The Illearth War

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Lord Amatin was already there, talking intently with a cluster of Staff Lorewardens and advanced students. Most of the Bloodguard were stationed around the edge of the net, and past them came a steady flow of Revelwood’s inhabitants. As Troy joined Drinishok, he caught sight of Lord Mhoram moving across the bowl toward Amatin. If the viancome caused Mhoram any anxiety, he did not show it; he strode boldly from root to root with his staff held in the crook of his arm.

  Soon High Lord Elena arrived in the company of the Staff-Elder, Asuraka. Troy was taken slightly aback; he had expected her to be with Corimini, the Eldest of the Loresraat. But when Corimini entered the bowl, he brought with him ur-Lord Covenant. Troy saw what had happened. The Loresraat ranked Covenant above Elena, and so the highest honor of Revelwood’s hospitality, the invitation of the Eldest, had gone to the Unbeliever. This nettled Troy; he did not like to see the High Lord slighted in favor of Covenant. But he consoled himself by watching the sick look with which Covenant regarded the net and fall below it.

  Shortly all the Lorewardens were in their places. The sides of the viancome, and the branches overhead, thronged with the people of Revelwood. Covenant clung to a root over one of the supporting boughs, and Bannor crouched protectively near him. The Lords and Warmark Troy sat in a fanned group with the Elder Lorewardens, facing south, and Corimini stood before them, looking out over the assembly with a dignified mien. When all the people were still, hushed and expectant, he began the ceremonies of the meeting.

  He and the High Lord exchanged traditional salutations, and sang to each other the ritual invocations which they considered appropriate to the purpose of the meeting. Their stately alternation spun a mood of reverent seriousness over the viancome, wrapped all the people together as if it were weaving them into the grim and wondrous history of the Land. Under the influence of the ceremonies, Troy was almost able to forget that half of what was said and sung was intended to honor the white gold wielder.

  But Covenant did not look as if he were being honored. He sat with an awkward stiffness, as if the point of a knife were pressed against his spine.

  After the last song was done, Corimini gazed at Covenant in silence, giving the Unbeliever a chance to speak. But the glare which Covenant returned almost made the Eldest wince. He turned away, and said, “High Lord Elena, Lord Mhoram, Lord Amatin, Warmark Troy, be welcome in the viancome of Revelwood. We are the Loresraat, the seekers and servants of Kevin’s Lore. We gather to honor you—and to offer you the help of all our knowledge in the name of the approaching war. The preservation of Land and Lore is in your hands, as the mystery of Land and Lore is in ours. If there is any way in which we may aid you, only speak of it, and we will put forth all our strength to meet the need.”

  With a deep bow, High Lord Elena replied formally, “The gathering of the Loresraat honors us, and I am honored to speak before the people of Revelwood.” Troy thought that he had rarely seen her look more radiant. “Eldest, Elders, Lorewardens, students of the Sword and Staff, friends of the Land—my friends, in the name of all the Lords, I thank you. We will never be defeated while such faithfulness is alive in the Land.

  “My friends, there are matters of which I would speak. I do not speak of the danger that war brings to Revelwood. The Lore of the Sword will not neglect your defense. And Lord Amatin will remain with you, to do all that a Lord may do to preserve the Valley of Two Rivers.”

  A cheer started up on the edges of the bowl, but she stopped it with a commanding glance, and went on, “More, I do not speak of Stonedowns and Woodhelvens which will be destroyed by war—or of people made homeless. I know that the dispossessed of this war will find here all comfort and relief and restitution that human hearts may ask or give. This is sure, and requires no urging.

  “More, I do not speak of any need for mastery of Kevin’s Lore. You have given your best strength, and have achieved much. You will give and achieve more. All these matters are secure in your fidelity.

  “But there are two questions of which I must speak.” A change in the cadence of her voice showed that she was approaching the heart of her reasons for coming to Revelwood. “The second concerns a stranger who has visited Lord’s Keep. But the first is one which was presented to you a year ago—at the request of Warmark Hile Troy.” She offered Troy a chance to speak, but he declined with a shake of his head, and she continued, “It is our hope that the Loresraat has discovered a way to speak and hear messages across distances. The Warmark believes that such a way will be of great value in this war.”

