Instantly, paralysis locked itself around him.
He saw what was happening; every event registered on him. But he was stunned and helpless, lost in a feral chill.
While Honninscrave and Mistweave fought the sleds sideward to avoid the arghule, the First sprang to Cail's aid with Pitchwife behind her. The creature sought to retreat; but she moved too swiftly. Bracing itself, it repeated the bow which had captured Cail.
Her left arm was useless to her, but she ignored the handicap. Fury and need impelled her. As the arghule raised its ice, she put her whole body info one blow and struck me creature squarely with all the Giantish' might of her good fist The arghule shattered under the impact. The boom of its destruction echoed off the towering ridge.
Amid volleying thunder, the sleds rushed past the First. She whirled to face the pursuing arghuleh. Pitchwife dove wildly into the remains of the creature. For an instant, he threw chunks and chips aside. Then he emerged, wearing frost and ice-powder as though even in death the arghule nearly had the capacity to freeze him. In his arms, he bore Cail.
From head to foot, the Haruchai was sheathed like the First's left arm in pure ice, bound rigid as if he were frozen past all redemption. Carrying him urgently, Pitchwife sped after the sleds.
The First snatched up a white shard, hurled it at the arghuleh to make them hesitate. Then she followed the company.
In response, the creatures squatted against the ice; and cracks like cries of frustration and hunger shot through the floe, gaping jaggedly after the travellers. For a moment, the First had to skid and dodge across a ground that was falling apart under her. Then she missed her footing, fell and rolled out of the path of the attack. The cracks searched on for the company; but the sleds were nearly out of range.
The First regained her feet Soon she, too, was beyond the reach of the arghuleh.
Covenant saw her come running up behind Pitchwife, clap him encouragingly on the shoulder. Pitchwife panted in great raw gasps as he strove to sustain his pace. The misshaping of his back made him appear to huddle protectively over Can. Cail's scar was unnaturally distinct, amplified by the translucence of his casing. He was the last of the Haruchai who had promised themselves to Covenant And Covenant still could not break the cold which clenched his mind. All hope of fire was gone.
Linden was shouting to the First, “We've got to stop! Cail needs help! You need help!”
Honninscrave and Mistweave did not slacken their pace. The First returned, “Should the arghuleh again draw nigh, will you perceive them?”
“Yes!” Linden shot back. “Now that I know what they are!” Her tone was hard, certain. “We've got to stop! I don't know how long he can stay alive like that!”
The First nodded. “Master!” she barked. “We must halt!”
At once, Honninscrave and Mistweave shortened their strides, let the sleds drag themselves to a standstill.
Pitchwife managed a few more steps, then stumbled to his knees in a low bowl of snow. The wind whipped flurries around him. His breathing rattled hoarsely as he hunched over Cail, hugging the Haruchai as if he sought to warm Cail with his own life.
Linden leaped from her sled before it stopped moving, caught her balance and hastened to Pitchwife's side. But Covenant remained frozen while Honninscrave and Mistweave drew the sleds around to Pitchwife, Cail, Linden, and the First.
Vain stood there as well Covenant had not seen the Demondim-spawn arrive, did not know how he had escaped. Bits of ice clung to his tattered apparel, but his black form was unscathed. He did not breathe, and his midnight eyes were focused on nothing.
Pitchwife set Cail down. Linden knelt beside the Haruchai, searched him with her eyes, then touched her fingers to his case. At once, pain hissed between her teeth. When she snatched back her hands, her fingertips left small patches of skin on the ice. Bright in the sunlight, red droplets oozed from her torn flesh. “Damn it!” she rasped, more frightened and angry than hurt, “that's cold.” Raising her head to the First, she shivered, "You obviously know something about these arghuleh. Do you know how to treat this?”
In reply, the First drew her falchion. Gripping it above her head, she brought its hilt down hard on the crust which locked her left arm. The ice broke and fell away, leaving her limb free, the skin undamaged. Stiffly, she flexed her hand and wrist A wince touched her face, but she changed it to a scowl.
“See you? We are Giants-proof against cold as against fire. Requiring no other unction, we have learned none.” Her glare suggested that she deemed this ignorance to be a kind of failure.
But Linden had no time for failure. “We can't do that to him,” she muttered, thinking aloud. “We'd break half his bones.” She peered closely at Cail to confirm her perceptions. “He's still alive-but he won't last long.” Red-tipped, her fingers moved as if she had already forgotten their hurt "We need fire.”
Then she looked toward Covenant At the sight of him, her eyes went wide with shock and fear. She had not realized that he had been hit by the cold of the arghuleh.
It felt like a numb nail driven through the side of his head, impaling his mind painlessly. And it was slowly working its way deeper. His left eye had gone blind. Most of the nerves of his left side were as dead as leprosy. He wanted to cry out for help, but no longer knew how.
From out of nowhere, Findail appeared. Regaining his abused human shape, he placed himself at the fringes of the company and fixed his attention on Linden.
Ice muffled whatever she was saying Covenant could not bear it: he did not want to die like this. Mad protests surged through him. All winter was his enemy; every league and ridge of the floe was an attack against him. From the pit of his dismay, he brought up name and venom as if he meant to rid the Earth of all cold forever, tear Time from its foundations in order to shear away the gelid death which locked his brain.
But then there was another presence in him. It was alien and severe, desperate with alarm-and yet he found it strangely comforting. He struggled instinctively when it took his flame from him; but the cold and his impercipience made his strivings pointless. And the intrusion-an external identity which somehow inhabited his mind as if he had let down all his defences-gave him warmth in return: the warmth of its own strict desire for him and the heat of his fire combined. For a moment, he thought he knew that other presence, recognized it intimately. Then the world turned into white magic and passion; and the cold fled.
A few heart-beats later, his eyes squeezed back into focus, and he found himself on his hands and knees. Linden had withdrawn from him, leaving behind an ache of absence as if she had opened a door which enabled him to see how empty his heart was without her. Dull bereavement throbbed in his right forearm; but his ring still hung on the last finger of his half-hand. The wind sent chills ruffling through his clothes. The sun shone as if the desecration of the Sunbane would never be healed. He had failed again. And proved once more that she—
This time she had simply reached into him and taken possession.
There was no difference between that and what Lord Foul had done to Joan. What he was doing to the Land. No difference except the difference between Linden herself and the Despiser. And Gibbon-Raver had promised that she would destroy the Earth.
She had the power to fulfil that prophecy now. She could take it whenever she wanted it.
Urgent grief came over him-grief for both of them, for himself in his doomed inefficacy, for her in her dire plight. He feared he would weep aloud. But then the wind's flat rush was punctuated by hoarse, hard breathing; and that sound restored his awareness of his companions.