But surely now you can see that we are no friends of the Gray Slayer."
"We see much in you, Atiaran Trell-mate," said Llaura, her eyes fixed keenly on the Stonedownor, "much sorrow and much courage. But your companion is closed to us. It may be that we will need to emprison this Thomas Covenant."
"Melenkurion!" hissed Atiaran. "Do not dare! Do you not know? Have you not looked at him?"
At this, a murmur of relief passed among the Heers, a murmur which accented their tension. Stepping toward Atiaran, Soranal extended his right hand, palm forward, in the salute of welcome, and said, "We have looked-looked and heard. We trust you, Atiaran Trell-mate. You have spoken a name which no Raver would call upon to save a companion." He took her by the arm and drew her away from Covenant, out of the center of the chamber.
Without her at his shoulder, Covenant felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable. For the first time, he sensed how much he had come to depend upon her presence, her guidance, if not her support. But he was in no mood to meet threats passively. He poised himself on the balls of his feet, ready to move in any direction; and his eyes shifted quickly among, the faces that stared at him from the gleaming walls of the chamber.
"Jehannum predicted many things," said Llaura, "but one especially you should be told. He said that a great evil in the semblance of Berek Halfhand walked the hills toward us out of the south. And here-" She pointed a pale arm at Covenant, her voice rising sternly as she spoke. "Here is an utter stranger to the Land-half unhanded on his right, and on his left bearing a ring of white gold. Beyond doubt carrying messages to the Lords-messages of doom!"
With a pleading intensity, Atiaran said, "Do not presume to judge. Remember the Oath. You are not Lords. And dark words may be warnings as well as prophecies. Will you trust the word of a Raver?"
Baradakas shrugged slightly. "It is not the message we judge. Our test is for the man." Reaching behind him, he lifted up a smooth wooden rod three feet long from which all the bark had been stripped. He held it by the middle gently, reverently. "This is lomillialor." As he said the name, the wood glistened as if its clear grain were moist with dew.
What the hell is this? Covenant tried to balance himself for whatever was coming.
But the Hirebrand's next move caught him by surprise. Baradakas swung his rod and lofted it toward the Unbeliever.
He jerked aside and clutched at the lomillialor with his right hand. But he did not have enough fingers to get a quick grip on it; it slipped away from him, dropped to the floor with a wooden click that seemed unnaturally loud in the hush of the chamber.
For an instant, everyone remained still, frozen while they absorbed the meaning of what they had seen. Then, in unison, the Heers uttered their verdict with all the finality of a death sentence.
"The High Wood rejects him. He is a wrong in the Land."
TEN: The Celebration of Spring
IN one fluid motion, Baradakas drew a club from his cloak and raised it as he moved toward Covenant.
Covenant reacted instinctively, defensively. Before the Hirebrand could reach him, he stooped and snatched up the lomillialor rod with his left hand. As Baradakas swung the club at his head, he slashed the Hirebrand's arm with the rod.
In a shower of white sparks, the club sprang into splinters. Baradakas was flung back as if he had been blasted away by an explosion.
The force of the hit vibrated through Covenant's hand to his elbow, and his fingers were struck momentarily numb. The rod started to slip from his hand. He gaped at it, thinking, What the hell-?
But then the mute astonishment of the Heers, and the Hirebrand's crumpled form, steadied him. Test me? he rasped. Bastards. He took the rod in his right hand, holding it by the middle as Baradakas had done. Its glistening wood felt slick; it gave him a sensation of slippage, as if it were oozing from his grasp, though the wood did not actually move. As he gripped it, he glared around at the Heers, put all the anger their treatment had sparked in him into his gaze. "Now why don't you tell me one more time about how this thing rejects me."
Soranal and Llaura stood on either side of Atiaran, with Malliner opposite them against the wall. Omournil and Padrias were bent over the fallen Hirebrand. As Covenant surveyed them, Atiaran faced him grimly. "In the older age," she said, "when High Lord Kevin trusted the Gray Slayer, he was given priceless gifts of orcrest and lomillialor. The tale says that these gifts were soon lost-but while the Gray Slayer possessed them they did not reject him. It is possible for Despite to wear the guise of truth. Perhaps the wild magic surpasses truth."
