Twenty: The Quest

HE left the hold, left his companions, because he could not bear to watch the impenetrable nightmares writhe across Linden's mien. She was not afraid of his leprosy. She had supported him at every crisis. This was the result. No one could rouse her. She lay in a stupor like catatonia, and dreamed anguish.

He went toward the upland plateau because he needed to recover some kind of hope.

Already, the frenzy of his power had begun to recoil against him. Vain's smile haunted him like an echo of horror and scorn. His rescue from Stonemight Woodhelven was no different than this. How many people had he killed? He had no control over his power. Power and venom controlled him.

Yet he did not release the wild magic. Revelstone was still full of Riders. He glimpsed them running past the ends of long halls, preparing themselves for defense or counterattack. He did not have enough blood in his veins to sustain himself without the fire of his ring: once he dropped his power, he would be beyond any self-protection. He would have to trust the Haruchai to save him, save his friends. And that thought also was bitter to him. Banner's people had paid such severe prices in his name. How could he permit them to serve him again?

How many people had he killed?

Shedding flames like tears, he climbed up through the levels of Revelstone toward the plateau.

And Brinn strode at his side as if the Haruchai had already committed himself to this service. Somewhere he had found a cloak which he now draped across Covenant's shoulders. The

Unbeliever shrugged it into place, hardly noticing. It helped to protect him against the shock of blood-loss.

Covenant needed hope. He had gained much from the soothtell; but those insights paled beside the shock of Linden's straits, paled beside the mounting self-abomination of what he had done with his power. He had not known he was so capable of slaughter. He could not face the demands of his new knowledge without some kind of hope.

He did not know where else to turn except to Glimmermere. To the Earthpower which remained still vital enough to provide Glimmermere with water, even when all the Land lay under a desert sun. To the blade which lay in the deeps of the lake.

Loric's krill.

He did not want it because it was a weapon. He wanted it because it was an alternative, a tool of power which might prove manageable enough to spare him any further reliance upon his ring.

And he wanted it because Vain's grin continued to knell through his head. In that grin, he had seen Vain's makers, the roynish and cruel beings he remembered. They had lied to Foamfollower. Vain's purpose was not greatly to be desired. It was the purpose of a fiend. Covenant had seen Vain kill, seen himself kill, and knew the truth.

And Loric, who was Kevin's father, had been called Vilesilencer. He had formed the krill to stem the harm of Vain's ancestors. Perhaps the krill would provide an answer to Vain.

That, too, was a form of hope. Covenant needed hope. When he reached the open plateau, the brightness of his power made the night seem as black and dire as Vain's obsidian flesh.

No one had been able to rouse Linden. She was caught in the toils of a heinous nightmare, and could not fight free. What evil had been practiced upon her?

And how many people had he killed? He, who had sworn never to kill again, and had not kept that oath. How many?

His own fire blinded him; he could not see any stars. The heavens gaped over him like a leper's doom. How could any man who lacked simple human sensitivity hope to control wild magic? The wild magic which destroys peace. He felt numb, and full of venom, and could not help himself.

Wrapped in argent like a new incarnation of the Sunbane, he traversed the hills toward Glimmermere. The tarn was hidden by the terrain; but he knew his way.

Brinn walked beside him, and did not speak. The Haruchai seemed content to support whatever Covenant intended. In this same way, the Bloodguard had been content to serve the Lords. Their acceptance had cost them two thousand years without love or sleep or death. And it had cost them corruption; like Foamfollower, Banner had been forced to watch his people become the thing they hated. Covenant did not know how to accept Brinn's tacit offer. How could he risk repeating the fate of the Bloodguard? But he was in need, and did not know how to refuse.

Then he saw it: Glimmermere lying nestled among the hills. Its immaculate surface reflected his silver against the black night, so that the water looked like a swath of wild magic surrounded, about to be smothered, by the dark vitriol of ur-viles. Avid white which only made Vain grin. But Covenant's power was failing; he had lost too much blood; the reaction to what he had done was too strong. He lumbered stiff-kneed down to the water's edge, stood trembling at the rim of Glimmermere, and fought himself to remain alight just a little longer.

