When he met her eyes, he saw that they, too, were like Lena's. They glowed with something that was neither anger nor condemnation; they seemed to contradict the judgment he had heard a moment earlier.
“What are you going to do now?” he said weakly. “Atiaran wanted-wanted the Lords to punish me.”
Abruptly, she left her seat, moved around behind him. She put her hands tenderly on his clenched brow and began to rub it, seeking to stroke away the knots and furrows. “Ah, Thomas Covenant,” she sighed, with something like yearning in her voice. “I am the High Lord. I bear the Staff of Law. I fight for the r Land, and will not quail though the beauty may die, or I may die, or the world may die. But there is much of Lena my mother in me. Do not frown at me so. I cannot bear it.”
Her soft, cool, consoling touch seemed to burn his forehead. Mhoram had said that she had sat with him.' during his ordeal the previous night-sat, and watched over him, and held his hand. Trembling, he got to his feet. Now he knew why she had summoned him. There was a world of implications in the air between them; her whole life was on his head, for good or ill. But it was too much; he was too staggered and drained to grasp it all, deal with it. His stiff face was only capable of grimaces. Mutely, he left her, and Bannor guided him back to his rooms.
In his suite, he extinguished the torches, covered the graveling pots. Then he went out onto his balcony.
The moon was rising over Revelstone. It was still new, and it came in silver over the horizon, tinting the plains with unviolated luminescence. He breathed the autumn air, and leaned on the railing, immune for the moment from vertigo. Even that had been drained out of him.
He did not think about jumping. He thought about how difficult Elena was to refuse.
Seven: Korik's Mission
SOMETIME before dawn, an insistent pounding at his door woke him. He had been dreaming about the Quest for the Staff of Law-about his friend, Saltheart Foamfollower, whom the company of the Quest had left behind to guard their rear before they had entered the catacombs of Mount Thunder. Covenant had not seen him again, did not know whether the Giant had survived that perilous duty. When he awoke, his heart was labouring as if the clamour at the door were the beating of his dread.
Numbly, dazed with sleep, he uncovered a graveling pot, then shambled into the sitting room to answer the door.
He found a man standing in the brightness of the hall. His blue robe belted in black and his long staff identified him as a Lord.
“Ur-Lord Covenant,” the man began at once. “I must apologize profusely for disturbing your rest. Of all the Lords, I am the one who most regrets such an intrusion. I have a deep love for rest. Rest and food, ur-Lord- sleep and sustenance. They are exquisite. Although there are some who would say that I have tasted so much sustenance that I should no longer require rest. No doubt some such argument caused me to be chosen for this arduous and altogether unsavoury journey.” Without asking for permission, he bustled past Covenant into the room. He was grinning.
Covenant blinked his bleary gaze into focus, and took a close look at the man.
He was short and corpulent, with a round, beatific face, but the serenity of his countenance was punctured by his gleeful eyes, so that he looked like a misbegotten cherub. His expression was constantly roiled; fleet smiles, smirks, frowns, grimaces chased each other across the surface of his essential good humour. Now he was regarding Covenant with a look of appraisal, as if he were trying to gauge the Unbeliever's responsiveness to jesting.
“I am Hyrim son of Hoole,” he said fluidly, “a Lord of the Council, as you see, and a lover of all good cheer, as you have perhaps not failed to notice.” His eyes gleamed impishly. “I would tell you of my parentage and history, so that you might know me better-but my time is short. There are consequences to this riding of Ranyhyn, but when I offered myself to their choice I did not know that the honour could be so burdensome. Perhaps you will consent to accompany me?”
Mutely, Covenant's lips formed the word, Accompany?
“To the courtyard, at least-if I can persuade you no farther. I will explain while you ready yourself.”
Covenant felt too groggy to understand what was being asked of him. The Lord wanted him to get' dressed and go somewhere. Was that all? After a moment, he found his voice, and asked, “Why?”
With an effort, Hyrim pulled an expression of Seriousness onto his face. He studied Covenant gravely, then said, “Ur-Lord, there are some things which are difficult to say to you. Both Lord Mhoram and high Lord Elena might have spoken. They do not desire that this knowledge should be withheld from you. But brother Mhoram is reluctant to describe his own pain. And the High Lord-it is in my heart that she fears to send you into peril.”
