Thomas Covenant 02: The Illearth War

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  That evening, he enjoyed the singing and talk of the Lords around the campfire. Mhoram was withdrawn and silent, with a strange look of foreboding in his eyes, and Covenant glowered glum and taciturn into the coals of the fire. But High Lord Elena was in vibrant good spirits. With Amatin, she spread a mood of humor and gaiety over the company until even the somberest of the Lorewardens seemed to effervesce. Troy thought that she had never looked more lovely.

  Yet he went to the blindness of his bed with an ache in his heart. He could not help knowing that Elena exerted her brilliance for Covenant’s sake, not for his.

  He fell at once into sleep as if to escape his sightlessness. But in the darkest part of the moonless night, sharp voices and the stamping of hooves roused him. Through the obscure illumination of the fire embers, he saw a Bloodguard on a Ranyhyn standing in the center of the camp. The Ranyhyn steamed in the cold air; it had galloped hotly to reach the Lords.

  First Mark Morin and Lord Mhoram already stood by the Ranyhyn, and the High Lord was hurrying from her blankets with Lord Amatin behind her. Troy threw an armful of kindling on the fire. The sudden blaze gave him a better view of the Bloodguard.

  The grime of hard fighting streaked his face, and among the rents there were patches of dried blood on his robe. He dismounted slowly, as if he were tired or reluctant.

  Troy felt his balance suddenly waver, as if the tree limb of his efforts for the Land had jumped under his feet. He recognized the Bloodguard. He was Runnik, one of the members of Korik’s mission to Seareach.

  FOURTEEN: Runnik’s Tale

  For a moment, Troy groped around him, trying to regain his balance. Runnik should not be here; it was too soon. Only twenty-three days had passed since the departure of Korik’s mission. Even the mightiest Ranyhyn could not gallop to Seareach and back in that time. So Runnik’s arrival here meant – meant—Even before the High Lord could speak, Troy found himself demanding in a constricted voice, “What happened? What happened?”

  But Elena stopped him with a sharp word. He could see that the implications of Runnik’s presence were not lost on her. She stood with the Staff of Law planted firmly on the ground, and her face was full of fire.

  At her side, Covenant had a look of nausea, as if he were already sickened by what he expected to hear. He had the aspect of a man who wanted to know whether or not he had a terminal illness as he rasped at the Bloodguard, “Are they dead?”

  Runnik ignored both Covenant and Troy. He nodded to First Mark Morin, then bowed slightly to the High Lord. Despite its flatness, his countenance had a reluctant cast, an angle of unwillingness, that made Troy groan in anticipation.

  “Speak, Runnik,” Elena said sternly. “What word

  have you brought to us?” And after her Morin said, “Speak so that the Lords may hear you.”

  Yet Runnik did not begin. Barely visible in the background of his unblinking gaze, there was an ache—a pang that Troy had never expected to see in any Bloodguard. “Sweet Jesus,” he breathed. “How bad is it?”

  Then Lord Mhoram spoke. “Runnik,” he said softly, “the mission to Seareach was given into the hands of the Bloodguard. This is a difficult burden, for you are Vowed to the preservation of the Lords above all things. There is no blame for you if your Vow and the mission have come into conflict, requiring that one or the other must be set aside. There can be no doubt of the Bloodguard, whatever the doom that brings you to us thus battle-rent at the dark of the moon.”

  For a moment longer, Runnik hesitated. Then he said, “High Lord, I have come from the depths of Sarangrave Flat from the Defiles Course and the mission to Seareach. To me, and to Pren and Porib with me, Korik said, ‘Return to the High Lord. Tell her all—all the words of Warhaft Hoerkin, all the struggles of the Ranyhyn, all the attacks of the lurker. Tell her of the fall of Lord Shetra.’ ” Amatin moaned in her throat, and Mhoram stiffened. But Elena held Runnik with the intensity of her face. “ ‘She will know how to hear this tale of Giants and Ravers. Tell her that the mission will not fail.’

  “ ‘Fist and faith,’ we three responded. ‘We will not fail.’

  “But for four days we strove with the Sarangrave, and Pren fell to the lurker that has awakened. Then we won our way to the west of the Flat, and there regained our Ranyhyn. With our best speed we rode toward Revelstone. But when we entered Grimmerdhore, we were beset by wolves and ur-viles, though we saw no sign of them when we passed eastward. Porib and his Ranyhyn fell so that I might escape, and I rode onward.