Fire and darkness sprang back at him from the water. He had bathed once in Glimmermere; but now he felt too tainted to touch this vestige of Earthpower. And he did not know the depth of the pool. High Lord Mhoram had thrown the krill here as an act of faith in the Land's future. Surely he had believed the blade to be beyond reach. Covenant would never be able to swim that far down. And he could not ask Brinn to do it. He felt dismayed by the implications of Brinn's companionship; he could not force himself to utter an active acceptance of Brinn's service. The krill seemed as distant as if it had never existed.

Perhaps none of this had ever existed. Perhaps he was merely demented, and Vain's grin was the leer of his insanity. Perhaps he was already dead with a knife in his chest, experiencing the hell his leprosy had created for him.

But when he peered past the flaming silver and midnight, he saw a faint echo from the depths. The krill. It replied to his power as it had replied when he had first awakened it. Its former arousal had led ineluctably to Elena's end and the breaking of the Law of Death. For a moment, he feared it, feared the keenness of its edges and the weight of culpability it implied. He had loved Elena—But the wild magic was worse. The venom was worse. He could not control them,

“How many—?” His voice tore the silence clenched in his throat. “How many of them did I kill?”

Brinn responded dispassionately out of the night, “One score and one, ur-Lord.”

Twenty-one? Oh, God!

For an instant, he thought that the sinews of his soul would rend, must rend, that his joints would be ripped asunder. But then a great shout of power blasted through his chest, and white flame erupted toward the heavens.

Glimmermere repeated the concussion. Suddenly, the whole surface of the lake burst into fire. Flame mounted in a gyre; the water of the lake whirled. And from the certer of the whirl came a clear white beam in answer to his call.

The krill rose into view. It shone, bright and inviolate, in the heart of the lake—a long double-edged dagger with a translucent gem forged into the cross of its guards and haft. The light came from its gem, reiterating Covenant's fire, as if the jewel and his ring were brothers. The night was cast back by its radiance, and by his power, and by the high flames of Glimmermere.

Still the krill was beyond reach. But he did not hesitate now. The whirl of the water and the gyring flames spoke to him of things which he understood: vertigo and paradox; the eye of stability in the core of the contradiction. Opening his arms to the fire, he stepped out into the lake.

Earthpower upheld him. Conflagration which replied to his conflagration spun around him and through him, and bore his weight. Floating like a flicker of shadow through the argence, he walked toward the certer of Glimmermere.

In his weakness, he felt that the fire would rush him out of himself, reduce him to motes of mortality and hurl him at the empty sky. The krill seemed more substantial than his flesh; the iron more full of meaning than his wan bones. But when he stooped to it and took hold of it, it lifted in his hands and arced upward, leaving a slash of brilliance across the night.

He clutched it to his chest and turned back toward Brinn.

Now his fatigue closed over him. No longer could he keep his power alight. The fingers of his will unclawed their grip and failed. At once, the flames of Glimmermere began to subside.

But still the lake upheld him. The Earthpower gave him this gift as it had once gifted Berek Halfhand's despair on the slopes of Mount Thunder. It sustained him, and did not let him go until he stumbled to the shore in darkness.

Night lay about him and in him. His eyes descried nothing but the dark as if they had been burned out of his head. Even the shining of the gem seemed to shed no illumination. Shorn now of power, he could no longer grasp the krill. It became hot in his hands, hot enough to touch the nerves which still lived. He dropped it to the ground, where it shone like the last piece of light in the world. Mutely, he knelt beside it, with his back to Glimmermere as if he had been humbled. He felt alone in the Land, and incapable of himself.

But he was not alone. Brinn tore a strip from his tunic—a garment made from an ochre material which resembled vellum—and wrapped the krill so that it could be handled. For a moment, he placed a gentle touch on Covenant's shoulder. Then he said quietly, “Ur-Lord, come. The Clave will attempt to strike against us. We must go.”

As the gleam of the krill was silenced, the darkness became complete. It was a balm to Covenant, solace for the aggrievement of power. He ached for it to go on assuaging him forever. But he knew Brinn spoke the truth. Yes, he breathed. We must go. Help me.

When he raised his head, he could see the stars. They glittered as if only their own beauty could console them for their loneliness. The moon was rising. It was nearly full.

In silence and moonlight, Covenant climbed to his feet and began to carry his exhaustion back toward Revelstone.

After a few steps, he accepted the burden of the krill from Brinn and tucked it under his belt. Its warmth rested there like a comfort against the knotted self-loathing in his stomach.

