And so, Thomas Covenant enters Revelstone, but not the Revelstone he remembers. There are no lillianrill rods, no graveling pots, no Lords. Only the Clave, the na-Mhoram, and burning torches. It is just a shell of the grandeur it used to be."Gibbon!" Fear and ire lashed Covenant's voice.
"Ah, your pardon," the na-Mhoram replied out of the darkness. "You desire light. A moment."
Robes rustled around Covenant. He flung his arms wide to ward them off; but they did not assail him. Then he heard a word of command. Red flame burst from the triangle of a rukh. Other lights followed. In moments, the high, wide entry hall of Revel-stone was garishly incarnadine.
"Your pardon," Gibbon repeated. "Revelstone is a place of caution. The Clave is unjustly despised by many, as your own mistrust demonstrates. Therefore we admit strangers warily."
Groping to recover his inner balance, Covenant grated, "Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe there's a reason why people don't like you?"
"Their mislike is natural," said the na-Mhoram, unperturbed. "Their lives are fear from dawn to dusk, and they do not behold the fruit of our labor. How should they believe us when we say that without us they would perish? We do not resent this. But we take caution against it."
Gibbon's explanation sounded dangerously plausible. Yet Covenant distrusted the na-Mhoram's lack of passion. Because he could think of no apt retort, he simply nodded when Gibbon asked, "Will you come?" At the na-Mhoram's side, he walked down the hall, flanked by members of the Clave carrying fires.
The hall was as large as a cavern; it had been formed by Giants to accommodate Giants. But Gibbon soon turned from it into a side passage, and began to ascend broad stairways toward the upper levels of the city. Revelstone was as complex as a maze because it had been laid out according to criteria known only to the long-dead Giants. However, it was familiar to Covenant; though he had not been here for ten of his years, he found that he knew his way. He took a grim satisfaction from the fact.
Loyal to the Keep he remembered, he followed Gibbon upward and away from the spine of Revelstone. Once the entry hall was well behind them, their way was lit by torches smoking in sconces along the walls. Before long, they entered a corridor marked at long intervals by granite doors with wooden handles. Opposite one of them stood a hooded figure wearing a red robe but no chasuble. When the na-Mhoram approached, the figure opened the door for him. Covenant took a moment to be sure the entrance had no hidden locks or bolts, then went in after Gibbon.
After introducing Covenant to Akkasri na-Mhoram-cro, Gibbon leads him into a suite of rooms.
Ah Ha!! And we also know what lies at the bottom of Glimmermere."You will have comfort here," Gibbon said. "But if you are displeased, we will provide any quarters you require. Revelstone is larger than the Clave, and much unused." Beckoning for the hooded figure beyond the doorway, he continued, "This is Akkasri na-Mhoram-cro. She will answer your wants. Speak to her of any lack or desire." The hooded woman bowed without revealing her face or hands, and withdrew. "Halfhand, are you content?"
Content? Covenant wanted to snarl. Oh, sure! Where the goddamn bloody hell is Linden? But he repressed that impulse. He did not wish to betray how much his companions mattered to him. Instead, he said, "I'll be fine. As long as nobody tries to stick a knife into me-or lock my door-or poison my food."
Gibbon's beatitude smothered every emotion. His eyes were as bland as their color permitted. He regarded Covenant for a moment, then moved to the table. Slowly, he ate a bite from every dish on the tray-dried fruit, bread, stew-and washed them down with a swallow from the flask. Holding Covenant's gaze, he said, "Halfhand, this mistrust does not become you. I am moved to ask why you are here, when you expect such ill at our hands."
That question Covenant was prepared to answer honestly. "Not counting what happened to my friends, I need information. I need to understand this Sunbane. So I need the Clave. The villagers I've met -- " They had been too busy trying to kill him to answer questions. "They just survive. They don't understand. I want to know what causes the Sunbane. So I can fight it."
Gibbon's red eyes glinted ambiguously. "Very well," he replied in a tone that expressed no interest in what he heard or said. "As to fighting the Sunbane, I must ask you to wait until the morrow. The Clave rests at night. But the causes of the Sunbane are plain enough. It is the Master's wrath against the Land for the evil of past service to a-Jeroth."
Covenant growled inwardly. That idea was either a lie or a cruel perversion. But he did not intend to argue metaphysics with Gibbon. "That isn't what I mean. I need something more practical. How is it done? How did it happen? How does it work?"
Gibbon's gaze did not waver. "Halfhand, if I possessed such knowledge, I would make use of it myself."
Terrific. Covenant did not know whether to believe the na-Mhoram. A wave of emotional fatigue rolled over him. He began to see how hard it would be to glean the information he needed; and his courage quailed. He did not know the right questions. He simply nodded when Gibbon said, "You are weary. Eat, now. Sleep. Perhaps the morrow will bring new insight."
