“Hear me, then,” he said stiffly. “Departing Seareach, we bore with us the krill of Loric and the ur-Lord’s trust. In my heart were hope and purpose, and I had learned a new love when all the old were dead.” All slain: his father by murder, his mother by necessity, his wife and son by his own hand. “Therefore I believed that we would be believed when we spoke our message of defiance among the villages.
“From The Grieve, we wended north as well as west, seeking a way to the Upper Land which would not expose us to the lurker of Sarangrave Flat.” And that part of the journey had been a pleasure, for they were alone together except for Stell and Harn; and Seareach from its coast to its high hills and the surviving remnant of Giant Woods had never been touched by the Sunbane. Uncertainty had clouded their earlier traversal of this region; but now they saw it as a beautiful land in the height of its fall glory, tasted the transforming savor of woodlands and animals, birds and flowers. The Clave taught that the Land had been created as a place of punishment, a gallow-fells, for human evil. But Covenant had repudiated that teaching; and in Seareach for the first time Sunder and Hollian began to comprehend what the Unbeliever meant.
So their purpose against the Clave grew clearer; and at last they dared the northern reaches of the Sarangrave in order to begin their work without more delay.
Climbing Landsdrop, they reentered the pale of the Sunbane.
The task of finding villages was not easy. They had no maps and were unacquainted with the scope of the Land. But eventually the farsighted Haruchai spotted a Rider; and that red-robed woman unwittingly led the travelers to their first destination—a small Woodhelven crouched in a gully among old hills.
“Far Woodhelven did not entirely welcome us,” muttered the Graveler sourly.
“The Rider took from them their youngest and their best,” Hollian explained. “And not in the former manner. Always the Clave has exercised caution in its demands, for if the people were decimated where would the Riders turn for blood? But with the foreshortening of the Sunbane such husbandry was set aside. Riders accosted each village with doubled and trebled frequency, requiring every life that their Coursers might bear.”
“Deprived of the Haruchai which you redeemed,” Sunder added to Covenant, “the Riders turned from their accustomed harvestry to outright ravage. If the tales we have heard do not mislead us, this ravage commenced at the time of our seaward passage from the Upper Land into Sarangrave Flat. The na-Mhoram read us in the rukh which I then bore, and he knew you were gone into a peril from which you could not strike at him.” The Graveler spoke as if he knew how Covenant would take this news—how Covenant would blame himself for not giving battle to the Clave earlier. “Therefore what need had he for any caution?”
Covenant flinched inwardly; but he clung to what the Stonedownors were saying, forced himself to hear it.
“When we entered Far Woodhelven,” the eh-Brand went on, “they were reduced to elders and invalids and bitterness. How should they have welcomed us? They saw us only as blood with which they might purchase a period of survival.”
Sunder glared into the fire, his eyes as hard as polished stones. “That violence I forestalled. Using the krill of Loric and the orcrest Sunstone, I raised water and ussusimiel without bloodshed under a desert sun. Such power was an astonishment to them. Thus when I had done they were ready to hear whatever words we might speak against the Clave. But what meaning could our speech have to them? What opposition remained possible to the remnant of their village? They were too much reduced to do aught but huddle in their homes and strive for bare life. We did not altogether fail,” he rasped, “but I know no other name for that which we accomplished.”
Hollian put a gentle hand on his arm. The rain roared on outside the cave. Water trickled constantly past Covenant’s legs. But he ignored the wet, closed his mind to the fierce and useless regret rising like venom from the pit of his stomach. Later he would let himself feel the sheer dismay of what he had unleashed upon the Land. Right now he needed to listen.
“One thing we gained from Far Woodhelven,” the eh-Brand continued. “They gave us knowledge of a Stonedown lying to the west. We were not required to make search for the opportunity to attempt our purpose a second time.”
