Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant 02 - Fatal Revenant

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  “I don’t need—” Jeremiah began, but a fierce glare from Covenant stopped him. “You’re right,” he told the Theomach with a shrug. “It’ll make Mom feel better.”

  Covenant kept his right hand grimly in his pocket.

  Saluting as he had to Berek, the Theomach accepted the bowl and rags from Damelon’s mystified hands. His manner suggested pity as he moistened a cloth, then reached out carefully to stroke drying blood away from Jeremiah’s cheek and eye.

  That task should have been Linden’s. For a moment, her grief became a kind of rage, and she trembled with the force of her desire to extract real answers from her companions. But she contained herself. There was too much at stake for anger. Her emotions would exact too much from those who needed her.

  For a moment, the Theomach continued to wash Jeremiah’s wound assiduously. Jeremiah suffered the Insequent’s ministrations with glum resignation. And Covenant took long draughts of the harsh wine with an air of outrage, as if he were swallowing insults. Then Linden felt Berek approaching: his aura of Earthpower, compassion, and grimness preceded him like a standard-bearer.

  Damelon seemed to become aware of his father’s nearness almost as soon as Linden did. Bowing to her, the Hand murmured. “My lady,” and left the tent.

  When Berek entered, he came like a man wreathed in storms. Indignant lightnings flickered in the depths of his eyes, and his expression was a thunderhead. Linden might have flinched if she had believed, even for an instant, that his ire was directed at her; or at Jeremiah and Covenant. But she grasped instinctively that he would not have been so unguarded if any of his guests had angered him.

  “What have you done about Inbull, my lord?” she asked without thinking. “He’s betraying you. You must know that?”

  The Theomach stiffened, but did not speak. Instead he dabbed at Jeremiah’s eye as if he had heard nothing to alarm him.

  Berek took a moment to compose himself. He poured wine into a flagon, drank a bit of it, grimaced ruefully. When he faced Linden’s question, he had set aside his personal storm.

  “The Warhaft has betrayed us. He betrays us still. Therefore he is of use.

  “It is well that you did not accuse him in his presence. He believes himself unsuspected. Rather I have encouraged him to consider that he is secretly valued for his harshness. This night, I have strengthened his misapprehension.” The memory brought back Berek’s anger and disgust, although he did not unleash them. “He has contrived a means to communicate with the commander of our foes. Warmark Vettalor is a man with whom I am well familiar. We served together before my Queen broke with her King. I know his method of thought. Through Inbull, I am able to supply the Warmark with lies”—Berek snarled the words—“which he will credit. While the Warhaft’s falseness remains unexposed, I hold an advantage which Vettalor does not suspect.

  “I loathe such deceit,” the first Halfhand admitted bitterly. “But my forces do not suffice to defeat Vettalor’s. And I have no source of supply apart from the battlegrounds where I prevail, and the food which I scavenge from needy villages, while Vettalor retreats ever nearer to the wealth of Doriendor Corishev. It would be false service to my Queen, and to my warriors, and to my oath, if I declined the benefits of Inbull’s treachery.”

  Which explained his ire and disgust, Linden mused. It explained why despair clung to him in spite of his salvation by the Fire-Lions and his subsequent victories. By his severe standards, he bartered away his self-respect to purchase victory.

  The Old Lords were all about despair. It gave them some of their greatest victories. To that extent, at least, Covenant had told her the truth. It’s what saved Berek.

  With an effort, Linden said quietly, “I see the problem.” She wanted to cry out, He hit my son! But larger considerations—Berek’s as well as her own—restrained her.

  Whatever the Theomach’s motives might be, he had given her good advice.

  Nevertheless she pushed Berek further. “What did you tell Inbull about us?” She wanted some indication, however oblique, of where she and her companions stood with the future High Lord.

  Drinking again, Berek replied, “Naught. His uncertainty concerning you will serve me well. I have merely”—his voice carried a sting of repugnance—“assured him privily that I find worth in his brutality.”

