Lord Foul's Bane

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Driven through the center of the creature's chest -pinning it to the ground-was a long iron spike.

  The chamber stank of violence so badly that in a few breaths Covenant felt about to suffocate. He wanted to flee. He was a leper; even dead things were dangerous to him. But he forced himself to remain still while he sorted out one impression. On seeing the creature, his first thought had been that the Land was rid of something loathsome. But as he gritted himself, his eyes and nose corrected him. The wrongness which assailed his senses came from the killing from the spike-not from the creature. Its flesh had a hue of ravaged health; it had been natural, right-a proper part of the life of the Land Gagging on the stench of the crime, Covenant turned and fled.

  As he broke out into the sunlight, he saw Atiaran already moving away to the north, almost out of the hollow. He needed no urging to hurry after her; his bones ached to put as much distance as possible between himself and the desecrated Waymeet. He hastened in her direction as if there were fangs snapping at his heels.

  For the rest of the day, he found relief in putting leagues behind him. The edge of the unnatural smell was slowly blunted as they hurried onward. But it did not fade below a certain level. When he and Atiaran were forced by fatigue and darkness to stop for the night, he felt sure that there was uneasiness still ahead -that the killer of the Waynhim was moving invidiously to the north of them. Atiaran seemed to share his conviction; she asked him if he knew how to use the knife he carried.

  After sleep had eluded him for some time, he made himself ask her, "Shouldn't we have-buried it?"

  She answered softly from her shadowed bed across the low light of the graveling, "They would not thank our interference. They will take care of their own. But the fear is on me that they may break their bond with the Lords because of this."

  That thought gave Covenant a chill he could not explain, and he lay sleepless for half the night under the cold mockery of the stars.

  The next day dawned on short rations for the travelers. Atiaran had been planning to replenish her supplies at a Waymeet the previous day, so now she had no springwine left and little bread or staples. However, they were in no danger of going hungry -treasure-berries were plentiful along their path. But they had to start without warm food to steady them after the cold, uncomforting night. And they had to travel in the same direction that the killer of the Waynhim had taken. Covenant found himself stamping angrily into the dawn as if he sensed that the murder had been intended for him. For the first time in several days, he allowed himself to think of Drool and Lord Foul. He knew that either of them was capable of killing a Waynhim, even of killing it gratuitously. And the Despiser, at least, might easily know where he was.

  But the day passed without mishap. The dim, constant uneasiness in the air grew no worse and aliantha abounded. As the leagues passed, Covenant's anger lost its edge. He relaxed into contemplation of the health around him, looked with undiminished wonder at the trees, the magisterial oaks and dignified elms, the comforting spread of the Gilden, the fine filigree of the mimosas, the spry saplings of wattle -and at the calm old contours of the hills, lying like slumberous heads to the reclining earth of the western plains. Such things gave him a new sense of the pulse and pause, the climbing sap and the still rock of the Land. In contrast, the trailing ordure of death seemed both petty insignificant beside the vast abundant vitality of the hills-and vile, like an act of cruelty done to a child.

  The next morning, Atiaran changed her course, veering somewhat eastward, so that she and Covenant climbed more and more into the heart of the hills. They took a crooked trail, keeping primarily to valleys that wandered generally northward between the hills. And when the sun was low enough to cast the eastern hillsides into shadow, the travelers came in sight of Soaring Woodhelven.

  Their approach gave Covenant a good view of the tree village from some distance away across a wide glade. He judged the tree to be nearly four hundred feet high, and a good thirty broad at the base. There were no branches on the trunk until forty or fifty feet above the ground, then abruptly huge limbs spread out horizontally from the stem, forming in outline a half-oval with a flattened tip. The whole tree was so thickly branched and leaved that most of the village was hidden; but Covenant could see a few ladders between the branches and along the trunk; and in some tight knots on the limbs he thought he could make out the shapes of dwellings. If any people were moving through the foliage,

  they were -so well camouflaged that he could not discern them.

