He was barely able to sense the last hints of Trothgard's convalescence. Under the mantling growth of grass and trees, all the injuries of Kevin's last war had not been undone. From time to time, the riders passed near festering barren patches which still refused all repair, and some of the hills seemed to lie awkwardly, like broken bones imperfectly set. But the Lords had laboured to good effect. The air of Trothgard was tangy, animate, vital. Very few of the trees showed that their roots ran down into once-desecrated soil. The new Council of Lords had found a worthy way to spend their lives.
Because of what it had suffered, Trothgard touched Covenant's heart. He found that he liked it, trusted it. At times as the day passed into afternoon, he wished that he was not going anywhere. He wanted to roam Trothgard destinationless, preferably alone-without any thought of Wards or rings or wars. He would have welcomed the rest.
Amok seemed a fit guide for such sojourns. The bearer of the Seventh Ward moved with a sprightly, boyish stride which disguised the fact that the pace he set was not a lazy one. And his good spirits bubbled irrepressibly. He sang long songs which he claimed to have learned from the faery Elohim- songs so alien that Covenant could distinguish neither words nor sentences, and yet so curiously suggestive, so like moonlight in a forest, that they half entranced him. And Amok told intimate tales of the stars and heavens, describing merrily the sky dance as if he had pranced in it himself. His happy voice complemented the clear, keen evening air and the sunset conflagration of the trees, interwove his listeners like an incantation, a mesmerism.
Yet in the twilight of Trothgard, he disappeared suddenly, gestured himself out of visibility, leaving the High Lords' party alone.
Covenant was startled out of his reverie. “Where-?”
“Amok will return,” answered Elena. In the gloaming, he could not tell if she were looking at him or through him or into him or in spite of him. “He has only left us for the night. Come, ur-Lord,” she said as she dropped lightly down from Myrha's back. “Let us rest.”
Covenant followed her example, released his mount to Bannor's care. Myrha and the other two Ranyhyn galloped away, stretching their legs after a day's walking. Then Morin went to the Rill for water while Elena began to make camp. She produced a small urn of graveling, and' used the fire-stones to cook a frugal meal for herself and Covenant. Her face followed the motion of her hands, but her vision's strange otherness was far distant, as if in the earthy light she read of events on the opposite edge of the Land.
Covenant watched her; in the performance of even the simplest chores she fascinated him. But as he studied her lithe form, her sure movements, her bifurcated gaze, he was trying to regain a grip on himself, trying to recover some sense of where he stood with her. She was a mystery to him. Out of all the strong and knowledgeable people of the Land, she had chosen him to accompany her. He had raped her mother-and still she had chosen him. In Glimmermere she had kissed-The memory made his heart hurt. She had chosen him. But not out of anger or desire for retribution-not for any reason that Trell would have approved. He could see in her smiles, hear in her voice, feel in her ambience that she intended him no harm. Then why? From what secret forgetfulness or passion did her desire for his company spring? He needed to know. And yet he was half afraid of the answer.
After supper, when he sat drinking his ration of springwine across the pot of graveling from Elena, he mustered his courage to question her. Both Bloodguard had withdrawn from the campsite, and he was relieved that he did not have to contend with them. Rubbing his fingers through his beard, remembering the peril of physical sensations, he began by asking her if she had learned anything from Amok.
She shook her head unconcernedly, and her hair haloed her head in the graveling light. “We are surely several days from the location of the Seventh Ward. There will be time enough for the questioning of Amok.”
He accepted this, but it did not meet his need. Tightening his hold on himself, he asked her why she had chosen him.
She gazed at him or through him for several moments before she replied. “Thomas Covenant, you know that I did not choose you. No Lord of Revelstone chose you. Drool Rockworm performed your first summoning, and he was guided by the Despiser. In that way, we are your victims, just as you are his. It may be as Lord Mhoram believes-perhaps the Land's Creator also chose. Or perhaps the dead Lords-perhaps High Lord Kevin himself wields some influence from beyond his lost grave. But I made no choice.” Then her tone changed, and she went on, “Yet had I chosen—
Covenant interrupted her. “That isn't what I meant. I know why this is happening to me. It's because I'm a leper. A normal person would just laugh-No, what I meant is, why did you ask me to come with you looking for the Seventh Ward? Surely there were other people you could have chosen.”
