As the riders looked down at it, its broad, glossy leaves caught the orange-red fire of the sun, so that it appeared to burn proudly above the shadows spreading down the valley. The company responded to the sight with a glad hail. Clapping their heels to their mounts, they galloped down the slope toward the ford of the Llurallin.
In the time when Revelwood was being grown, the Lords had been mindful of its defence. They had made only two fords for the valley, one across each river. And the ford beds were submerged; they had to be raised before they could be used. All the High Lord's company except Covenant had the necessary knowledge and skill, so Troy was vaguely surprised when Elena halted on the riverbank, and gravely asked Trell to open the ford. Troy understood that she was doing the Gravelingas an honour, but he did not know why. Her gesture deepened the mystery of Trell.
Without meeting her gaze, Trell dismounted, and walked to the Llurallin's edge. At first, he did not appear to know the ford's secret. Troy had learned a few quick words in a strange language and two gestures to raise the bed, but Trell used none of them. He stood on the bank as if he were presenting himself to the deep current, and began to sing a rumbling, cryptic song. The rest of the company watched him in hushed stillness. Troy could not grasp the words of the song, but he felt their effect. They had an old, buried, cavernous sound, as if they were being sung by the bedrock of the valley. For a moment, they made him want to weep.
But soon Trell's singing stopped. In silence, he lifted his arms-and the flat rock of the ford stood up out of the river bottom. It broke water in sections with channels between them so that it did not dam the current. By the time it was ready for crossing, it was as dry as if it had never been submerged.
With his head bowed, Trell walked back to his mount.
When the last horse had crossed the river, and all the company was within the valley, the ford closed itself without any of the usual signals.
Troy was impressed. Remembering Trell's attack on Covenant, he thought that the Unbeliever was lucky to be alive. And he began to feel that he would be well advised to solve the riddle of Trell before he left Trothgard.
But he could do nothing immediately. The last twilight was ebbing out of the valley as if the river currents carried the light away, and he had to concentrate to keep a grip on his own location. The Lorewardens lit torches, but torchlight could not take the place of the sun. Focusing himself sternly, he rode between Lord Mhoram and Ruel across the valley toward Revelwood.
The High Lord's company was met on the ground near the Tree by a welcoming group of Lorewardens. They greeted the Lords with solemn dignity, and embraced their comrades who returned from visiting Lord's Keep. To Warmark Troy, whom they knew well, they gave a special welcome. But when they caught sight of Covenant, they all turned toward him. Squaring their, shoulders as if to meet an inspection, they saluted him, and said together, “Hail, white gold wielder! — you who are named ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and Ringthane. Be welcome in Revelwood! You are the crux and pivot of our age in the Land-the keeper of the wild magic which destroys peace. Honour us by accepting our hospitality.”
Troy expected some discomforting sarcasm from Covenant. But the Unbeliever replied in a gruff, embarrassed voice, “Your hospitality honours me.”
The Lorewardens bowed in answer, and their leader stepped forward. He was an old, wrinkled man with hooded eyes and a stooped posture-the result of decades of back-bending study. His voice had a slight tremor of age. “I am Corimini,” he said, “the Eldest of the Loresraat. I speak for all the seekers of the Lore, both Sword and Staff. The accepting of a gift returns honour to the giver. Be welcome.” As he spoke, he held out his hand to help Covenant dismount.
But Covenant either misunderstood the gesture or went beyond it intuitively. Instead of swinging off his mount, he brusquely pulled his wedding band from his left hand and dropped it into Corimini's extended palm.
The Eldest caught his breath; a look of astonishment widened his eyes. Almost at once, he turned to show the ring to the other Lorewardens. With muted awed murmurings of invocation like low snatches of prayer, they crowded around Corimini to gaze at the white gold, and to handle it with fingers that trembled.
But their touches were brief. Shortly Corimini returned to Covenant. The Eldest's eyes were damp with emotion, and his hand shook as he passed the ring back up to the Unbeliever. “Ur-Lord Covenant,” he said with a pronounced quaver, “you exceed us. We will need many generations to repay this honour. Command us, so that we may serve you.”