But as Gibbon moved to the door, Covenant felt compelled to try once more. "Tell me. How come Glimmermere still has water?"
"We moderate the Sunbane," the na-Mhoram answered with easy patience. "Therefore the Earth retains some vitality." A blink of hesitation touched his eyes, vanished. "An old legend avers that a nameless periapt lies in the deeps of the lake, sustaining it against the Sunbane."
Covenant nodded again. He knew of at least one thing, powerful or not, which lay at the bottom of Glimmermere.
Then Gibbon left the room, closing the door behind him, and Covenant was alone.
Covenant, left alone in his rooms, goes out on his balcony and confronts his dilemma.
Here we see again the scope of Covenant’s feelings of helplessness as he contemplates his inability to control his power. With each venom attack he becomes less and less able to direct it. Instead of him gaining mastery over the wild magic, the venom tainted wild magic is slowly gaining mastery over him. Can we blame his fear of power under such circumstances? Donaldson is cleverly laying the foundation, which leads to Covenant’s later acts and the ultimate fruition of his existence. But, that all comes later. Right now, we are in Covenant’s suite of rooms, in the south bay of Revelstone, and a Sun of Rain has risen.He was afraid for Linden, poignantly afraid that his friends were in far more danger than he was. And this fear was aggravated by his helplessness. Where were they? Were Gibbon and Memla lying about Santonin? If so, how could he learn the truth? If not, what could he do? He felt crippled without Linden; he needed her perceptions. She would have been able to tell him whether or not Gibbon was honest.
Cursing the numbness of his leprosy, he asked the night why he of all people in the Land-Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and white gold wielder, who had once mastered the Despiser in mortal combat-why he should feel so helpless. And the answer was that his self-knowledge, his fundamental confidence in what he was, was torn by doubt. His resources had become a contradiction. All the conscious extremity of his will was unable to call up one jot or title of power from his ring; yet when he was delirious, he exerted a feral might utterly beyond conscious control. Therefore he distrusted himself, and did not know what to do.
But to that question the night turned a deaf ear. Finally he abandoned the interrogation, and set about preparing for sleep.
Good ole Vain! Covenant’s grin and that “Good for you” is one of the best lines in the book. Along with Sunder’s “I wish you to fear”. It’s parts like these that keep the blood for these books boiling.He awoke to the sound of rain-torrents beating like the rush of a river against Revelstone's granite. The air of the bedroom felt moist; he had not closed off the balcony before going to bed. But for a time he did not move; he lay in the streaming susurration and let the sound carry him toward alertness.
When at last he rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes, he found Vain standing near the bed.
The Demondim-spawn bore himself as always-arms hanging slightly bent, stance relaxed, eyes focused on nothing.
"What the hell -- ?" Covenant jerked out of bed and hurried into the next room. Rain came slashing in from the balcony, drenching the floor. He braved the deluge, went outside to look for some indication of how Vain had reached him.
Through the downpour, he saw a huge tree bough leaning against the end of the balcony. The butt of the limb rested on another balcony thirty or forty feet below; apparently, Vain had climbed several hundred feet up the wall of Revelstone by scaling his bough to the lower abutments, then pulling it up behind him and using it to reach the next parapets, ascending by stages until he gained Covenant's room. How Vain had known the right room Covenant had no idea.
Scattering water, he rushed back into his suite and swung shut the balcony-door. Naked and dripping, he gaped at the Demon-dim-spawn, amazed by Vain's inexplicable capabilities. Then a grim grin twisted his mouth. "Good for you," he rasped. "This will make them nervous." Nervous people made mistakes.
Vain gazed vacuously past him like a deaf-mute. Covenant nodded sharply at his thoughts and started toward the bathroom to get a towel. But he was pulled to a halt by the sight of the livid raw patch running from the left side of Vain's head down his shoulder. He had been injured; his damaged skin oozed a black fluid as if he had been severely burned.
How -- ? Over the past days, Covenant had become so convinced of Vain's invulnerability that now he could not think. The Demon-dim-spawn could be hurt? Surely- But the next instant his astonishment disappeared in a flaring of comprehension. Vain had been attacked by the Clave-Riders testing the mysterious figure outside their gates. They had burned him. Perhaps he had not even deigned to defend himself.
But his mien betrayed no knowledge of pain. After a moment, Covenant went cursing into the bathroom and began to towel himself dry. Bastards! I'll bet he didn't lift a finger….
