The First gestured with her touch. “We must hasten. Our light grows brief.” The fagot she held was dry and brittle; already half of it had burned away. And Pitchwife had only one other brand.
Swearing under his breath, Covenant started on down the tunnel.
Linden was shivering. The stone piled imponderably around her felt cold and dire. Vain's fall repeated itself across her mind. Her breathing scraped in her throat No one deserved to fall like that. In spite of Mount Thunder's chill atmosphere, sweat trickled uncertainly between her breasts.
But she followed Covenant and the First. Bracing herself on Pitchwife's bulky companionship, she moved along the roadway after the wavering torch. She stayed so close to the wall that it brushed her shoulder. Its hardness raised reminders of the hold of Revelstone and the dungeon of the Sandhold.
Findail walked behind her. His bare feet made no sound.
As the reflected light from the mouth of the gullet faded, the darkness thickened. Concentrated midnight seemed to flow up out of the crevice. Then a gradual bend in the wall cut off the outer world altogether. She felt that the doors of hope and possibility were being closed on all sides. The First's torch would not last much longer.
Yet her senses clung to the granite facts of the road and the tunnel. She could not see the rim of the chasm; but she knew where it was exactly. Pitchwife and Findail were also explicit in spite of the dark. When she focused her attention, she was able to read the surface of the ledge so clearly that she did not need to stumble. If she had possessed the power to repulse attack, she could have wandered the Wightwarrens in relative safety.
That realization steadied her. The inchoate dread gnawing at the edges of her courage receded.
The First's brand started to gutter.
Beyond it. Linden seemed to see an indefinable softening of the midnight. For a few moments, she stared past the First and Covenant. But her percipience did not extend so far. Then, however, the Swordmain halted, lowered her torch; and the glow ahead became more certain.
The First addressed Covenant or Linden. “What is the cause of that light?”
“Warrenbridge,” Covenant replied tightly. “The only way into the Wightwarrens.” His tone was complex with memories. “Be careful. The last time I was here, it was guarded.”
The leader of the Search nodded. Placing her feet softly, she moved forward again Covenant went with her. Linden gripped her health-sense harder and followed. Gradually, the light grew clear. It was a stiff, red orange colour; and it shone along the ceiling, down the wall of the tunnel. Soon Linden was able to see that the roadway took a sharp turn to the right near the glow. At the same time, the overhanging stone vaulted upward as if the tunnel opened into a vast cavern. But the direct light was blocked by a tremendous boulder which stood like a door ajar across the ledge. The chasm of the river vanished under that boulder.
Cautiously, the First crept to the edge of the stone and peered beyond it.
For an instant, she went rigid with surprise. Then she breathed a Giantish oath and strode out into the light.
Advancing behind Covenant, Linden found herself in a high, bright cavity like an entryhall to the catacombs. The floor was flat, worn smooth by millennia of use. Yet it was impassable. The deft passed behind the boulder, then turned to cut directly through the cavern, disappearing finally into the far wall. It was at least fifty feet wide, and there were no other entrances to the cavity on this side. The only egress. by beyond the crevice.
But in the centre of the vault, a massive bridge of native stone spanned the gulf. Warrenbridge Covenant's memory had not misled him.
The light came from the crown of the span. On either side of it stood a tall stone pillar like a sentinel; and they shone as if their essential rock were afire. They made the entire tavern bright-too bright for any interloper to approach Warrenbridge unseen.
For an instant, the light held Linden’s attention. It reminded her of the hot lake of graveling in which she and the company had once almost lost their lives. But these emanations were redder, angrier. They lit the entrance to the Wightwarrens as if no one could pass between them in hope or peace.
But the chasm and the bridge and the light were not what had surprised the First. With a wrench, Linden forced herself to look across the vault.
Vain stood there, at the foot of Warrenbridge. He seemed to be waiting for Covenant or Linden.
Near him on the stone sprawled two long-limbed forms. They were dead. But they had not been dead long. The blood in which they lay was still warm.
A clench of pain passed across Findail's visage and was gone.
The First's torch sputtered close to her hand. She tossed its useless butt into the chasm. Gripping her longsword m both fists, she started onto the span.
“Wait!” Covenant's call was hoarse and urgent At once, the First froze. The tip of her blade searched the air for perils she could not see.
Covenant wheeled toward Linden, his gaze as dark as bloodshed. Trepidation came from him in fragments.
“The last time-It nearly killed me. Drool used those pillars-that rocklight-I thought I was going to lose my mind.”
Drool Rockworm was the Cavewight who had recovered the Staff of Law after the Ritual of Desecration. He had used it to delve up the Illearth Stone from the roots of Mount Thunder. And when Covenant and the Lords had wrested the Staff from Drool, they had succeeded only in giving the IIIearth Stone into Lord Foul's hold.
Linden's percipience scrambled into focus on the pillars. She scrutinized them for implications of danger, studied the air between them, the ancient stone of Warrenbridge. That stone had been made as smooth as mendacity by centuries of time, the pressure of numberless feet. But it posed no threat. Rocklight shone like ire from the pillars, concealing nothing.
Slowly, she shook her head. “There's nothing there.”
Covenant started to ask, “Are you-?” then bit down his apprehension. Waving the First ahead, he ascended the span as if Warrenbridge were crowded with vertigo.
At the apex, be flinched involuntarily; his arms flailed, grasping for balance. But Linden caught hold of him. Pitch wife put his arms around the two of them. By degrees Covenant found his way back to the still centre of his certitude, the place where dizziness and panic whirled around him but did not touch him. In a moment, he was able to descend toward the First and Vain.
With the tip of her sword, the First prodded the bodies near the Demondim-spawn. Linden had never seen such creatures before. They had hands as wide and heavy as shovels, heads like battering rams, eyes without pupil or iris, glazed by death. The thinness of their trunks and limbs belied their evident strength. Yet they had not been strong enough to contend with Vain. He had broken both of them like dry wood.
“Cavewights,” Covenant breathed. His voice rattled in his throat. “Foul must be using them for sentries. When Vain showed up, they probably tried to attack him.”
“Is it possible”- the First's eyes glared in the rocklight- “that they contrived to send alarm of us ere they fell?”
“Possible?” growled Covenant. “The way our luck's going, can you think of any reason to believe they didn't?”
“It is certain.” Findail's unexpected interpolation sent a strange shiver down Linden's spine Covenant jerked his gaze to the Appointed. The First swallowed a jibe. But Findail did not hesitate. His grieving features were set. “Even now,” he went on, “forewarning reaches the ears of the Despiser. He savers the fruition of his malign dreams.” He spoke quietly; yet his voice made the air of the high vault ache. “Follow me. I will guide you along ways where his minions will not discover you. In that, at least, his intent will be foiled.”