met

his end in horror. It was intolerable that such needs had to be

refused. And now the Nicor—!

Even a beaten man could still feel pain. Roughly, he pulled

himself into a sitting position. His voice was a croak of coer-

cion and fear as- be called out, "Caill"

The door opened promptly, and Cail entered the cabin.

The healed wound of a Courser-spur marked his left arm

from shoulder to elbow like the outward sign of his fidelity;

but his visage remained as impassive as ever. "Ur-Lord?" he

asked flatly. His dispassionate tone gave no hint that he was

the last Haruchai left in Covenant's service.

Covenant stifled a groan. "What the hell's going on out

there?"

In response. Call's eyes shifted fractionally. But still his

voice held no inflection. "I know not."

Until the previous night, when Brinn bad left the quest to

take up his role as ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol, Cail had never

been alone in his chosen duty; and (he mental interconnection

of his people had kept him aware of what took place around

him. But now he was alone. Brinn's defeat of the former

Guardian of the One Tree had been a great victory for him

personally, and for the Haruchai as a people; but it left Cail

isolated in a way that no one who had not experienced such

mind-sharing could measure. His blunt / know not silenced

Covenant like an admission of frailty.

Cail— Covenant tried to say. He did not want to leave the

Leper's Ground                 15

Haruchai in that loneliness. But Brinn had said, Cail will ac-

cept my place in your service until the word of the Blood-

guard Banner has been carried to its end. And no appeal or

protest would sway Cail from the path Brinn had marked out

for him. Covenant remembered Banner too poignantly to be-

lieve that the Haruchai would ever judge themselves by any

standards but their own.

Yet his distress remained. Even lepers and murderers were

not immune to hurt. He fought down the thickness in his

throat and said, "I want my old clothes. They're in her cabin."

Call nodded as if be saw nothing strange in the request. As

he left, he closed the door quietly after him.

Covenant lay back again and clenched his teeth. He did not

want those clothes, did not want to return to the hungry and

unassuaged life he had lived before he had found Linden's

love. But how else could he leave his cabin? Those loathed and

necessary garments represented the only honesty left to him.

Any other apparel would be a lie.

However, when Call returned he was not alone. Pitchwife

entered the chamber ahead of him; and at once Covenant for-

got the bundle Cail bore. The deformity which bent Pitch-

wife's spine, hunching his back and crippling his chest, made

him unnaturally short for a Giant: his head did not reach

the level of the hammock. But (he irrepressibility of his

twisted face gave him stature. He was alight with excitement

as he limped forward to greet Covenant

"Have I not said that she is well Chosen?" he began with-

out preamble. "Never doubt it, Giantfriend! Mayhap this is

but one wonder among many, for surely our voyage has been

rife with marvels. Yet I do not dream to see it surpassed.

Stone and Sea, Giantfriendl She has taught me to hope again."

Covenant stared in response, stung by an inchoate appre-

hension. What new role had Linden taken upon herself, when

he still had not told her the truth?

Pitchwife's eyes softened. "But you do not comprehend—as

how should you, who have not seen the sea loom with Nicor

under the stars, not heard the Chosen sing them to peace."

Still Covenant did not speak. He had no words for the com-

plex admixture of his pride and relief and bitter loss. The

woman he loved had saved the Giantship, And he, who had

once defeated the Despiser in direct combat—he no longer

signified.

16 White Gold Wielder

Watching Covenant's face, Pitchwife sighed to himself. In

a more subdued manner, he went on, "It was an act worthy of

long telling, but I will briefen it. You have heard that the

Giants are able to summon Nicor upon occasion. Such a

summons we wrought on your behalf, when last the venom-

sickness of the Raver possessed you." Covenant had no mem-

ory of the situation. He had been near death in delirium at

the time. But he had been told about it. "Yet to the Aficor we

do not speak. They lie beyond our gift of tongues. The sounds

which may summon them we have learned from our genera-

tions upon the sea. But those sounds we make blindly, uncer-

tain of their meaning. And a Giantship which enters a sea of

Nicor in their wrath has scant need of summons."

A small smile quirked his mouth; but he did not stop. "It

was Linden Avery the Chosen who found means to address

them for our survival. Lacking the plain might of arm for her

purpose, she called Galewrath Storesmaster with her and went

below, down to the bottommost hull of the dromond. There

through the stone she read the ire of the Nicor—and gave it

answer. With her hands she clapped a rhythm which Gale-

wrath echoed for her, pounding it with hammers upon the

hull."

Then for a moment the Giant's enthusiasm resurged. "And

she was heeded!" he crowed. "The Nicor parted about us,

bearing their anger into the south. We have been left without

scathe!" His hands gripped the edge of the hammock, rocked

it as if to make Covenant hear him. "There is yet hope in the

world. While we endure, and the Chosen and the Giantfriend

remain among us, there is hope!"

But Pitchwife's claim was too direct. Covenant flinched

from it. He had wronged too many people and had no hope

left for himself. A part of him wanted to cry out in protest.

Was that what he would have to do in the end? Give Linden

his ring, the meaning of his life, when she had never seen the

Land without the Sunbane and did not know how to love it?

Weakly, he muttered, 'Tell that to Honninscrave. He could

use some hope."