  Corimini’s look of satisfaction revealed his answer before he spoke it. “High Lord, we have learned a way.” Troy’s heart surged at the news, and he gripped the handle of his sword. His battle plan appeared suddenly flawless. He was grinning broadly as the Eldest went on, “Several of our best students and Lorewardens have devoted themselves to this need. And they were aided by Hirebrands of the lillianrill. With the Hirebrands and two students, Staff-Elder Asuraka learned that messages may be spoken and heard through lomillialor, the High Wood of the lillianrill. The task is difficult, and requires strength—but it will not surpass any Lord accustomed to the Earthpower.” Nodding at the Staff-Elder, he said, “Asuraka will teach the knowledge to you. We have prepared three lomillialor rods for this purpose. More we could not do, for the High Wood is very rare.”

  Lomillialor. Troy had heard of it. It was the lillianrill parallel to orcrest—a potent white wood descended from the One Tree from which Berek Halfhand had formed the Staff of Law. The Hirebrands used it—as the Gravelingases used orcrest— to give the test of truth. Lomillialor was said to be a sure test of fidelity—if the one tested did not far surpass the strength of the tester. Some of the old tales of Covenant’s first visit to the Land said that the Unbeliever had passed a test of truth given to him at Soaring Woodhelven.

  And Soaring Woodhelven had later been destroyed.

  As Troy got up to join Elena in thanking the Loresraat for what it had achieved, he looked over to see how Covenant took Corimini’s news.

  For some reason, the Unbeliever was on his feet. Swaying uncertainly, afraid of falling, he muttered, “Lomillialor. The test of truth. Are you going to trust that?”

  A hot retort leaped into Troy’s mouth, but something about Covenant’s appearance silenced it. Troy blocked his sight with his hand, adjusted his sunglasses, then looked again. The strangeness was still there.

  Covenant’s chest seemed to ripple like roiled water. He was solid, but something disturbed the center of his chest, making it waver like a mirage.

  Troy had seen an effect like this once before. He glanced quickly away toward the High Lord. She regarded him with a question in her face. Nothing distorted her. The rippling touched no one else in the viancome. And even Covenant seemed unaware of it. But the Bloodguard around the bowl stood as if at attention, and Bannor held himself at Covenant’s side with a coiled poise that belied his blank expression.

  Then Troy saw the area of distortion detach itself from Covenant and float lazily toward the High Lord.

  The other time he had seen it, it had appeared so briefly, with such evanescence, that he had finally disregarded it as a trick of his vision, a misconception. But now he knew what it was.

  He bowed deliberately to Corimini. “Forgive the interruption. I forget what I was going to say.” Without waiting for an answer, he addressed Elena. He hoped that she would understand him through the careful nonchalance of his tone. “Why don’t you go ahead? There was something else you wanted to talk to the Loresraat about.” While he spoke, he took a few steps in her direction, as if this were a natural expression of deference. On the edges of his sight, he watched the mirage float toward her.

  He turned to get closer to it.

  He faced Covenant in a way that allowed him to take two more steps, and remarked pointedly, “You know, it just might turn out that that white gold of yours has been good for something after all.” Some of his excitement forced its way into his tone.


  The next instant, he sprang into motion. He took three rapid strides, and threw himself at the roiling distortion in the air.

  It tried to evade him, but he caught it in time. He hit it with a jarring impact, and toppled to the net with it in his arms.

  It struggled—he could feel invisible arms and legs—but he kept his grip. He tightened his hold until the form stopped resisting and lay still. When he heaved himself to his feet, he lifted the light, limp weight easily in his arms.

  “All right, my friend,” he gritted at it. “Show yourself. Or shall I ask the High Lord to tickle your ribs with the Staff of Law?”

  Covenant was staring at Troy as if the Warmark had lost his mind. But Lord Amatin watched him avidly, and the High Lord moved forward as if to support his threat.

  A peal of high, young laughter rang out. “Ah, very well,” said a bodiless voice bubbling with gaiety. “I am captured. You have surprising vision. Release me—I will not escape.”

