White Gold Wielder by Stephen R. Donaldson Page A

reported that Galewrath had found another of the injured Giants dead. Covenant forced himself to go faster, as if his haste might keep the other crewmembers alive. But the First had already left behind a third corpse, a man with an arm-long splinter of stone driven through the base of his throat In a fever of suppressed fire, Covenant thrashed onward.
    Galewrath and the First converged on the last Giant with Honninscrave and Covenant following closely.
    The face of this Giant was less familiar to him. She had never been brought specifically to his notice. But that did not matter. He cared only that she was alive.
    Her breath came in hoarse wet heaves: black fluid ran from the corner of her mouth, formed a pool under her head. The bulk of the one unsnapped spar lay across her chest, crushing her to the hard deck. Both her forearms were broken.
    The First slapped her longsword into its scabbard. Together, she and Galewrath bent to the beam, tried to lift it. But the huge spar was far too heavy for them. Its ends were trapped: one stretched under the fallen mast; the other was snared in a mountain of gear and canvas.
    Galewrath went on straining at the beam as if she did not know how to admit defeat. But the First swung upright, and her voice rang out over the deck, demanding help.
    Giants were already on their way. Several of them veered toward the mast, fought to clear it so that they could roll it off the spar; others slashed into the wreckage at the far end with their knives.
    There was little time. The life was being squeezed out of the pinned Giant: it panted from her mouth in damp shallow gasps. Her face was intense with pain.
    No! Covenant panted in response.
No
. Thrusting himself forward, he cried through the clamor, “Get back! I’m going to break this thing off her!”
    He did not wait to see whether he was obeyed. Wrapping his arms as far as he could around the bole of the spar, be brought up white fire to tear the stone apart.
    With a fierce yell, Honninscrave wrenched Covenant from the spar, shoved him away.
    “Honninscrave—!” the First began.
    “I must have this spar whole!” roared the Master. His beard jutted fury and aggrievement along his jaw. “Starfare’s Gem cannot endure any sea with but one mast!” The plight of his ship consumed him. “If Pitchwife can mend this shaft by any amount, then I must have a spar to hold sail! He cannot remake the Giantship entire!”
    For an instant, he and the First confronted each other furiously. Covenant fought to keep himself from howling.
    Then a groan and thud of granite shook the deck as four or five Giants rolled the mast off the end of the spar.
    At once, the First and Honninscrave sprang to work. With Galewrath and every Giant who could lay hand to the beam, they pitted their strength against the spar.
    The long stone shaft lifted like an ordinary timber in their arms.
    As the weight left her, the crushed crewmember let out a shredded moan and lost consciousness.
    Immediately Galewrath crouched under the yard to her. Clamping one hand under the woman’s chin, the other at the back of her head to minimize the risk of further injuring a broken spine, the Storesmaster drew her comrade from beneath the spar to a small clear space in the middle of the wreckage.
    Covenant gaped at them half-wittedly, trembling as if he had been snatched from the brink of an act of desecration.
    Swiftly Galewrath examined the crushed woman. But the fragmentary light of the lanterns made her appear tentative, hampered by hesitation and uncertainty. She was the
dromond
’s healer and knew how to treat any hurt that she could see; but she had no way to correct or even evaluate such severe internal damage. And while she faltered, the woman was slipping out of reach.
    Covenant tried to say Linden’s name. But at that moment a group of Giants came through the shambles carrying lanterns. Mistweave and Cail were among them. Mistweave bore Linden.
    She lay in his arms as if she were