White Gold Wielder

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Hollian herself was proud of him. Her open gaze and gentle smile showed that she regretted nothing. The child she carried was a joy to her. Yet Linden saw something plainly unfinished in the eh-Brand. Her emanations were now more complex than Sunder’s. She looked like a woman who knew that she had not yet been tested. And she wanted that test, wanted to find the destiny which she wore about her like the raven-wings of her lustrous hair. She was an eh-Brand, rare in the Land. She wished to learn what such rareness meant.

  Covenant gave Linden a glance of wry rue; but he accepted the untimely presence of the Stonedownors without protest. They were his friends, and his surety included them.

  In response to Covenant’s greeting, Sunder said with abrupt awkwardness, “Thomas Covenant, what is your purpose now?” His recent accomplishments had not given him an easy manner. “Forgive us that we intrude upon you. Your need for rest is plain.” His regard told Linden that her fatigue was more obvious than Covenant’s. “Should you elect to remain here for any number of days, the choice would become you. In times past”—his scowl was a mix of self-mockery and regret—“I have questioned you, accusing you of every madness and all pain.” Covenant made a gesture of dismissal; but Sunder hastened to continue, “I do not question you now. You are the Earthfriend, Illender and Prover of Life—and my friend. My doubt is gone.

  “Yet,” he went on at once, “we have considered the Sunbane. The eh-Brand foretells its course. With Sunstone and krill, I have felt its power. The quenching of Banefire and Clave is a great work—but the Sunbane is not diminished. The morrow’s sun will be a sun of pestilence. It reigns still upon the Land, and its evil is clear.”

  His voice gathered strength and determination as he spoke. “Thomas Covenant, you have taught me the falsehood of the Clave. I had believed the Land a gallow-fells, a punishing place conceived by a harsh Master. But I have learned that we are born for beauty rather than ill—that it is the Sunbane which is evil, not the life which the Sunbane torments.” His gaze glinted keenly. “Therefore I find that I am not content. The true battle is yet before us.” He was not as tall as Covenant; but he was broader and more muscular. He looked as solid as the stone of his home. “Thus I ask, what is your purpose now?”

  The question distressed Covenant. His certainty could not protect him from his own empathy. He concealed his pain; but Linden saw it with her health-sense, heard it in the gruffness of his reply. “You’re not content,” he muttered. “Nobody’s content. Well, you ought to be.” Beneath the surface, he was as taut as a fraying bowstring. “You’ve done enough. You can leave the Sunbane to me—to me and Linden. I want you to stay here.”

  “Stay—” The Graveler was momentarily too surprised to understand. “Do you mean to depart from us?” Hollian placed a hand on his arm, not to restrain him, but to add her concern to his.

  “Yes!” Covenant snapped more strongly than necessary. But at once he steadied himself. “Yes. That’s what I want. You’re the future of the Land. There’s nobody else. The people the Clave let live are all too old or sick to do much, or too young to understand. You two are the only ones left who know what’s happened, what it means. What the life of the Land should be like. If anything happens to you, most of the survivors won’t even know the Clave was wrong. They’ll go on believing those lies because there won’t be anybody around to contradict them. I need you to tell them the truth. I can’t risk you.”

  Linden thought he would say, Please. Please. But Sunder’s indignation was vivid in the sharp light. “Risk, ur-Lord?” he rasped as soon as Covenant stopped. “Is it risk you fear? Or do you deem us unworthy to partake of your high purpose? Do you forget who we are?” His hand gripped at the krill wrapped and hidden within his jerkin. “Your world is otherwhere, and to it you will return when your task is done. But we are the Land. We are the life which remains. We will not sit in safety while the outcome of that life is determined!”

  Covenant stood still under Sunder’s outburst; but the small muscles around his eyes flinched as if he wanted to shout, What’s the matter with you? We’re going to face Lord Foul! I’m trying to spare you! Yet his quietness held.

