the bit where Hile Troy loses his Land given sight in Doriendor Corishev in TIWAh! he cried lornly. Help me!
"We are the Bloodguard." Bannor's voice was almost inaudible through the loud lust of the Cavewights. "We cannot permit this end."
Firmly, he took Covenant's hand and placed it on the Staff of Law, midway between Prothall's straining knuckles.
Power seemed to explode in Covenant's chest. A silent concussion, a shock beyond hearing, struck the ravine like a convulsion of the mountain. The blast knocked the Questers from their feet, sent all the urviles and Cavewights sprawling among the boulders. Only the High Lord kept his feet. His head jerked up, and the Staff bucked in his hands.
For a moment, there was stillness in the ravine a quiet so intense that the blast seemed to have deafened all the combatants. And in that moment, the entire sky over Gravin Threndor turned black with impenetrable thunder.
Then came noise-one deep bolt of sound as if the very rock of the mountain cried out-followed by long waves of hot, hissing sputters. The clouds dropped until they covered the crest of Mount Thunder.
Great yellow fires began to burn on the shrouded peak.,
but of all the defining moments I can think of the second calling of Nom is truly awesome.He awoke to silence and the darkness of night.
After a long lapse of time like an interminable scream, he raised his head. The wind had piled dust over him, and his movement disturbed it. It filled his throat and mouth and lungs. But he bit back a spasm of coughing, and listened to the darkness.
All around him, Doriendor Corishev was as still as a cairn. The wind and the vortex were gone, leaving only midnight dust and death to mark their path. Silence lay over the ruins like a bane.
Then he had to cough. Gasping, retching, he pushed himself to his knees. He sounded explosively loud to himself. He tried to control the violence of his coughing, but he was helpless until the spasm passed.
As it released him, he realized that he was still clutching his sword. Instinctively, he tightened his grip on it. He cursed his night blindness, then told himself that the darkness was his only hope.
His face throbbed painfully, but he ignored it.
He kept himself still while he thought.
This long after the vortex, he reasoned, all his allies were either dead or gone. If the vortex and the birds had not killed them, they had been swept from the ruins by Fleshharrower's army. So they could not help him. He did not know how much of that army had stayed behind in the masterplace.
And he could not see. He was vulnerable until daylight. Only the darkness protected him; he could not defend himself.
His first reaction was to remain where he was, and pray that he was not discovered. But he recognized the futility of that plan. At best, it would only postpone his death. When dawn came, he would still be alone against an unknown number of enemies. No, his one chance was to sneak out of the city now and lose himself in the Wastes. There he might find a gully or hole in which to hide.
That escape was possible, barely possible, because he had one advantage; none of Fleshharrower's creatures except the ur-viles could move through the ruins at night as well as he. And the Raver would not have left ur-viles behind. They were too valuable. If Troy could remember his former skills-his sense of ambience, his memory for terrain-he would be able to navigate the city.
He would have to rely on his hearing to warn him of enemies.
He began by sliding his sword quietly into its scabbard. Then he started groping his way over the hot sand. He needed to verify where he was, and knew only one way to do it.
Nearby, his hands found a patch of ground that felt burned. The dirt which stuck to his fingers reeked of attar. And in the patch, he located Ruel's twisted body. His sense of touch told him that Ruel was badly charred. The dark bird must have caught fire when it
died, and burned away, leaving the Bloodguard's corpse behind.
The touch of that place nauseated him, and he backed away from it. He was sweating heavily. Sweat stung his burns. The night was hot; sunset had brought no relief to the ruins. Folding his arms over his stomach, he climbed to his feet.
Standing unsteadily in the open, he tried to clear his mind of Ruel and the bird. He needed to remember how to deal with blindness, how to orient himself in the ruins. But he could not determine which way he had come into this open place. Waving his arms before him, he went in search of a wall.
His feet distrusted the ground-he could not put them down securely-and he moved awkwardly. His sense of balance had deserted him. His face felt raw, and sweat seared his eye sockets. But he clenched his concentration, and measured the distance.
In twenty yards, he reached a wall. He touched it at an angle, promptly squared himself to it, then moved along it. He needed a gap which would permit him to touch both sides of the wall. Any discrepancy in temperature between the sides would tell him his directions.