Gently, she returned, “I do not understand this disease which causes you to be a-leper. You describe a world in which the innocent are tormented. Why are such things done? Why are they permitted?”
“Things aren't so different here. Or what did you think it was that happened to Kevin? But you're changing the subject. I want to know why you picked me.” He winced at the memory of Troy's chagrin when the High Lord had announced her choice.
“Very well, ur-Lord,” she said with a tone of reluctance. “If this question must be answered, I will answer it. There are many reasons for my choice. Will you hear them?"
“Go ahead.”
“Ah, Unbeliever. At times I think that Warmark Troy is not so blind. The truth-you evade the truth. But I will give you my reasons. First, I prepare for the chances of the future. If at the last you should come to desire the use of your white gold, with the Staff of Law I am better able to aid you than any other. I do not know the wild magic's secret-but there is no more discerning tool than the Staff. And if at the last you should turn against the Land, with the Staff I will be able to resist you. We possess nothing else which can hope to stand against the power of white gold.
“But I seek other goals also. You are no warrior-the Warward will meet great peril, where only power and skill in combat may hope to preserve life. I do not wish to risk your death. You must be given time to find your own reply to yourself. And for myself I seek companionship. Neither Warmark Troy nor Lord Mhoram can be spared from the war. Do you desire more explanation?”
He sensed the incompleteness of her response, and forced himself to pursue it despite his fear. With a grimace of distaste for the pervasive irrectitude of his conduct in the Land, he said deliberately, “Companionship? After all I've done. You're remarkably tolerant.”
“I am not tolerant. I do not make choices without consulting my own heart.”
For a moment, he faced squarely the implications of what she said. It was what he had both wanted and feared to hear. But then a complex unwillingness, composed of sympathy and dread and self-judgment, deflected him. It made his voice rough as he said, “You're breaking Trell's heart. And your mother's.”
Her face stiffened. “Do you accuse me of Trell's pain?”
“I don't know. He would be following us if he had any hope left. Now he knows for sure that you're not even thinking about punishing me.”
He stopped, but the sight of the pain he had given her made him speak again, rush to answer replies, counteraccusations, that she had not uttered. “As for your mother-I've got no right to talk. I don't mean about what I did to her. That's something I can at least understand. I was in such-penury- and she seemed so rich.
“No, I' mean about the Ranyhyn-those Ranyhyn that went to Mithil Stonedown every year. I made a bargain with them. I was trying to find some solution some way to keep myself from going completely insane. And they hated me. They were just like the Land-they were big and powerful and superior and they loathed me.” He rasped that word loathed, as if he were echoing, Leper outcast unclean! "But they reared to me-a hundred of them. They were driven-
“So I made a bargain with them. I promised that I wouldn't ride-wouldn't force one of them to carry me.
And I made them promise-I was trying to find some way to keep all that size and power and health and fidelity from driving me crazy. I made them promise to answer if I ever called them. And I made them promise to visit your mother.”
“Their promise remains.” She said this as if it gave her a deep pride.
He sighed. “That's what Rue said. But that's not the point. Do you see? I was trying to give her something, make it up to her somehow. But that doesn't work. When you've hurt someone that badly, you can't go around giving them gifts. That's arrogant and cruel.” His mouth twisted at the bitter taste of what he had done. "I was really just trying to make myself feel better.
“Anyway, it didn't work. Foul can pervert anything. By the time I got to the end of the Quest for the Staff of Law, things were so bad that no bargain could have saved me.”
Abruptly, he ran out of words. He wanted to tell Elena that he did not accuse her, could not accuse her-and at the same time a part of him did accuse her.
That part of him felt that Lena's pain deserved more loyalty.