At that, Pitchwife's eyes darkened. But he did not look

away. 'The Master has spoken of your refusal. I know not

the good or ill of these matters, but the word of my heart is

that you have done what you must—and that is well. Do not

think me ungrieved by Seadreamer*s fall—or the Master's

Leper's Ground                 17

hurt. Yet the hazard of your might is great. And who can say

how the Nicor would answer such fire, though they have

passed us by? None may Judge the doom which lies upon you

now. You have done well in your way."

Pitchwife's frank empathy made Covenant's eyes burn. He

knew acutely that he had not done well. Pain like Honnin-

scrave's should not be refused, never be refused. But the fear

and the despair were still there, blocking everything. He could

not even meet Pitchwife's gaze.

"Ah, Giantfriend," Pitchwife breathed at last. "You also

are grieved beyond bearing. I know not how to solace you."

Abruptly, he stooped, and one hand lifted a leather flask into

the hammock. "If you find no ease in my tale of the Chosen,

will you not at the least drink diamondraught and grant your

flesh rest? Your own story remains to be told. Be not so harsh

with yourself."

His words raised memories of dead Atiaran in Andelain.

The mother of the woman he had raped and driven mad had

said with severe compassion. In punishing yourself, you come

to merit punishment. This is Despite. But Covenant did not

want to think about Atiaran. Find no ease— Belatedly, he

pictured Linden in the depths of the dromond, holding the

survival of the Search in her hands. He could not bear the

rhythm of her courage, but he saw her face. Framed by her

wheaten hair, it was acute with concentration, knotted be-

tween the brows, marked on either side of the moutb by the

consequences of severity—and beautiful to him in every bone

and line.

Humbled by what she had done to save the ship, he raised

the flask to his lips and drank.

When he awoke, the cabin was full of afternoon sunshine,

and the pungent taste of diamondraught lingered on his

tongue. The Giantship was moving again. He remembered no

dreams. The impression he bore with him out of slumber was

one of blankness, a leper's numbness carried to its logical

extreme. He wanted to roll over and never wake up again.

But as he glanced blearily around the sun-sharp cabin, he

saw Linden sitting in one of the chairs beside the table.

She sat with her head bowed and her hands open in her

lap, as if she had been waiting there for a long time. Her hair

gleamed cleanly in the light, giving her the appearance of a

18 White Gold Wielder

woman who had emerged whole from an ordeal—refined, per-

haps, but not reduced. With an inward moan, he recollected

what the old man on Haven Farm had said to her. There is

also love in the world. And in Andelain dead Hena, Cove-

nant's daughter, had urged him, Care for her, beloved, so that

in the end she may heal us all. The sight of her made his chest

contract. He had lost her as well. He had nothing left.

Then she seemed to feel his gaze on her. She looked up at

him, automatically brushing the tresses back from her face;

and he saw that she was not unhurt. Her eyes were hollow and

flagrant with fatigue; her cheeks were pallid; and the twinned

lines running past her mouth from either side of her delicate

nose looked like they had been left there by tears as well as

time. A voiceless protest gathered in him. Had she been sit-

ting here with him ever since the passing of the Nicorl When

she needed so much rest?

But a moment after he met her gaze she rose to her feet A

knot of anxiety or anger marked her brows. Probing him with

her health-sense, she stepped closer to the hammock. What she

saw made her mouth severe.

"Is that it?" she demanded. "You've decided to give up?"

Mutely, Covenant flinched. Was his defeat so obvious?

At once, a look of regret changed her expression. She

dropped her eyes, and her hands made an aimless half-gesture

as if they were full of remembered failure. "I didn't mean

that," she said. "That isn't what I came to say. I wasn't sure

I should come at all. You've been so hurt—I wanted to give

you more time."

Then she lifted her face to him again, and he saw her sense

of purpose sharpen. She was here because she had her own

ideas—about hope as well as about him. "But the First was

going to come, and I thought I should do it for her." She

gazed into him as if she sought a way to draw him down from

his lonely bed. "She wants to know where we're going."

Where—? Covenant blinked pain at her. She had not with-

drawn her question: she had simply rephrased it. Where? A

spasm of grief gripped his heart. His doom was summed up

in that one grim word. Where could he go? He was beaten. All

his power had been turned against him. There was nowhere

left for him to go—nothing left for him to do. For an in-

stant, he feared he would break down in front of her, bereft

even of the bare dignity of solitude.

Leper's Ground                 19

She was saying, "We've got to go somewhere. The Sunbane

is still there. Lord Foul is still there. We've lost the One Tree,

but nothing else has changed. We can't just sail in circles for

the rest of our lives." She might have been pleading with him,

trying to make him see something that was already plain to

her.

But he did not heed her. Almost without transition, his hurt

became resentment. She was being cruel, whether she realized

it or not. He had already betrayed everything he loved with

his mistakes and failures and lies. How much more respon-

sibility did she wish him to assume? Bitterly, he replied, "I

hear you saved us from the Nicor. You don't need me."

His tone made her wince. "Don't say that!" she responded

intensely. Her eyes were wide with awareness of what was

happening to him. She could read every outcry of his wracked

spirit. *7 need you."

In response, he felt his despair plunging toward hysteria. It

sounded like the glee of the Despiser, laughing in triumph.