  “You’re right,” he said softly—more softly than Linden’s desire to defend him. “You are the life of the Land. And I’ve already taken everything else away from you. Your homes, your families, your identities—I’ve spent them all and let you bear the cost. Don’t you understand? I want to give something back. I want you to have a future.” The one thing he and Linden did not possess. “So your son will have at least that much chance to be born and grow up healthy.” The passion underlying his tone reminded her that he had a son whom he had not seen for eleven years. He might have been crying, Let me do this for you! “Is safety such a terrible price to pay?”

  Hollian appeared to waver, persuaded by Covenant’s unmistakable concern. But Sunder did not. His anger was swept out of him; his resolution remained. Thickly he said, “Pardon my unseemly ire. Thomas Covenant, you are my friend in all ways. Will you grant to me your white ring, that I may ward you from the extremity of the Land’s plight?” He did not need to wait for Covenant’s answer. “Neither will I cede to you the meaning of my life. You have taught me to value that meaning too highly.”

  Abruptly he dropped his gaze. “If it is her wish, Hollian will abide here. The son she bears is ours together, but that choice must be hers.” Then his eyes fixed Covenant squarely again. “I will not part from you until I am content.”

  For a moment, the Graveler and Covenant glared at each other; and Linden held her breath. But then Hollian broke the intensity. Leaning close to Sunder, grinning as if she meant to bite his ear, she breathed, “Son of Nassic, you have fallen far into folly if you credit that I will be divided from you in the name of simple safety.”

  Covenant threw up his hands. “Oh, hell,” he muttered. “God preserve me from stubborn people.” He sounded vexed; but his frown had lost its seriousness.

  Linden gave a sigh of relief. She caught Hollian’s glance, and a secret gleam passed between them. With feigned brusqueness, she said, “We’re going to leave at noon. You might as well go get ready. We’ll meet you in the forehall.”

  Allowing Covenant no opportunity to demur, she drew him into Mhoram’s quarters and closed the door.

  But later even through Revelstone’s vital rock she felt the midday of the desert sun approaching; and her heart shrank from it. Sunder was right: the Sunbane had not been diminished. And she did not know how much more of it she could bear. She had stood up to it across the expanse of the North Plains. She had faced Gibbon-Raver, although his mere proximity had made the darkness in her writhe for release. But those exertions had pushed her to her limits. And she had had no sleep. The comfort of Covenant’s love did many things for her, but it could not make her immune to weariness. In spite of the shielding Keep, a visceral dread seeped slowly into her.

  Covenant himself was not impervious to apprehension. The mood in which he hugged her was complicated by a tension that felt like grief. When Cail called them to the forehall, Covenant did not hesitate. But his eyes seemed to avoid hers, and his hands fumbled as he buckled his belt, laced up his boots.

  For a moment, she did not join him. She sat naked on Mhoram’s bed and watched him, unwilling to cover his place against her breasts with the less intimate touch of her shirt. Yet she knew that she had to go with him, that everything she had striven for would be wasted if she faltered now. She said his name to make him look at her; and when he did so, she faced her fear as directly as she could.

  “I don’t really understand what you think you’re going to do—but I suppose that doesn’t matter. Not right now, anyway. I’ll go with you—anywhere. But I still haven’t answered my own question. Why me?” Perhaps what she meant was, Why do you love me? What am I, that you should love me? But she knew that if she asked her question in those terms she might not comprehend the reply. “Why was I chosen? Why did Gibbon keep insisting I’m the one—?” She swal
lowed a lump of darkness. “The one who’s going to desecrate the Earth.” Even if I give in—even if I go crazy and decide I want to be like him after all. Where would I get that kind of power?

  Covenant met her gaze through the dim lantern-light. He stood straight and dear before her, a figure of dread and love and contradiction; and he seemed to know what she sought. Yet the timbre of his voice told her he was not certain of it.

  “Questions like that are hard. You have to create your own answer. The last time I was here, I didn’t know I was going to beat Foul until I did it. Then I could look back and say that was the reason. I was chosen because I had the capacity to do what I did—even though I didn’t know it.” He spoke quietly, but his manner could not conceal the implications of severity and hope which ran through his words. “I think you were chosen because you’re like me. We’re the kind of people who just naturally feel responsible for each other. Foul thinks he can use that to manipulate us. And the Creator—” For an instant, he reminded her strangely of the old man who had said to her, You will not fail, however he may assail you. There is also love in the world. “He hopes that together we’ll become something greater than we would alone.”

