By threatening the mound, the First and Pitchwife endangered the only thing which had given these creatures the courage to defy Lord Foul.
Covenant struggled against his captor, tried to reach Linden. But the Cavewight did not release him, seemed oblivious to his efforts-entranced by fear.
Stooping, the First wiped the blood from her glaive on the nearest body. Then she sheathed the longsword and took up a second bone. Fire spilled over her hands, but she paid it no heed. “Now,” she panted through her teeth. “Now you will release the Earthfriend.”
The Cavewight locked his fingers around Covenant's arm and did not move. A few creatures at the fringes of the press shifted slightly, moaned in protest.
Abruptly, Linden twitched. With a jerk, she thrust herself out of the basin. When she got her feet under her, she staggered and stumbled as if the floor were tilting. Yet somehow she kept her balance. Her eyes were glazed with anger and extremity. She had been pushed too far. Half lurching, she passed behind Covenant.
Among the Cavewights crouching there, she found a loose truncheon. It was almost too heavy for her to lift. Gripping its handle in both hands, she heaved it from the floor, raised it above her head, and brought it down on the wrist of the creature holding Covenant.
He heard a dull snapping noise. The Cavewight's fingers were torn from his arm.
The creature yowled. Madly, he cocked the spike to stab it down at Linden's face.
“Hold!” The First's command rang through the cave. She thrust one foot into the mound, braced herself to kick dust and fragments across the floor.
The Cavewight froze in renewed terror.
Slowly, she withdrew her foot A faint sigh of relief soughed around the walls of the cave.
Pain lanced through Covenant's elbow, knifed into his shoulder. For a moment, he feared that he would not be able to stand. The clutch of the Cavewight had damaged his arm; the blood pounding back into it felt like acid. The cave seemed to roar in his ears. He heard no other sound except Pitchwife's harsh respiration.
But he had to stand, had to move. The Giants deserved better than this from him. Linden and the Land deserved better. He could not afford such weakness. It was only pain and vertigo, as familiar to him as an old friend. It had no power over him unless he was afraid-unless he let himself be afraid. If he held up his heart, even despair was as good as courage or strength.
That was the centre, the point of stillness and certainty. Briefly, he rested. Then he let the excruciation in his arm lift him out of the basin.
Linden came to him. Her touch made his body totter; but inwardly he did not lose his balance. She would stop him if he proved himself wrong. But be was not wrong. Together, they moved toward the Giants.
Pitchwife did not look up from his gasping. His lips were flecked with red spittle; his exertions had torn something in his chest. But the First gave Covenant and Linden a nod of greeting. Her gaze was as grim as a hawk's. “You gladden me!” she muttered. “I had not thought to behold you again alive. It is well that these simple creatures do not glance often behind them. Thus we were able to follow when we had No Other Way foiled our pursuers. What dire rite do they seek to practice against you?”
Linden answered for Covenant, “They're trying to bring an old leader back from the dead. He's buried under there somewhere.” She grimaced at the Wightbarrow. “They want Covenant's blood and the ring. They think this dead leader'll free them from Foul. We've got to get out of here.”
“Aye,” growled the First. Her eyes assayed the Cavewights. “But they are too many. We cannot win free by combat. We must entrust ourselves to the sanctity of these bones.”
Covenant thought he smelted the faint reek of charring flesh. But he had no health-sense, could not tell how seriously the Giants hands were being hurt.
“My husband,” the First gritted, “will you lead us?”
Pitchwife nodded. A moment of coughing brought more blood to his lips. Yet he rallied. When he raised his head, the look in his eyes was as fierce as hers.
With a bone flaming like a brand in one hand, an axe in the other, he started toward the nearer mouth of the cave.
At once, a snarl sharpened the air, throbbing from many throats. A shiver ran through the Cavewights. The ones farthest from the Wightbarrow advanced slightly, placed themselves to block Pitchwife's path. Others tightened their hands on their weapons.
“No!” Linden snapped at Pitchwife. “Come back!”
He retreated. When he reached the mound, the Cavewights froze again.
Covenant blinked at Linden. He felt too dizzy to think. He knew he ought to understand what was happening. But it did not make sense.
“What means this. Chosen?” the First asked like iron. “Are we snared in this place for good and all?”
Linden replied with a look toward Covenant as if she were begging him for courage. Then, abruptly, she wrapped her arms around her chest and strode away from the mound.
The First breathed a sharp warning. Linden's head flinched from side to side. But she did not stop. Deliberately, she moved among the Cavewights.
She was alone and small and vulnerable in their midst. Her difficult bravery was no defence; any one of them could have felled her with one blow. But none of them reacted. She squeezed between two of them, passed behind a poised cluster, walked halfway to the cavemouth. Their eyes remained fixed on the First and Pitchwife-on the bones and the Wightbarrow.
As she moved, she raised her head, grew bolder. The vindication of her percipience fortified her. Less timorously, she made her way back to her companions.
Rocklight burned in Covenant's eyes. The First and Pitchwife stared at Linden. Grimly, she explained, “They won't move while you threaten the mound. They need it. It's their reason-the only answer they've got.” Then she faltered; and her gaze darkened at the implications of what she was saying. “That's why they won't let us take any of the bones out of here.”
For one momenta piece of time as acute as anguish-the First looked beaten, overcome by everything she had already lost and would still be required to lose. Honninscrave and Seadreamer had been dear to her. Pitchwife was her husband Covenant and Linden and life were precious. Her sternness broke down, exposing a naked hurt. Both her parents had. given their lives for her, and she had become what she was by grief.
Yet she was the First of the Search, chosen for her ability to bear hard decisions. Almost at once, her visage closed around itself. Her hands knotted as if they were hungry for the fire of the bones.
“Then,” she responded stiffly, “I must remain to menace this mould, so that you may depart.” She swallowed a lump of sorrow. “Pitchwife, you must accompany them. They will have need of your strength. And I must believe that you live.”
At that, Pitchwife burst into a spasm of coughing. A moment passed before Covenant realized that the malformed Giant was trying to laugh.
“My wife, you jest,” he said at last. “I have found my own reply to doubt. The Chosen has assigned me to your side. Do not credit that the song which the Giants will sing of this day will be sung of you alone.”
“I am the First of the Search!” she retorted. “I command- ”
“You are Gossamer Glowlimn, the spouse of my heart.” His mouth was bloody; but his eyes gleamed. “I am proud of you beyond all endurance. Demean not your high courage with foolishness. Neither Earthfriend nor Chosen has any need of my accompaniment. They are who they are-and will not fail. I am sworn to you in love and fealty, and I will remain.”
She glared at him as if she were in danger of weeping openly. “You will die. I have borne all else until my heart breaks. Must I bear that also?”