  "That is Soaring Woodhelven," said Atiaran, "a home for the people of the lillianrill, as Mithil Stonedown is a home for those of the rhadhamaerl. I have been here once, on my returning from the Loresraat. The Woodhelvennin are a comely folk, though I do not understand their wood-lore. They will give us rest and food, and perhaps help as well. It is said, `Go to the rhadhamaerl for truth, and the lillianrill for counsel.' My need for counsel is sore upon me. Come."

  She led Covenant across the glade to the base of the great tree. They had to pass around the roughbarked trunk to the northwest curve, and there they found a large natural opening in the hollow stem. The inner cavity was not deep; it was only large enough to hold a spiral stairway. Above the first thick limb was another opening, from which ladders began their way upward.

  The sight gave Covenant a quiver of his old fear of heights, almost forgotten since his ordeal on the stairs of Kevin's Watch. He did not want to have to climb those ladders.

  But it appeared that he would not have to climb. The opening to the trunk was barred with a heavy wooden gate, and there was no one to open it. In fact, the whole place seemed too quiet and dark for a human habitation. Dusk was gathering, but no home glimmers broke through the overhanging shadow, and no gloaming calls between families interrupted the silence.

  Covenant glanced at Atiaran, and saw that she was puzzled. Resting her hands on the bars of the gate, she said, "This is not well, Thomas Covenant. When last I came here, there were children in the glade, people on the stair, and no gate at the door. Something is amiss. And yet I sense no great evil. There is no more ill here than elsewhere along our path."

  Stepping back from the gate, she raised her head and called, "Hail! Soaring Woodhelven! We are travelers, people of the Land! Our way is long-our future dark! What has become of you?" When no answering shout came, she went on in exasperation, "I have been here before! In those days, it was said that Woodhelvennin hospitality had no equal! Is this your friendship to the Land?"

  Suddenly, they heard a light scattering fall behind them. Spinning around, they found themselves encircled by seven or eight men gripping smooth wooden daggers. Instinctively, Atiaran and Covenant backed away. As the men advanced, one of them said, "The meaning of friendship changes with the times. We have seen darkness, and heard dark tidings. We will be sure of strangers"

  A torch flared in the hands of the man who had spoken. Through the glare, Covenant got his first look at the Woodhelvennin. They were all tall, slim, and lithe, with fair hair and light eyes. They dressed in cloaks of woodland colors, and the fabric seemed to cling to their limbs, as if to avoid snagging on branches. Each man held a pointed dagger of polished wood which gleamed dully in the torchlight.

  Covenant was at a loss, but Atiaran gathered her robe about her and answered with stern pride, "Then be sure. I am Atiaran Trell-mate of Mithil Stonedown. This is Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and message-bearer to the Lords. We come in friendship and need, seeking safety and help. I did not know that it is your custom to make strangers prisoner."

  The man who held the torch stepped forward and bowed seriously. "When we are sure, we will ask your pardon. Until that time, you must come with me to a place where you may be examined. We have seen strange tokens, and see more now." He nodded at Covenant. "`We would make no mistake, either in trust or in doubt. Will you accompany me?"

  "Very well," Atiaran sighed. "But you would not be treated so in Mithil Stonedown."

  The man replied, "Let the Ston
edownors taste our troubles before they despise our caution. Now, come behind me." He moved forward to open the gate.

  At the command, Covenant balked. He was not

  prepared to go climbing around a tall tree in the dark. It would have been bad enough in the light, when he could have seen what he was doing, but the very thought of taking the risk at night made his pulse hammer in his forehead. Stepping away from Atiaran, he said with a quaver he could not repress, "Forget it."

  Before he could react, two of the men grabbed his arms. He tried to twist away, but they held him, pulled his hands up into the torchlight. For one stark moment, the Woodhelvennin stared at his hand, at the ring on his left and the scar on his right-as if he were some kind of ghoul. Then the man with the torch snapped, "Bring him."

