One Tree by Stephen R. Donaldson Read Free Book Online Page B

was not due to the damage Covenant had done. The gear of the midmast hung in shambles still. Erratic bursts of wild magic had thwarted every attempt at repair. But even with whole canvas on all three masts, Starfare’s Gem would have lain dead in the water. There was no wind. No movement in the Sea at all. The ocean had become a blank echo of the sky—deep azure and flat, as empty of life as a mirror. The
dromond
might have been fused to the surface of the water. Its sails hung like cerements from the inanimate yards: lines and shrouds which had seemed alive in the wind now dangled like stricken things, shorn of meaning. And the heat— The sun was all that moved across the Sea. Shimmerings rose from the decks as though Starfare’s Gem were losing substance, evaporating off the face of the deep.
    Heat made the dull trudge of Linden’s thoughts giddy. She half believed that the Raver had taken away the wind, that this calm was part of Lord Foul’s design. Trap the ship where it lay, impale the quest until Covenant’s venom gnawed through the cords of his life. And then what? Perhaps in his delirium he would sink the
dromond
before he died. Or perhaps he would be able to withhold that blow. Then the ring and the quest would be left to someone else.
    To her?
    Dear God! she protested vainly. I can’t!
    But she could not refute that logic. Why else had Marid feinted toward her before attacking Covenant—why else had Gibbon spared her, spoken to her, touched her—if not to confirm her in her paralyzing fear, the lesson of her own ill? And why else had the old man on Haven Farm told her to
Be true
? Why indeed, if both he and the Despiser had not known that she would eventually inherit Covenant’s ring?
    What kind of person had she become?
    At painful intervals, blasts of wild magic sent tremors of apprehension through the stone. Repeatedly Covenant cried out, “Never! Never give it to him!” hurling his refusal at the blind sky. He had become a man she could not touch. After all her years of evasion, she had finally received the legacy of her parents. She had no choice but to possess him or to let him die.
    When Cail came to speak with her, she did not turn her head, did not let him see her forlornness, until he demanded, “Linden Avery, you must.”
    At that, she rounded on him. He was sweating faintly. Even his
Haruchai
flesh was not immune to this heat. But his manner denied any discomfort. He seemed so secure in his rectitude mat she could not hold herself from snapping at him, “No.
You
swore to protect him.
I
didn’t.”
    “Chosen.” He used her title with a tinge of asperity. “We have done what lies within our reach. But none can approach him. His fire lashes out at all who draw near. Brinn has been burned—but that is nothing.
Diamondraught
will speed his healing. Consider instead the Giants. Though they can withstand fire, they cannot bear the force of his white ring. When the First sought to near him, she was nigh thrown from the deck. And the Anchormaster, Sevinhand, also assayed the task. When he regained consciousness, he named himself fortunate that he had suffered no more than a broken arm.”
    Burned, Linden thought dumbly. Broken. Her hands writhed against each other. She was a doctor; she should already have gone to treat Brinn and Sevinhand. But even at this distance Covenant’s illness assaulted her sanity. She had made no decision. Her legs would not take one step in that direction. She could not help him without violating him. She had no other power. That was what she had become.
    When she did not speak, Cail went on, “It is a clean break, which the Storesmaster is able to tend. I do not speak of that. I desire you to understand only that we are surpassed. We cannot approach him. Thus it falls to you. You must succor him.
    “We believe that he will not strike at you. You are his nearest companion—a woman of his world. Surely even in his madness he will know you and withhold his fire.