He grinned ruefully. “But I am not so selfless. You will agree that there is much of me to consider-and every part is tender. Courage is for the lean. I am wiser. Wisdom is no more and no less deep than the skin-and mine is very deep. Of course, it is said that trial and hardship refine the spirit. But I have heard the Giants reply that there is time enough to refine the spirit when the body has no other choice.”
Covenant had heard that, too; Foamfollower had said it to him. He shook his head to clear away the painful memory. “I don't understand.”
“You have cause,” said the Lord. “I have not yet uttered anything of substance. Ah, Hyrim,” he sighed to himself, “brevity is such a simple thing-and yet it surpasses you. Ur-Lord, will you not dress? I must tell you news of the Giants which will not please you.”
A pang of anxiety stiffened Covenant. He was no longer sleepy. “Tell me.”
“While you dress.”
Causing silently, Covenant hurried into the bedroom and began to put on his clothes.
Lord Hyrim spoke from the other room. His tone was careful, as if he were making a deliberate effort to be concise. “Ur-Lord, you know of the Giants. Saltheart Foamfollower himself brought you to Revelstone. You were present in the Close when he spoke to the Council of Lords, telling them that the omens which High Lord Damelon had foreseen for the Giants' hope of Home had come to pass.”
Covenant knew; he remembered it vividly. Back in the age of the Old Lords, the Giants had been wanderers of the sea who had lost their way. For that reason, they called themselves the Unhomed. They had roamed for decades in search of their lost homeland, but had not found it. At last, they had come to the shores of the Land in the region known as Seareach, and there-welcomed and befriended by Damelon-they had made a place for themselves to live until they rediscovered their ancient Home.
Since that time, three thousand years ago, their search had been fruitless. But Damelon Giantfriend had prophesied for them; he had foreseen an end to their exile.
After, and perhaps because, they had lost their Home, the Giants had begun to decline. Though they dearly loved children, few children were born; their seed did not replenish itself. For many centuries, their numbers had been slowly shrinking.
Damelon had foretold that this would change, that their seed would regain its vitality. That was his omen, his sign that the exile was about to end, for good or ill.
In his turn, Damelon's son, Loric, had made a promise to support and affirm that prophecy. He had said that, when Damelon's omens were fulfilled, the Lords would provide the Giants with potent Gildenlode keels and rudders for the building of new ships for their homeward journey.
So it was that Foamfollower had reported to the Council that Wavenhair Haleall, the wife of Sparlimb Keelsetter, had given birth to triplets, three sons-an event unprecedented in Seareach. And at the same time, scouting ships had returned to say that they had found a way which might lead the Giants Home. Foamfollower had come to Revelstone to claim High Lord Loric's promise.
“For forty years,” Lord Hyrim went on, “the lillianrill of Lord's Keep have striven to meet that promise. The seven keels and rudders are now nearly complete. But time hurries on our heels, driving us dangerously. When this war begins, we will be unable to transport the Gilde
nlode to Seareach. And we will need the help of the Giants to fight Lord Foul. Yet it may be that all such helps or hopes will fail. It may be-”
“Foamfollower,” Covenant interrupted. He fumbled at the laces of his boots. A keen concern made him impatient, urgent. “What about him? Is he-? What happened to him-after the Quest?”
The Lord's tone became still more careful. "When the Quest for the Staff of Law made its way homeward, it found that Saltheart Foamfollower was alive and unharmed. He had gained the safety of Andelain, and so had escaped the Fire-Lions. He returned to his people, and since that time he has come twice to Revelstone to help in the shaping of the Gildenlode and to share knowledge. Many Giants came and went, full of hope.
“But now, ur-Lord-” Hyrim stopped. There was sorrow and grimness in his voice. “Ah, now.”
Covenant strode back into the sitting room, faced the Lord. “Now?” His own voice was unsteady.