Stumbling and weary, he moved without knowing how he could ever walk as far as Revelstone. But Brinn aided him, supported him when he needed help, let him carry himself when he could. After a time that passed, like the sequences of delirium, they gained the promontory and the mouth of the na-Mhoram's Keep.

One of the Haruchai awaited them outside the tunnel which led down into Revelstone. As Covenant lurched to a halt, the Haruchai bowed; and Brinn said, “Ur-Lord, this is Ceer.”

“Ur-Lord,” Ceer said.

Covenant blinked at Mm, but could not respond. He seemed to have no words left.

Expressionlessly, Ceer extended a leather pouch toward him.

He accepted it. When he unstopped the pouch, he recognized the smell of metheglin. At once, he began to drink. His drained body was desperate for fluid. Desperate. He did not lower the pouch until it was empty.

“Ur-Lord,” Ceer said then, “the Clave gathers about the Banefire. We harry them, and they make no forays—but there is great power in their hands. And four more of the Haruchai have been slain. We have guided all prisoners from Revelstone. We watch over them as we can. Yet they are not safe. The Clave holds coercion to sway our minds, if they but choose to exert it. We know this to our cost. We must flee.”

Yes, Covenant mumbled inwardly. Flee. I know. But when he spoke, the only word he could find was, “Linden—?”

Without inflection, Ceer replied, “She has awakened.”

Covenant did not realize that he had fallen until he found himself suspended in Brinn's arms. For a long moment, he could not force his legs to straighten. But the metheglin helped him. Slowly, he took his own weight, stood upright again.

“How—?”

“Ur-Lord, we strove to wake her.” Suppressing the lilt of his native tongue to speak Covenant's language made Ceer sound completely detached. “But she lay as the dead, and would not be succoured. We bore her from the Keep, knowing not what else to do. Yet your black companion—” He paused, asking for a name.

“Vain,” Covenant said, almost choking on the memory of that grin. “He's an ur-vile.”

A slight contraction of his eyebrows expressed Ceer's surprise; but he did not utter his thoughts aloud. “Vain,” he resumed, “stood by unheeding for a time. But then of a sudden he approached Linden Avery the Chosen.” Dimly, Covenant reflected that the Haruchai must already have spoken to Sunder or Hollian. “Knowing nothing of him, we strove to prevent him. But he cast us aside as if we were not who we are. He knelt to the Chosen, placed his hand upon her. She awakened.”

A groan of incomprehension and dread twisted Covenant's throat; but Ceer went on. “Awakening, she cried out and sought to flee. She did not know us. But the Stonedownors your companions comforted her. And still”—a slight pause betrayed Ceer's uncertainty—"Vain had not done. Ur-Lord, he bowed before her—he, who is heedless of the Haruchai, and deaf to all speech. He placed his forehead upon her feet.

“This was fear to her,” Ceer continued. “She recoiled to the arms of the Stonedownors. They also do not know this Vain. But they stood to defend her if need be. He rose to his feet, and there he stands yet, still unheeding, as a man caught in the coercion of the Clave. He appears no longer conscious of the Chosen, or of any man or woman.”

Ceer did not need to speak his thought; Covenant could read it in his flat eyes.

We do not trust this Vain.

But Covenant set aside the question of Vain. The krill was warm against his belly; and he had no strength for distractions. His path was clear before him, had been clear ever since he had absorbed the meaning of the soothtell. And Linden was awake. She had been restored to him. Surely now he could hold himself together long enough to set his purpose in motion.

Yet he took the time for one more inquiry. “How is she?”

Ceer shrugged fractionally. “She has gazed upon the face of Corruption. Yet she speaks clearly to the Stonedownors.” He paused, then said, “She is your companion. You have redeemed us from abomination. While we live, she and all your companions will suffer no further hurt.” He looked toward Brinn. “But she has warned us of a Raver. Ur-Lord, surely we must flee.”

A Raver, thought Covenant. Gibbon. Yes.

What did he do to her? The nightmare on her face was still vivid to him. What did that bastard do to her?

Without a word, he locked himself erect, and started stiffly down the tunnel into Revelstone.

The way was long; but metheglin and darkness sustained him. Vain's grin sustained him. The Demondim-spawn had awakened her? Had knelt to her? The ur-viles must have lied to Foamfollower. Hamako's rhysh must have been mistaken or misled. Did Vain bow in acknowledgment of Gibbon's effect on her?

What did that bastard do to her?