Perhaps he had gone so far down this road now that he was

the Despiser, the perfect tool or avatar of Lord Foul's will.

But Linden's expostulation Jerked him back from the brink-

It made her suddenly vivid to him—too vivid to be treated this

way. She was his love, and be had already hurt her too much.

For a moment, the fall he had nearly taken left him reeling.

Everything in the cabin seemed imprecise, overburdened with

sunlight. He needed shadows and darkness in which to hide

from all the things that surpassed him. But Linden still stood

there as if she were the center around which his head whirled.

Whether she spoke or remained silent, she was the one de-

mand he could not refuse. Yet he was altogether unready to

tell her the truth he had withheld. Her reaction would be the

culmination of all his dismay. Instinctively, he groped for

some way to anchor himself, some point of simple guilt or

passion to which he might cling. Squinting into the sunshine,

he asked thickly, "What did they do about Seadreamer?"

At that. Linden sagged in relief as though a crisis had been

averted. Wanly, she answered, "Honninscrave wanted to cre-

mate him. As if that were possible." Memories of suffering

seemed to fray the words as she uttered them. "But the First

ordered the Giants to bury him at sea. For a minute there, I

thought Honninscrave was going to attack her. But then some-

thing inside him broke. It wasn't physical—but I felt it snap."

2,0 White Gold Wielder

Her tone said that she had sensed that parting like a rupture

in her own heart. "He bowed to her as if he didn't know what

else to do with all that hurt. Then he went back to the wheel-

deck. Back to doing his job." Her shoulders lifted in a pained

shrug. "If you didn't look at his eyes, you wouldn't know he

isn't as good as new. But he refused to help them give Sea-

dreamer to the sea."

As she spoke, his eyes blurred. He was unable to see her

clearly in all that light. Seadreamer should have been burned,

should have been freed from his horror in a caamora of white

fire. Yet the mere thought made Covenant's flesh itch darkly.

He had become the thing he hated. Because of a lie. He had

known—or should have known—what was going to happen

to him. But his selfish love had kept the truth from her. He

could not look at her. Through his teeth, he protested, "Why

did you have to do that?"

"Do—?" Her health-sense did not make her prescient. How

could she possibly know what he was talking about?

"You threw yourself in the fire." The explanation came

arduously, squeezed out by grief and self-recrimination. It was

not her fault. No one had the right to blame her. "I sent you

away to try to save my life. I didn't know what else to do. For

all I knew, it was already too late for anything else—the

Worm was already awake, I'd already destroyed—" A clench

of anguish closed this throat. For a moment, he could not say,

I didn't know how else to save you. Then he swallowed con-

vulsively and went on. "So I sent you away. And you threw

yourself in the fire. I was linked to you. The magic tied us

together. For the first time, my senses were open. And all I

saw was you throwing yourself in the fire.

"Why did you force me to bring you back?"

In response, she flared as if he had struck a ragged nerve.

"Because I couldn't help you the way you were!" Suddenly,

she was shouting at him. "Your body was there, but you

weren't! Without you, it was just so much dying meat! Even

if I'd had you in a hospital—even if I could've given you

transfusions and surgery right then—I could not have saved

you!

"I needed you to come back with me. How else was I sup-

posed to get your attention?"

Her pain made him look at her again; and the sight went

through him like a crack through stone, following its flaws to

Leper's Ground                21

the heart. She stood below him with her face hot and vivid

in the light and her fists clenched, as intense and uncompro-

mising as any woman he had ever dreamed. The fault was

not hers, though surely she blamed herself. Therefore he could

not shirk telling her the truth.

At one time, he had believed that he was sparing her by

not speaking, that he was withholding information so that she

would not be overwhelmed. Now he knew better. He bad kept

the truth to himself for the simple reason that be did not want

it to be true. And by so doing be had falsified their relation-

ship profoundly.

"I should've told you," he murmured in shame. "I tried to

tell you everything else. But it hurt too much."

She glared at him as if she felt the presence of something

horrible between them; but he did not look away.

"It's always been this way. Nothing here interrupts the

physical continuity of the world we came from. What happens

here is self-contained. It's always the same. I go into the Land

hurt—possibly dying. A leper. And I'm healed. Twice my

leprosy disappeared. I could feel again, as if my nerves—" His

heart twisted at the memory—and at the poignant distress of

Linden's stare. "But before I left the Land, something always

happened to duplicate the shape I was in earlier. Sometimes

my body was moved. I stopped Weeding—or got worse. But

my physical condition was always exactly what it would've

been if I'd never been to the Land. And I'm still a leper.

Leprosy doesn't heal.

"So this time that knife hit me—and when we got to the

Land I healed it with wild magic. The same way I healed those

cuts the Clave gave me." They had slashed his wrists to gain

blood for their soothtell; yet already the scars had faded, were

nearly invisible. "But it doesn't make any difference. What

happens here doesn't change what's going on there. All it does

is change the way we feel about it."

After that, his shame was too great to hold her gaze. 'That's

why I didn't tell you about it. At first—right at the beginning

—I thought you had enough to worry about. You would learn

the truth soon enough. But after a while I changed. Then I

didn't want you to know. I didn't think I had the right to ask

you to love a dead man."