  Flourishing his arm in an obvious attempt to attract Berek’s attention, the Insequent finished cleaning Jeremiah’s wound. With the blood and grime gone from her son’s face, Linden saw to her surprise that he had already begun to heal. Despite the swelling, he could slit open his left eye. To her ordinary senses, his eye itself appeared bloodshot, but essentially undamaged.

  When Berek voiced his approval of the Theomach’s care, the wrapped man replied, “My lord, it suffices that I have been of service. If I may say so without disrespect, however, greater matters than this boy’s hurt or Inbull’s betrayal lie between us. We would do well to speak of them while we may.”

  “Perhaps.” Berek’s worn sound grated against the Theomach’s light assurance. “Certainly you are strange to me. And your offer of aid is disquieting, for it appears to be given without cause. We will speak of it. If my many needs compel me to endure Inbull’s betrayals, I can refuse no other assistance. But the queries which fill my heart pertain chiefly to the lady Linden.

  “Of her companions, I ask nothing. She has vouched for them, and her word contents me. To them I say only”—now he turned to Linden’s son and the Unbeliever—“Jeremiah, Covenant, I regret that my use of Inbull has harmed you. If you wish any boon that I may grant in my present straits, you need merely name it.”

  Jeremiah ducked his head; said nothing. Glowering with the heat of embers in his eyes, Covenant muttered, “Just give Linden whatever she wants so we can leave. We’re in a hurry. We shouldn’t be here at all.”

  “My lord Berek,” the Theomach put in insistently, “you do well to accept the lady’s word. And the man suggests truly that his only desire is to depart. Will you not accept my word also? The powers which this man and this boy—aye, and the lady also—command have no meaning here. Her purpose, and that of her companions, lies at a great distance from all that you do. It will in no wise affect you. For the sake of your many needs, you must speak to me.”

  Berek folded his arms across his thick chest. In a voice as heavy as his hands, he announced. “Stranger, I do not accept your word. Yet we will speak, since you would have it so. If you seek to be heeded, tell me what you are.”

  “My lord,” the Theomach replied promptly, “I am three things. First, I am a seeker after knowledge. My people live in a land too distant to be named, for its name would convey nothing. We have no concern for the small affrays of the Earth. Yet we wander widely—though ever alone—questing for knowledge wherever it may be gleaned. My questing has brought me to you.”

  While the Insequent answered, Linden crossed the tent to align herself with Covenant and Jeremiah. They had brought her here. Although she did not trust Covenant, he and her son were her only defense against Berek’s probing.

  “Second,” the Theomach continued, “I am a warrior of considerable prowess. At your leisure, you may test my claim in any form that pleases you. For the present, I will state plainly that none of your foes can stand against me in battle.”

  Whispering in the hope that only Covenant and Jeremiah would hear her, Linden asked. “Is that true?”

  Perhaps Berek did not hear her. If he did, he kept his attention and his deep gaze fixed on the Theomach.

  But Covenant was less discreet. “Hell, yes,” he growled. “You have no idea. You’ve seen that knowledge he’s so proud of in action. Think about what he could do in a fight.”

  If the Theomach were able to step between moments, he could strike as often as he wished without being seen or opposed—

  Still he spoke as if he and Berek were alone. “Third,” he continued, “I am a teacher. Much has occurred to you and within you that remains unexplained. I comprehend such ma
tters, and I desire to impart my understanding. Lord Berek, my instruction will increase your strength and insight. It will ensure your triumph in this war.”

  “Oh, please,” Covenant put in sardonically. “Tell him the truth.” His impulse to provoke the Insequent seemed to increase with every swallow of wine.

  The Theomach shrugged. “In truth, I do not doubt your triumph, my lord, with or without my aid. Against Warmark Vettalor and such force as he commands, yours is the feller hand. Yet I fear no contradiction when I avow that my guidance will preserve many lives among your warriors. And I state with certainty that you will never fully grasp the extent of your oath, or the import of your larger purpose, without my teaching.”

  “You are facile, stranger,” said Berek gruffly. With his arms folded, he looked as immovable as a tree. He had become the center on which his world turned, and he kept his self-doubt hidden. “You speak of aid, but you do not reveal your purpose. Why do you offer your assistance?”