“Oh, forsooth!” Sunder snarled. Bafflement and rage mounted within him. “That knowledge they gave us. Such knowledge is easily ceded. From that day to this, we have not been required to make any search. The failure of each village has led us onward. As we passed ever westward, nearer to Revelstone, each Woodhelven and Stonedown became more arduous of suasion, for the greater proximity of the na-Mboram’s Keep taught a greater fear. Yet always the gifts of krill and Sunstone and lianar obtained for us some measure of welcome. But those folk no longer possessed blood enough to sustain their fear—and so also they lacked blood for resistance. Their only answer to our gifts and words was their knowledge of other villages.
“Thomas Covenant,” he said suddenly, “this is bile to me—but I would not be misheard. Betimes from village to village we happened upon a man or a woman young and hale enough to have offered other aid—and yet unwilling. We encountered folk for whom it was inconceivable that any man or woman might love the Land. Upon occasion our lives were attempted, for what dying people would not covet the powers we bore? Then only the prowess of the Haruchai preserved us. Yet in the main we were given no other gift because no other gift was possible. I have learned a great bitterness which I know not how to sweet—but the blame of it does not fall upon the people of the Land. I would not have believed that the bare life of any village could suffer so much loss and still endure.”
For a moment, he fell silent; and the battering sound of the rain ran through the cave. He had placed his hand over Hollian’s; the force of his grip corded the backs of his knuckles. He was no taller than Linden, but his stature could not be measured by size. To Covenant, he appeared as thwarted and dangerous as Berek Halfhand had been on the slopes of Mount Thunder, when the ancient hero and Lord-Fatherer had at last set his hand to the Earthpower.
The silence was like the muffled barrage of the storm. The Clave had already shed a heinous amount of blood—yet too many lives remained at stake, and Covenant did not know how to protect them. Needing support, he looked toward Linden. But she did not notice his gaze. Her head was up, her eyes keen, as if she were scenting the air, tracing a tension or peril he could not discern.
He glanced at the Giants. But Honninscrave’s orbs were hidden beneath the clenched fist of his brows; and Mistweave, Pitchwife, and the First were fixed dh the Stonedownors.
At the mouth of the cave, Cail raised one arm as though in spite of his native dispassion he wished to make a gesture of protest. But then he lowered his hand back to his side.
Abruptly Sunder began speaking again. “Only one village did not accord to us even that chimera of a gift—and it was the last.” His voice was knotted and rough. “From it we have lately come, retracing our way because we had no more hope.
“Our path from village to village led us westward in a crescent-line, so that we passed to the east of Revelstone wending toward the north—toward a place which named itself Landsverge Stonedown. The Woodhelven giving us that knowledge lay perilously nigh the Keep of the na-Mhoram, but Landsverge Stonedown was nigher—and therefore we feared its fear of the Clave would be too great to be countered. Yet when we gained the village, we learned that it would never suffer such fear again.”
He paused, then growled, “It was altogether empty of life. The Riders had gutted it entirely, borne every beating heart away to feed the Banefire. Not one child or cripple remained to be consumed by the Sunbane.”
After that, he stopped—gripped himself still as if he would not be able to say another word without howling.
Hollian gave him a sad hug. “We knew not where to turn,” she said, “so we returned eastward. It was our thought that we must avoid the grasp of the Clave and await you—for surely the Unbeliever and white gold wielder would no
t fail of his quest”—her tone was candid, but free of sarcasm or accusation—rsssssssssssss “and when he came he would come from the east. In that, at least, we were blessed. Far sooner than we had dared desire, the Haruchai became cognizant of your presence and guided us together.” A moment later, she added, “We have been blessed also in the Haruchai.”
Linden was no longer facing the loose circle of her companions. She had turned toward Cail and his people; and the lines of her back were tight, insistent. But still she said nothing.
Covenant forced himself to ignore her. The Stonedownors were not done. Apprehension made his tone as trenchant as anger. “How did you meet Durris and Fole?” He could no longer suppress his quivering. “What happened to Stell?”
At that, a spasm passed over Sunder’s face. When the answer came, it came from the eh-Brand.
“Thomas Covenant,” she said, speaking directly to him as if at that moment nothing else mattered, “you have twice redeemed me from the malice of the Clave. And though you reft me of my home in Crystal Stonedown, where I was acknowledged and desired, you have given me a purpose and a love to repair that loss. I do not wish to cause you hurt.”