As he spoke, her shock boiled into anger. The moment he

stopped, she demanded, "Do you mean to say that you've been

24 White Gold Wielder

heeding him, "If you do that, the Sunbane'll slow down.

Maybe it'll even recede. That'll give us time to look for a bet-

ter answer."

Then she surprised him again by faltering. She did not face

him as she concluded, "Maybe I don't care about the Land the

way you do. I was too scared to go into Andelain. I've never

seen what it used to be like. But I know sickness when I see it.

Even if I weren't a doctor, I'd have the Sunbane carved on me

in places where I'll never be able to forget it. I want to do

something about that. I don't have anything else. The only

way I can fight is through you."

As she spoke, echoes of power capered in Covenant's veins.

He heard what she was saying; but his fear took him back to

the beginning. Stop the Clave? Put out the Banefire? In blunt

alarm, he replied, "That'll be a lot of fun. What in hell makes

you believe I can even think about things like that without

endangering the Arch?"

She met him with a sour smile, humorless and certain. "Be-

cause you know how to restrain yourself now. I felt it—when

you called back all that wild magic and used it to send me

away. You're more dangerous now than you've ever been. To

Lord Foul."

For a moment, he held the look she gave him. But then his

eyes fell. No. It was still too much: he was not ready. The

ruin of his life was hardly a day old. How was it possible to

talk about fighting, when the Despiser had already defeated

him? He had only one power, and it had been transformed by

venom and falsehood into a graver threat than any Sunbane.

What she wanted was madness. He did not have it in him.

Yet he had to make some reply- She had borne too many

burdens for him. And he loved her. She had the right to place

demands upon him.

So he groped in bitter shame for a way out, for something

he might say or do which would at least postpone the neces-

sity of decision. Still without meeting Linden's stare, he mut-

tered sourly, "There're too many things I don't understand. I

need to talk to Findail."

He thought that would deflect her. From the moment when

the Appointed of the Elohim had first attached himself to the

Search, he had never come or gone at any behest but that of

his own secret wisdom or cunning. Yet if anyone possessed the

knowledge to win free of this defeat, surely his people did.

Lepers Ground                25

And surely also he would not come here simply because the

Unbeliever asked for him? Covenant would gain at least that

much respite while Linden tried to persuade Findail.

But she did not hesitate—and did not leave the cabin. Turn-

ing to face the prow, she rasped the name of the Appointed

stridently, as if she expected to be obeyed.

Almost at once, the sunlight seemed to condense against the

wall; and Findail came flowing out of the stone into human

form as though he had been waiting there for her call.

His appearance was unchanged: behind his creamy mantle

and unkempt silver hair, within his bruised yellow eyes, he

looked like an incarnation of all the world's misery, an image

of every hurt and stress that did not touch his tranquil and

self-absorbed people. Where they were deliberately graceful

and comely, be was haggard and pain-carved. He appeared to

be their antithesis and contradiction—a role which appalled

him.

Yet something must have changed for him. Before the crisis

of the One Tree, he would not have answered any summons.

But his manner remained as distant and disapproving as ever.

Though he nodded an acknowledgment to Linden, his voice

held a note of reproof. "I hear you. Vehemence is not need-

ful."

His tone made no impression on Linden. Bracing her fists

on her hips, she addressed him as if he had not spoken. "This

has gone on long enough," she said stiffly. "Now we need

answers."

Findail did not glance at Covenant. In Elemesnedene, the

Elohim had treated Covenant as if he were of no personal im-

portance; and now the Appointed seemed to take that stance

again. He asked Linden, "Is it the ring-wielder's intent to sur-

render his ring?"

At once. Covenant snapped, "No!" Refusals ran in him like

echoes of old delirium. Never give him the ring. Never. It was

all that remained to him.

"Then," Findail sighed, "I must answer as I may, hoping to

persuade him from his folly.'*

Linden glanced up at Covenant, looking for his questions.

But he was too close to his internal precipice: he could not

think clearly. Too many people wanted him to surrender his

ring. It was the only thing which still wedded him to life, made

his choices matter. He did not respond to Linden's gaze.

26 White Gold Wielder

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, gauged his condi-

tion. Then, as if she were wrenching herself back from a desire

to comfort him, she turned away, faced Findail again.

"Why—?" She spoke with difficulty, wrestling words past

a knot in her chest. "I hardly know where to begin. There's so

much— Why did you people do it?" Abruptly, her voice be-

came stronger, full of indignation she had never been able to

forget. "What in God's name did you think you were doing?

All he wanted was the location of the One Tree. You could've

given him a straight answer. But instead you locked him in

that silence of yours." They had imposed a stasis upon his

mind. If Linden had not risked herself to rescue him, he

would have remained an empty husk until he died, blank of

thought or desire. And the price she had paid for that res-

cue—! Her outrage pulled him into focus with her as she con-

cluded, "You're responsible for this. How can you stand to

live with yourself?"

Findail's expression turned into a glower. As soon as she

stopped, he replied, "Does it appear to you that I am made

glad by the outcome of my Appointment? Is not my life at

hazard as much as yours? Yes, as much and more, for you will

depart when your time is ended, but I must remain and bear

the cost. The fault is not mine."