  “Then on the west of Grimmerdhore, I met with scouts of the Warward, and learned that Corruption was marching, and that the High Lord had ridden toward Revelwood. So I turned aside from Revelstone and came in pursuit to find you here.

  “High Lord, there is much that I must say.”

  “We will hear you,” Elena said. “Come.” Turning she moved to the campfire. There she seated herself with Mhoram and Amatin beside her. At a sign from her, Runnik sat down opposite her, and allowed one of the Lorewardens who had skill as a Healer to clean his cuts. Troy piled wood on the fire so that he could see better, then positioned himself near the Lords on the far side from Covenant. In a moment, Runnik began to speak.

  At first, his narration was brief and awkward. The Bloodguard lacked the Giants’ gift for storytelling; he skimmed crucial subjects, and ignored things his hearers needed to know. But the Lords questioned him carefully. And Covenant repeatedly insisted on details. At times, he seemed to be trying to stall the narrative, postpone the moment when he would have to hear its outcome. Gradually the events of the mission began to emerge in a coherent form.

  Troy listened intensely. He could see nothing beyond the immediate light of the campfire; nothing distracted his attention. Despite the flatness of Runnik’s tone, the Warmark seemed to see what he was hearing as if the mission were taking place in the air before him.

  The mission had made its way eastward through Grimmerdhore, and then for three days had ridden in rain. But no rain could halt the Ranyhyn, and this was no great storm. On the eighth day of the mission, when the clouds broke and let sunlight return to the earth, Korik and his party were within sight of Mount Thunder.

  It grew steadily against the sky as they rode through the sunshine. They passed twenty-five leagues to the north of it, and reached the great cliff of Landsdrop late that afternoon. They were at one of its highest points, and could look out over the Lower Land from a vantage of more than four thousand feet. Here Landsdrop was as sheer as if the Lower Land had been cut away with an ax. And below it beyond a hilly strip of grassland less than five leagues wide lay Sarangrave Flat.

  It was a wet land, latticed with waterways like exposed veins in the flesh of the ground, overgrown with fervid luxuriance, and full of subtle dangers—strange, treacherous, water-bred, and man-shy animals; cunning, old, half-rotten willows and cypresses that sang quiet songs which could bind the unwary; stagnant, poisonous pools, so covered with slime and mud and shallow plants that they looked like solid ground; lush flowers, beautifully bedewed with clear liquids that could drive humans mad; deceptive stretches of dry ground that turned suddenly to quicksand. All this was familiar to the Bloodguard. However ominous to human eyes, or unsuited to human life, Sarangrave Flat was not naturally evil. Rather because of the darknesses which slumbered beneath it, it was simply dangerous—a wild haven for the misborn of the Land, the warped fruit of evils long past. The Giants, who knew how to be wary, had always been able to travel freely through the Flat, and they had kept paths open for others, so that the crossing of the Sarangrave was not normally a great risk.

  But now something else met the gaze of the mission. Slumbering evil stirred; the hand of Corruption was at work, awakening old wrongs.

  The peril was severe, and Lord Hyrim was dismayed. But neither the Lords nor the Bloodguard were surprised. The Lords Callindrill and Amatin—the Bloodguard Morril and Koral—had spoken of this danger. And though he was dismayed, Lord Hyrim did not propose that the mission sh
ould evade the danger by riding north and around Sarangrave Flat, a hundred leagues from their way. Therefore in the dawn of the ninth day the mission descended Landsdrop, using a horse trail which the Old Lords had made in the great cliff, and rode eastward across the grassland foothills toward the main Giantway through the Sarangrave.

  The air was noticeably warmer and thicker than it had been above Landsdrop. It breathed as if it were clogged with invisible, damp fibers, and it seemed to leave something behind in the lungs when it was exhaled.

