words she could hardly hear.
“Give him
diamondraught
. As much as you can.”
Dimly she watched Brinn obey. She wanted to return to the foredeck. But her limbs were so full of palsy and relief that she could not move. Around her, the deck started to spin. She had to summon more strength than she knew she owned before she was able to tell Cail to take her back to Galewrath and the injured Giant.
At sunset, Starfare’s Gem passed out of the zone of calm. Waves began to rock the vessel and wind kicked at the shrouds, drawing a cheer from the weary crew. By that time, they had recaptured half the line connecting them to the
Nicor
. Honninscrave spoke to the First. With a flourish, she drew her broadsword, severed the hawser at one stroke.
Other Giants climbed into the rigging and began to unfurl the sails. Soon Starfare’s Gem was striding briskly before a stiff wind into the eastern night.
By that time, Linden had done everything she could for the wounded Giant. She felt certain he would live. When he regained consciousness enough to gaze up into her exhausted visage, he smiled.
That was enough. She left him in Galewrath’s charge. Pulling together what remained of her spent courage, she stumbled back down the long foredeck to care for Covenant.
FIVE: Father’s Child
During the night, squalls came up like a reaction against the earlier calm. They gusted and drove the
dromond
until it seemed to breast its way ponderously eastward like a worn-out grampus. But that impression was misleading. The masts were alive with lines and canvas and Giants, and Starfare’s Gem raced through the cross-hacked waves like a riptide.
For four days, a succession of small storms battered the region, permitted the ship’s crew little rest. But Linden hardly noticed the altercation of wind and rain and quiet. She grew unconsciously accustomed to the background song of the rigging, the rhythm of the prow in the Sea, to the pitching of the stone and the variable swaying of the lanterns and hammocks. At unexpected intervals, the Giants greeted her with spontaneous celebrations, honoring her for what she had done; and their warmth brought tears to her eyes. But her attention was elsewhere. The little strength she gained from troubled snatches of sleep and nibbled meals, she spent watching over Thomas Covenant.
She knew now that he would live. Though he had shown no hint of consciousness, the
diamondraught
was vivid in him—antivenin, febrifuge, and roborant in one. Within the first day, the swelling had receded from his right side and arm, leaving behind a deep mottled black-and-yellow bruise but no sign of any permanent damage. Yet he did not awaken. And she did not try to reach into him, either to gain information or to nudge him toward consciousness. She feared that perhaps the sickness still gnawed at his mind, exacting its toll from his bare sanity; but she was loath to ascertain the truth. If his mind were healing as well as his body, then she had no reason or excuse to violate his privacy. And if he were being corroded toward madness, she would need more strength than she now possessed to survive the ordeal.
The venom was still in him. Because of her, he had been driven right to the edge of self-extirpation. And even then she had risked him further for another’s sake. But she had also called him back from that edge. Somehow through his delirium and looming death he had recognized her—and trusted her. That was enough. Whenever the continuing vulnerability of his sopor became more than she could bear, she went to tend the injured Giant.
His name was Mistweave, and his hardiness was vaguely astounding to her. Her own restless exhaustion, the inner clench of her tension, the burning of her red-rimmed eyes on the salt air, made him seem healthier than she was. By the second day of the squalls, his condition had stabilized to such an extent that she was able to attempt the setting of his fractured ribs. Guiding Galewrath and
“Give him
diamondraught
. As much as you can.”
Dimly she watched Brinn obey. She wanted to return to the foredeck. But her limbs were so full of palsy and relief that she could not move. Around her, the deck started to spin. She had to summon more strength than she knew she owned before she was able to tell Cail to take her back to Galewrath and the injured Giant.
At sunset, Starfare’s Gem passed out of the zone of calm. Waves began to rock the vessel and wind kicked at the shrouds, drawing a cheer from the weary crew. By that time, they had recaptured half the line connecting them to the
Nicor
. Honninscrave spoke to the First. With a flourish, she drew her broadsword, severed the hawser at one stroke.
Other Giants climbed into the rigging and began to unfurl the sails. Soon Starfare’s Gem was striding briskly before a stiff wind into the eastern night.
By that time, Linden had done everything she could for the wounded Giant. She felt certain he would live. When he regained consciousness enough to gaze up into her exhausted visage, he smiled.
That was enough. She left him in Galewrath’s charge. Pulling together what remained of her spent courage, she stumbled back down the long foredeck to care for Covenant.
FIVE: Father’s Child
During the night, squalls came up like a reaction against the earlier calm. They gusted and drove the
dromond
until it seemed to breast its way ponderously eastward like a worn-out grampus. But that impression was misleading. The masts were alive with lines and canvas and Giants, and Starfare’s Gem raced through the cross-hacked waves like a riptide.
For four days, a succession of small storms battered the region, permitted the ship’s crew little rest. But Linden hardly noticed the altercation of wind and rain and quiet. She grew unconsciously accustomed to the background song of the rigging, the rhythm of the prow in the Sea, to the pitching of the stone and the variable swaying of the lanterns and hammocks. At unexpected intervals, the Giants greeted her with spontaneous celebrations, honoring her for what she had done; and their warmth brought tears to her eyes. But her attention was elsewhere. The little strength she gained from troubled snatches of sleep and nibbled meals, she spent watching over Thomas Covenant.
She knew now that he would live. Though he had shown no hint of consciousness, the
diamondraught
was vivid in him—antivenin, febrifuge, and roborant in one. Within the first day, the swelling had receded from his right side and arm, leaving behind a deep mottled black-and-yellow bruise but no sign of any permanent damage. Yet he did not awaken. And she did not try to reach into him, either to gain information or to nudge him toward consciousness. She feared that perhaps the sickness still gnawed at his mind, exacting its toll from his bare sanity; but she was loath to ascertain the truth. If his mind were healing as well as his body, then she had no reason or excuse to violate his privacy. And if he were being corroded toward madness, she would need more strength than she now possessed to survive the ordeal.
The venom was still in him. Because of her, he had been driven right to the edge of self-extirpation. And even then she had risked him further for another’s sake. But she had also called him back from that edge. Somehow through his delirium and looming death he had recognized her—and trusted her. That was enough. Whenever the continuing vulnerability of his sopor became more than she could bear, she went to tend the injured Giant.
His name was Mistweave, and his hardiness was vaguely astounding to her. Her own restless exhaustion, the inner clench of her tension, the burning of her red-rimmed eyes on the salt air, made him seem healthier than she was. By the second day of the squalls, his condition had stabilized to such an extent that she was able to attempt the setting of his fractured ribs. Guiding Galewrath and
Similar Books