Linden started to protest; but the gathering sadness m. his

tone halted her. "No, do not rail against me. I am the Ap-

pointed, and the burden of what you do falls to me.

"I do not deny that the path we chose was harsh to the

ring-wielder. But are you truly unable to see in this matter?

You are the Sun-Sage. He is not. Yet the wild magic which is

the crux of the Arch of Time is his to wield, not yours. There

lies the hand of evil upon the Earth—and also upon the Elo-

him, who are the Earth's Wiird.

"You have said that we serve the evil which you name Lord

Foul the Despiser. That is untrue. If you mislike my word,

consider other knowledge. Would this Despiser have sent his

servant the Raver against you in the storm, when already a

servant such as myself stood among you? No. You cannot

credit it. Yet I must say to you openly that there is a shadow

upon the hearts of the Elohim. It is seen in this, that we were

able to conceive no path of salvation which would spare you.

"You have not forgotten that there were those among us

who did not wish to spare you.

Lepers Ground               27

"Surely it is plain that for us the easiest path lay in the sim-

ple wresting from him of the ring. With wild magic could we

bid any Despite defiance. Then for beings such as we are it

would be no great task to achieve the perfection of the Earth.

Yet that we did not do. Some among us feared the arrogance

of such power, when a shadow plainly lay upon our hearts.

And some saw that the entire price of such an act would fall

upon you atone. You would be lost to yourselves, deprived of

meaning and value. Perhaps the meaning and value of the

Earth would be diminished as well.

"Therefore we chose a harder path—to share with you the

burden of redemption and the risk of doom. The ring-wielder

we silenced, not to harm him, but to spare the Earth the ill

of power without sight. As that silence preserved him from the

malice of Kasreyn of the Gyre, so also would it have pre-

served him from the Despiser's intent at the One Tree. Thus

the choice would have fallen to you in the end. His ring you

might have taken unto yourself, thereby healing the breach

between sight and power. Or perhaps you might have ceded

the ring to me, empowering the Elohim to save the Earth after

their fashion. Then would we have had no need to fear our-

selves, for a power given is altogether different than one

wrested away. But whatever your choice, there would have

been hope. To accomplish such hope, the price of the ring-

wielder's silence—and of my Appointment—appeared to be

neither too great nor too ill.

"That you took from us. In the dungeon of the Sandhold,

you chose the wrong which you name possession above the re-

sponsibility of sight, and the hope we strove to nurture was

lost.

"Now I say to you that he must be persuaded to surrender

his ring. If he does not, it is certain that he will destroy the

Earth."

For a moment, Covenant reeled down the path of Findail's

explanation. His balance was gone. To hear his own dread

expressed so starkly, like a verdict! But when he turned to-

ward Linden, he saw that she had been hit harder than he. Her

face had gone pale. Her hands made small, fugitive move-

ments at her sides. Her mouth tried to form a denial, but she

had no strength for it. Confronted by the logic of her actions

as Findail saw it, she was horrified. Once again, he placed her

at the center, at the cusp of responsibility and blame. And

28 White Gold Wielder

Covenant's earlier revelation was still too recent: she had not

had time to absorb it. She had claimed fault for herself—but

had not understood the extent to which she might be accused.

Ire for her stabilized him. Findail had no right to drop the

whole weight of the Earth on her in this way. "It's not that

simple," he began. He did not know the true name of his

objection. But Linden faced him in route appeal; and he did

not let himself falter. "If Foul planned this all along, why did

he go to the trouble?" That was not what he needed to ask.

Yet he pursued it, hoping it would lead him to the right place.

"Why didn't he just wake up the Worm himself?"

PindaU's gaze held Linden. When her wide eyes went back

to his, he replied, "This Despiser is not mad. Should be rouse

the Worm himself, without the wild magic in his hand, would

he not also be consumed in the destruction of the world?"

Covenant shrugged the argument aside, went on searching

for the question he needed, the flaw in Findail's rational-

izations. "Then why didn't you tell us sooner? Naturally you

couldn't condescend to explain anything before she freed me."

With all the sarcasm he could muster, be tried to force the

Appointed to look at him, release Linden. "After what you

people did, you knew she'd never give you my ring if she

understood how much you want it. But later—before we got

to the One Tree. Why didn't you tell us what kind of danger

we were in?"

The Elohim sighed; but still he did not relinquish Linden.

"Perhaps in that I erred," he said softly, "Yet I could not turn

aside from hope. It was my hope that some access of wisdom

or courage would inspire the ring-wieider to step back from

the precipice of his intent."

Covenant continued groping. But now he saw that Linden

had begun to rally. She shook her head, struggled internally

for some way to refute or withstand Findail's accusation. Her

mouth tightened: she looked like she was chewing curses. The

sight lit a spark of encouragement in him, made him lean for-

ward to aim his next challenge at the Elohim.

"That doesn't justify you," he grated. "You talk about si-

lencing me as if that was the only decent alternative you had.

But you know goddamn well it wasn't. For one thing, you

could've done something about the venom that makes me so

bloody dangerous."