  The air swirled suddenly, and Amok became visible in Troy’s grasp. He was the same incongruously ancient youth who had appeared before the Council of Lords in Revelstone.

  “Hail, High Lord!” he said cheerfully. When Troy let go of him, he bowed humorously to her, then turned and repeated his bow to his captor. “Hail, Warmark! You are perceptive—but rough. Is this the hospitality of Revelwood?” Glee filled his voice, effaced any reproof in his words. “Your strength was not needed. I am here.”

  “By hell,” Covenant muttered. “By hell.”

  “Indeed?” said Amok with a boyish grin that seemed to light up the laughing curls of his hair. “Well, that is not for me to say. But I am well made. You bear the white gold. It is for your sake that I have returned.”

  All the people of Revelwood had surged to their feet when Amok appeared, and the Lorewardens now stood in a ready circle around the Warmark and his captive. Both Corimini and Asuraka were confusedly questioning the High Lord. But Elena deferred to Lord Amatin. Stepping into the circle, Amatin asked Amok, “How so?”

  Amok replied, “Lord, the white gold surpasses my purpose. I felt the sign of readiness when the krill of Loric came to life. I went to Revelstone. There I learned that the krill was not awakened by the Lords of Kevin’s Lore. I feared that I had erred. But now I have traveled the Land, and seen the peril. And I have learned of the white gold, which awakened Loric’s krill. This shows the wisdom of my creation. Though the conditions of my life are not met, I see the need, and I appear.”

  “Are you changed?” said Amatin. “Will you give us your knowledge now?”

  “I am who I am. I respect the white gold, but I am unchanged.”

  “Who is he?” Corimini insisted.

  By answering the Eldest, High Lord Elena provided Amatin with a moment in which to prepare herself. “He is Amok, the waiting bearer of knowledge. He was made by High Lord Kevin to—to answer certain questions. It was Kevin’s thought that when those who came after him had mastered the krill, they would be ready for Amok’s knowledge. But we have not mastered the krill. We do not know the questions.”

  At this, a breath of astonishment blew through the Loresraat. But Troy could see that the Lorewardens immediately understood the situation better than he did. Their eyes gleamed with possibilities he did not comprehend.

  At a nod from Corimini, the two Elders, Asuraka and Drinishok, entered the circle and stood on either side of Lord Amatin, placing their knowledge at her service. She acknowledged them, then raised her studious face to Amok and said, “Stranger, who are you?”

  “Lord, I am what you see,” Amok responded cryptically. “Those who know me have no need for my name.”

  “Who made you?”

  “High Lord Kevin son of Loric son of Damelon son of Berek Heartthew the Lord-Fatherer.”

  “Why were you made?”

  “I wait. And I answer.” The boy’s open grin seemed to mock the incorrectness of Amatin’s questions.

  Irritated by Amok’s riddling, Drinishok interposed, “Boy, do you bear knowledge that belongs to the Warlore?”

  Amok laughed. “Old man, I was old when the grandsire of your grandsire’s grandsire was a babe. Do I appear to be a warrior?”

  “I care nothing for age,” the Sword-Elder snapped. “You behave as a child.”

  “I am what I am. I behave as I was made to behave.”

  When Lord Amatin spoke again, she emphasized her words intently. “Amok, what are you?”

  Without hesitation, Amok replied, “I am the Seventh Ward of High Lord Kevin’s Lore.”

  His answer threw a stunned silence over the whole gathering. Both Elders gasped, and Corimini had to brace himself on Elena’s shoulder. A burst of wild emotion shot across Elena’s face. Mhoram’s eyes crackled with sudden, visionary fire. And Lord Amatin gaped—amazed or appalled at what she had uncovered. Even Troy, who had not devoted his whole life to the mysteries of the Wards, felt abruptly unbalanced, as if his precarious perch had been jolted by something inscrutable. Then a ragged cheer sprang up among the students. The Lorewardens pressed eagerly forward, as if they wanted to verify Amok’s existence by touching him. And through the clamor, Troy heard High Lord Elena exclaim, “By the Seven! We are saved!”

  Covenant also heard her. “Saved?” he rasped across the din. “You don’t even know what the Seventh Ward is.