  "No!" Covenant clamored. "You don't understand. I'm not good at heights. I'll fall." As they wrestled him toward the gate, he shouted, "Hellfire! You're trying to kill me!"

  His captors halted momentarily. He heard a series of shouts, but in his confused, angry panic he did not understand. Then the leader said, "If you do not climb well, you will not be asked to climb."

  The next moment, the end of a rope fell beside Covenant. Instantly, two more men lashed his wrists to the line. Before he realized what was happening, the rope sprang taut. He was hauled into the air like a sack of miscellaneous helplessness.

  He thought he heard a shout of protest from Atiaran, but he could not be sure. Crying silently, Bloody hell! he tensed his shoulders against the strain and stared wildly up into the darkness. He could not see anyone drawing up the rope in the last glimmering of the torch, the line seemed to stretch up into an abyss-and that made him doubly afraid.

  Then the light below him vanished.

  The next moment, a low rustling of leaves told him that he had reached the level of the first branches. He saw a yellow glow through the upper opening of the tree's stairwell. But the rope hauled him on upward into the heights of the village.

  His own movements made him swing slightly, so that at odd intervals he brushed against the leaves.

  But that was his only contact with the tree. He saw no lights, heard no voices; the deep black weights of the mighty limbs slid smoothly past him as if he were being dragged into the sky.

  Soon both his shoulders throbbed sharply, and his arms went numb. With his head craned upward, he gaped into a lightless terror and moaned as if he were drowning, Hellfire! Ahh!

  Then without warning his movement stopped. Before he could brace himself, a torch flared, and he found himself level with three men who were standing on a limb. In the sudden light, they looked identical to the men who had captured him, but one of them had a small circlet of leaves about his head. The other two considered Covenant for a moment, then reached out and gripped his shirt, pulling him toward their limb. As the solid branch struck his feet, the rope slackened; letting his arms drop.

  His wrists were still tied together, but he tried to get a hold on one of the men, keep himself from falling off the limb. His arms were dead; he could not move them. The darkness stretched below him like a hungry beast. With a gasp, he lunged toward the men, striving to make them save him. They grappled him roughly. He refused to bear his own weight, forced them to carry and drag him down the limb until they came to a wide gap in the trunk. There the center of the stem was hollowed out to form a large chamber, and Covenant dropped heavily to the floor, shuddering with relief.

  Shortly, a rising current of activity began around him. He paid no attention to it; he kept his eyes shut to concentrate on the hard stability of the floor, and on the pain of blood returning to his hands and arms. The hurt was excruciating, but he endured it in clenched silence. Soon his hands were tingling, and his fingers felt thick, hot. He flexed them, curled them into claws. Through his teeth, he muttered to the fierce rhythm of his heart, Hellfire. Hell and blood.

  He opened his eyes.

  He was lying on polished wood at the center of the myriad concentric circles of the tree trunk. The age rings made the rest of the room seem to focus toward him as if he were sprawled on a target. His arms felt unnaturally inarticulate, but he forced them to thrust him into a sitting position. Then he looked at his hands. His wrists were raw from the cut of the rope, but they were not bleeding.

  Bastards!

  He raised his head and glowered around him.

  The chamber was about twenty feet wide, and seemed to fill the whole inside diameter of the trunk. The only opening was the one through which he had stumbled, and he could see darkness outside; but the room was brightly lit by torches set into the walls-torches which burned smokelessly, and did not appear to be consumed. The polished walls gleamed as if they were burnished, but the ceiling, high above the floor, was rough, untouched wood.

  Five Woodhelvennin stood around Covenant in the hollow-three men, including the one wearing the circlet of leaves, and two women. They all were dressed in similar cloaks which clung to their outlines, though the colors varied, and all were taller than Covenant. Their tallness seemed threatening, so he got slowly to his feet, lowering the pack from his shoulders as he stood.

  A moment later, the man who had led Covenant's captors on the ground entered the chamber, followed by Atiaran. She appeared unharmed, but weary and depressed, as though the climb and the distrust had sapped her strength. When she saw Covenant, she moved to take her stand beside him.

