The Power That Preserves t1cotc-3

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  In spite of himself, in spite of his own expectations of hostility and recrimination, Covenant believed Triock. Elena had warned him; she had described the size of Triock’s capabilities. Now he wondered where Triock found his strength. The man had been an unambitious Cattleherd. The girl he loved had been raped, and her bastard daughter had grown up to love the rapist. Yet because of them he had gone to the Loresraat, studied dangerous lore for which he had no desire or affinity. He had become a guerrilla fighter for the Land. And now he had summoned Covenant at the command of the Land’s need and his own harsh sense of mercy. Thickly, Covenant muttered, “You’ve kept your Oath.” He was thinking, I owe you for this, too, Foul.

  Abruptly, Triock got to his feet. The lines around his eyes dominated his face as he scrutinized Covenant. In a low voice, he said, “What will you do?”

  “Ask me later.” Covenant was ashamed that he could not match Triock’s gaze. “I’m not ready yet.” Instinctively, he clasped his right hand over his ring, hiding it from consideration.

  “There is time,” murmured Foamfollower. “You have a great need for rest.”

  Triock said, “Choose soon. We must be on our way at dawn.” Then he moved brusquely away through the mounting snow toward his two companions by the second pot of graveling.

  “He is a good man,” Foamfollower said softly. “Trust him.”

  Oh, I trust him, Covenant thought. How can I help it?

  Despite the warmth of his blankets, he began to shiver again.

  As he leaned still closer to the glowing fire-stones, he noticed the look of concern on Foamfollower’s face. To forestall any expression of anxiety which would remind him how little he deserved the Giant’s concern, he said hastily, “I still don’t know what’s happened to you. The Giants Were — I don’t know what happened to them. And you-You’ve been outrageously hacked upon.” In an effort to probe Foamfollower, he went on: “I’d tell you something funny. I was afraid of what you might do — after all that business in Treacher’s Gorge. I was afraid you might go back to your people and-and convince them to stop fighting, give it up. What do you think? Have I finally succeeded in telling you a story you can laugh at?”

  But he saw poignantly that he had not. Foamfollower bowed his head, covered his face with one hand. For a moment, the muscles of his shoulders tensed as if with his fingers he were squeezing the bones of his countenance into an attitude which he could not achieve in any other way. “Joy is in the ears that hear,” he said in a voice muffled by his hand. “My ears have been too full of the noise of killing.”

  Then he raised his head, and his expression was calm. Only a smouldering deep within the caves of his eyes revealed that he was hurt. “I am not yet ready to laugh over this matter. Were I able to laugh, I would not feel so-driven to slay Soulcrusher’s creatures.”

  “Foamfollower,” Covenant murmured again, “what’s happened to you?”

  The Giant gestured helplessly with both hands, as if he could not conceive any way to tell his story. “My friend, I am what you see. Here is a tale which lies beyond even my grasp, and I am a Giant-though you will remember that my people considered me uncommonly brief of speech. Stone and Sea! Covenant, I know not what to say. You know how I fought for the Quest for the Staff of Law. When Damelon Giantfriend’s prophecy for my people came to pass, I found that I could not give up this fighting. I had struck blows which would not stop. Therefore I left Seareach, so that I would at least serve the Land with my compulsion.

  “But I did not go to the Lords. In my thoughts, the great rare beauty of Revelstone, Giant-wrought Lord’s Keep, daunted me. I did not wish to stand in those brave halls while Soulcrusher’s creatures raved in the Land. For that reason, I fight, and spend my days with people who fight. From the Northron Climbs to the Last Hills I have struck my blows. When I met Triock son of Thuler and his companions-when I learned that he holds a limb of the High Wood, descendant of the One Tree from which the Staff of Law was made-I joined him. In that way, I garnered my scars, and at last came here.”

  “You’ve been around humans too long,” muttered Covenant. “You haven’t told me anything. What-? How-? I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Then do not begin, my friend. Rest.” Foamfollower reached out and gently touched Covenant’s shoulder. “You also have been too long among-people of another kind. You need days of rest which I fear you will not receive. You must sleep.”