But the High Lord seemed to understand this. Though her elsewhere gaze did not touch him, she replied to his thought. “Thomas Covenant, you do not altogether comprehend Lena my mother. I am a woman-human like any other. And I have chosen you to be my companion on this quest. Surely my choice reveals my mother's heart as well as my own. I am her daughter. From birth I lived in her care, and she taught me. Unbeliever, she did not teach me any anger or bitterness toward you.”
“No!” Covenant breathed. “No.” No! Not her, too! A vision of blood darkened his sight-the blood on Lena's loins. He could not bear to think that she had forgiven him, she!
He turned away. He felt Elena watching him, felt her presence reaching toward him in an effort to draw him back. But he could not face her. He was afraid of the emotions that motivated her; he did not even name them to himself. He lay down in his blankets with his back to her until she banked the graveling for the night and settled herself to sleep.
The next morning, shortly after dawn, Morin and Bannor reappeared. They brought Myrha and Covenant's mount with them. He roused himself, and joined Elena in a meal while the Bloodguard packed their blankets. And soon after they had started westward again, Amok became visible at the High Lord's side.
Covenant was in no mood for any more of Amok's spellbinding. And he had made a decision during the night. There was a risk he had to take-a dangerous gesture that he hoped might help him recover some kind of integrity. Before the youth could begin, Covenant clenched himself to contain the sudden hammering of his heart, and asked Amok what he knew about white gold.
“Much and little, Bearer,” Amok answered with a laugh and a bow. “It is said that white gold articulates the wild magic which destroys peace. But who is able to describe peace?”
Covenant frowned. “You're playing word games. I asked you a straight question. What do you know about it?”
“Know, Bearer? That is a small word-it conceals the magnitude of its meaning. I have heard what I have been told, and have seen what my eyes have beheld, but only you bear the white gold. Do you call this knowledge?”
“Amok,” Elena came to Covenant's aid, “is white gold in some way interwoven with the Seventh Ward? Is white gold the subject or key of that Ward?”
“Ah, High Lord, all things are interwoven.” The youth seemed to relish his ability to dodge questions. “The Seventh Ward may ignore white gold, and the master of white gold may have no use for the Seventh Ward-yet both are power, forms and faces of the one Power of life. But the Bearer is not my master. He shadows but does not darken me. I respect that which he bears, but my purpose remains.”
Elena's response was firm. “Then there is no need to evade his questions. Speak of what you have heard and learned concerning white gold.”
“I speak after my fashion, High Lord. Bearer, I have heard much and learned little concerning white gold. It is the girding paradox of the arch of Time, the undisciplined restraint of the Earth's creation, the absent bone of the Earthpower, the rigidness of water and the flux of rock. It articulates the wild magic which destroys peace. It is spoken of softly by the Bhrathair, and named in awe by the Elohim, though they have never seen it. Great Kelenbhrabanal dreams of it in his grave, and grim Sandgorgons writhe in voiceless nightmare at the touch of its name. In his last days, High Lord Kevin yearned for it in vain. It is the abyss and the peak of destiny.”
Covenant sighed to himself. He had feared that he would receive this kind of answer. Now he would have to go further, push his question right to the edge of his dread. In vexation and anxiety he rasped, “That's enough-spare me. Just tell me how white gold-” For an instant he faltered. But the memory of Lena compelled him. “-how to use this bloody ring.”
“Ah, Bearer,” Amok laughed, “ask the Sunbirth Sea or Melenkurion Skyweir. Question the fires of Gorak Krembal, or the tinder heart of Garroting Deep. All the Earth knows. White gold is brought into use like any other power-through passion and mystery, the honest subterfuge of the heart.”
“Hellfire,” Covenant growled in an effort to disguise his relief. He did not like to admit to himself how glad he was to remain ignorant on this subject. But that ignorance was vital to his self-defence. As long as he did not know how to use the wild magic, he could not be blamed for the fate of the Land. In a secret and perfidious part of his heart, he had risked his question only because he trusted Amok to give him an unrevealing answer. Now he felt like a liar. Even his attempts at integrity were flawed. But his relief was greater than his self-distaste.