Then Findail did look at Covenant. His yellow gaze

Leper's Ground                 29

snapped upward with a fierceness which jolted Covenant. "We

dared not." His quiet passion left trails of fire across Cove-

nant's brain. "The doom of this age lies also upon me, but I

dare not Are we not the Elohim, the Wurd of the Earth? Do

we not read the truth in the very roots of the Rawedge Rim,

in the shape of the mountainsides and in the snows which gild

the winter peaks? You mock me at your peril. By means of

his venom this Despiser attempts the destruction of the Arch

of Time, and that is no little thing. But it pales beside the

fate which would befall the Earth and all life upon the Earth.

were there no venom within you. You conceive yourself to be

a figure of power, but in the scale of worlds you are not. Had

this Despiser's lust for the Illearth Stone not betrayed him,

enhancing you beyond your mortal stature, you would not

have stood against him so much as once. And he is wiser

now, with the wisdom of old frustration, which some name

madness.

"Lacking the venom, you would be too small to threaten

him. If he did not seek you out for his own pleasure, you

would wander the world without purpose, powerless against

him. And the Sunbane would grow. It would grow, devouring

every land and sea in turn until even Elemesnedene itself had

fallen, and still it would grow, and there would be no halt to

it. Seeing no blame for yourself, you would not surrender your

ring. Therefore be would remain trapped within the Arch.

But no other stricture would limit his victory. Even we, the

Elohim, would in time be reduced to mere playthings for his

mirth. While Time endured, the Desecration of the world

would not end at all.

"Therefore," the Appointed articulated with careful inten-

sity, "we bless the frustration or madness which inspired the

gambit of this venom. Discontented in the prison of the Earth,

the Despiser has risked his hope of freedom in the venom

which gives you such might. It is our hope also. For now the

blame is plain. Since you are blind in other ways, we must

pray that guilt will drive you to the surrender which may

save us."

The words went through Covenant like a shot. His argu-

ments were punctured, made irrelevant. Findail admitted no

alternative to submission except the Ritual of Desecration—

the outright destruction of the Earth to spare it from Lord

Foul's power. This was Kevin Landwaster's plight on a scale

30 White Gold Wielder

which staggered Covenant, appalled him to the marrow of

his bones. If be did not give up his ring. how could he bear to

do anything but ruin the world himself in order to foil the

eternal Sunbane of the Despiser?

Yet he could not surrender his ring. The simple thought was

immediately and intimately terrible to him. That metal circle

meant too much: it contained every hard affirmation of life

and love that he had ever wrested from the special cruelty of

his loneliness, his leper's fate. The alternative was better. Yes.

To destroy. Or to risk destroying in any kind of search for a

different outcome.

His dilemma silenced him. In his previous confrontation

with Lord Foul, he had found and used the quiet center of his

vertigo, the still point of strength between the contradictions

of his plight; but now there seemed to be no center, no place

on'whicb he could stand to affirm both the Earth and himself.

And the necessity of choice was dreadful.

But Linden had taken hold of herself again. The concep-

tions which hurt her most were not the ones which pierced

Covenant; and he had given her a chance to recover. The look

she cast at him was brittle with stress; but it was alert once

more, capable of reading his dismay. For an instant, empathy

focused her gaze. Then she swung back toward the Appointed,

and her voice bristled dangerously.

"That's just speculation. You're afraid you might lose your

precious freedom, so you're trying to make him responsible

for it You still haven't told us the truth."

Findail faced her; and Covenant saw her flinch as if the

Elohim's eyes had burned her. But she did not stop.

"If you want us to believe you, tell us about Vain."

At that, Pindail recoiled.

Immediately, she went after him. "First you imprisoned

him, as if he was some kind of crime against you. And you

tried to trick us about it, so we wouldn't know what you

were doing. When he escaped, you tried to kill him. Then,

when he and Seadreamer found you aboard the ship, you

spoke to him." Her expression was a glower of memory. "You

said, 'Whatever else you may do, that I will not suffer.'"

The Appointed started to reply; but she overrode him.

"Later, you said, 'Only he whom you name Vain has it within

him to expell me. I would give my soul that he should do so.'

Leper's Ground                 31

And since then you've hardly been out of his sight—except

when you decide to run away instead of helping us." She

was unmistakably a woman who had learned something about

courage. "You've been more interested in him than us from

the beginning. Why don't you try explaining that for a

change?"

She brandished her anger at the Elohim; and for a moment

Covenant thought Findail would answer. But then his grief-

ensnared visage tightened. In spite of its misery, his expres-

sion resembled the hauteur of Chant and Infelice as he said

grimly, "Of the Demondim-spawn I will not speak."

"That's right," she shot back at him at once. "Of course you

won't If you did, you might give us a reason to do some hop-

ing of our own. Then we might not roll over and play dead

the way you want," She matched his glare; and in spite of all

his power and knowledge she made him appear diminished

and judged. Sourly, she muttered, "Oh, go on. Get out of here.

You make my stomach hurt."

With a stiff shrug, Findail turned away. But before he could

depart. Covenant interposed, "Just a minute." He felt half

mad with fear and impossible decisions; but a fragment of

lucidity had come to him, and he thought he saw another way

in which he had been betrayed. Lena had told him that he

was Berek Halfhand reborn. And me Lords he had known had

believed that. What had gone wrong? "We couldn't get a

branch of the One Tree. There was no way. But it's been done

before. How did Berek do it?"

