Free White Gold Wielder by Stephen R. Donaldson Page B

instant, no one moved. Then Mistweave strode to the forward door, kicked it out of its frost. Cold as pure as absolute winter came flowing inward; but it had no wind behind it. The air across the Giantship was still.
    Shouts sprang along the decks. In spite of his inward silence, Covenant followed Mistweave and Linden out into the night.
    The clouds were gone: the dark was as clear and sharp as a knife-edge. Spots of light marked out the Giantship as the crew lit more lanterns. Near the eastern horizon stood the moon, yellow and doleful. It was nearly full, but appeared to shed no illumination, cast no reflection onto the black and secret face of the water. The stars littered the sky in every direction, all their portents lost. Linden muttered to herself, “What in hell—?” But she seemed unable to complete the question.
    Honninscrave and Pitchwife approached from opposite ends of the ship. When the First joined them, Pitchwife said with unconvincing nonchalance, “It appears that we are here.”
    Covenant felt too numb to be cold. But Linden was shivering violently beside him. In a bitten voice, she asked, “What do we do now?”
    “Do?” replied Honninscrave distantly. His visage was benighted, devoid of content. “This is the Soulbiter. We must await its will.” Plumes of steam came from his mouth as if his spirit escaped him at every word.
    Its will, Covenant thought dumbly. My will. Foul’s will. Nothing made any difference. Silence was safety. If he could not have hope, he would accept numbness. Returning to the galley, he curled up on his pallet and fell immediately asleep.
    But the next morning he was awakened by the cold and the quiet. The stoves put out no heat. Except for Cail, the galley was deserted. Abandoned. Starfare’s Gem lay as still as if he and the
Haruchai
were the only people left aboard.
    A pang went through him, threatening his defenses. Stiff with sleep and chill, he fumbled erect. “Where—?” he asked weakly. “Where did they go?”
    Cail’s reply was flat and pitiless. “They have gone to behold the Soulbiter.”
    Covenant winced. He did not want to leave the confines of the galley. He feared the return of sensation and pain and responsibility. But Cail’s expressionless stare was insistent. Cail was one of the
Haruchai
, kindred to Brinn and Bannor. His comrades Ceer and Hergrom had given their lives. He had the right to make demands. And his gaze was as plain as words:
    It is enough. Now you must resume yourself.
    Covenant did not want to go. But he adjusted his rumpled attire, made an effort to secure the silence closely about him. When Cail opened the door for him, he took a step over the storm-sill and walked blinking into the bright, frigid morning.
    After so many days hidden behind the glower of the clouds, the sun alone would have been enough to blind him. But it was not alone. White cold glared around the ship. Light sprang at him from all sides; dazzles as piercing as spears volleyed about his head. His tears froze on his cheeks. When he raised his hands to rub the beads away, small patches of skin were torn from his face.
    But slowly his sight cleared. He saw Giants lining the rails, their backs to him. Everyone on board stood at the forward railings somewhere, facing outward.
    They were still, as quiet as the sea and the sails hanging empty in their gear. But no hush could silence their expectant suspense. They were watching the Soulbiter. Waiting for it.
    Then he recovered enough vision to discern the source of all the dazzling.
    Motionless in the water, Starfare’s Gem lay surrounded by a flotilla of icebergs.
    Hundreds of them in every size and configuration. Some were mere small humps on the flat sea. Others raised jagged crests to the level of the
dromond
’s spars. And they were all formed of the same impeccable ice: ice as translucent and complete as glass, as bard-faced as diamonds; ice on which the morning broke, shattering light in all directions.
    They