"Now for three years a silence has lain over Seareach. No Giant has come to Revelstone-no Giant has set foot on the Upper Land.“ To answer the sudden flaring of Covenant's gaze, he continued, ”Oh, we have not been idle. For a year we did nothing-Seareach is near to four hundred leagues distant, and a silence of a year is not unusual. But after a year, we became concerned. Then for a year we sent messengers. None have ever returned. During the spring, we sent an entire Eoman. Twenty warriors and their Warhaft did not return.
“Therefore the Council decided to risk no more warriors. In the summer, Lord Callindrill and Lord Amatin rode eastward with their Bloodguard, seeking passage. They were thrown back by a dark and nameless power in Sarangrave Flat. Sister Amatin would have died when her horse fell, but the Ranyhyn of Callindrill bore them both to safety. Thus a shadow has come between us and our ancient Rockbrothers, and the fate of the Giants is unknown.”
Covenant groaned inwardly. Foamfollower had been his friend-and yet he had not even said goodbye to the Giant when they had parted. He felt an acute regret. He wanted to see Foamfollower again, wanted to apologize.
But at the same time he was conscious of Hyrim's gaze on him. The Lord's naturally gay eyes held a look of painful sombreness. Clearly, he had some reason for awakening Covenant before dawn like this. With a jerk of his shoulders, Covenant pushed down his regret, and said, “I still don't understand.”
At first Lord Hyrim did not falter. “Then I will speak plainly. During the night after your summoning, Lord Mhoram was called from your side by a vision. The hand of his power came upon him, and he saw sights which turned his blood to dread in his veins. He saw-” Then abruptly he turned away. “Ah, Hyrim,” he sighed, “you are a fat, thistle-brained fool. What business had you to dream of Lords and Lore, of Giants and bold undertakings? When such thoughts first entered your childish head, you should have been severely punished and sent to tend sheep. Your thick, inept self does scant honour to Hoole Gren-mate your father, who trusted that your foolish fancies would not lead you astray.” Over his shoulder, he said softly, “Lord Mhoram saw the death of the Giants marching toward them. He could not make out the face of that death. But he saw that if they are not aided soon-soon, perhaps in a score of days! — they will surely be destroyed.”
Destroyed? Covenant echoed silently. Destroyed? Then he went a step further. Is that my fault, tool “Why,” he began, then swallowed roughly. “Why are you telling me? What do you expect me to do?”
"Because of brother Mhoram's vision, the Council has decided that it must send a mission to Seareach at once-now. Because of the war, we cannot spare much of our strength-but Mhoram says that speed is needed more than strength. Therefore High Lord. Elena has chosen two Lords-two Lords who have been accepted by the Ranyhyn — Shetra Verement-mate, whose knowledge of Sarangrave Flat is greater than any other's, and Hyrim son of Hoole, who has a passing acquaintance with the lore of the Giants. To accompany us, First Mark Morin has chosen fifteen Bloodguard led by Korik, Cerrin, and Sill. The High Lord has given the mission to them as well as to us, so that if we fall they will go on to the Giants' aid.
“Korik is among the most senior of the Bloodguard.” The Lord seemed to be digressing, avoiding something that he hesitated to say. “With Tuvor, Morin, Bannor, and Terrel, he commanded the original Haruchai army which marched against the Land — marched, and met High Lord Kevin, with the Ranyhyn and the Giants, and was moved by love and wonder and gratitude to swear the Vow of service which began the Bloodguard. Sill is the Bloodguard who holds me in his especial care, just as Cerrin holds Lord Shetra. I will require them to hold us well,” Hyrim growled with a return to humour. “I do not wish to lose all this flesh which I have so joyfully gained.”
In frustration, Covenant repeated sharply, “What do you expect me to do?”
Slowly, Hyrim turned to face him squarely. “You have known Saltheart Foamfollower,” he said. “I wish you to come with us.”
Covenant gaped at the Lord in astonishment. He felt suddenly faint. From a distance, he heard himself asking weakly, “Does the High Lord know about this?”