  To his surprise, Covenant found that he was capable of sleep. Warm drowsiness seeped into him from the blankets and the graveling light, spread outward from the aliantha in his blood. Tomorrow he would know better what questions to ask. He lay back on the cold ground and pulled the blankets about his ears.

  But as Foamfollower adjusted the blankets for him, he asked, “How much longer is this winter going to last?”

  “Peace, my friend,” Foamfollower replied. “The Land’s spring should have been born three full moons ago.”

  A shudder of ice ran through Covenant. Bloody hell, Foul! he gritted. Hellfire!

  But in his reclining position he could not resist his long weariness. He fell asleep almost at once, thinking, Hellfire. Hell and blood.

  He lay in red, visionless slumber until sometime after dark he seemed to hear voices that awakened him slightly. Disembodied in his grogginess, they spoke across him as if he were a prostrate corpse.

  “You told him little of the truth,” Triock said.

  And Foamfollower answered, “He has pain enough for one heart. How could I tell him?”

  “He must know. He is responsible.”

  “No. For this he is not responsible.”

  “Still he must know.”

  “Even stone may break when it is too heavily burdened.”

  “Ah, Rockbrother. How will you justify yourself if he turns against the Land?”

  “Peace, my friend. Do not torment me. I have already learned that I cannot be justified.”

  Covenant listened incomprehendingly. When the voices drifted out of his awareness, he sank into wild dreams of purpose and savage restitution.

  Six: The Defence of Mithil Stonedown

  LATER, he was shaken awake by Foamfollower. The Giant nudged his shoulder until he started up out of his blankets into the darkness. In the dim light of half-covered graveling pots, he could see that the snow had stopped, but dawn was still some time away. Night locked the valley full of black air.

  He dropped back into the blankets, muttering groggily, “Go away. Let me sleep.”

  Foamfollower shook him again. “Arise, ur-Lord. You must eat now. We will depart soon.”

  “Dawn,” Covenant said. The stiff soreness of his lip made him mumble as if the numbness of his hands and feet had spread to his tongue. “He said dawn.”

  “Yeurquin reports watch fires approaching Mithil Stonedown from the South Plains. They will not be friendly-few people of the south dare show light at night. And someone climbs toward us from the Stonedown itself. We will not remain here. Arise.” He lifted Covenant into a sitting position, then thrust a flask and bowl into his hands. “Eat.”

  Sleepily, Covenant drank from the stone flask, and found that it contained water as icy as melted snow. The chill draft jolted him toward wakefulness. Shivering, he turned to the bowl. It contained unleavened bread and treasure-berries. He began to eat quickly to appease the cold water in his stomach.

  Between bites, he asked, “If whatever they are-marauders- are coming, aren’t we safe here?”

  “Perhaps. But the Stonedownors will fight for their homes. They are Triock’s people-we must aid them.”

  “Can’t they just hide in the mountains-until the marauders go away?”

  “They have done so in the past. But Mithil Stonedown has been attacked many times. The Stonedownors are sick at the damage done to their homes in these attacks. This time, they will fight.”

  Covenant emptied the bowl, and forced himself to drink deeply from the flask. The chill of the water made his throat ache. />
  “I’m no warrior.”

  “I remember,” Foamfollower said with an ambiguous smile, as if what he remembered did not accord with Covenant’s assertion. “We will keep you from harm.”

  He took the flask and bowl and stowed them in a large leather sack. Then from it he pulled out a heavy sheepskin jacket, which he handed to Covenant. “This will serve you well-though it is said that no apparel or blaze can wholly refute the cold of this winter.” As Covenant donned the jacket, the Giant went on, “I regret that I have no better footwear for you. But the Stonedownors wear only sandals.” He took from his sack a pair of thick sandals and passed them to Covenant.

  When Covenant pushed back his blankets, he saw for the first time the damage he had done to his feet. They were torn and bruised from toe to heel; dry, caked blood covered them in blotches; and the remains of his socks hung from his ankles like the ragged frills of a jester. But he felt no pain; the deadness of his nerves reached deeper than these injuries. “Don’t worry about it,” he rasped as he pulled the socks from his ankles, “it’s only leprosy.”

