Read Online White Gold Wielder by Stephen R. Donaldson - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
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do before he had known it himself.
The First greeted him in a tone made brusque by the sternness of her own emotions; but her words showed that she also was sensitive to his plight. “Thomas Covenant, I believe that you have chosen well.” If anything, the losses of the past days and the darkness of the evening seemed to augment her iron beauty. She was a Swordmain, trained to give battle to the peril of the world. As she spoke, one hand gripped her sword’s hilt as if the blade were a vital part of what she was saying. “I have named you Giantfriend, and I am proud that I did so. Pitchwife my husband is wont to say that it is the meaning of our lives to hope. But I know not how to measure such things. I know only that battle is better than surrender. It is not for me to judge your paths in this matter—yet am I gladdened that you have chosen a path of combat.” In the way of a warrior, she was trying to comfort him.
Her attempt touched him—and frightened him as well, for it suggested that once again he had committed himself to more than he could gauge. But he was given no chance to reply. For once, Pitchwife seemed impatient with what his wife was saying. As soon as she finished, he interposed, “Aye, and Linden Avery also is well Chosen, as I have said. But in this she does not choose well. Giantfriend, she will not rest.” His exasperation was plain in his voice.
Linden grimaced. Covenant started to say, “Linden, you need—” But when she looked at him he stopped. Her gaze gathered up the darkness and held it against him.
“I don’t have anywhere to go.”
The stark bereavement of her answer went through him like a cry. It meant too much: that her former world had been ruined for her by what she had learned; that like him she could not bear to return to her cabin—the cabin they had shared.
Somewhere in the distance, Pitchwife was saying, “To her have been offered the chambers of the
Haruchai
. But she replies that she fears to dream in such places. And Starfare’s Gem holds no other private quarters.”
Covenant understood that also without heeding it. Brinn had blamed her for Hergrom’s death. And she had tried to kill Ceer. “Leave her alone,” he said dully, as deaf to himself as to Pitchwife. “She’ll rest when she’s ready.”
That was not what he wanted to say. He wanted to say, Forgive me. I don’t know how to forgive myself. But the words were locked in his chest. They were impossible.
Because he had nothing else to offer her, he swallowed thickly and said, “You’re right. My friends didn’t expect me to be doomed. Foamfollower gave me Vain for a reason.” Even that affirmation was difficult for him; but he forced it out. “What happened to his arm?”
She went on staring darkness at him as if he were the linch-pin of her exhaustion. She sounded as misled as a sleepwalker as she responded, “Mistweave won’t go away. He says he wants to take Cail’s place.”
Covenant peered at her, momentarily unable to comprehend. But then he remembered his own dismay when Brinn had insisted on serving him; and his heart twisted. “Linden,” he demanded, forlorn and harsh in his inability to help her, “tell me about Vain’s arm.” If he had dared, he would have taken hold of her. If he had had the right.
She shook her head; and lantern-light glanced like supplication out of her dry eyes. “I can’t.” She might have protested like a child, It hurts. “His arm’s empty. When I close my eyes, it isn’t even there. If you took all the life out of the One Tree—took it away so completely that the Tree never had any—never had any meaning at all—it would look like that. If he was actually alive—if he wasn’t just a thing the ur-viles made—he’d be in terrible pain.”
Slowly she turned away as though she could no longer support his presence. When she moved off down the deck with Mistweave walking, deferential and stubborn, behind her, he understood that she also
The First greeted him in a tone made brusque by the sternness of her own emotions; but her words showed that she also was sensitive to his plight. “Thomas Covenant, I believe that you have chosen well.” If anything, the losses of the past days and the darkness of the evening seemed to augment her iron beauty. She was a Swordmain, trained to give battle to the peril of the world. As she spoke, one hand gripped her sword’s hilt as if the blade were a vital part of what she was saying. “I have named you Giantfriend, and I am proud that I did so. Pitchwife my husband is wont to say that it is the meaning of our lives to hope. But I know not how to measure such things. I know only that battle is better than surrender. It is not for me to judge your paths in this matter—yet am I gladdened that you have chosen a path of combat.” In the way of a warrior, she was trying to comfort him.
Her attempt touched him—and frightened him as well, for it suggested that once again he had committed himself to more than he could gauge. But he was given no chance to reply. For once, Pitchwife seemed impatient with what his wife was saying. As soon as she finished, he interposed, “Aye, and Linden Avery also is well Chosen, as I have said. But in this she does not choose well. Giantfriend, she will not rest.” His exasperation was plain in his voice.
Linden grimaced. Covenant started to say, “Linden, you need—” But when she looked at him he stopped. Her gaze gathered up the darkness and held it against him.
“I don’t have anywhere to go.”
The stark bereavement of her answer went through him like a cry. It meant too much: that her former world had been ruined for her by what she had learned; that like him she could not bear to return to her cabin—the cabin they had shared.
Somewhere in the distance, Pitchwife was saying, “To her have been offered the chambers of the
Haruchai
. But she replies that she fears to dream in such places. And Starfare’s Gem holds no other private quarters.”
Covenant understood that also without heeding it. Brinn had blamed her for Hergrom’s death. And she had tried to kill Ceer. “Leave her alone,” he said dully, as deaf to himself as to Pitchwife. “She’ll rest when she’s ready.”
That was not what he wanted to say. He wanted to say, Forgive me. I don’t know how to forgive myself. But the words were locked in his chest. They were impossible.
Because he had nothing else to offer her, he swallowed thickly and said, “You’re right. My friends didn’t expect me to be doomed. Foamfollower gave me Vain for a reason.” Even that affirmation was difficult for him; but he forced it out. “What happened to his arm?”
She went on staring darkness at him as if he were the linch-pin of her exhaustion. She sounded as misled as a sleepwalker as she responded, “Mistweave won’t go away. He says he wants to take Cail’s place.”
Covenant peered at her, momentarily unable to comprehend. But then he remembered his own dismay when Brinn had insisted on serving him; and his heart twisted. “Linden,” he demanded, forlorn and harsh in his inability to help her, “tell me about Vain’s arm.” If he had dared, he would have taken hold of her. If he had had the right.
She shook her head; and lantern-light glanced like supplication out of her dry eyes. “I can’t.” She might have protested like a child, It hurts. “His arm’s empty. When I close my eyes, it isn’t even there. If you took all the life out of the One Tree—took it away so completely that the Tree never had any—never had any meaning at all—it would look like that. If he was actually alive—if he wasn’t just a thing the ur-viles made—he’d be in terrible pain.”
Slowly she turned away as though she could no longer support his presence. When she moved off down the deck with Mistweave walking, deferential and stubborn, behind her, he understood that she also
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