Findail paused at the wall, answered over his shoulder.

"The Worm was not made restive by his approach, for he did

not win his way with combat. In that age, the One Tree had

no Guardian. It was he himself who gave the Tree its ward,

setting the Guardian in place so that the vital wood of the

world's life would not again be touched or broken."

Berek? Covenant was too astonished to watch the Elohim

melt out of the cabin. Berek had set the Guardian? Why? The

Lord-Patherer had been described as both seer and prophet.

Had he been shortsighted enough to believe that no one

else would ever need to touch the One Tree? Or had he had

some reason to ensure that there would never be a second

Staff of Law?

Dizzy with implications. Covenant was momentarily un-

32 White Gold Wielder

aware of the way Linden regarded him. But gradually he felt

her eyes on him. Her face was sharp with the demand she had

brought with her into his cabin—the demand of her need.

When he met her gaze, she said distinctly, "Your friends in

Andelain didn't think you were doomed. They gave you Vain

for a reason. What else did they do?"

"They talked to me," he replied as if she had invoked the

words out of him. "Mhoram said, 'When you have understood

the Land's need, you must depart the Land, for the thing you

seek is not within it. The one word of truth cannot be found

otherwise. But I give you this caution: do not be deceived by

the Land's need. The thing you seek is not what it appears to

be. In the end, you must return to the Land.' "

He had also said. When you have come to the crux, and

have no other recourse, remember the paradox of white gold.

There is hope in contradiction. But that Covenant did not

comprehend.

Linden nodded severely. "So what's it going to be? Are you

just going to lie here until your heart breaks? Or are you go-

ing to fight?"

Distraught by fear and despair, he could not find his way.

Perhaps an answer was possible, but he did not have it. Yet

what she wanted of him was certain; and because he loved her

he gave it to her as well as he was able.

"I don't know. But anything is better than this. Tell the

First well give it a try."

She nodded again. For a moment, her mouth moved as if

she wished to thank him in some way. But then the pressure

of her own bare grasp on resolution impelled her toward the

door.

"What about you?" he asked after her. He had sent her

away and did not know how to recall her. He had no right

"What're you going to do?"

At the door, she looked back at him, and her eyes were

openly full of tears, "I'm going to wait." Her voice sounded as

forlorn as the cry of a kestrel—and as determined as an act

of valor. "My turn's coming."

As she left, her words seemed to remain in the sunlit cabin

like a verdict. Or a prophecy.

After she was gone. Covenant got out of the hammock and

dressed himself completely in his old clothes.

THREE; The Path to Pain

WHEN he went up on deck, the sun was setting beyond

the western sea, and its light turned the water crimson—the

color of disaster. Honninscrave had raised every span of

canvas the spars could hold; and every sail was belly-full of

wind as Starfare's Gem pounded forward a few points west

of north. It should have been a brave sight. But the specific

red of that sunset covered the canvas with fatality, gilded the

lines until they looked like they were slick with blood. And

the wind carried a precursive chill, hinting at the bitter cold

of winter.

Yet Honninscrave strode the wheeldeck as if he could no

longer be daunted by anything the sea brought to him. The

air rimed bis beard, and his eyes reflected occasional glints

of fire from the west; but his commands were as precise as bis

mastery of the Giantship, and the rawness of his voice might

have been caused by the strain of shouting over the wind

rather than by the stress of the past two days. He was not

Foamfollower after all. He had not been granted the caamora

his spirit craved. But he was a Giant still, the Master of Star-

fare's Gem; and he had risen to his responsibilities.

With Cail beside him. Covenant went up to the wheeldeck.

He wanted to find some way to apologize for having proven

himself inadequate to the Master's need. But when he ap-

proached Honninscrave and the other two Giants with him,

Sevinhand Anchormaster and a steersman holding Shipsheart-

thew, the caution in their eyes stopped Covenant. At first, he

thought that they had become wary of him—that the danger

he represented made them fearful in his presence. But then

33

34 White Gold Wielder

Sevinhand said simply, "Giantfriend," and it was plain even

to Covenant's superficial hearing that ths Anchonnaster's tone

was one of shared sorrow rather than misgiving. Instead of

apologizing. Covenant bowed his head in tacit recognition of

his own unworth.

He wanted to stand there in silence until he had shored up

enough self-respect to take another step back into the life of

the Giantship. But after a moment Cail spoke. In spite of bis

characteristic Haruchai dispassion, his manner suggested that

what he meant to say made him uncomfortable. Involuntarily,

Covenant reflected that none of the Haruchai who had left the

Land with him had come this far unscathed. Covenant did not

know how the uncompromising extravagance of the Haruchai

endured the role Brinn had assigned to CaiL What promise lay

hidden in Brinn's statement that Cail would eventually be per-

mitted to follow his heart?

But Cail did not speak of that He did not address Cove-

nant. Without preamble, he said, "Grimmand Honninscrave,

in the name of my people I desire your pardon. When Brinn

assayed himself against ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol—he who

is the sovereign legend and dream of all the Haruchai among

the mountains—it was not his intent to bring about the death

of Cable Seadreamer your brother."