If Covenant had doubted his purpose before, or had doubted himself, he was sure now. No Clave or distance or impossibility was going to stand in his way.

Down through the city he went, like a tight curse. Down past Haruchai who scouted the city and watched the Riders. Down to the gates, and the passage under the watchtower. He had already killed twenty-one people; he felt that for himself he had nothing left to fear. His fear was for his companions; and his curse was for the Despiser. His purpose was clear.

As he moved through the tunnel, a score of Haruchai gathered 'around him like an honor-guard. They bore supplies which they had scoured from Revelstone for the flight of the prisoners.

With them, he passed the broken outer gates into the night. 

Below him on the rocky slope of the foothill burned a large bonfire. Stark against the massed jungle beyond it, it flamed with a loud crepitation, fighting the rain-drenched green wood which the Haruchai fed to it. Its yellow light enclosed all the prisoners, defending them from darkness.

He could see a group of Stonedownors and Woodhelvennin huddling uncertainly near the fire. Haruchai moved around the area, preparing supplies, wresting more firewood from the jungle, standing watch. Vain stood motionless among them. Sunder, Hollian, and Linden sat close together as if to comfort each other.

He had eyes only for Linden. Her back was to him. He hardly noticed that all Brinn's people had turned toward him and dropped to one knee, as if he had been announced by silent trumpets. With the dark citadel rising behind him, he went woodenly toward Linden's back as if he meant to fall at her feet.

Sunder saw him, spoke quickly to Linden and Hollian. The Stonedownors jumped upright and faced Covenant as if he came bearing life and death. More slowly, Linden, too, climbed erect. He could read nothing but pain in the smudged outlines of her mien. But her eyes recognized him. A quiver like urgency ran through her. He could not stop himself. He surged to her, wrapped his arms around her, hid his face in her hair.

Around him, the Haruchai went back to their tasks.

For a moment, she returned his embrace as if she were grateful for it. Then, suddenly, she stiffened. Her slim, abused body became nausea in his arms. He tried to speak, but could not, could not sever the knots in his chest. When she tried to pull away from him, he let her go; and still he could not speak. She did not meet his stare. Her gaze wandered his frame to the old cut in the certer of his shirt. “You're sick.”

Sick? Momentarily, he failed to understand her. “Linden—?”

“Sick.” Her voice trailed like blood between her lips. “Sick.” Moving as if she were stunned by abhorrence or grief, she turned her back on him. She sank to the ground, covered her face with her hands, began to rock back and forth. Faintly, he heard her murmuring, “Sick. Sick.”

His leprosy.

The sight almost tore away his last strength. If he could have found his voice, he would have wailed, What did that bastard do to you? But he had come too far and had too many responsibilities. The pressure of the krill upheld him. Clenching himself as if he, too, could not be touched, he looked at Sunder and Hollian.

They seemed abashed by Linden's reaction. “Ur-Lord,” Sunder began tentatively, then faltered into silence. The weal around his neck appeared painful; but he ignored it. Old frown-marks bifurcated his forehead as if he were caught between rage and fear, comradeship and awe, and wanted Covenant to clarify them for him. His jaws chewed words he did not know how to utter.

“Ur-Lord,” Hollian said for him, “she has been sorely hurt in some way. I know not how, for Gibbon na-Mhoram said to her, 'You I must not harm.' Yet an anguish torments her,” Her pale features asked Covenant to forgive Linden.

Dumbly, he wondered where the eh-Brand found her courage. She was hardly more than a girl, and her perils often seemed to terrify her. Yet she had resources—She was a paradox of fright and valour; and she spoke when Sunder could not.

“You have bought back our lives from the na-Mhoram,” she went on, “at what cost to yourself I cannot know. I know not how to behold such power as you wield. But I have tasted the coercion of the Riders, and the imprisonment of the Clave. I thank you from my heart. I pray I may be given opportunity to serve you.”

Serve—? Covenant groaned. How can I let you serve me? You don't know what I'm going to do. Yet he could not refuse her. Somewhere in his own inchoate struggle of need and conviction, he had already accepted the service of the Haruchai, though their claim on his forbearance was almost forty centuries older than hers. Gripping himself rigid because he knew that if he bent he would break, he asked the only question he could articulate in the poverty of his courage. “Are you all right?”