Covenant opens his door and admits Akkasri, hoping for some reaction at the sight of Vain, he sees none, she delivers his fresh food tray and leaves. A short time later she returns and tells Covenant that the na-Mhoram has told her to answer his questions. This is not what he expected…
Now we come to it. The Sacred Enclosure, yet it is no longer sacred. It has been desecrated beyond belief. No words can express the horror."Where's Gibbon?"
"The na-Mhoram," replied Akkasri, stressing Gibbon's title, "has many duties. Though I am only na-Mhoram-cro, I can answer certain inquiries. Gibbon na-Mhoram will attend you, if I do not suffice to your need."
Oh, hell, he growled. But he concealed his disconcertion. "We'll see. I've got a lot of questions." He stepped out into the hallway, held the door open for Vain. "Let's go."
At once, Akkasri moved off down the passage, ignoring Vain completely. This struck Covenant as unnatural; the Demondim-spawn was not easily discounted. Perhaps she had been told what to do? Then his revenge had not been wasted.
His nerves tightened. Striding at Akkasri's side, he began his search for comprehension by asking bluntly, "What's a na-Mhoram-cro?"
"Halfhand," the woman said without giving him a glimpse of her face, "the na-Mhoram-cro are the novices of the Clave. We have been taught much, but have not yet mastered the rukh sufficiently to become Riders. When we have gained that skill, we will be na-Mhoram-wist. And with much experience and wisdom, some of us will advance to become the hands of the na-Mhoram himself, the na-Mhoram-in. Such is Memla, who bore you to Revelstone. She is greatly honored for her courage and sagacity."
"If you're a novice," he demanded, "how much can you explain?"
"Only Gibbon na-Mhoram holds all the knowledge of the Clave." Akkasri's tone was tinged with indignation. "But I am unskilled, not ignorant."
"All right." With Vain behind them, she led Covenant downward, tending generally toward the central depths of the Keep. "Tell me this. Where did the Clave come from?"
"Halfhand?"
"It hasn't been here forever. Other people used to live in Revel-stone. What happened to them? How did the Clave get started? Who started it?"
"Ah." She nodded. "That is a matter of legend. It is said that many and many generations ago, when the Sunbane first appeared in the sky, the Land was governed by a Council. This Council was decadent, and made no effort to meet the peril. Therefore precious time was lost before the coming of the Mhoram."
Covenant began to recognize where she was taking him; this was the way to the sacred enclosure. He was faintly surprised by the general emptiness of the halls and passages. But he reflected that Revelstone was huge. Several thousand people could live in it without crowding each other.
"It is his vision which guides us now," the na-Mhoram-cro was saying. "Seeing that the Council had fallen to the guile of a-Jeroth, he arose with those few who retained zeal and foresight, and drove out the treachers. Then began the long struggle of our lives to preserve the Land. From the Mhoram and his few has the Clave descended, generation after generation, na-Mhoram to na-Mhoram, seeking ever to consummate his opposition to the Sun-bane.
"It is a slow work. We have been slow to master the skill and gain the numbers which we need-and slow as well to muster blood." She said the word blood with perfect impersonality, as if it cost nothing. "But now we approach the fruition of our long dream. The Sunbane has reached a rhythm of three days-and we hold. We hold, Halfhand!" She claimed pride; but she spoke blandly, as if pride, too, were impersonal. As if she had been carefully groomed to answer Covenant's questions.
Akkasri asks Covenant if he would like to return to his rooms, he says no. Instead he insists that she explain to him about the Master Rukh and the Banefire.The na-Mhoram-cro stopped before one of the doors, addressing Covenant. "Speech is difficult within this place." He wanted to behold her face; she sounded as if she had evasive eyes. But her hood concealed her visage. If he had not seen Memla and Gibbon, he might have suspected that all the Clave were hiding some kind of deformity. "It is the hall of the Banefire and the master-rukh. When you have seen it, we will withdraw, and I will tell you concerning it."
He nodded in spite of a sudden reluctance to see what the Clave had done to the sacred enclosure. When Akkasri opened the nearest door, he followed her into a flood of heat and noise.
The place blazed with garish fire. The enclosure was an immense cavity in the gut-rock of Revelstone, a cylinder on end, rising from below the level of the foothills more than halfway up the height of the Keep. From a dais on the floor, the Lords had spoken to the city. And in the walls were seven balconies circling the space, one directly above the next. There the people of Revelstone had stood to hear the Lords.
No more. Akkasri had brought Covenant to the fourth balcony; but even here, at least two hundred feet above the floor, he was painfully close to the fire.
It roared upward from a hollow where the dais had been, sprang yowling and raging almost as high as the place where he stood. Red flame clawed the air as if the very roots of the Keep were afire. The blast of heat half-blinded him; the fire seemed to scorch his cheeks, crisp his hair. He had to blink away a blur of tears before he could make out any details.