That relief enabled him to change the subject, attempt a normal conversation with the High Lord. He felt as awkward as a cripple; he had not conversed casually with another person since before the onset of his leprosy. But Elena responded willingly, even gladly; she welcomed his attention. Soon he no longer had to search for leading questions.
For some time, their talk floated on the ambience of Trothgard. As they climbed westward through the hills and woodlands and moors, the autumn air grew crisper. Birds roved the countryside in deft flits and soars. The cheerful sunlight stretched as if it might burst at any moment into sparkles and gleams. In it, the fall colours became dazzling. And the riders began to see more animals-rabbits and squirrels, plump badgers, occasional foxes. The whole atmosphere seemed to suit High Lord Elena. Gradually, Covenant came to understand this aspect of Lordship. Elena was at home in Trothgard. The healing of Kurash Plenethor became her.
In the course of his questions, she avoided only one subject-her childhood experiences with the Ranyhyn. Something about her young rides and initiations was too private to be treated under the open sky. But on other topics she replied without constraint. She allowed herself to be led into talk of her years in the Loresraat, of Revelwood and Trothgard, of Revelstone and Lordship and power. He sensed that she was helping him, allowing him, cooperating, and he was grateful. In time, he no longer felt maimed during the pauses in their conversation.
The next day passed similarly. But the day after that, this unthreatened mood eluded him. He lost his facility. His tongue grew stiff with remembered loneliness, and his beard itched irritably, like a reminder of peril. It's impossible, he thought. None of this is happening to me. Deliberately, driven by his illness, and by all the survival disciplines he had lost, he raised the question of High Lord Kevin.
“I am fascinated by him,” she said, and the core of stillness in her voice sounded oddly like the calm in the eye of a storm. “He was the highest of all Berek Heartthew's great line-the Lord most full of dominion in all the Land's known or legended history. His fidelity to the Land and the Earthpower knew neither taint nor flaw. His friendship with the Giants was a matter for a fine song. The Ranyhyn adored him, and the Bloodguard wove their Vow because of him. If he had a fault, it was in excessive trust-yet how can E trust be counted for blame? At the first, it was to his honour that the Despiser could gain Lordship from him-Lordship, and access to his heart. Was not Fangthan
e witnessed and approved by the orcrest and lomillialor tests of truth? Innocence is glorified by its vulnerability.
“And he was not blind. In the awful secret of his doubt, he refused the summons which would have taken him to his death in Treacher's Gorge. In his heart-wrung foresight or prophecy, he made decisions which preserved the Land's future. He prepared his Wards. He provided for the survival of the Giants and the Ranyhyn and the Bloodguard. He warned the people. And then with his own hand he destroyed
“Thomas Covenant, there are some who believe that the Ritual of Desecration expressed High Lord
Kevin's highest wisdom. They are few, but eloquent. The common understanding holds that Kevin strove to achieve that paradox of purity through destruction and failed, for he and all the works of the Lords were undone, yet the Despiser endured. But these few argue that the final despair or madness with which Kevin invoked the Ritual was a necessary sacrifice, a price to make possible ultimate victory. They argue that his preparations and then the Ritual forcing both health and ill to begin their work anew-were enacted to provide us with Fangthane's defeat. In this argument, Kevin foresaw the need which would compel the Despiser to summon white gold to the Land."
“He must have been sicker than I thought,” Covenant muttered. “Or maybe he just liked desecrations.”
“Neither, I think,” she replied tartly, sternly. “He was a brave and worthy man driven to extremity. Any mortal or unguarded heart may be brought to despair-for this reason we cling to the Oath of Peace. And for this same reason High Lord Kevin fascinates me. He avowed the Land, and defiled it-in the same breath affirmed and denounced.” Her voice rose on the inner wind of her emotion. "How great must have been his grief? And how great his power had he only survived that last consuming moment-if, after beholding the Desecration, and hearing the Despiser's glee, he had lived to strike one more blow!
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