She glanced at Sunder, at his neck. When he nodded, she replied, “It is nothing. A little hunger and fear. We are acquainted with such things. And,” she continued more strongly, “we have been blessed with more than our lives. The Haruchai are capable of wonders.” With a gesture, she indicated three of Brinn's people who stood nearby. “Ur-Lord, here are Cail, Stell, and Harn.” The three sketched bows toward Covenant.

“When we were guided from the hold, I was content with my life. But the Haruchai were not content.” Reaching into her robe, she brought out her dirk and Iianar. “They sought throughout Revelstone and recovered these for me. Likewise they recovered Sunder's Sunstone and blade.” Sunder agreed. Covenant wondered vaguely at the new intimacy which allowed Hollian to speak for Sunder. How much had they been through together? “How does it come to pass,” Hollian concluded, “that the Land has so forgotten the Haruchai?”

“You know nothing of us,” the one named Harn responded. “We know nothing of you. We would not have known to seek your belongings, had not Memla na-Mhoram-in revealed that they had been taken from you.”

Memla, Covenant thought. Yes. Another piece of his purpose became momentarily lucid. “Brinn.” The night seemed to be gathering around him. Sunder and Hollian had drifted out of focus. “Find her. Tell her what we need.”

“Her?” Brinn asked distantly. “What is it that we need?”

Until he understood the question, Covenant did not perceive that he was losing consciousness. He had lost too much blood. The darkness on all sides was creeping toward vertigo. Though he yearned to let himself collapse, he lashed out with curses until he had brought his head up again, reopened his eyes.

“Memla,” he said thickly. “Tell her we need Coursers.”

“Yes, ur-Lord.” Brinn did not move. But two or three Haruchai left the fire and loped easily up toward the watchtower.

Someone placed a bowl of metheglin in Covenant's hands. He drank it, tried to squeeze a semblance of clarity into his vision, and found himself staring at Vain.

The Demondim-spawn stood with his arms slightly bent, as if he were ready to commit acts which could not be foreseen. His black eyes stared at nothing; the ghoul grin was gone from his black lips. But he still wore the heels of the Staff of Law, one on his right wrist, the other on his left ankle. The burns he had received two nights ago were almost healed.

As a man caught in the coercion —Was that it? Was the Clave responsible for Vain? Ur-viles serving the Clave? How far did the na-Mhoram's mendacity extend? Vain's blackness echoed the night. How had he roused Linden? And why? Covenant wanted to rage at the Demondim-spawn. But he himself had killed—without control or even reluctance. He lacked the rectitude to unravel Vain's intent. There was too much blood on his head.

And not enough in his veins. He was failing. The illumination cast by the bonfire seemed to shrink around him. He had so little time left—Listen, he started to say. This is what we're going to do. But his voice made no sound.

His hand groped for Brinn's shoulder. Help me. I've got to hold on. A little longer.

“Covenant.”

Linden's voice tugged him back into focus. She stood before him. Somehow, she had pulled herself out of her inner rout. Her eyes searched him. “I thought I saw—” She regarded the wild tangle of his beard as if it had prevented her from identifying him earlier. Then her gaze found the thick red scars on his wrists. A sharp gasp winced through her teeth.

At once, she grabbed his forearms, drew his wrists into the light. “I was right. You've lost blood. A lot of it.” Her physician's training rose up in her. She studied him, gauging his condition with her eyes and hands. “You need a transfusion.”

The next moment, she perceived the newness of the scars. Her gaze jumped to his face. “What did they do to you?”

At first, he could not respond. The soothtell was too exigent; he felt unable to bear the answer she needed.

But she misunderstood his silence. Abomination stretched her visage. “Did you—?”

Her apprehension broke him out of his paralysis. “No. Not that. They did it to me. I'll be all right.”

A sag of relief softened her expression. But her eyes did not leave his face. She struggled for words as if the conflict of her emotions blocked her throat. Finally, she said hoarsely, "I heard you shout. We almost got free.“ Her stare drifted out of focus, turned inward. ”For a while, I would have given my soul to hear you shout again.“ But memories made her flee outward again. ”Tell me—“ she began, fighting for severity as if it were essential to her. ”Tell me what happened to you."

He shook his head. “I'm all right.” What else could he say? “Gibbon wanted blood. I didn't have a chance to refuse.” He knew that he should explain, that all his companions needed to know what he had learned in the soothtell. But he had no strength.

As if to spare Covenant the necessity of speech, Brinn said flatly, “The ur-Lord's life was forfeit in the soothtell. Yet with wild magic he healed himself.”