After twenty more yards, he arrived in a corner. Turning at right angles, he-followed this new wall. He kept himself parallel to it by brushing the stone with his fingers. Shortly, he stumbled into some rubble, and found an entryway.
The wall here was thick, but he could touch its opposite sides without stretching his arms. Both sides felt very warm, but he thought he discerned a slightly higher temperature on the side facing back into the open space. That direction was west, he reasoned; the afternoon sun would have heated the west side of a wall.
Now he had to decide which way to go.
If he went east, he would be less likely to meet enemies. Since they had not already found him, they might be past him, and their search would move from east to west after the Warward. But if any chance of
help from his friends or Mehryl remained, it would be on the west side.
The dilemma seemed to have no solution. He found himself shaking his head and moaning through his teeth. At once, he stuffed his throat with silence. He decided to move west toward Mehryl. The added risk was preferable to a safe escape eastward-an escape which would leave him alone in the Southron Wastes, without food or water or a mount.
He leaned against the unnatural heat of the wall for a few moments, breathing deeply to steady himself. Then he stood up, grasped his sense of direction with all the concentration he could muster, and started walking straight out into the ruined hall.
His progress was slow. The uncertainty of his steps made him stagger repeatedly away from a true westward line. But he corrected the variations as best he could, and kept going. Without the support of a wall, his balance grew worse at every stride. Before he had covered thirty yards, the floor reeled around him, and he dropped to his knees. He had to clamp his throat shut to keep from whimpering.
When he regained his feet, he heard quiet laughter -first one voice, then several. It had a cruel sound, as if it were directed at him. It resonated slightly off the walls, so that he could not locate it, but it seemed to come from somewhere ahead.
He froze where he stood. Helplessly, he prayed that the darkness would cover him.
But a voice shattered that hope. "Look here, brothers," it said. "A man-alone." Its utterance was awkward, thick with slavering, but Troy could understand it. He could hear the malice in the low chorus of laughter which answered it.
Other voices spoke.
"A man, yes. Slayer take him!"
"Look. Such pretty clothes. An enemy."
"Ha! Look again, fool. That is no man."
"He has no eyes."
"Is it an ur-vile?"
"No-a man, I say. A man with no eyes! Here is some sport, brothers."
All the voices laughed again.
Troy did not stop to wonder how the speakers could see him. He turned, started to run back the way he had come.
At once, they gave pursuit. He could hear the slap of bare feet on stone, the sharp breathing. They overtook him swiftly. Something veered close to him, tripped him. As he fell, the running feet surrounded him.
"Go gently, brothers. No quick kill. He will be sport for us all."
"Do not kill him."
"Not kill? I want to kill. Kill and eat."
"The Giant will want this one."
"After we sport."
"Why tell the Giant, brothers? He is greedy."
"He takes our meat."
"Keep this one for ourselves, yes."
"Slayer take the Giant."
"His precious ur-viles. When there is danger, men must go first."
"Yes! Brothers, we will eat this meat."
Troy heaved himself to his feet. Through the rapid chatter of the voices, he heard, go first, and almost fell again. If these creatures were the first of Fleshharrower's army to enter the masterplace-! But he pushed down the implications of that thought, and snatched out his sword.
"A sword? Ho ho!"
"Look, brothers. The man with no eyes wants to play."
"Play!"
Troy heard the lash of a whip; cord flicked around his wrist. It caught and jerked, hauled him from his feet. Strong hands took his sword. Something kicked him in the chest, knocked him backward. But his breastplate protected him.
One of the voices cried, "Slayer! My foot!"
"Fool!" came the answer. There was laughter.
"Kill him!"
A metallic weapon clattered against his breastplate, fell to the ground. He scrambled for it in the dust, but
sudden hands shoved him away. He' recoiled and got to his feet again.
He heard the whistle of the whip, and its cord lashed at his ankles. But this time he did not go down.
"Do not kill him yet. Where is the sport?"
"Make him play."
"Yes, brothers. Play."
"Play for us, man with no eyes"
The whip burned around his neck. He staggered under the blow. The bewildering crossfire of voices went on.