  If the Theomach had any acquaintance with self-doubt, he, too, concealed it. Shrugging again, he admitted, “My lord, I have no reply that will readily content you. The questing of those who seek for knowledge is by necessity oblique, instinctive, and indefinite. They themselves cannot name their object until it is discovered. I am able to say only that I believe I will gain knowledge in your service—aye, knowledge and honor—which would otherwise remain beyond my ken.”

  “He’s a plausible bastard,” Covenant remarked after a long gulp of wine, “I’ll give him that.”

  Slowly the Theomach turned his secreted face toward Covenant. His manner caused Linden to hold her breath in apprehension.

  “He’s telling the truth,” murmured Jeremiah uncomfortably.

  “Oh, sure,” Covenant snorted. “So could I. If only life were that simple.”

  But Berek refused to be distracted. “If you indeed desire to aid me,” he demanded, “and wish to be known as the Theomach rather than as a stranger, I require some sign of truth or fealty. Display evidence of your knowledge. Demonstrate that your aid will not serve my foes.”

  Again the Theomach turned his head toward Covenant and Jeremiah like a warning.

  Abruptly Covenant tossed his flagon into the nearest brazier. “Come on, Jeremiah.” The coals were dimmed, and the reek of burning wine and honey steamed into the air. Then the wooden vessel took flame, making the tent bright for a moment. “Let’s go find Damelon. Maybe he’ll help us pick a fight with Inbull.” He held his left hand over his sore ribs, still keeping his halfhand in his pocket. “I want to repay some of this pain.”

  At once, Jeremiah set his flagon down beside Berek’s longsword. Avoiding Linden’s gaze, he accompanied Covenant obediently. They kept their distance from both Berek and her as they crossed the tent and ducked out under the flaps.

  Linden appealed to Berek with her gaze, mutely asking him to call her companions back. But he answered her aloud. “A measure of retribution at their hands will serve my purposes. And Hand Damelon will ensure that Inbull suffers no lasting harm.”

  “It is well,” pronounced the Theomach. He may have been giving his approval to Berek’s words—or to Covenant’s and Jeremiah’s departure. Then, however, he made his meaning clear. “In their absence, I may speak more freely.”

  Linden swallowed a desire to follow her son. She ached to protect him. And instinctively she wanted to avoid being alone with Berek. But she needed his help. And she could not imagine how the Theomach would convince Berek of anything.

  The future High Lord searched the Insequent closely. “Do so, then.”

  “My lord Berek”—the Theomach’s confidence was palpable—“you require evidence of my fealty, and I provide it thus.

  “The tale is told that in your despair upon the slopes of Mount Thunder, ancient Gravin Threndor, the Fire-Lions or the mountain or the very Earth spoke to you. Yet to avow that you indeed heard their speech is not sooth. It is merely a convenience, a means for passing over that which cannot be explained. The truth is both more simple and more profound. Inspired by despair and desperation, you called out for succor, offering your oath in recompense. This you did because your need was absolute, and because you sensed, in a fashion which defies your explication, that Mount Thunder was a place of power amid the supernal loveliness of the Land. How or why your appeal was received and answered, you cannot declare.”

  Berek made a visible effort to mask his surprise; but his growing wonder was clear in spite of his self-control.

  “Nonetheless,” the Theomach continued, “a form of speech occurred. Words became known to you, Words which you did not hear, and which you could not comprehend. Because they had been given to you, their puissance was evident. Also no other course remained to you. Therefore you uttered them aloud. When the Fire-Lions replied, you were as astonished as your foes.

  “Since that moment, however, the Words have gone from you. You recall them only in dreams, and when you awaken, naught but sorrow remains.

  “Is this not sooth, my lord?”

  Berek nodded as if he were unaware of the movement. His troubled awe revealed that the Theomach was right.

  “Then heed me well.” Now the Insequent’s tone took on a gravitas that compelled attention. Even the light appeared to condense around him, as if the lamps and the braziers and the very air were listening. “The Words were Seven, and they are these.