  Then shrubs and low, twisted bushes began to appear through the grass. And the grass itself grew longer, wetter. At odd intervals, stray, hidden puddles of water splashed under the hooves of the Ranyhyn. Soon gnarled, lichenous trees appeared, spread out moss-draped limbs. They grew thicker and taller as the mission passed into the Sarangrave. In moments, the riders entered a grassy avenue that lay between two unrippling pools and angled away just north of eastward into a jungle which already appeared impenetrable. The Ranyhyn slowed to a more cautious pace. Abruptly they found themselves plunging through chest-deep elephant grass.

  When the riders looked behind them, they could see no trace of the Giantway. The Flat had closed like jaws.

  But the Bloodguard knew that that was the way of the Sarangrave. Only the path ahead was visible. The Ranyhyn moved on, thrusting their broad chests through the grass.

  As the jungle tightened, the Giantway narrowed until they could ride no more than three abreast—each of the Lords flanked by Bloodguard. But the elephant grass receded, allowing them to move with better speed.

  Their progress was loud. They disturbed the Flat, and as they traveled they set waves and wakes and noise on both sides. Birds and monkeys gibbered at them; small, furry animals that yipped like hyenas broke out of the grass in front of them and scurried away; and when the jungle gave way on either side for dark, rancid pools or sluggish streams, waterfowl with iridescent plumage clattered fearfully into the air. Sudden splashes echoed across still ponds; pale, vaguely human forms darted away under the ripples.

  Throughout the morning, the mission followed the winding trail which careful Giants had made in times long past. No danger threatened, but still the Ranyhyn grew tense. When the riders stopped beside a shallow lake to rest and eat, their mounts became increasingly restive. Several of them made low, blowing noises; their ears were up and alert, shifting directions in sharp jerks, almost quivering. One of them—the youngest stallion, bearing the Bloodguard Tull—stamped a hoof irrhythmically. The Lords land the Bloodguard increased their caution, and rode on down the Giantway.

  They had covered only two more leagues when Sill called the Bloodguard to observe Lord Hyrim.

  The Lord’s face was flushed as if he had a high fever. Sweat rolled down his cheeks, and he was panting hoarsely, almost gasping for breath. His eyes glittered. But he was not alone. Lord Shetra, too, was flushed and panting.

  Then even the Bloodguard found that they were having trouble breathing. The air felt turgid. It resisted being drawn into their lungs, and once within them it clung there with miry fingers, like the grasp of quicksand.

  The sensation grew rapidly worse.

  Suddenly all the noise of the Flat ceased.

  It was as Lord Callindrill had said.

  But the Lord Amatin’s mount had not been a Ranyhyn. Trusting to the great horses, the mission continued on its way.

  The riders moved slowly. The Ranyhyn walked with their heads straining forward, ears cocked, nostrils flared. They were sweating, though the air was not warm.

  They covered a few hundred yards this way—forcing passage through the stubborn, mucky air and the silence. After that, the jungle fell away on both sides. The Giantway lay along a grassy ridge like a dam between two still pools. One of them was blue and bright, reflecting the sky and the afternoon sunlight, but the other was dark and rank.

  The mission was halfway down the ridge when the sound began.

  It started low, wet, and weak, like the groan of a dying man. But it seemed to come from the dark pool. It transfixed the riders. As they listened to it, it slowly swelled.

  It scaled upward in pitch. and volume—became a ragged scream—echoed across the pools. Higher and louder it went on. Through it, the Lords shouted together, “Melenkurion abatha! Duroc minas mill khabaal!” But they could hardly make themselves heard.

  Then the young Ranyhyn bearing Tull lost control. It whinnied in fear, whirled and sprang toward the blue pool. As it leaped, Tull threw himself to the safety of the grass.

  The Ranyhyn crashed into the chest-deep water. At once, it gave a squeal of pain that almost matched the screaming in the air. Plunging frantically, it heaved itself out of the pool, and fled westward, back down the Giantway.

  The howling mounted eagerly higher.

  The other Ranyhyn broke and bolted. They reared, spun, pounded away after their fleeing brother. The jerk of their start unhorsed Lord Hyrim, and he only saved himself from the dark pool by a thrust of his staff. Immediately Lord Shetra dropped off her mount to join him. Sill, Cerrin, and Korik also dismounted. As he jumped, Korik ordered the other Bloodguard to protect the Ranyhyn.