She glanced at Sunder, then continued, “But this tale also must be told. It is needful.” Stiffening herself to the necessity, she said, “When we passed to the east of Revelstone—tending toward the north—we encountered a band of some score Haruchai. With fourscore more of their people, they had come to make answer to the depredations of the Clave. And when they had heard our story, they understood why the people of the Land had not arisen in resistance. Therefore they set themselves a task—to form a cordon around Revelstone, a barrier that would prevent the passage of any Rider. Thus they thought to oppose the Clave—and to starve the Banefire—while they also awaited your return.
“Yet four of them elected to join the purpose of our search. Durris and Fole, whom you see, and also Bern and Toril”—her throat closed momentarily—“who are gone—as Stell is gone. For our ignorance betrayed us.
“It was known to all that the Clave possesses power to dominate minds. By that means were the Haruchai ensnared in the past. But none among us knew how great the power had grown. As we traversed the proximity of Revelstone, Bern, Toril, and Stell scouted some distance westward to ensure our safety. We were yet a day’s journey from the Keep, and not Harn, Durris, nor Fole met any harm. But the slightly greater nearness of the others bared them to the Clave’s touch—and to its dominion. Setting aside all caution, they left us to answer that coercion.
“Sensing what had transpired—the utter loss of mind and will—Harn, Durris, and Fole could not give chase, lest they also fall under the na-Mhoram’s sway. But Sunder and I—” The memory made her falter, but she did not permit herself to stop. “We gave pursuit. And we gave battle, striving with krill-fire and force to break the hold of the Clave—though in so doing we surely made our presence known to the na-Mhoram, forewarning him of us—and perhaps also of you. Mayhap we would have opposed Stell and his companions to the very gates of Revelstone. We were desperate and fevered. But at the last we halted.” She swallowed convulsively. “For we saw that Bern, Stell, and Toril were not alone. From around the region came a score and more of the Haruchai—all ensnared, all walking mindless and deaf toward the knife and the Banefire.” Tears filled her eyes. “And at that sight,” she went on as if she were ashamed, “we were broken. We fled because naught else remained for us to do.
“During the night,” she finished softly, “Gibbon na-Mhoram reached out to us and attempted mastery of the krill’s white gem. But Sunder my love kept the light clean.” Then her tone hardened. “If the na-Mhoram remains in any way accessible to fear, I conceive he has been somewhat daunted—for surely Sunder gave him to believe that the ur-Lord was already returned.”
But Covenant hardly heard her conclusion. He was foundering in the visions her words evoked: the immedicable stupor of the Haruchai; the frenzy of the Stonedownors as they had pleaded, opposed, struggled, driving themselves almost into the jaws of the Clave and still failing to save their comrades; the glee or apprehension implicit in Gibbon’s efforts to conquer the krill. His brain reeled with images of the enormous consequences of his earlier refusal to fight the Clave. Among the Dead in Andelain, Bannor had said to him, Redeem my people. Their plight is an abomination. And he had thought himself successful when he had broken open the hold of Revelstone, set the Haruchai free. But he had not succeeded, had not. He had let the Riders and the na-Mhoram live to do again every evil thing they had done before; and the Sunbane had risen to a period of two days on the blood of ravaged villages and helpless Haruchai.
Yet Linden’s sharp protest pierced him, snatched him out of himself. An instinct deeper than panic or shame wrenched him to his feet and sent him after her as she scrambled toward Cail and Harn.
But she was too slow, had divined the meaning of their tension too late. With appalling suddenness, Harn struck Cail a blow that knocked him out into the force of the rain.
Sunder, Hollian, and the Giants sprang upright behind Covenant. One running stride ahead of him. Linden was caught by Fole and heaved aside. An instant later, Durris’ arm slammed like an iron bar across Covenant’s chest. He stumbled back against the First.
She held him. He hung in her grasp, gasping for breath while small suns of pain staggered around his sight.