  “The first is melenkurion, which signifies bastion or source. The second is abatha, suggesting endurance, or the need for endurance. Third is duroc, a reference to Earthpower, the substance of the fire which the lady wields. Fourth comes minas, which also means Earthpower, but in another sense. It indicates Earthpower as a foundation rather than as a form of theurgy.”

  As he spoke, each Word seemed to resonate and expand until it strained the fabric of the tent. “The fifth Word is mill, which cannot be defined in human speech, but which implies invocation. The sixth, harad, may be understood as a stricture against selfishness, tyranny, malice, or other forms of despair. It binds the speaker to make no use of Earthpower which does not serve or preserve the munificence of creation. And last is khabaal, to which many meanings may be ascribed. In your mouth, it is an affirmation or incarnation of your sworn oath to the Land.”

  The Theomach paused as if to let Berek—or perhaps Linden—absorb his revelation. They were silent. Echoes filled Linden’s ears: she felt the potency of the Words ramify around her, multiplied toward horizons that lay beyond her comprehension. They encompassed possibilities which were too vast for her.

  She had never heard Covenant mention the Seven Words. But the Theomach had just restored them to Berek’s conscious mind. Surely they had not been lost before Covenant’s first translation to the Land?

  They had been given to her as well—

  A moment later, the Theomach said. “This tongue is spoken nowhere, other than by one race that I scorn to name, for it is the language of the Earth’s making and substance rather than of the Earth’s peoples. Yet it may be discovered, word by word, by those who seek deeply for knowledge—and who do not wish to bend or distort that knowledge for their own ends.”

  Then, unexpectedly, he turned to Linden. She could not see his expression through his bindings. Nevertheless she received the clear impression that he sought to sway her as much as to convince Berek.

  “Aloud,” he said distinctly, “the Seven Words are spoken thus. Melenkurion abatha. Duroc minas mill. Harad khabaal.”

  Before he had pronounced ten syllables, the Staff of Law burst into flame. With each Word, the fire mounted until it enclosed her in conflagration: power gentle as a caress, entirely without hurt or peril, and jubilant as a paean. Soon the whole tent was full of blazing like joy and rebirth, exuberance and restoration: the true vitality of Law.

  Some part of Linden clung to it, reveling in its exaltation. It resembled the gift of vitrim and the benison of Glimmermere, the tang of aliantha and the sovereign gold of hurtloam; the Land’s limitless potentia
l for glory. However, another aspect of her was mortal and afraid. The Words were distilled puissance. She had not chosen them, and could not hope to control their implications.

  Reflexively she strove to quell the flames—and as soon as she did so, they fell away. Without transition, the fire was quenched, leaving her to the truncated insight of the lamps and braziers.

  Within herself, she staggered at the suddenness of the change. When she remembered to look at her companions, she saw that Berek was both stunned and eager. He seemed unable to comprehend what he had heard and seen—and yet he had been lifted up in spite of his bafflement. A long burden of bereavement had fallen from his shoulders; and for a few moments, at least, fanged loss no longer gnawed at his spirit.

  The Theomach watched her and Berek with apparent satisfaction. “Are you content, my lord?” he asked as if he were sure of the answer. “Will you now accept my companionship, that I may aid and tutor you?”

  Shuddering with effort, Berek mastered himself. When he had swallowed several times to clear his throat, he said hoarsely. “My gratitude is certain. I will say more when my lady has assured me that she is unharmed.”

  Linden could not rival his self-command; but she replied as clearly as she could, “Look at me, my lord. You can see. I’m as surprised as you are.” And she wanted to weep with regret at her own weakness. “But I’m not hurt.”

  Slowly Berek nodded. “Yes, my lady Linden. I am indeed able to discern that you are whole. Therefore I will say to the Theomach”—still slowly, he turned to the Insequent as if each small movement cost him an exertion of will—“that my gratitude is certain, but my acceptance remains in doubt. One further glimpse of your knowledge will content me.”

  The Theomach waited, motionless; but whether he intended to acquiesce or refuse, Linden could not determine.

  With rigid care, Berek said, “You spoke of the munificence of creation. Will you name that munificence? Wherein does it lie? What is its nature? What does it portend? If these Seven Words will bind me, I must know that to which I will be bound.”