“I don't need service,” Covenant replied bluntly. “I need an alternative. Find some way to save the Land without me.”
“I do not wholly understand you,” said Corimini. “All our strength is bent toward the preservation of the Land. If that may aid you also, we will be pleased.” Facing the company of the Lords more generally, he went on, “Will you now enter Revelwood with us? We have prepared food and pleasure for you.”
High Lord Elena made a gracious answer, and dropped lightly from Myrha's back. The rest of the riders promptly dismounted. At once, a group of Students hurried out of the shadows of the Tree to take charge of the horses. Then the company was escorted through the ring of trunks toward the central tree. Many lights had appeared throughout Revelwood, and their combined illumination ameliorated the dimness of Troy's sight. He was able to walk confidently with the Lords, and to look up with fondness into the branches of the familiar city. In some ways, he felt more at home here than in Lord's Keep. In Revelwood he had learned to see.
And he felt that Revelwood also suited the High Lord. The two were inextricably linked for him. He was gratified by her just pre-eminence, her glow of gentle authority, and her easy grace as she swung up the wide ladder of the central trunk. Under her influence, he found the fortitude to give Covenant a word of encouragement when the Unbeliever balked at climbing into the Tree.
“You don't understand,” Covenant responded vaguely. “I'm afraid of heights.” With a look of rigid trepidation, he forced his hands to the rungs of the ladder.
Bannor took a position close behind Covenant, making himself responsible for the ur-Lord's safety. Soon they had climbed to the level of the first branches.
Troy moved easily up into the Tree after them. The smooth, strong wood of the rungs made him feel that he could not miss his grip; it almost seemed to lift him upward, as if Revelwood were eager for him. In moments, he was high up the trunk, stepping away from the ladder onto one of the main boughs of the city. The shapers of Revelwood had grown the banyan so that the upper surfaces of the branches were flat, and the level stretch down which Troy walked was wide enough for three or four people to stand safely abreast. As he moved, he waved greetings to the people he knew-most of the Sword Lorewardens, and a few students whose families lived in Lord's Keep.
The procession of the Lords crossed an intersection where several limbs came together, and passed beyond it toward one of the outer trunks. Formed in this trunk was a large hall, and when Troy entered it he found that the room had been set for a banquet. The chamber was brilliant with lillianrill torches; long tables with carpets of moss between them covered the floor; and students of all ages bustled around, carrying trays laden with steaming bowls and flagons.
There Troy was joined by Drinishok, Sword-Elder of the Lorewardens, and the Warmark's first battle-teacher. Except for his grizzled eyebrows, Drinishok did not look like a warrior; his thin, spidery limbs and fingers did not seem sturdy enough to handle either a sword or a bow. But three Lords and three-quarters of Troy's Warward had trained under the old Sword Elder; and his tanned forearms were laced with many white battle scars. Troy greeted his mentor warmly, and after standing together in the Land's customary thanks for food, they sat down to the feast.
The fare of Revelwood was simple but excellent it made up in convivial gusto what it lacked in complexity-and all the Lords and Lorewardens were bountifully supplied with meats, rice, cheeses, bread, fruit, and springwine. Warmed b
y the glow of Revelwood's welcome, the High Lord's company ate with enthusiasm, talking and joking all the while with their hosts and the busy students. Then, when the eating was done, High Lord Elena presided over an entertainment which the students had prepared. Champions of the Sword gave demonstrations of gymnastics and blade work, and the apprentices of the Staff told an intricate tale which they had distilled from the ancient Giantish story of Bahgoon the Unbearable and Thelma Twofist who tamed him. Troy had never heard it before, and it delighted him.
He was reluctant to lose this pleased and comfortable mood, so when the Lords left the hall with the Lorewardens to speak with them concerning the tidings which Runnik had brought from Sarangrave Flat, Troy did not accompany them. Instead, he accepted Drinishok's invitation, and went to spend the night in the old Sword-Elder's home.