At that, Linden's orbs darkened. Her lips echoed soundlessly, Healed? Her gaze dropped to the old scar behind the cut in his shirt. The recovery of determination which had drawn her out of herself seemed to crumple. Losses which he could not begin to understand overflowed from her eyes. She turned away from him, turned her face toward the night. “Then you don't need me.”

Hollian reached out to her. Like a child, Linden put her arms around Hollian's neck and buried her face in the eh-Brand's shoulder.

Covenant did not react. The pressure of his rage and grief was all that stood between him and darkness. He could not move without falling. What did that bastard do to you?

“Ur-Lord,” Brinn said, “we must not delay. The na-Mhoram was not slain. Surely the Clave will soon strike against us.”

“I know.” Covenant's heart was crying uselessly, Linden! and hot streaks of self-reproach ran from his eyes; but his voice was adamantine. “We'll go. As soon as Memla gets here.” He did not doubt that Memla would come. She had no choice; she had already betrayed the Clave for him. Too many people had already done too much for him.

“That is well,” Brinn replied. “Where will we go?”

Covenant did not falter. He was sure of what he had to do. His Dead had prepared him for this. “To find the One Tree. I'm going to make a new Staff of Law.”

His auditors fell abruptly silent. Incomprehension clouded Hollian's face. Sunder frowned as if he wanted to speak but could not find the right words. The knot of Stonedownors and Woodhelvennin held themselves still. Vain betrayed no flicker of interest. But the eyes of the Haruchai shone.

“The old tellers,” Brinn said slowly, “relate that the Lords, even at the time of Kevin, had a legend of the One Tree, from which the Staff of Law was made. Ur-Lord Covenant, you conceive a bold undertaking. You will be accompanied. But how will you seek the One Tree? We have no knowledge of it.”

No knowledge, Covenant breathed wanly. He had guessed as much. South of the Land lay the lifeless Grey Desert. In the north, the long winter of the Northron Climbs was said to be impassable. And to the west, where the Haruchai lived, there was no knowledge of the One Tree. He accepted that. If Berek had gone west to find the One Tree, he would surely have encountered Brinn's people. With an effort, Covenant answered, “Neither do I. But we'll go east. To the Sea.” Where the Giants had come from. “To get away from the Clave. After that—I don't know.”

Brinn nodded. “It is good. This the Haruchai will do. Cail, Stell, Ceer, Harn, Hergrom, and myself will share your quest, to ward you and your companions. Two score will return to our people, to give them the knowledge we have gained.” His voice sharpened slightly. “And to consider our reply to the depredations of this Clave. Those who remain will see these Stonedownors and Woodhelvennin to their homes—if such aid is desired.”

The faces of the nine freed people of the Land expressed immediately their eagerness to accept Brinn's offer.

“The old tellers speak much of the Giants—of their fidelity and laughter, and of their dying,” Brinn concluded. “Gladly will we look upon their home and upon the Sea which they loved.”

Now, Covenant said to himself. If ever he intended to refuse the Haruchai, escape his being dependent on and responsible for them again after four thousand years, now was the time. But he could not. He was no longer able to stand without Brinn's support. Isn't it bad enough, he groaned, that I'm the one who destroyed the Staff? Opened the door for the Sunbane? Do I have to carry this, too? But he needed the Haruchai and could not refuse.

For a moment, the night reeled; but then he felt hands touch his chest, and saw Sunder standing before him. The Graveller held his chin up, exposing his damaged neck as if with that injury he had earned answers. His eyes reflected the firelight like the echoing of his torn mind.

“Covenant,” he said in a clenched tone, using that name instead of the title ur-Lord, as if he sought to cut through awe and power and command to the man behind them. “I have journeyed far in your name, and will journey farther. But there is fear in me. The eh-Brand foretells a sun of pestilence— after but two days of rain. In freeing us, you have damaged the Clave. And now the Sunbane quickens. Perhaps you have done such harm that the Clave can no longer moderate the Sunbane. Perhaps you have wrought a great peril for the Land.”

Covenant heard the personal urgency of Sunder's question; but for a time he lacked the fortitude to reply. Sunder's doubt pained him, weakened him. His veins were empty of life, and his muscles could no longer support him. Even the warmth of the krill under his belt had faded into his general inurement. But Sunder was his friend. The Graveller had already sacrificed too much for him. Fumbling among his frailties, he gave the first answer he found.