Hyrim grinned. “Her anger will blister the skin of my face when she hears what I have said to you.” But a moment later, he was sober again. "Ur-Lord, I do not say that you should accompany us. Perhaps I am greatly wrong in my asking. There is much that we do not know concerning the Despiser's intent for this war-and of these one of the greatest is our ignorance of the direction from which he will attack. Will he move south of Andelain as he has in past ages, and then strike northward through the Centre Plains, or will he march north along Landsdrop to approach us from the east? This ignorance paralyzes our defence. The Warward cannot move until we know the answer. Warmark Troy is much concerned. But if Lord Foul chooses to assail us from the east, then our mission to Seareach will ride straight into his strength. For that reason, it would be unsurpassable folly for the white gold to accompany us.
“No, if it were wise for you to ride with us, Lord Mhoram would have spoken of it with you. Nevertheless I ask. I love the Giants deeply, ur-Lord. They are precious to all the Land. I would brave even High Lord Elena's wrath to give them any aid.”
The simple sincerity of the Lord's appeal touched Covenant. Though he had just met the man, he found that he liked Hyrim son of Hoole-liked him and wanted to help him. And the Giants were a powerful argument. He could not bear to — think that Foamfollower, so full of life and laughter and comprehension, might be killed if he were not given aid. But that argument reminded Covenant bitterly that he was less capable of help than anyone in the Land. And Elena's influence was still strong on him. He did not want to do anything to anger her, anything that would give her additional cause to hate him. He was torn; he could not answer the candid question in Hyrim's gaze.
Abruptly, the Lord's eyes filled with tears. He looked away, blinking rapidly. “I have given you pain, ur-Lord,” he said softly. “Forgive me.” Covenant expected to hear irony, criticism, in the words, but Hyrim's tone expressed only an un-complex sorrow. When he faced Covenant again, his lips wore a lame smile. “Well, then. Will you not at least come with me to the courtyard? The mission will soon meet there to depart. Your presence will say to all Revelstone that you act from choice rather than from ignorance.”
That Covenant could not refuse; he was too ashamed of his essential impotence, too angry. Kicking himself vehemently into motion, he strode out of his suite.
At once, he found Bannor at his elbow. Between the Bloodguard and the Lord, he stalked downward through the halls and passages toward the gates of Revelstone.
There was only one entrance to Lord's Keep, and the Giants had designed it well to defend the city. At the wedge tip of the plateau, they had hollowed out the stone to form a courtyard between the main Keep and the watchtower which protected the outer gates. Those gates-huge, interlocking stone slabs which could close inward to seal the entrance completely led to a tunnel under the tower. The tunnel opened into the courtyard, and the entrance from the courtyard to the Keep was defended by another set of gates as m
assive and solid as the first. The main Keep was joined to the tower by a series of wooden crosswalks suspended at intervals above the court, but the only ground-level access to the tower was through two small doors on either side of the tunnel. Thus any enemy who accomplished the almost impossible task of breaking the outer gates would then have to attempt the same feat at the inner gates while under attack from the battlements of both the watchtower and the main Keep.
The courtyard was paved with flagstones except in the centre, where an old Gilden tree grew, nourished by springs of fresh water. Lord Hyrim, Bannor, and Covenant found the rest of the mission there beside the tree, under the waning darkness of the sky. Dawn had begun.
Shivering in the crisp air, Covenant looked around the court. In the light which reflected from within the Keep, he could see that all the people near the tree were Bloodguard except for one Lord, a tall woman. She stood facing into Revelstone; Covenant could see her clearly. She had stiff, iron-grey hair that she wore cropped short; and her, face was like the face of a hawk-keen of nose and eye, lean of cheek. Her eyes held a sharp gleam like the hunting stare of a hawk. But behind the gleam, Covenant discerned something that looked like an ache of desire, a yearning which she could neither satisfy nor repress.
Lord Hyrim greeted her companionably, but she ignored him, stared back into the Keep as if she could not bear to leave it.
Behind her, the Bloodguard were busy distributing burdens, packing their supplies into bundles with clingor thongs. These they tied to their backs so that their movements would not be hampered. Soon one of them-Covenant recognized Korik-stepped forward and announced to Lord Hyrim that he was ready.
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