Thanks a lot! Covenant glowered at her. What're you trying to do to me?
In a pale voice, Llaura replied, "That is the tale. But we are only Woodhelvennin-not Lords. Such matters are beyond us. Never in the memory of our people has a test of truth struck down a Hirebrand of the lillianrill. What is the song? `he will save or damn the Earth.' Let us pray that we will not find damnation for our distrust." Extending an unsteady hand toward Covenant in the salute of welcome, she said, "Hail, Unbeliever! Pardon our doubts, and be welcome in Soaring Woodhelven."
For an instant, Covenant faced her with a bitter retort twisting his lips. But he found when he met her eyes that he could see the sincerity of her apology. The perception abashed his vehemence. With conflicting intentions, he muttered, "Forget it."
Llaura and Soranal both bowed as if he had accepted her apology. Then they turned to watch as Baradakas climbed dazedly to his feet. His hands pulled at his face as if it were covered with cobwebs, but he assured Omournil and Padrias that he was unharmed. With a mixture of wonder and dismay in his eyes, he also saluted Covenant.
Covenant responded with a dour nod. He did not wait for the Hirebrand to ask; he handed the lomillialor to Baradakas, and was glad to be rid of its disquieting, insecure touch.
Baradakas received the rod and smiled at it crookedly, as if it had witnessed his defeat. Then he slipped it away into his cloak. Turning his smile toward Covenant, he said, "Unbeliever, our presences are no longer needed here. You have not eaten, and the weariness of your journey lies heavily upon you. Will you accept the hospitality of my house?"
The invitation surprised Covenant; for a moment he hesitated, trying to decide whether or not he could trust the Hirebrand. Baradakas appeared calm, unhostile, but his smile was more complex than Llaura's apology. But then Covenant reflected that if the question were one of trust, he would be safer with Baradakas alone than with all the Heers together. Stiffly, he said, "You honor me."
The Hirebrand bowed. "In accepting a gift you honor the giver." He looked around at the other Woodhelvennin, and when they nodded their approval, he turned and moved out of the heartwood chamber.
Covenant glanced toward Atiaran, but she was already talking softly to Soranal. Without further delay, he stepped out onto the broad limb beside Baradakas.
The night over the great tree was now scattered with lights-the home fires of the Woodhelvennin. They illuminated the fall far down through the branches, but did not reach to the ground. Involuntarily, Covenant clutched at Baradakas' shoulder.
"It is not far," the Hirebrand said softly. "Only up to the next limb. I will come behind you-you will not fall."
Cursing silently through his teeth, Covenant gripped the rungs of the ladder. He wanted to retreat, go back to the solidity of the heartwood chamber, but pride and anger prevented him. And the rungs felt secure, almost adhesive, to his fingers. When Baradakas placed a reassuring hand on his back, he started awkwardly upward.
As Baradakas had promised, the next limb was not far away. Soon Covenant reached another broad branch. A few steps out from the trunk, it forked, and in the fork sat the Hirebrand's home. Holding Baradakas' shoulders for support, he gained the doorway, crossed the threshold as if he were being blown in by a gust of relief.
He was in a neat, two-roomed dwelling formed entirely from the branches of the tree. Interwoven limbs made part of the floor and all the walls, including the partition between the rooms. And the
ceiling was a dome of twigs and leaves. Along one wall of the first room, broad knees of wood grew into the chamber like chairs, and a bunk hung opposite them. The place had a warm, clean atmosphere, an ambience of devotion to lore, that Covenant found faintly disturbing, like a reminder that the Hirebrand could be a dangerous man.
While Covenant scanned the room, Baradakas set torches in each of the outer walls and lit them by rubbing his hands over their ends and murmuring softly. Then he rummaged around in the far room for a moment, and returned carrying a tray laden with slabs of bread and cheese, a large bunch of grapes, and a wooden jug. He set a small, three-legged table between two of the chairs, put the tray on it, and motioned for Covenant to sit down.
At the sight of the food, Covenant discovered that he was hungry; he had eaten nothing but aliantha for the past two days. He watched while Baradakas bowed momentarily over the food. Then he seated himself. Following his host's example, he made sandwiches with cheese and grapes between slices of fresh bread, and helped himself liberally to the jug of springwine. In the first rush of eating, he said nothing, saving his attention for the food.