The first thing he saw was the master-rukh. It rested at three points on the rail of this balcony, a prodigious iron triangle. The center of each arm glowed dull vermeil.
Two members of the Clave stood at each corner of the master-rukh. They seemed impervious to the heat. Their hands gripped the iron, concentrated on it as if the Banefire were a script which they could read by touch. Their faces shone ruddy and fanatical above the flames.
Clearly, this was the place from which the red shaft of Sunbane power leaped to the sun.
The doors at the base of the cavity and around the highest balcony were open, providing ventilation. In the lurid brilliance, Covenant saw the domed ceiling for the first time. Somehow, the Giants had contrived to carve it ornately. Bold figures strode the stone, depicting scenes from the early history of the Giants in the Land: welcome, gratitude, trust. But the fire made the images appear strangely distorted and malefic.
Grinding his teeth, he cast his gaze downward. A movement at the base of the fire caught his attention. He saw now that several troughs had been cut into the floor, feeding the hollow. A figure apparelled like the na-Mhoram-cro approached one of the troughs, carrying two heavy pails which were emptied into the trough. Dark fluid ran like the ichor of Revelstone into the hollow. Almost at once, the Banefire took on a richer texture, deepened toward the ruby hue of blood.
Covenant was suffocating on heat and inchoate passion. His heart struggled in his chest. Brushing past Akkasri and Vain, he hastened toward the nearest corner of the master-rukh.
The people there did not notice him; the deep roar of the flame covered the sound of his boots, and their concentration was intent. He jerked one of them by the shoulder, pulled the individual away from the iron. The person was taller than he-a figure of power and indignation.
Covenant yelled up at the hooded face, "Where's Santonin?"
A man's voice answered, barely audible through the howl of the Banefire. "I am a Reader, not a soothreader!"
Covenant gripped the man's robe. "What happened to him?"
"He has lost his rukh!" the Reader shouted back. "At the command of the na-Mhoram, we have searched for him diligently! If his rukh were destroyed-if he were slain with his rukh still in his hands-we would know of it. Every rukh answers to the master-rukh, unless it falls into ignorant hands. He would not choose to release his rukh. Therefore he has been overcome and bereft. Perhaps then he was slain. We cannot know!"
"Halfhand!" Akkasri clutched at Covenant's arm, urging Mm toward the door.
He let her draw him out of the sacred enclosure. He was dizzy with heat and blind wild hope. Maybe the Reader spoke the truth; maybe his friends had overpowered their captor; maybe they were safe! While the na-Mhoram-cro closed the door, he leaned against the outer wall and panted at the blessedly cool air.
"By drawing its power from it," she answered simply. "If more water is taken from a lake than its springs provide, the lake will be emptied. Thus we resist the Sunbane.
"When the Mhoram first created the Banefire, it was a small thing, and accomplished little. But the Clave has increased it generation after generation, striving for the day when sufficient power would be consumed to halt the advance of the Sunbane."
Covenant fumbled mentally, then asked, "What do you do with all this power? It's got to go somewhere."
"Indeed. We have much use for power, to strengthen the Clave and continue our work. As you have learned, much is drawn by the Riders, so that they may ride and labor in ways no lone man or woman could achieve without a ruinous expenditure of blood. With other power are the Coursers wrought, so that the Sunbane will have no mastery over them. And more is consumed by the living of Revelstone. Crops are grown on the upland plateau-kine and goals nourished-looms and forges driven. In earlier generations, the Clave was hampered by need and paucity. But now we flourish, Halfhand. Unless some grave disaster falls upon us," Akkasri said in a pointed tone, "we will not fail,"
"And you do it all by killing people," he rasped. "Where do you get that much blood?"
She turned her head away in distaste for his question. "Doubtless you possess that knowledge," she said stiffly. "If you desire further enlightenment, consult the na-Mhoram."
"I will," he promised. The state of the sacred enclosure reminded him that the Clave saw as evil a whole host of things which he knew to be good; and actions which they called good made his guts heave. "In the meantime, tell me what the na-Mhoram" -- to irritate her, he used the title sardonically -- "has in mind for me. He wants my help. What does he want me to do?"
This was obviously a question for which she had come prepared. Without hesitation, she said, "He desires to make of you a Reader."
A Reader, he muttered to himself. Terrific.
"For several reasons," she went on evenly. "The distinction between Reading and soothreading is narrow, but severe. Perhaps with your white ring the gap may be bridged, giving the Clave knowledge to guide its future. Also with your power, perhaps still more of the Sunbane may be consumed. Perhaps you may exert a mastery over the region around Revelstone, freeing it from the Sunbane. This is our hope. As you wielded more power, the Sun-bane would grow weaker, permitting the expansion of your mastery, spreading safety farther out into the Land. Thus the work of generations might be compressed into one lifetime.