  He snatched the sandals from Foamfollower, jammed them onto his feet, and tied their thongs behind his heels. “One of these days I’ll figure out why I bother to protect myself at all.” But he knew why; his inchoate purpose demanded it.

  “You ought to visit my world,” he growled only half to the Giant. “It’s painless. You won’t feel a thing.”

  Then Triock hailed them. Foamfollower got swiftly to his feet. When Covenant climbed from the blankets, Foamfollower picked them up and pushed them into his sack. With the sack in one hand and the graveling pot in the other, he went with Covenant toward the Stonedownor.

  Triock stood with three companions near the narrow ravine which was the outlet of the valley. They spoke together in low, urgent tones until Foamfollower and Covenant joined them. Then Triock said rapidly, “Rockbrother, our scouts have returned from the Plains. Slen reports that-” Abruptly he stopped himself. His mouth bent into a sardonic smile, and he said, “Pardon me. I forget my courtesy. I must make introductions.”

  He turned to one of his companions, a stocky old man breathing hoarsely in the cold. “Slen Terass-mate, here is ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and white gold wielder. Unbeliever, here is Slen, the rarest cook in all the South Plains. Terass his wife stands among the Circle of elders of Mithil Stonedown.”

  Slen gave Covenant a salute which he returned awkwardly, as if the steaming of his breath and the numbness of his hands prevented him from grace. Then Triock turned to his other companions. They were a man and a woman who resembled each other like twins. They had an embattled look, as if they were familiar with bloodshed and killing at night, and their brown eyes blinked at Covenant like the orbs of people who had lost the capacity to be surprised. “Here are Yeurquin and Quirrel,” said Triock. “We have fought together from the first days of this attack upon the Land.

  “Unbeliever, when the Giant and I heard the word of Revelstone’s siege, we were at work harrying a large band of the Slayer’s creatures in the centre of the South Plains. We fled from them at once, taking care to hide our trail so that they would not follow. And we left scouts to keep watch on the band. Now the scouts have returned to say that at first the band hunted us without success. But two days ago they turned suddenly and hastened straight toward the Mithil valley.”

  Triock paused grimly, then said, “They have felt the power of our work upon Kevin’s Watch. Melenkurion! Some creature among them has eyes.”

  “Therefore we are not safe here,” Foamfollower said to Covenant. “If they have truly seen the power of the High Wood, they will not rest until they have captured it for Soulcrusher-and slain its wielder.”

  Slen coughed a gout of steam. “We must go. We will be assailed at daybreak.”

  With a sharp nod, Triock agreed. “We are ready.” He glanced toward Foamfollower and Covenant. “Unbeliever, we must travel afoot. The days of horseback sojourning are gone from the Land. Are you able?”

  Covenant shrugged the question away. “It’s a little late for us to start worrying about what I can or can’t do. Foamfollower can carry me easily enough-if I slow you down.”

  “Well, then.” Triock tightened his cloak, then picked up the graveling pot and held it over his head so that it lighted the ravine ahead of him. “Let us go.”

  Quirrel strode briskly ahead of them into the darkness of the ravine, and Triock preceded Slen after her. At a gesture from the Giant, Covenant followed Slen. Foamfollower came behind him with the other graveling pot, and Yeurquin brought up the rear of the group.

  Before he had worked his way twenty yards down the ravine, Covenant knew that he was not yet strong enough to travel. Lassitude clogged his muscles, and what little energy he had he needed to defend himself from the penetrating cold. At first he resolved to endure despite his weakness. But by the time he had hauled himself halfway up the rift which led to the mountainside overlooking Mithil Stonedown, he understood that he could not go on without help. If he were to accomplish the purpose which grew obscurely in the back of his mind, he would have to learn how to accept help.

  He leaned panting against the stone. “Foamfollower.”

  The Giant bent near him. “Yes, my friend.”

  “Foamfollower-I can’t make it alone.”