But he did not forget who his host was, what had happened between them.
Leaving the springwine with Covenant, Baradakas cleared away the remains of the meal. When he returned after storing his food in the far room, he said, "Now, Unbeliever. In what other way may I give you comfort?"
Covenant took a deep draft of springwine, then replied as casually as he could, "Give an answer. You were ready to split my head open-back there. And it looked as if you got quite a jolt from that-from that High Wood. Why did you invite me here?"
For a moment, Baradakas hesitated, as if pondering how much he should say. Then he reached into his back room, picked up a smooth staff nearly six feet long, and sat down on the bed across from Covenant. As he spoke, he began polishing the white wood of the staff with a soft cloth. "There are many reasons, Thomas Covenant. You required a place to sleep, and my home is nearer to the heartwood chamber than any other-for one who dislikes heights. And neither you nor I are necessary for the consideration of counsel and help which will be done this night. Atiaran knows the Land-she will say all that need be said concerning your journey. And both Soranal and Llaura are able to give any help she may ask."
As he looked 'across the room at the Hirebrand's working hands and light, penetrating eyes, Covenant had the odd feeling that his test had been resumed that the encounter of the lomillialor had only begun Baradakas' examining. But the springwine unknotted his fears and tensions; he was not anxious. Steadily, he said, "Tell me more."
"I also intended that my offer of hospitality should be an apology. I was prepared to injure you, and that violation of my Oath of Peace needs reparation. Had you shown yourself to be a servant of the Gray Slayer, it would have sufficed to capture you. And injury might have deprived the Lords of a chance to examine you. So in that way I was wrong. And became more wrong still when you lifted the lomillialor, and its fire struck me. I hope to amend my folly."
Covenant recognized the Hirebrand's frankness, but his sense of being probed sharpened rather than faded. He held his host's eyes as he said, "You still haven't answered my question."
In an unsurprised tone, Baradakas countered, "Are there other reasons? What do you see in me?"
"You're still testing me," Covenant growled.
The Hirebrand nodded slowly. "Perhaps. Perhaps I am." He got to his feet and braced one end of the staff against the floor as he gave a last touch to its polish. Then he said, "See, Thomas Covenant-I have made a staff for you. When I began it, I believed it was for myself. But now I know otherwise. Take it. It may serve you when help and counsel fail." To the brief question in Covenant's eyes, he replied, "No, this is not High Wood. But it is good nonetheless. Let me give it to you."
Covenant shook his head. "Finish your testing."
Suddenly, Baradakas raised the staff and struck the wood under his feet a hard blow. For an instant, the entire limb shook as if a gale had come up; the smaller branches thrashed, and the dwelling tossed like a chip on an angry wave. Covenant feared that the tree was falling, and he gripped his chair in apprehension. But almost immediately the violence passed. Baradakas leveled his pale eyes at Covenant and whispered, "Then hear me, Unbeliever. Any test of truth is no greater than the one who gives it. And I have felt your power. In all the memory of the lillianrill, no Hirebrand has ever been struck by the High Wood. We are the friends of the One Tree, not its foes. But beside you I am as weak as a child. I cannot force the truth from you. In spite of my testing, you might be the Gray Slayer himself, come to turn all the life of the Land to ashes."
Incensed by the suggestion, Covenant spat, "That's ridiculous."
Baradakas stepped closer, drove his probing gaze
deep into Covenant's eyes. Covenant squirmed; he could feel the Hirebrand exploring parts of him that he wanted to protect, keep hidden. What has that bastard Foul to do with me? he demanded bitterly. I didn't exactly choose to be his errand boy.
Abruptly, Baradakas' eyes widened, and he fell back across the room as if he had seen something of astonishing power. He caught himself on the bed, sat there for a moment while he watched his hands tremble on the staff. Then he said carefully, "True. One day I may be wise enough to know what can be relied upon. Now I need time to understand. I trust you, my friend. At the last trial, you will not abandon us to death.
"Here." He proffered the staff again. "Will you not accept my gift?"