"It is a brave vision, Halfhand, worthy of any man or woman. A great saving of life and Land. For that reason Gibbon na-Mhoram rescinded the command of your death."
Covenant only listens partly to Akkasri, because his attention shifts to Vain, who is no longer just standing idly by…
Whew! Vain! Donning the Heels of the Staff of Law! Now we get just a tiny glimpse of what his purpose may be. Is he to safeguard the Heels? Or something else? Could he be some kind of manifestation of the Staff? And what of this Aumbrie? The hidden door that is the same as that found in Foul’s Creche? All the old Lore safely tucked away by the raver, who is the leader of the Clave. Which Covenant is blind too, Covenant can’t see.His head shifted from side to side, as if he heard a distant sound and sought to locate its source. His black orbs were focused. When Akkasri said, "Will you answer, Halfhand?" Covenant ignored her. He felt suddenly sure that Vain was about to do something. An obscure excitement pulled him away from the wall, poised him for whatever might happen.
Abruptly, Vain started away along the curving hall.
"Your companion!" the na-Mhoram-cro barked in surprise and agitation. "Where does he go?"
"Let's find out." At once, Covenant strode after Vain.
The Demondim-spawn moved like a man with an impeccable knowledge of Revelstone. Paying no heed to Covenant and Akkasri, or to the people he passed, he traversed corridors and stairways, disused meeting halls and refectories; and at every opportunity he descended, working his way toward the roots of the Keep.
Akkasri's agitation increased at every descent. But, like Vain, Covenant had no attention to spare for her. Searching his memory, he tried to guess Vain's goal. He could not. Before long, Vain led him into passages he had never seen before. Torches became infrequent. At times, he could barely distinguish the black Demondim-spawn from the dimness.
Then, without warning, Vain arrived in a cul-de-sac lit only by light reflecting from some distance behind him. As Covenant and Akkasri caught up with him, he was staring at the end of the corridor as if the thing he desired were hidden beyond it.
"What is it?" Covenant did not expect Vain to reply; he spoke only to relieve his own tension. "What are you after?"
"Halfhand," snapped the na-Mhoram-cro, "he is your companion." She seemed afraid, unprepared for Vain's action. "You must control him. He must stop here."
"Why?" Covenant drawled, trying to vex her into a lapse of caution, a revelation. "What's so special about this place?"
Her voice jumped. "It is forbidden!"
Vain faced the blind stone as if he were thinking. Then he stepped forward and touched the wall. For a long moment, his hands probed the surface.
His movements struck a chord in Covenant's memory. There was something familiar about what Vain was doing.
Familiar?
The next instant, Vain reached up to a spot on the wall above his head. Immediately, lines of red tracery appeared in the stone. They spread as if he had ignited an intaglio: in moments, red limned a wide doorway.
The door swung open, revealing a torch-lit passage.
Yes! Covenant shouted to himself. When he and Foamfollower had tried to enter Foul's Creche, the Giant had found and opened a similar door just as Vain had found and opened this one.
But what was that kind of door doing in Revelstone? Neither the Giants nor the Lords had ever used such entrances.
In a sudden rush of trepidation, he saw Akkasri's movement a moment too late to stop her. Swift with urgency, she snatched a rukh from under her robe and decanted blood onto her hands. Now fire sprang from the triangle; she began shouting words he could not understand.
Vain had already disappeared into the passage. Before the door could close itself again, Covenant sprinted after the Demondim-spawn.
This hall doubled back parallel to the one he had just left. It was well-lit. He could see that this place had not been part of the original Giant-work. Walls, floor, ceiling, all were too roughly formed. The Giants had never delved stone so carelessly. Leaping intuitively ahead of himself, he guessed that this tunnel had not been cut until after the passing of the Council, It had been made by the Clave for their own secret purposes.
Beyond him, a side corridor branched off to the left. Vain took this turning. Covenant followed rapidly.
In ten strides, the Demondim-spawn reached a massive iron door. It had been sealed with heavy bolts sunk deep into the stone, as if the Clave intended it to remain shut forever.
A faint pearly light marked the cracks around the metal.
Vain did not hesitate. He went to the door, found a place to wedge his fingers into the cracks. His back and shoulders tensed. Pressure squeezed new fluid from his burns.
Covenant heard running behind him, but did not turn away. His amazement tied him to Vain.
With a prodigious burst of strength, Vain tore the door from its moorings. Ringing like an anvil, it fell to the floor. In a wash of nacreous illumination, he stepped past the threshold.
Covenant followed like a man in a trance.