Veiled by torrents, Cail and Harn were barely visible. In mud that should have made footing impossible, rain that should have blinded them, they battled with the precise abandon of madmen.
Furiously Linden yelled, “Stop it! Are you out of your minds?”
Without inflection, Durris replied, “You miscomprehend.” He and Fole stood poised to block any intervention. “This must be done. It is the way of our people.”
Covenant strove for air. Stiffly the First demanded an explanation.
Durris’ dispassion was implacable. He did not even glance at the fierce struggle being waged through the rain. “In this fashion, we test each other and resolve doubt.”
Cail appeared to be at a disadvantage, unable to match the sheer conviction of Harn’s attack. He kept his feet, countered Harn’s blows with a skill which seemed inconceivable in that downpour; but he was always on the defensive.
“Cail has spoken to us concerning ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol. He was companion to the victor, and we desire to measure our worth against his.”
A sudden feint unbalanced Cail, enabling Harn to slash his feet from under him; but he recovered with a tumbling roll-and-kick.
“Also it has been said that Brinn and Cail betrayed their chosen fidelity to the seduction of the merewives. Cail seeks to demonstrate that the lure of their seduction would have surpassed any Haruchai in his place.”
Cail and Harn were evenly matched in ability and strength. But Harn had watched his kindred lose their wills and walk into the jaws of the Clave: he struck with the force of repudiation. And Cail had succumbed to the merewives, learned to judge himself. Brinn’s victory over the Guardian of the One Tree had led to Cable Seadreamer’s death. A flurry of punches staggered Cail. As he reeled, a heavy two-fisted blow drove his face into the mire.
Cail!
Covenant grabbed a shuddering breath and twisted out of the First’s hands. Fire flashed in his mind, alternately white and black. Flames spread up his right forearm as if his flesh were tinder. He gathered a shout that would stop the Haruchai, stun them where they stood.
But Durris went on inflexibly, “Also we desire to grieve for Hergrom and Ceer—and for those whose blood has gone to the Banefire.”
Without warning, he spun away from the company, leaped lithe and feral into the rain toward Cail and Harn. Fole was at his side. Together they attacked.
Then Sunder cried at Covenant, “Do not!” He caught Covenant’s arm, braved fire to halt the imminent eruption. “If the na-Mhoram is conscious of the krill in my hands, how much more clearly will your power call out to him?”
Co
venant started to yell, I don’t care! Let him try to stop me! But Fole and Durris had not hurled themselves solely upon Cail. They were assailing each other and Harn as well; and Cail had risen from the mud to plunge into the general melee. Blows hammered impartially in all directions.
We desire to grieve. Slowly the fire ran out of Covenant. Ah, hell, he sighed. Have mercy on me. He had no right to question what the Haruchai were doing. He had too much experience with the violence of his own grief.
Linden studied the combatants intently. Her face showed a physician’s alarm at the possibility of injury. But Sunder met Covenant’s gaze and nodded mute comprehension.
As abruptly as it had begun, the fighting stopped. The four Haruchai returned stoically to the shelter of the cave. They were all bruised and hurt, though none as sorely as Cail. But his visage concealed defeat, and his people wore no aspect of triumph.
He faced Covenant squarely. “It is agreed that I am unworthy.” Slow blood trickled from a cut on his lip, a gash over one cheekbone. “My place at your side is not taken from me, for it was accorded by ak-Haru Kenaustin Ardenol. But I am required to acknowledge that the honor of such a place does not become me. Fole will ward the Chosen.” After a fraction of hesitation, he added, “Other matters have not been resolved.”
“Oh, Cail!” Linden groaned. Covenant spat a curse that was covered by the First’s swearing and Pitchwife’s expostulation. But there was nothing any of them could do. The Haruchai had passed judgment, and they were as untouchable as Bloodguard.
Muttering direly to himself, Covenant hugged his arms over his heart and retreated to the simple comfort of the fire.
After a moment, Sunder and Hollian joined him. They stood nearby in silence until he raised his head. Then, in a softer voice, as if his own plight had been humbled by astonishment, Sunder said, “You have much to tell us, ur-Lord.”
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