The Master winced: his cavernous eyes shot splinters of

red at CaiL But almost at once he regained his deliberate

poise. He glanced around the Giantship as if to assure himself

that all was still well with it Then he turned over his com-

mand to Sevinhand, drew Cail and Covenant with him to the

port rail.

The setting sun gave his visage a tinge of sacrificial glory.

Watching him. Covenant thought obscurely that the sun al-

ways set in the west—that a man who faced west would never

see anything except decline, things going down, the last beauty

before light and life went out.

After a moment, Honninscrave lifted his voice over the

wet splashing of the shipside. "The Earth-Sight is not a thing

which any Giant selects for himself. No choice is given. But

we do not therefore seek to gainsay or eschew it. We believe

—or have believed," he said with a touch of bitterness, **—that

there is life as well as death in such mysteries. How then

should there be any blame in what has happened?" Honnin-

scrave spoke more to himself than to Covenant or CaiL "The

The Path to Pain               35

Earth-Sight came upon Cable Seadreamer my brother, and

the hurt of his vision was plain to all. But the content of that

hurt he could not tell. Mayhap his muteness was made neces-

sary by the vision itself. Mayhap for him no denial of death

was possible which would not also have been a denial of life.

I know nothing of that. I know only that he could not speak

his plight—and so he could not be saved. There is no blame

for us in this." He spoke as though he believed what he was

saying; but the loss knotted around his eyes contradicted him.

"His death places no burden upon us but the burden of

hope." The sunset was fading from the west and from his

face, translating his mien from crimson to the pallor of ashes.

"We must hope that in the end we will find means to vindicate

his passing. To vindicate," he repeated faintly, "and to com-

prehend." He did not look at his auditors. The dying of the

light echoed out of his eyes. "I am grieved that I can conceive

no hope."

He had earned the right to be left alone. But Covenant

needed an answer. He and Poamfollower had talked about

hope. Striving to keep his voice gentle in spite of his own stifE

hurt, he asked, "Then why do you go on?"

For a long moment, Honninscrave remained still against the

mounting dark as if he had not heard, could not be reached.

But at last he said simply, "I am 'a Giant The Master of Star-

fare's Gem, and sworn to the service of the First of the

Search. That is preferable."

Preferable, Covenant thought with a mute pang. Mhoram

might have said something like that. But Findail obviously did

not believe it.

Yet Cail nodded as if Honninscrave's words were ones

which even the extravagant Haruchai could accept. After all,

Cail's people did not put much faith in hope. They staked

themselves on success or failure—and accepted the outcome.

Covenant turned from the darkling sea, left the rail. He

had no place among such people. He did not know what was

preferable—and could not see enough success anywhere to

make failure endurable. The decision he had made in Linden's

name was just another kind of lie. Well, she had earned that

pretense of conviction from him. But at some point any

leper needed something more than discipline or even stubborn-

ness to keep him alive. And he had too sorely falsified his

relationship with her. He did not know what to do.

36 White Gold Wielder

Around Starfare's Gem, the Giants had begun to light lan-

terns against the night. They illuminated the great wheel, the

stairs down from the wheeldeck, the doorways to the under-

decks and the galley. They bung from the fore- and aftermasts

like instances of bravado, both emphasizing and disregarding

the gap where the midmast should have been. They were noth-

ing more than small oil lamps under the vast heavens, and yet

they made the Giantship beautiful on the face of the deep.

After a moment. Covenant found that he could bear to go

looking for Linden.

But when he started forward from the wheeldeck, his atten-

tion was caught by Vain. The Demondim-spawn stood beyond

the direct reach of the lanterns, on the precise spot where bis

feet had first touched stone after he had come aboard from

m» Isle of the One Tree; but his black silhouette was distinct

against the fading horizon. As always, he remained blank to

scrutiny, as though he knew that nothing could touch him.

Yet he had been touched. One iron heel of the old Staff of

Law still clamped him where his wrist had been; but that hand

dangled useless from the wooden limb which grew like a

branch from his elbow. Covenant had no idea why Foam-

follower had given him this product of the dark and histor-

ically malefic ur-viles. But now he was sure that Linden bad

been right—that no explanation which did not include the

secret of the Demondim-spawn was complete enough to be

trusted. When he moved on past Vain, he knew more clearly

why he wanted to find her.

He came upon her near the foremast, some distance down

the deck from the prow where Findail stood confronting the

future like a figurehead. With her were the First, Pitchwife.

and another Giant. As Covenant neared them, he recognized

Mistweave, whose life Linden had saved at the risk of his

own during his most recent venom-relapse. The three Giants

greeted him with the same gentle caution Honninscrave and

Sevinhand had evinced—the wariness of people who believed

they were in the presence of a pain which transcended their

own. But Linden seemed almost unconscious of his appear-

ance- In the wan lantern-light, her face looked pallid, nearly

haggard; and Covenant thought suddenly that she had not

rested at all since before the quest had arrived at the Isle of

the One Tree. The energy which had sustained her earlier had

eroded away; her manner was febrile with exhaustion. For a

The Path to Pain                37

moment, he was so conscious of her nearness to collapse that

he failed to notice the fact that she, too, was wearing her old

clothea—the checked flannel shirt, tough jeans, and sturdy

shoes in which she had first entered the Land,