They entered a large chamber crammed with tables, walled to the ceiling with shelves. Hundreds of scrolls, caskets, pouches, periapts filled the shelves. The tables were piled high with staffs, swords, scores of talismans. The light came from three of the richest caskets, set high on the back wall, and from several objects on the tables. Dumb with astonishment, Covenant recognized the small chest which had once held the krill of Loric Vilesilencer. The chest was open and empty.
He gaped about him, unable to think, realize, understand.
A moment later, Akkasri and two people dressed like Riders raced into the chamber and leaped to a halt. They brandished flaming rukhs. "Touch nothing!" one of them barked.
Vain ignored them as if he had already forgotten they had the power to harm him. He moved to one of the far tables. There he found what he sought: two wide bands of dull gray iron.
Covenant identified them more by instinct than any distinctive feature.
The heels of the Staff of Law.
The Staff of Law, greatest tool of the Council of Lords, formed by Berek Halfhand from a branch of the One Tree. It was destroyed by wild magic when Lord Foul had forced dead Elena to wield it against the Land. Bannor had borne the heels back to Revelstone after the Despiser's defeat.
Before anyone could react, Vain donned the bands.
One he slipped over his right hand. It should have been too small; but it went past his knuckles without effort, and fitted snugly to his wrist.
The other he pulled onto his left foot. The iron seemed elastic. He drew it over his arch and heel easily, settled it tight about his ankle.
A Rider gasped. Akkasri and another woman faced Covenant. "Halfhand," Akkasri's companion snapped, "this is upon your head. The Aumbrie of the Clave is forbidden to all. We will not tolerate such violation."
Her tone brought Covenant back to himself. Dangers bristled in the air. Thinking rapidly, he said, "All the lore of the Lords- everything that used to belong to the Council. It's all here. It's all intact."
"Much is intact," Akkasri said rigidly. "The Council was decadent. Some was lost."
Covenant hardly heard her. "The First and Second Wards." He gestured toward the shining caskets. "The Third Ward? Did they find the Third Ward?" Foreseeing the Ritual of Desecration, Kevin Landwaster had hidden all his knowledge in Seven Wards to preserve it for future Councils; but during High Lord Mhoram's time, only the first two and the last had been found.
"Evidently," a Rider retorted. "Little good it did them."
"Then why" -- Covenant put all his appalled amazement into his voice -- "don't you use it?"
"It is lore for that which no longer exists." The reply had the force of an indictment. "It has no value under the Sunbane."
Oh, hell. Covenant could find no other words for his dismay. Hell and blood.
Covenant watches as the Riders, including Akkasri for she is not a mere na-Mhoram-cro, start to lead Vain away. To his surprise, the Demondim-spawn goes willingly, as though remembering that the Riders do indeed have the power to hurt him. He follows them as they lead Vain, to his horror, into a dungeon. A dungeon? In Revelstone? “How many other secrets are there in Revelstone?” Covenant gapes as Vain allows himself to be put into a cell.
Before Covenant could voice any protest over Vain’s imprisonment, an arm shoots from behind the bars of another cell…He turned under the architrave. His captors flourished threats of fire; but he made no move against them. He aimed one look at Covenant. His black face wore an expression of appeal.
Covenant glared back, uncomprehending. Vain?
A gift beyond price, Foamfollower had said. No purpose but his own.
Then it was too late. The door clanged shut on Vain. The Rider thrust home the bolts.
Covenant awakens in his suite of rooms, he flinches at the pain in is neck, turns and sees Gibbon na-Mhoram sitting at his bedside. He shifts position, makes sure his ring is still on his finger, then once again looks at Gibbon.He dashed toward that door.
A Rider shouted at him, forbidding him. He paid no heed.
As he gained the door, the arm withdrew. A flat face pressed against the bars. Impassive eyes gazed out at him.
He almost lost his balance in horror. The prisoner was one of the Haruchai-one of Bannor's people, who made their home high in the fastnesses of the Westron Mountains. He could not mistake the stern characteristic mien of the race that had formed the Bloodguard, could not mistake the resemblance to Bannor, who had so often saved his life.
In Andelain, Bannor's shade had said, Redeem my people. Their plight is an abomination.
Suppressing the tonal hit of his native tongue, the Haruchai said, "Ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and white gold wielder, I salute you. You are remembered among the Haruchai." The implacable rigor of his personality seemed incapable of supplication. "I am Brinn. Will you set us free?"
Then hot iron struck the back of Covenant's neck, and he stumbled like a cripple into darkness.