“The na-Mhoram is a Raver. Like Marid.”

But that did not satisfy Sunder. “So Linden Avery has said. Yet the Clave moderated the Sunbane for the sake of the Land, and now that moderation has been weakened.”

“No,” Somewhere within him. Covenant discovered a moment of strength. “The Clave doesn't moderate the Sunbane. They've been using it to hurt the Land. Feeding it with blood. They've been serving Lord Foul for centuries.”

Sunder stared; incredulity seemed to hurt his face. Covenant's asseveration violated everything he had ever believed. “Covenant.” Dismay scarred his voice. His hands made imploring gestures. “How can it be true? It is too much. How can I know that it is true?”

“Because I say it's true.” The moment passed, leaving Covenant as weary as death. “I paid for that soothtell with my blood. And I was here. Four thousand years ago. When the Land was healthy. What the Clave taught you is something they made up to justify all that bloodshed.” A distant part of him saw what he was doing, and protested. He was identifying himself with the truth, making himself responsible for it. Surely no man could keep such a promise. Hile Troy had tried—and had lost his soul to the Forestal of Garroting Deep as a consequence.

“Then—” Sunder wrestled for comprehension. His features showed horror at the implications of what Covenant said—horror turning to rage, “Then why do you not fight? Destroy the Clave—end this ill? If they are such an abomination?”

Covenant drooped against Brinn. “I'm too weak.” He hardly heard himself. “And I've already killed—” A spasm of grief twisted his face. Twenty-one people! “I swore I would never kill again.” But for Sunder's sake, he made one more effort to articulate what he believed. “I don't want to fight them until I stop hating them.”

Slowly, the Graveller nodded. The bonfire became a roaring in Covenant's ears. For an instant of giddiness, he thought that Sunder was Nassic. Nassic with young, sane eyes. The Graveller, too, was capable of things which humbled Covenant.

There was movement around him. People were readying themselves for departure. They saluted him; but his numbness prevented him from responding. Escorted by nearly a score of Haruchai, they left the foothills. He did not watch them go. He hung on the verges of unconsciousness and fought to remain alive.

For a time, he drifted along the current of the bonfire. But then he felt himself turned in Brinn's arms, gently shaken erect. He pried his eyes wide, scraped his eyelids across the sabulous exhaustion in his gaze, and saw Memla.

She stood grimly before him. Her chasuble was gone, and her robe had been singed in places. Her age-stained hair straggled about her shoulders. Fire blisters marred her right cheek; her blunt features were battered. But her eyes were angry, and she faced Covenant with her rukh held ready.

At her back champed five of the Clave's huge Coursers.

Brinn nodded to her. “Memla na-Mhoram-in,” he said flatly. “The ur-Lord has awaited you.”

She gave Brinn a gesture of recognition without taking her eyes from Covenant. Her gruff voice both revealed and controlled her wrath. “I cannot live with lies. I will accompany you.”

Covenant had no words for her. Mutely, he touched his right hand to his heart, then raised the palm toward her.

“I have brought Coursers,” she said. “They were not well defended—but well enough to hamper me. Only five could I wrest from so many of the na-Mhoram-cro.” The beasts were laden with supplies. “They are Din, Clang, Clangor, Annoy, and Clash.”

Covenant nodded. His head went on bobbing feebly, as if the muscles of his neck had fallen into caducity.

She gripped his gaze. “But one matter must be open between us. With my rukh, I can wield the Banefire to aid our journey. This the Clave cannot prevent. But I in turn cannot prevent them from knowing where I am and what I do, through my rukh. Halfhand.” Her tone took on an inflection of appeal. “I do not wish to set aside the sole power I possess.”

Her honesty and courage demanded an answer. With an effort that defocused his eyes and made his head spin, he said, “Keep it. I'll take the chance.”

His reply softened her features momentarily. “When first we met,” she said, “your misdoubt was just, though I knew it not. Yet trust is preferable.” Then, abruptly, she stiffened again. “But we must depart. Gibbon has gathered the Clave at the Banefire. While we delay, they raise the Grim against us.”

The Grim! Covenant could not block the surge of his dismay. It carried him over the edge, and he plunged like dead stone into darkness.

As he fell, he heard a cold wail from Revelstone—a cry like the keening of the great Keep, promising loss and blood. Or perhaps the wail was within himself.