Covenant did not reply at once. He was trembling also, and he had to clench himself before he could say without a tremor, "Why? Why do you trust me?"
The Hirebrand's eyes gleamed as if he were on the verge of tears, but he was smiling as he said, "You are a man who knows the value of beauty."
Covenant stared at that answer for a moment, then looked away. A complex shame came over him; he felt unclean, tainted, in the face of Baradakas' trust. But then he stiffened. Keep moving. Survive. What does trust have to do with it? Brusquely, he reached out and accepted the staff.
It felt pure in his hands, as if it had been shaped from the healthiest wood by the most loving devotion. He gripped it, scrutinized it, as if it could provide him with the innocence he lacked.
A short time later, he surprised himself with a wide yawn. He had not realized that he was so tired. He tried to suppress his weariness, but the effort only produced another yawn.
Baradakas responded with a kindly smile. He left the bed and motioned for Covenant to lie down.
Covenant had no intention of going to sleep, but as soon as he was horizontal, all the springwine he had consumed seemed to rush to his head, and he felt himself drifting on the high tree breeze. Soon he was fast in slumber.
He slept soundly, disturbed only by the memory of the Hirebrand's intense, questioning eyes, and by the sensation that the lomillialor was slipping through his fingers, no matter how hard he clenched it. When he awoke the next morning, his arms ached as if he had been grappling with an angel all night.
Opening his eyes, he found Atiaran sitting across the room from him, waiting. As soon as she saw that he was awake, she stood and moved closer to him. "Come, Thomas Covenant," she said. "Already we have lost the dawn of this day."
Covenant studied her for a moment. The background of her face held a deepening shadow of fatigue, and he guessed that she had spent much of the night talking with the Heers. But she seemed somehow comforted by what she had shared and heard, and the brightness of her glance was almost optimistic. Perhaps she now had some sort of hope.
He approved of anything that might reduce her hostility toward him, and he swung out of bed as if he shared her optimism. Despite the soreness of his arms, he felt remarkably refreshed, as if the ambience of the Woodhelven had been exerting its hospitality, its beneficence, to help him rest. Moving briskly, he washed his face, dried himself on a thick towel of leaves, then checked himself for injuries and adjusted his clothing. A loaf lay on the threel
egged table, and when he broke off a hunk for his breakfast, he found that it was made of bread and meat baked together. Munching it, he went to look out one of the windows.
Atiaran joined him, and together they gazed through the branches northward. In the far distance, they saw a river running almost directly east, and beyond it the hills spread on to the horizon. But something more than the river separated these northern hills from those beside which the travelers had been walking since they had left Mithil Stonedown. The land beyond the river seemed to ripple in the morning sunshine, as if the quiet earth were flowing over shoals-as if there -the secret rock of the Land ruffled the surface, revealing itself to those who could read it. From his high Woodhelven vantage, Covenant felt he was seeing something that surpassed even his new perceptions.
"There," said Atiaran softly, as if she were speaking of a holy place, "there is Andelain. The Hirebrand has chosen his home well for such a view. Here the Mithil River runs east before turning north again toward Gravin Threndor and the Soulsease. And beyond are the Andelainian Hills, the hearthealing richness of the Land. Ali, Covenant, the seeing of them gives me courage. And Soranal has taught me a path which may make possible my fondest dream- With good fortune and good speed, we may see that which will turn much of my folly to wisdom. We must go. Are you prepared?"
No, Covenant thought. Not to go climbing around this tree. But he nodded. Atiaran had brought his pack to him, and while she stepped out of the Hirebrand's home onto the broad branch, he pulled the straps onto his shoulders, ignoring the ache of his arms. Then he took up the staff Baradakas had given him, and braced himself to risk his neck on the descent of the Woodhelven.
The trunk was only three or four steps away, but the two-hundred-foot drop to the ground made him freeze, hesitate apprehensively while the first reels of vertigo gnawed at his resolve. But as he stood in the Hirebrand's doorway, he heard the shouting of young voices, and saw children scampering through the branches overhead. Some of them pursued others, and in the chase they sprang from limb to limb as blithely as if the fall were helpless to hurt them.
Lord Foul's Bane Page 15