  Severity and hope. Hope and despair. She did not know what would happen—but she knew how important it had become. Arising from the bed, she went to Covenant and kissed him hard. Then she donned her clothes quickly so that she would be ready to accompany him wherever he wanted to go.

  In the name of his smile, she accepted everything.

  While she hurried, Cail repeated his announcement that the Giants, Haruchai, and Stonedownors were waiting in the forehall. “We’re coming!” Covenant responded. When she nodded, he opened the door and ushered her outward with a half humorous flourish, as if she were regal in his eyes.

  Cail bowed to them, looking as much as his dispassion allowed like a man who wanted to say something and had almost made up his mind to say it. But Linden saw at a glance that he still had not found the right moment. She returned his bow because he, too, had become someone she could trust. She had never doubted his fidelity, but the native extravagance of his judgment had always made him appear dangerous and unpredictable. Now, however, she saw him as a man who had passed through repudiation and unworth to reach a crucial decision—a decision she hoped she would be able to comprehend.

  Together Covenant, Cail, and Linden left behind the bright silver aftermath of the Unbeliever’s first encounter with the Clave. That radiance shining against her back gave her a pang of regret: it represented a part of him which had been lost. But he was frowning to himself as he strode forward, concentrating on what lay ahead. That was his answer to loss. And he did not need Cail’s guidance to find his way through the involute Keep. For a sharp moment, she let the rue wash through her, experiencing it for both of them. Then she shrugged her attention back to his side and tried to brace herself for the Sunbane.

  The forehall hardly resembled her memory of it. Its floor remained permanently peeked and gouged, awkward to walk; but the space was bright with torches, and sunlight reflected through the broken gates. The bodies of the dead had been cleared away: the blood of battle had been sluiced from the stone. And the wounded had been moved to more comfortable quarters. The improvement suggested that Revelstone might yet become habitable again.

  Near the gates were gathered the people who had accompanied or fought for the Unbeliever and survived: the First of the Search with Pitchwife and Mistweave; Sunder and Hollian; Durris and Fole, Harn, Stell, and the rest of the Haruchai; the black Demondim-spawn; Findail the Appointed. Pitchwife hailed Covenant and Linden as if the prospect of leaving Revelstone had restored some portion of his good cheer; but the rest of the company stood silent. They seemed to wait for Covenant as if he were the turning point of their lives. Even the Haruchai, Linden sensed with a touch of quiet wonder. In spite of their mountain-bred intransigence, they were balanced on a personal cusp and could be swayed. As Covenant drew near, each of them dropped to one knee in mute homage.

  The others had fewer questions to ask. Neither Vain nor Findail had any use for questions. And Covenant had already accepted the companionship of the First and Pitchwife, Hollian and Sunder. They only needed to know where they were going. The issues which had yet to be resolved belonged to the Haruchai.

  But when Covenant had urged Cail’s people back to their feet, it was the First who addressed him. In spite of battle and grief, she looked refreshed. Unlike her husband, she had found exigencies and purposes she understood, was trained for, in the test of combat. “Earthfriend,” she said formally, a gleam in her hair and her voice, “you are well come. The quenching of Clave and Banefire and the freeing of Revelstone merit high pride, and they will be honored in song from sea to sea wherever our people still hold music in their hearts. None would gainsay you, should you choose to bide here in rest and restoration. It is fitting that the craft and vision of this Giant-wrought bourne should serve as accolade to that which you and the Chosen have accomplished.

  “Yet,” she went on without pausing, “I applaud the purpose which draws you away. From peril to loss across the world I have followed in your wake, and at last have been granted to strike a blow against evil. But our losses have been dire and sore, and one blow does not suffice. I desire to strike again, if I am able. And the Stonedownors have shown to us that the Sunbane remains, seeking the rapine of the Earth. The Search has not reached its end. Earthfriend, where do you go?”