  Runnik and his comrades clung to their horses. The Ranyhyn followed the injured stallion. As they raced, the howling behind them faded, and the air began to thin. But for some distance, the Bloodguard could not regain control of their mounts. The Ranyhyn plunged along a wide path which was unfamiliar; the Bloodguard knew that they had missed the Giantway.

  Then the leading Ranyhyn crested a knoll, and blundered without warning into a quagmire. But the rest of the great horses were able to stop safely. The Bloodguard dismounted, and took clingor lines from their packs. By the time Korik, Cerrin, Sill, Tull, and the Lords reached them, the free Ranyhyn were busy pulling their trapped kindred from the quagmire.

  Seeing that the other Ranyhyn were uninjured, the Lords turned to the stallion which had jumped into the pool. It stood to one side, champed its teeth and jerked its head from side to side in agony. Under its coat all the flesh of its limbs and belly was covered with blisters and boils. Blood streamed from its sores. Through some of them, the bone was visible. Despite the determination in its eyes, it whimpered at the pain.

  The Lords were deeply moved. There were tears in Hyrim’s eyes, and Shetra cursed bitterly. But they could do nothing. They were not Ramen. And they could find no amanibhavam, that potent, yellow flowered grass which could heal horses but which drove humans mad. They could only close their ears to the stallion’s pain, and try to consider what course the mission should take.

  Soon all the other Ranyhyn were safe on solid ground. They shed the mud of the quagmire easily but they could not rid themselves of the shame of their panic. Their eyes showed that they felt they had disgraced themselves.

  But when they heard the whimpering of their injured brother, they pricked up their ears. They shuffled their feet and nudged each other. Slowly, their eldest went to face Tull’s mount. For a moment, the two spoke together, nose to nose. Several times the younger Ranyhyn nodded its head.

  Then the old Ranyhyn reared; he stretched high in the ancient Ranyhyn expression of homage. When he descended, he struck the head of his injured brother powerfully with both fore hooves. The younger horse shuddered once under the force of the blow, and fell dead.

  The rest of the Ranyhyn watched in silence. When their eldest turned away from the fallen horse, they nickered their approval and sorrow softly.

  In their own way, the Bloodguard were not unmoved. But High Lord Elena had given the need of the Giants into their hands. To the Lords, Korik said, “We must go. The mission waits. Tull may ride with Doar.”

  “No!” Lord Shetra cried. “We will take the Ranyhyn no deeper into Sarangrave Flat.” And Lord Hyrim said, “Friend Korik, surely you know as much as we of this force which forbids us to cross the Flat. Surely you know that to stop us this force must first see us. It must perceive us, and know where we are.”

  Korik nodd
ed.

  “Then you must also know that it is no easy matter to sense the presence of human beings. We are mere ordinary life amid the multitudes of the Sarangrave. But the Ranyhyn are unordinary. They are stronger than we—the power of life bums more brightly in them. Their presence here is more easily seen than ours. It may be that the force against us is attuned to them. The Despiser is wise enough for such strategy. For this reason, we must travel without the Ranyhyn.”

  “The mission requires their speed,” Korik said. “We lack the time to walk.”

  “I know,” Hyrim sighed. “Without mishap, we would spend at least one full cycle of the moon at that journey. But to ride around the Sarangrave will take too long also.”

  “Therefore we must ride through. We must fight.”

  “Ride through, forsooth,” Shetra snapped. “We do not know how to fight such a thing—or we would have given it battle already. I tell you plainly, Korik—if we encounter that forbidding again, we will lose more than Ranyhyn. No! We must go another way.”

  “What way?”

  For a moment, the Lords gazed into each other. Then Lord Shetra said, “We will build a raft, and ride the Defiles Course.”

  The Bloodguard were surprised. Even the boat-loving Giants chose to walk Sarangrave Flat rather than to put themselves in the hands of that river. Korik said, “Can it be done?”

  “We will do it,” Shetra replied.

  Seeing the strength of her purpose, the Bloodguard responded to themselves, “We will do it.” And Korik said, “Then we must make great haste while the Ranyhyn are yet with us.”

  So began the great run of the Ranyhyn, in which the horses of Ra redeemed their shame. When all the riders had remounted, they moved cautiously back to the true path of the Giantway. But then the Ranyhyn cast all but the simplest caution to the wind. First at a canter, then galloping, they ran westward out of the peril of the Sarangrave.