  Elena ignored him. She beamed grateful congratulations to Lord Amatin, then raised her arms to quiet the assembly. When some degree of order had returned to the viancome, she said, “Amok, you are indeed well made. You chose wisely in returning to us. Now the Despiser does not overpower us as much as he may think.”

  With an effort, old Corimini forced himself to remember his long experience with the unattainability of the Wards. In a thin voice, he quavered, “But still we do not know the questions to unlock this knowledge.”

  “We will find them,” Elena responded. Sharp determination thrummed in her voice.

  After a pause to steady herself, Lord Amatin returned to her inquiry. “Amok, the Wards which we have found contain various knowledges on many subjects. It is so with the Seventh Ward?”

  Amok seemed to think that this was a penetrating question. He bowed to her as seriously as his bubbling spirits permitted, and said, “Lord, the Seventh Ward has many uses, but I am only one answer.”

  “What answer are you?”

  “I am the way and the door.”

  “How so?”

  “That is my answer.”

  Lord Amatin looked toward Elena and Mhoram for suggestions, and Troy took the opportunity to ask, “The way and the door to what?”

  With a chuckle, Amok replied, “Those who know me have no need for my name.”

  “Yes, I remember,” Troy growled. “And among those who do not know you, you are named Amok. Why don’t you think of something else to say?”

  “Think of some other question,” the youth retorted gaily.

  Troy retreated, baffled, and after a moment Lord Amatin was ready to continue. “Amok, knowledge is the way and door of power. The Earthpower answers those who know its name. How great is the power of the Seventh Ward?”

  “It is the pinnacle of Kevin’s Lore,” said Amok slyly, as if he were making a subtle joke.

  “Can it be used to defeat the Despiser?”

  “Power is power. Its uses are in the hands of the user.”

  “Amok,” Amatin said, then hesitated. She seemed almost afraid of her next question. But she clenched her resolve, and spoke it. “Does the Seventh Ward contain knowledge of the Ritual of Desecration?”

  “Lord, Desecration requires no knowledge. It comes freely to any willing hand.”

  The Lord sighed, then turned to Asuraka and asked the Staff-Elder for advice. Asuraka referred the question to Drinishok, but he was out of his element, and could offer her nothing. On an impulse, she turned to Corimini. The two conferred in hushed tones for a moment. When Asuraka returned to Amok, she said tentatively, “Amok, the other Wards teach knowledg
e concerning power. Are you the power of the Seventh Ward?”

  “I am the way and the door.”

  “Do you bear the power itself within you?” she insisted.

  For a moment, Amok appeared to study the legitimacy of this question. Then he said simply, “No.”

  “Are you a teacher?”

  “I am the way and—”

  Suddenly Lord Amatin grasped a new idea, and interrupted Amok. “You are a guide.”

  “Yes.”

  “You were created to teach us the location of some knowledge or power?”

  “Ah, that may be as it happens. Much is taught, but few learn.”

  “Where is this power?”

  “Where all such powers should be—hidden.”

  “What is the power?”

  Laughing the youth replied, “There is a time for all things.” Then he added, “Those who know me have no need of my name.”

  Amatin sagged, and turned away toward the High Lord. Her thin face held a look of strain as she admitted defeat. Around her, the assembly of the Loresraat sighed as the people shared her disappointment. But the High Lord answered Amatin by stepping calmly forward, and planting the Staff of Law in front of Amok. In a voice soft and confident, she said, “Amok, will you guide me?”

  With an unexpected seriousness, Amok bowed. “High Lord, yes. If the white gold permits.”

  “Don’t ask me for permission,” Covenant said quickly. But no one listened to him. The High Lord smiled and asked, “Where will we go?”

  The youth did not speak, but he gave a general nod toward the Westron Mountains.

  “And when will we go?”

  “Whenever the High Lord desires.” Throwing back his head, he began to laugh again as if he were releasing an overflow of high humor. “Think of me, and I will join you.”

  As he laughed, he flourished his arms intricately, and vanished.

  Either his power was stronger than before, or he moved more swiftly; Troy caught no last glimpse of him.