  Chuckling gently, Foamfollower said, “Nor can I. My friend, there is comfortin some companionships.” He lifted Covenant effortlessly into his arms, carried him in a half-sitting position so that Covenant could see ahead. Though he only needed one arm to bear Covenant’s weight, he put the graveling pot into Covenant’s hands. The warm light revealed that Foamfollower was grinning as he said, “This is hazardous for me. It is possible that being of use may become a dangerous habit.”

  Gruffly, Covenant muttered, “That sounds like something I might say.”

  Foamfollower’s grin broadened. But Triock threw back a warning scowl, and the Giant made no other response.

  Moments later, Triock covered his graveling pot. At a nod from Foamfollower, Covenant did the same. The Giant placed the urn in his sack. Without any light to give them away, the group climbed out of the rift onto the exposed mountainside high above the Mithil valley.

  Under the heavy darkness, they could see nothing below them but the distant watch fires smouldering like sparks in cold black tinder. Covenant could not gauge how far away the fires were, but Foamfollower said tightly, “It is a large band. They will gain the Stonedown by dawn-as Slen said.”

  “Then we must make haste,” snapped Triock. He swung away to the left, moving swiftly along the unlit ledge.

  The Giant followed at once, and his long strides easily matched Triock’s trotting pace. Soon they had left the ledge, crossed from it to more gradual slopes as their trail worked downward into the valley. Slowly, Covenant could feel the air thickening. With the warmth of the graveling pot resting against his chest, he began to feel stronger. He made an effort to remember what this trail had looked like in the spring, but no memories came; he could not escape the impression of bare bleakness which shone through the night at him. He sensed that if he could have seen the unrelieved rock faces of the mountains, or the imposed lifelessness of the foothills, or the blasted tree trunks, or the Mithil River writhing in ice, he would have been dismayed. He was not yet ready for dismay.

  Ahead of him, Triock began to run.

  Foamfollower’s jogging shook other thoughts out of Covenant’s mind, and he began to concentrate in earnest on the gloomy night. By squinting grotesquely, he found that he could adjust his sight somewhat to the dark; apparently his eyes were remembering their Land-born penetration. As Foamfollower hurried him down the trail, he made out the high loom of the mountains on his left and the depth of the valley on his right. After a while, he caught vague, pale glimpses of the ice-gnarled river. Then the trail neared the end of the valley, and swung down in a wide arc toward the Mithil. When Foamfollower had completed the turn, Covenant saw the f
irst dim lightening of dawn behind the eastern peaks.

  Their pace became more urgent. As dawn leaked into the air, Covenant could see shadowy clouts of snow jumping from under the beat of Triock’s feet. Foamfollower’s strong respiration filled his ears, and behind it at odd intervals he heard the river straining in sharp creaks and groans against the weight of its own freezing. He began to feel a need to get down from the Giant’s arms, either to separate himself from this urgency or to run toward it on his own.

  Then Quirrel slowed abruptly and stopped. Triock and Foamfollower caught up with her, found her with another Stonedownor woman. The woman whispered quickly, “Triock, the people are ready. Enemies approach. They are many, but the scouts saw no Cavewights or ur-viles. How shall we fight them?”

  As she spoke, Covenant dropped to the ground. He stamped his feet to speed the circulation in his knees and stepped close to Triock so that he could hear what was said.

  “Someone among them has eyes,” Triock responded. “They hunt the High Wood.”

  “So say the elders.”

  “We will use it to lure them. I will remain on this side of the Stonedown-away from them, so that they must search all the homes to find me. The houses will disrupt their formations, come between them. The Stonedown itself and surprise will aid us. Tell the people to conceal themselves on this side-behind the walls, in the outer houses. Go.”

  The woman turned and ran toward the Stonedown. Triock followed her more slowly, giving instructions to Quirrel and Yeurquin as he moved. With Foamfollower at his side, Covenant hurried after them, trying to figure out how to keep himself alive when the fighting started. Triock seemed sure that the marauders were after the lomillialor, but Covenant had other ideas. He was prepared to believe that this band of Foul’s creatures had come for him and the white gold.