"Play, Slayer take you!"
"Sport for us!"
"Why sport? I want meat. Blood-wet meat."
"The Giant feeds us sand."
"Play, I say! Are you blind, man with no eyes? Does the sun dazzle you?"
This gibe was met with loud laughter. But Troy stood still in his dismay. The sun? he thought numbly. Then he had chosen the wrong direction, east instead of west; he had walked right into these creatures. He wanted to scream. But he was past screaming. He could feel the light of his life going out. His hands shook as he tried to straighten his sunglasses.
"Dear God," he groaned.
Numbly, as if he did not know what he was doing, he put his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle.
The whip coiled around his waist and whirled him to the ground.
"Play!" the voices shouted raggedly together.
But when he stumbled to his feet again, he heard . the sound of hooves. And a moment later, Mehryl's whinny cut through the gibbering voices. It touched Troy's heart like the call of a trumpet. He jerked up ; his head, and his ears searched, trying to locate the
Ranyhyn.
The voices changed to shouts of hunger as the ` hooves charged. "Ranyhyn!" "Kill it!"
"Meat!" Hands grabbed Troy. He grappled with a fist that
held a knife. But then the noise of hooves rushed close to him. An impact flung his assailant away. He turned, tried to leap onto Mehryl's back. But he only put himself in Mehryl's path. The shoulder of the Ranyhyn struck him, knocked him down.
Then he could hear bare feet leaping to the attack. The whip cracked, knives swished. Mehryl was forced away from him. Hooves skittered on the stone as the Ranyhyn retreated. Howling triumphantly, the creatures gave chase. The sounds receded.
Troy pushed himself to his feet. His heart thudded in his chest; pain throbbed sharply in his face. The noises of pursuit seemed to indicate that he was being left alone. But he did not move. Concentrating all his attention, he tried to hear over the beat of his pain.
For a long moment, the open space around him sounded empty, still. He waved his arms, and touched nothing.
But then he heard a sharp intake of breath.
He was trembling violently. He wanted to turn and run. But he forced himself to hold his ground. He concentrated, bent all his alertness toward the sound. In the distance, the other creatures had lost Mehryl. They were returning; he could hear them.
But the near voice hissed, "I kill you. You hurt my foot. Slayer take them! You are my meat."
Troy could sense the creature's approach. It loomed out of the blankness like a faint pressure on his face. The rasp of its breathing grew louder. With every step, he felt its ambience more acutely.
The tension was excruciating, but he held himself still. He waited. Interminable time passed.
Suddenly, he felt the creature bunching to spring.
He snatched Manethrall Rue's cord from his belt, looped it around the neck of his attacker, and jerked as the creature hit him. He put all his strength into the pull. The creature's leap toppled him, but he clung to the cord, heaved on it. The creature landed on top of him. He threw his weight around, got himself onto the creature. He kept pulling. Now he could feel the limpness of the body under him. But he did not re
lease his hold. Straining on the cord; he banged the creature's head repeatedly against the stone.
He was gasping for breath. Dimly, he could hear the other creatures charging him.
He did not release his hold
Then power crackled through the air. Flame burst around him. He heard shouts, and the clash of swords. Bowstrings thrummed. Creatures screamed, ran, fell heavily.
A moment later, hands lifted Troy. Rue's cord was taken from his rigid fingers. First Haft Amorine cried, "Warmark! Warmark! Praise the Creator, you are safe!" She was weeping with relief. People moved around him. He heard Lord Mhoram say, "My friend, you have led us a merry chase. Without Mehryl's aid, we would not have found you in time." The voice came disembodied out of the blankness.
At first, Troy could not speak. His heart struggled through a crisis. It made him gasp so hard that he could barely stand. He sounded as if he were trying to sob.
"Warmark," Amorine said, "what has happened to you?"
"Sun," he panted, "is-the sun-shining?" The effort of articulation seemed to impale his heart.
"Warmark? Ah, Warmark! What has been done to you?"
"The sun!" he retched out. He was desperate to insist, but he could only stamp his foot uselessly.
"The sun stands overhead," Mhoram answered. "We have survived the vortex and its creatures. But now Fleshharrower's army enters Doriendor Corishev. We must depart swiftly."