High in one of the outer trees, in a chamber woven of leaves and branches, he and Drinishok sat up for a long time, drinking springwine and discussing the war. Drinishok was excited by the prospect of the battle, and he avowed that only Revelwood's need for a strong defence kept him from marching with the Warward. As always, he showed a swift grasp of Troy's ideas, and when the Warmark finally went to bed the only immediate blot on his private satisfaction was the mystery of Trell.
The breeze in the branches lulled him into a fine sleep, and he awoke early the next morning feeling eager for the new day. He was amused but not surprised to find that his host was up and away before him; he knew the rigorous schedule of the Loresraat. He bathed and dressed, pulled his high boots over his black leggings, and carefully adjusted his headband and his sunglasses. After a quick breakfast, he spent a few moments polishing his breastplate and his gleaming ebony sword. When he was properly apparelled as the Warmark of the Lords' Warward, he left Drinishok's chambers, moved to the central tree, and started up it toward the lookout of Revelwood.
On a small platform in the uppermost branches of the Tree, he joined the two students on watch duty. While he exchanged pleasantries with them, he breathed the crisp autumn air and studied the whole length and breadth of the Valley of Two Rivers. In the west, he could see the snow crests of the mountains. He was not being cautious, looking for danger. He loved the fertile hills of Trothgard, and he wanted to fix them in his mind so that he would never forget them. If something were to strike him down during the coming war, he wanted to be sure to the very end, death or blindness, that he had in fact seen this place.
He was still in the lookout when he heard the signal for the gathering of the Loresraat.
At once, he took leave of the two students, and started down the Tree. Shortly, he reached the wide, roofless bowl of the gathering place. High in the city, on a frame of four heavy boughs radiating from the central trunk, the shapers of Revelwood had woven an immense net of banyan roots and hung it around the central trunk. It formed a wide basin supported by the four boughs and anchored by the roots themselves in each of the six outer trees. The result was the viancome, a meeting place large enough for half the population of the city. People sat on the roots and dangled their feet through the gaps of the net.
These gaps were rarely larger than a foot square, but they made the viancome,an uneasy experience for novices. However, the people of Revelwood moved and even ran lightly over the net. Warmark Troy, with a blind man's alert, careful feet, was able to walk confidently away from the central trunk to join Drinishok and the other Sword Lorewardens where they stood partway up one side of the bowl.
Lord Amatin was already there, talking intently with a cluster of Staff Lorewardens and advanced students. Most of the Bloodguard were stationed around the edge of the net, and past them came a steady flow of Revelwood's inhabitants. As Troy joined Drinishok, he caught sight of Lord Mhoram moving across the bowl toward Amatin. If the viancome caused Mhoram any anxiety, he did not show it; he strode boldly from root to root with his staff held in the crook of his arm.
Soon High Lord Elena arrived in the company of the Staff-Elder, Asuraka. Troy was taken slightly aback; he had expected her to be with Corimini, the Eldest of the Loresraat. But when Corimini entered the bowl, he brought with him ur-Lord Covenant. Troy saw what had happened. The Loresraat ranked Covenant above Elena, and so the highest honour of Revelwood's hospitality, the invitation of the Eldest, had gone to the Unbeliever. This nettled Troy; he did not like to see the High Lord slighted in favour of Covenant. But he consoled himself by watching the sick look with which Covenant regarded the net and fall below it.
Shortly all the Lorewardens were in their places. The sides of the viancome, and the branches overhead, thronged with the people of Revelwood. Covenant clung to a root over one of the supporting boughs, and Bar or crouched protectively near him.
The Lords and Warmark Troy sat in a fanned group with the Elder Lorewardens, facing south, and Corimini stood before them, looking out over the assembly with a dignified mien. When all the people were still, hushed and expectant, he began the ceremonies of the meeting.
He and the High Lord exchanged traditional salutations, and sang to each other the ritual invocations which they considered appropriate to the purpose of the meeting. Their stately alternation spun a mood of reverent seriousness over the viancome, wrapped all the people together as if it were weaving them into the grim and wondrous history of the Land. Under the influence of the ceremonies, Troy was almost able to forget that half of what was said and sung was intended to honour' the white gold wielder.