  One of the women said, "Only two, Soranal?"

  "Yes," Atiaran's guard answered. "We watched, and there were no others as they crossed the south glade. And our scouts have not reported any other strangers in the hills."

  "Scouts?" asked Atiaran. "I did not know that scouts were needed among the people of the Land."

  The woman took a step forward and replied, "Atiaran Trell-mate, the folk of Mithil Stonedown have been known to us since our return to the Land

  in the new age. And there are those among us who remember your visit here. We know our friends, and the value of friendship."

  "Then in what way have we deserved this treatment?" Atiaran demanded. "We came in search of friends."

  The woman did not answer Atiaran's question directly. "Because we are all people of the Land," she said, "and because our peril is a peril for all, I will attempt to ease the sting of our discourtesy by explaining our actions. We in this heartwood chamber are the Heers of Soaring Woodhelven, the leaders of our people. I am Llaura daughter of Annamar. Here also"-she indicated each individual with a nod "are Omournil daughter of Mournil, Soranal son of Thiller, Padrias son of Mill, Malliner son of Veinnin, and Baradakas, Hirebrand of the lillianrill." This last was the man wearing the circlet of leaves. "We made the decision of distrust, and will give our reasons.

  "I see that you are impatient." A taste of bitterness roughened her voice. "Well, I will not tire you with the full tale of the blighting wind which has blown over us from time to time from Gravin Threndor. I will not describe the angry storms, or show you the body of the three-winged bird that died atop our Woodhelven, or discuss the truth of the rumors of murder which have reached our ears. By the Seven! There are angry songs that should be sung-but I will not sing them now. This I will tell you: all servants of the Gray Slayer are not dead. It is our belief that a Raver has been among us."

  That name carried a pang of danger that made Covenant look rapidly about him, trying to locate the peril. For an instant, he did not comprehend. But then he noticed how Atiaran stiffened at Llaura's words-saw the jumping knot at the corner of her jaw, felt the heightened fear in her, though she said nothing-and he understood. The Woodhelvennin feared that he and she might be Ravers.

  Without thinking, he snapped, "That's ridiculous."

  The Heers ignored him. After a short pause, Soranal continued Llaura's explanation. "Two days past, in the high sun of afternoon, when our people were busy at their crafts and labors, and the children were playing in the upper branches of the Tree, a stranger came to Soaring Woodhelven. Two days earlier, the last ill storm ou
t of Mount Thunder had broken suddenly and turned into good-and on the day the stranger came our hearts were glad, thinking that a battle we knew not of had been won for the Land. He wore the appearance of a Stonedownor, and said his name was Jehannum. We welcomed him with the hospitality which is the joy of the Land. We saw no reason to doubt him, though the children shrank from him with unwonted cries and fears. Alas for us-the young saw more clearly than the old.

  "He passed among us with dark hints and spite in his mouth, casting sly ridicule on our crafts and customs. And we could not answer him. But we remembered Peace, and did nothing for a day.

  "In that time, Jehannum's hints turned to open foretelling of doom. So at last we called him to the heartwood chamber and the meeting of the Heers. We heard the words he chose to speak, words full of glee and the reviling of the Land. Then our eyes saw more deeply, and we offered him the test of the lomillialor."

  "You know of the High Wood, lomillialor-do you not, Atiaran?" Baradakas spoke for the first time. "There is much in it like the orcrest of the rhadhamaerl. It is an offspring of the One Tree, from which the Staff of Law itself was made."

  "But we had no chance to make the test," Soranal resumed. "When Jehannum saw the High Wood, he sprang away from us and escaped. We gave pursuit, but he had taken us by surprise-we were too full of quiet, not ready for such evils-and his fleetness far surpassed ours. He eluded us, and made his way toward the east."

  He sighed as he concluded, "In the one day which has passed since that time, we have begun relearning the defense of the Land."

  After a moment, Atiaran said quietly, "I hear you. Pardon my anger -I spoke in haste and ignorance.