So, lies revealed, Covenant eats and readies himself for the Soothtell. He eats, feels compelled to roam Revelstone but doesn’t. Instead he sits and his thoughts drift to his friends, to Brinn, to the hidden door. A knock at his door startles him. Memla enters furiously before Covenant can rouse himself from his chair."Doubtless," Gibbon said with perfect blandness, "your neck gives you pain. It will pass. Swarte employed excessive force. I have reprimanded her."
"How -- ?" The hurt seemed to cramp his voice. He could barely squeeze out a hoarse whisper. "How long have I been out?"
"It is now midday of the second day of rain."
Damnation, Covenant groaned. At least one whole day. He tried to estimate how many people the Clave had killed in that period of time, but could not. Perhaps they had killed Brinn- He thrust the idea away.
"Akkasri," he breathed, filling the name with accusation.
Gibbon nodded calmly. "Akkasri na-Mhoram-in."
"You lied to me."
The na-Mhoram's hebetude seemed impervious to offense. "Perhaps. My intent was not false. You came to Revelstone rife with hostility and suspicion. I sought means to allay your mistrust -and at the same time to ward against you if your purpose was evil. Therefore I informed you that Akkasri was of the na-Mhoram-cro. I desired to win your faith. In that I was not false. Guised as a na-Mhoram-cro, Akkasri could answer many questions without presenting to you the apparent threat of power. This I believed because of your treatment of Memla na-Mhoram-in. I regret that the outcome went amiss."
This sounded plausible; but Covenant rejected it with a shake of his head. Immediately, a stab of soreness made him grimace. Muttering darkly to himself, he massaged his neck. Then he changed the subject, hoping to unsettle Gibbon. "What the hell are you doing with one of the Haruchai in your goddamn prison?"
But the na-Mhoram appeared immune to discomfiture. Folding his arms, he said, "I sought to withhold that knowledge from you. Already you believe that you have sufficient cause for mistrust. I desired that you should have no more such reasons until you learned to see the sovereign importance of our work."
Abruptly, Gibbon went in another direction. "Halfhand, did the Haruchai name you truly? Are you indeed ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and white gold wielder?"
"What difference does that make?" growled Covenant.
"That name is mentioned often in the ancient legends. After the First Betrayer, Thomas Covenant was the greatest of all a-Jeroth's servants."
"That's ridiculous." This new distortion of the Land's history dismayed him. But he was determined to evade Gibbon's snare. "How could I possibly be that Thomas Covenant? Where I come from, the name's common. So are white gold rings."
Gibbon gazed redly at him; but Covenant did not blink. A lie for a lie, he rasped. Finally, the na-Mhoram admitted, "You have not the look of such age." Then he went on, "But I was speaking of the Haruchai.
"Halfhand, we have not one Haruchai in our hold. We have threescore and seven."
Three -- ! Covenant could not keep the horror off his face.
"There." Gibbon gestured at him. "I had cause to fear your response."
"By God!" Covenant spat fiercely. "You ought to fear the Haruchai! Don't you know what you're dealing with?"
"I respect them entirely." The na-Mhoram's dull calm was complete. "Their blood is potent and precious."
They were my friends! Covenant could hardly refrain from shouting aloud. What in the name of all bloody hellfire and damnation do you think you're doing?
"Halfhand, you know that our work requires blood," Gibbon continued reasonably. "As the Sunbane grows, the Banefire must grow to resist it. We are long beyond the time when the people of the Land could meet all our need.
"Five generations past, when Offin na-Mhoram led the Clave, he was faced with the defeat of our dream. He had neared the limit of what the Land could supply, and it did not suffice. I will not dwell on his despair. It is enough to say that at that time-by chance or mercy-the Haruchai came to our aid."
He shrugged. "It is true that they did not intend the aid we found in them. Five came from the Westron Mountains in the name of their legends, seeking the Council. But Offin did not flinch his opportunity. He took the five captive.
"With the passage of time, five more came in search of their lost kindred. These also were captured. They were hardy and feral, but the power of the Banefire mastered them. And later more Haruchai came seeking the lost. First by five, then by ten, then by the score they came, with long lapses between. They are a stubborn people, and generation after generation they did not relent. Generation after generation, they were captured." Covenant thought he saw a glint of amusement in Gibbon's red eyes. "As their numbers increased, so grew the Banefire. Thus not a one of them prevailed or escaped.
"Their most recent foray comprised fivescore-a veritable army in their sight." Gibbon's blandness sounded like the serenity of a pure heart. "Threescore and seven remain."
An abomination. The na-Mhoram's tale made Covenant ache for violence. He could hardly muffle his vehemence as he asked, "Is this supposed to convince me that you're my friend?"