  Linden looked at Covenant. He was an upright self-contradiction, at once fearful and intrepid. He held his head high as if he knew that he was worthy of the Giants and Haruchai, the Graveler and the eh-Brand; and sunlight reflecting from the washed stone lit his clean face, so that he looked like the pure bone of the Earth. And yet his shoulders were rigid, knotted in the act of strangling his own weakness, his desire to be spared. Too much depended on him, and he had no health-sense for guidance.

  Frail, invincible, and human, he met the First’s gaze, looked past her to Cail and Durris and the injured Haruchai. Then he answered.

  “When I was in Andelain, I met some of my old friends—the people who had faith in me, took care of me, loved me long before I could do any of those things for myself. Mhoram reminded me of a few lessons I should’ve already learned. Foamfollower gave me Vain. Bannor promised his people would serve me. And Elena,” Elena his daughter, who had loved him in the same unbalanced way that she had hated Lord Foul, “told me what I’d have to do in the end. She said, ‘When the time is upon you, and you must confront the Despiser, he is to be found in Mount Thunder—in Kiril Threndor, where he has taken up his abode.’ ” He swallowed thickly. “That’s where I’m going. One way or another, I’m going to put an end to it.”

  Though he spoke quietly, his words seemed to ring and echo in the high hall.

  The First gave a nod of grim, eager approval.

  She started to ask him where Mount Thunder was, then stopped. Durris had taken a step forward. He faced Covenant with an unwonted intensity gleaming from his flat eyes.

  “Ur-Lord, we will accompany you.”

  Covenant did not hesitate. In a voice as unshakable as the Haruchai’s, he said, “No, you won’t.”

  Durris lifted an eyebrow, but permitted himself no other sign of surprise. For an instant, his attention shifted as he conferred silently with his people. Then he said, “It is as you have claimed. A promise of service was given to you by Bannor of the Bloodguard among the Dead. And that service you have earned in our redemption from the compulsion and sacrifice of the Clave. Ur-Lord, we will accompany you to the last.”

  Pain twisted Covenant’s mouth. But he did not waver. His hands were closed into fists, pressed against his thighs. “I said, no.”

  Again Durris paused. The air was tight with suspense: issues Linden did not know how to estimate had come to a crisis. She did not truly comprehend Covenant’s intent. The First moved as though she wanted to interpose some appeal or protest. But the Haruchai did
not need her to speak for them. Durris leaned slightly closer to Covenant, and his look took on a hint of urgency. His people knew better than anyone else what was at stake.

  “Thomas Covenant, bethink you.” Obliquely Linden wondered why it was Durris who spoke and not Cail. “The Haruchai are known to you. The tale of the Bloodguard is known to you. You have witnessed that proud, deathless Vow—and you have beheld its ending. Do not believe that we forget. In all the ages of that service, it was the grief of the Bloodguard that they gave no direct battle to Corruption. And yet when the chance came to Bannor—when he stood at your side upon Landsdrop with Saltheart Foamfollower and knew your purpose—he turned aside from it. You had need of him, and he turned aside.

  “We do not judge him. The Vow was broken. But I say to you that we have tasted failure, and it is not to our liking. We must restore our faith. We will not turn aside again.”

  Shifting still closer to Covenant, he went on as if he wanted no one else to hear him, “Ur-Lord, has it become with you as it was with Kevin Landwaster? Is it your intent to be parted from those who would prevent you from the Ritual of Desecration?”

  At that, Linden expected Covenant to flare out. She wanted to protest herself, deny hotly Durris’ unwarranted accusation. But Covenant did not raise his voice. Instead he lifted his halfhand between himself and Durris, turned it palm outward, spread his fingers. His ring clung like a manacle to what had once been his middle finger.

  “You remember,” he said, allowing himself neither sarcasm nor bitterness. “Have you forgotten why the Vow was broken?

  “I’ll tell you why. Three Bloodguard got their hands on a piece of the Illearth Stone, and they thought that made them powerful enough to do what they always wanted. So they went to Foul’s Creche, challenged Corruption. But they were wrong. No flesh and blood is immune. Foul mastered them—the same way he mastered Kevin when Elena broke the Law of Death. He maimed them to look like me—like this”—he waved his halfhand stiffly—“and sent them back to Revelstone to mock the Bloodguard.”