Covenant's chest seemed to ripple like roiled water. He was solid, but something disturbed the centre 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 travelled 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 clamour, 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 knowledge 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 humour. “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.
The Warmark found that he regretted Amok's appearance intensely.
Soon after that, the gathering of the Loresraat broke up. The Lorewardens and students of the Staff hurried away to begin analyzing what had happened, and Drinishok ordered all his students and fellow teachers away to the practice fields. Elena, Mhoram, and Amatin went with Corimini and Staff-Elder Asuraka to their main library. In moments, Troy, Covenant, and Bannor were the only people left in the bowl.
Troy felt that he should speak with Covenant; there were things that he needed to understand. But he feared that he would not be able to keep his temper, so he also moved away, leaving Bannor to help Covenant struggle off the net. He wanted to talk to the High Lord, ask her why she had made such a foolhardy offer to Amok. But he was not in command of his emotions. He climbed out of the viancome, and strode away along one of the boughs toward Drinishok's quarters.
In the Sword-Elder's larder, he ate a little bread and meat, and drank quantities of springwine in an,effort to dissipate the dark sensation of foreboding which Amok had given him. The idea that Elena might wander off somewhere with the youth, hunting for a cryptic and probably useless power when she was desperately needed elsewhere, made him grind his teeth in frustration. His heart groaned with a prescience that told him he was going to lose her. The Land was going to lose her. Searching for balance, he consumed a great deal of springwine. But it did not steady him; his brain reeled as if dangerous winds were buffeting him.
Early in the afternoon, he went in search of the Lords, but one of the Lorewardens soon told him that they were closeted with Asuraka, studying the lomillialor communication rods. So he descended to the ground, whistled for Mehryl, and rode away from Revelwood with Ruel at his side. He wanted to visit the grave of the student who had summoned him to the Land.
Covenant had said, It isn't you they've got faith in at all. It's the student who summoned you. Troy needed to think about that. He could not simply shrug it away. One reason he distrusted Covenant was because the Unbeliever had first been called by Drool
Rockworm at Lord Foul's behest. Did the nature of the summoner have any connection to the worth of the one summoned?
Furthermore, Covenant had referred to that student strangely, as if he knew something about the young man Troy did not know.
Troy went to the place of his summons hoping that its physical context, its concrete location in Trothgard, would ease his vague fears and forebodings. He needed to regain his self-confidence. He knew he could not challenge Elena's decision to follow Amok if he did not believe in himself.
But when he reached the site of the grave, he found Trell there. The big Gravelingas knelt by the grassy mound as if he were praying. When he heard Troy's approach, — he raised his head suddenly, and his face was so swollen with grief that it struck Troy momentarily dumb. He could think of no reason why Trell Gravelingas should be here grieving.
Before Troy could collect his thoughts to ask for an explanation, Trell jumped up and hastened away toward his mount, which he had tethered nearby.
“Trell-!” Troy started to call after him, but Ruel interposed flatly, “Warmark, let him go”
Troy turned in surprise toward the Bloodguard. Ruel's visage was as passionless as ever, but something in the way his eyes followed Trell seemed to express an unwonted sympathy. Carefully Troy said, “Why? I don't understand.”
“That you must ask the High Lord,” Ruel replied without inflection.
“I'm asking you!” the Warmark snapped before he could control his irritation.
“Nevertheless.”
With an effort, Troy mastered himself. Ruel's mien said as plainly as words that he was acting on the High Lord's instructions, and that nothing which did not threaten her life could induce him to disobey her. “All right,” Troy said stiffly. “I'll do that.” Turning Mehryl, he trotted after Trell's galloping mount back toward Revelwood.
But when he re-entered the Valley of Two Rivers and approached the Tree, he found Drinishok waiting impatiently for him. The Lords had announced that they would leave Revelwood the next morning, and the Sword-Elder wanted Troy to discuss the defence of the city with all the Lorewardens and students of the Sword. This was a responsibility which Troy could not ignore, so while his private fog turned to dusk and then to night blindness, he addressed the assembled discipline of the Sword. He did not even try to see what he was talking about; he went into the strategy of the Valley from memory.
But
when he was done, he found that he had lost his chance to talk to the Lords. In the darkness, he seemed to lack courage as well as vision. After his lecture, he went to Drinishok's home, and shared a meal full of indigestible lumps of silence with the Sword-Elder. Then he went to bed early; he could not endure any more of the blurred half-sight of torches. Drinishok respected his mood, and left him alone. In blind isolation, he stared uselessly into the darkness, and tried to recover his balance. He felt certain that he was going to lose Elena.
He ached to talk to her, to dissuade her, cling to her. But the next morning, when all the riders gathered with their mounts just after dawn on the south side of the great Tree, he found that he could not confront the High Lord with his fears. Sitting regally on Myrha's back in the gleam of day, she had too much presence, too much personal authority. He could not deny or challenge her. And while she was surrounded by so many people, he could not ask her his questions about Trell. His apprehension was too personal to be aired so publicly. He strove to occupy his mind with other things until he got a chance to talk to someone.
Deliberately, he scanned the company of riders. Standing by their Ranyhyn behind the Lords were twenty Bloodguard — First Mark Morin, Terrel, Bannor, Ruel, Runnik, and fifteen others. Obviously, Koral would remain with Lord Amatin at Revelwood. In addition to them, the group included only five others: High Lord Elena, Lord Mhoram, Covenant, Troy, and Trell. When he saw the Gravelingas, Troy again felt a desire to speak to him. The unconcealed wound of Trell's expression was taut with suspense, as if he awaited some decision from Elena with a degree of agony that surprised Troy. But the Warmark refrained, despite his mounting anxiety. The High Lord had begun to address Lord Amatin and Eldest Corimini.
“My friends,” she said gravely, "I leave Revelwood in your care. Ward it well! The Tree and the Loresraat are the two great achievements of the new Lords-two symbols of our service. If it may be done, they must be preserved. Remember vigilance, and watch the Centre Plains. If war comes upon you, you must not be taken unaware. And remember that if Revelwood cannot be saved, the Lore still must be preserved, and Lord's Keep warned. The Loresraat and the Wards must find safety in Revelstone at need.
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