"I do not seek your conviction here," replied Gibbon. "I seek only to explain, so that you will comprehend why I sought to withhold this knowledge-and why Swarte struck you when you beheld the Haruchai, you must perceive the extent of our consecration to our task. We count any one life-or any score of lives- or any myriad-as nothing against the life of the Land. The Sunbane is an immense ill, and we must spend immensely to combat it.
"Also I desire you to understand that your aid-the service of your white ring-promises the redemption of the Land, the saving of many times many lives. Does our shedding distress you? Then aid us, so that the need for blood may be brought to an end. You cannot serve the Land in any other way."
Covenant held Gibbon with a glare. Through his teeth, he breathed, "I knew the original Mhoram. The last time I was here, I made him choose between the hope of the Land and the life of one little girl. He chose the girl." No words could articulate all the bile in his mouth. "You're worse than the Sunbane."
He expected the na-Mhoram to retort; but Gibbon only blinked, and said, "Then it is sooth that you are the Unbeliever?"
"Yes!" Covenant snapped, casting subterfuge and safety aside. "And I'm not going to let you commit genocide on the Haruchai."
"Ah." Gibbon sighed, rising to his feet, "I feared that we would come to this," He made a placating gesture. "I do not seek your harm. But I see only one means by which we may win your aid. I will ready the Clave for a soothtell. It will reveal the truth you covet. Lies will be exposed, hearts laid bare."
He moved to the doorway. "Rest now, Halfhand. Eat-regain your strength. Walk where you wish. I ask only that you eschew the Aumbrie and the hold until that which stands between us has been resolved. I will send for you when the soothtell has been prepared." Without waiting for an answer, he left the suite.
Soothtell, Covenant snarled. His inner voice sounded like a croak. By God, yes!
Now, Covenant will get his answers, but at a terrible price…A tangle of gray-streaked hair framed her pale visage. She clutched her rukh as if she meant to strike him with it. But it held no flame. Her eyes were full of broken honesty.
"False!" she gasped. "They have been false to me!"
He lurched to confront her across the table.
She gaped momentarily for words, unable to compress the enormity of her indignation into mere speech. Then she broke out, "They are here! Santonin-your companions! All here!"
Covenant gripped the table to keep himself from falling.
"Two Stonedownors and a stranger. In the hold." Passion obstructed her breathing. "Santonin I saw, where he did not expect to be seen. The na-Mhoram uttered direct falsehood to me!
"I challenged Santonin. He revealed the truth-why I and others were sent to meet you. Smirking! Not to escort you, no. To ensure that you did not catch him. He gained Revelstone on the second day of the fertile sun. One day before us!"
One day? Something in Covenant began to howl. One day?
"Had I not halted you-had you walked through the night-you might have come upon him before dawn. He passed near me."
With an inchoate snarl, Covenant swung his arm, swept the tray from the table. Stoneware broke; metheglin splashed the floor. But the act steadied him. "Memla." He had been unjust to her. He regained control of his limbs, his purpose; but he could not control his voice. "Take me to Gibbon."
She stared at him. His demand took her aback. "You must flee. You are in peril."
"Now." He needed to move, begin, so that the trembling in his chest would not spread to his legs. "Take me to him now."
She hesitated, then gave a fierce nod. "Yes. It is right," Turning on her heel, she strode out of the room.
He surged after her in anguish and fury. Down toward the roots of Revelstone she guided him, along ways which he remembered. It was a long descent, but it seemed to pass swiftly. When she entered a familiar hall lit from its end by torches, he recognized the place where the Lords of the Council had had their private quarters.
The wide, round court beyond the hall both was and was not as he remembered it. The floor was burnished granite, as smooth as if it had been polished by ages of use and care. The ceiling rose far above the floor; and the walls were marked at intervals with coigns by which other levels of the Keep communicated with the dwellings spaced around the base of the cavity. These things accorded with his memory. But the light was altogether different. The Lords had not needed torches; the floor itself had shone with Earthpower. According to the old tales, the stone had been set aglow by Kevin Landwaster and the Staff of Law. But that illumination-so expressive of the warmth and fidelity of the Council -was gone now. The torches which replaced it seemed garish and unreliable by comparison.
But Covenant had neither time nor attention to spare for lost wonder. A score of the Clave stood around the center of the floor. All held their rukhs ready; and the na-Mhoram's crozier dominated them. They had turned to the sound of Covenant's entrance. Their hoods concealed their faces.
Within their circle lay a stone slab like a catafalque. Heavy iron fetters chained a man to it.
One of the Haruchai.
When Covenant stalked ahead of Memla to approach the circle, he recognized Brinn.
"Halfhand," the na-Mhoram said. For the first time, Covenant heard excitement in Gibbon's tone. "The soothtell is prepared. All your questions will be answered now."
is the best! Climbing the balconies, ripping the door off its hinges... 