But Covenant did not look as if he were being honoured. He sat with an awkward stiffness, as if the point of a knife were pressed against his spine.
After the, last song was done, Corimini gazed at Covenant in silence, giving the Unbeliever a chance to speak. But the glare which Covenant returned almost made the Eldest wince. He turned away, and said, “High Lord Elena, Lord Mhoram, Lord Amatin, Warmark Troy, be welcome in the viancome of Revelwood. We are the Loresraat, the seekers and servants of Kevin's Lore. We gather to honour you-and to offer you the help of all our knowledge in the name of the approaching war. The preservation of Land and Lore is in your hands, as the mystery of Land and Lore is in ours. If there is any way in which we may aid you, only speak of it, and we will put forth all our strength to meet the need.”
With a deep bow, High Lord Elena replied formally, “The gathering of the Loresraat honours us, and I am honoured to speak before the people of Revelwood.” Troy thought that he had rarely seen her look more radiant. "Eldest, Elders, Lorewardens, students of the Sword and Staff, friends of the Land my friends, in the name of all the Lords, I thank you. We will never be defeated while such faithfulness is alive in the Land.
“My friends, there are matters of which I would speak. I do not speak of the danger that war brings to Revelwood. The Lore of the Sword will not neglect your defence. And Lord Amatin will remain with you, to do all that a Lord may do to preserve the Valley of Two Rivers.”
A cheer started up on the edges of the bowl, but she stopped it with a commanding glance, and went on, "More, I do not speak of Stonedowns and Woodhelvens which will be destroyed by war-or of people made homeless. I know that the dispossessed of this war will find here all comfort and relief and restitution that human hearts may ask or give. This is sure, and requires no urging.
"More, I do not speak of any need for mastery of Kevin's Lore. You have given your best strength, and have achieved much. You will give and achieve more. All these matters are secure in your fidelity.
“But there are two questions of which I must speak.” A change in the cadence of her voice showed that she was approaching the heart of her reasons for coming to Revelwood. “The second concerns a stranger who has visited Lord's Keep. But the first is one which was presented to you a year ago-at the request of Warmark Hile Troy.” She offered Troy a chance to speak, but he declined with a shake of his head, and she continued, “It is our hope that the Loresraat has discovered a way to speak and hear messages across distances. The Warmark believes that such a way will be of great value in this
war.”
Cormini's look of satisfaction revealed his answer before he spoke it. “High Lord, we have learned a way.” Troy's heart surged at the news, and he gripped the handle of his sword. His battle plan appeared suddenly flawless. He was grinning broadly as the Eldest went on, "Several of our best students and Lorewardens have devoted themselves to this need. And they were aided by Hirebrands of the lillianrill. With the Hirebrands and two students, Staff-Elder Asuraka learned that messages may be spoken and heard through lomillialor, the High Wood of the lillianrill. The task is difficult, and requires strength but it will not surpass any Lord accustomed to the Earthpower.“ Nodding at the Staff-Elder, he said, ”Asuraka will teach the knowledge to you. We have prepared three lomillialor rods for this purpose. More we could not do, for the High Wood is very rare."
Lomillialor. Troy had heard of it. It was the lillianrill parallel to orcrest- a potent white wood descended from the One Tree from which Berek Halfhand had formed the Staff of Law. The Hirebrands used it-as the Gravelingases used orcrest- to give the test of truth. Lomillialor was said to be a sure test of-fidelity- if the one tested did not far surpass the strength of the tester. Some of the old tales of Covenant's first visit to the Land said that the Unbeliever had passed a test of truth given to him at Soaring Woodhelven.
And Soaring Woodhelven had later been destroyed.
As Troy got up to join Elena in thanking the Loresraat for what it had achieved, he looked over to see how Covenant took Corimini's news.
For some reason; the Unbeliever was on his feet. Swaying uncertainly, afraid of falling, he muttered, “Lomillialor. The test of truth. Are you going to trust that?”
A hot retort leaped into Troy's mouth, but something about Covenant's appearance silenced it. Troy blocked his sight with his hand, adjusted his sunglasses, then looked again. The strangeness was still there.
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