"Mhoram," Troy coughed hoarsely. "Mhoram." Stumbling forward, he fell into the Lord's arms.
Mhoram held him in a comforting grip. Without a word, the Lord supported him until some of his pain passed, and he began to breathe more easily. Then Mhoram said quietly, "I see that you slew one of the Despiser's birds. You have done well, my friend. Lord Callindrill and I remain. Perhaps seventy of the Bloodguard survive. First Haft Amorine has preserved
a handful of her warriors. After the passing of the vortex, all the Ranyhyn returned. They saved many horses. My friend, we must go."
Some of Mhoram's steadiness reached Troy, and he began to regain control of himself. He did not want to be a burden to the Lord. Slowly, he drew back, stood on his own. Covering his burned forehead with his hands as if he were trying to hide his eyelessness, he said, "I've got to tell you the rest of my plan."
"May it wait? We must depart at once."
"Mhoram," Troy moaned brokenly, "I can't see."
"My friend," the Kemper said tightly, "your death will be one to surpass your most heinous fears."
Honninscrave responded with a gasping snarl. But Kasreyn remained beyond reach of the Master's chain.
Slowly, the Kemper shifted his attention away from Honninscrave. Facing Linden, he repeated, "If you do not satisfy
me." Only the tautness of his voice betrayed that anything had happened to him. "I will command him to blind himself."
Covenant had not moved. He still stood with his fingers poised to gouge out his eyes.
Linden cast one last long look at his terrible defenseless-ness. Then she let herself sag. How could she fight a man who was able to rise from the dead? "You'll have to take that band off his neck. It blocks me,"
Cail surged against his chains. "Chosen!" the First cried in protest. Pitchwife gaped dismay at her.
Linden ignored them. She was watching Kasreyn. Grinning fiercely, he approached Covenant. With one hand, he touched the yellow band. It came away in his grasp.
At once, Covenant slumped back into his familiar emptiness. His eyes were void. For no reason, he said, "Don't touch me."
Before Linden could reach out to him in yearning or rage, try to keep her promises, the floor near Vain's feet began to swirl and melt. With surprising celerity, Findail flowed out of the granite into human form.
Immediately, he confronted Linden. "Are you a fool?" The habitual misery of his features shouted at her. "This is ruin!" She had never heard such anguish from any Elohim. "Do you not comprehend that the Earth is at peril? Therefore did I urge you to your ship while the way was open, that these straits might be evaded. Sun-Sage, hear me!" When she did not respond, his apprehension mounted. "I am the Appointed. The doom of the Earth is upon my head. I beg of you-do not do this thing!"
But she was not listening to him. Kasreyn stood grinning behind Covenant as if he knew he had nothing to fear from Findail. His hands held the golden band, the threat which had compelled her. Yet she ignored the Kemper also. She paid no heed to the consternation of her companions. She had been preparing herself for this since the moment when the First had said, Why do we yet live! She had striven for it with every fiber of her will, fought for this chance to create her own answer. The removal of that neck-band. The opportunity to make good on at least one promise.
All of her was focused on Covenant. While her companions sought to distract her, dissuade her, she opened her senses to him. In a rush like an outpouring of ecstasy or loss, rage or grief, she surrendered herself to his emptiness.
Now she took no account of the passion with which she entered him. And she offered no resistance as she was swept into the long gulf. She saw that her former failures had been caused by her attempts to bend him to her own will, her own use; but now she wanted nothing for herself, withheld nothing. Abandoning herself entirely, she fell like a dying star into the blankness behind which the Elohim had hidden his soul.
Yet she did not forget Kasreyn. He was watching avidly, poised for the reawakening of Covenant's will. At that moment, Covenant would be absolutely vulnerable; for surely he would not regain full possession of his consciousness and his power instantly, and until he did he would have no defense against the Kemper's geas. Linden felt no mercy toward Kasreyn, contained nothing at all which might have resembled mercy toward him. As she fell and fell like death into Covenant's emptiness, she shouted voiceless instructions which echoed through the uninhabitation of his mind.
Now no visions came out of his depths to appall her. She had surrendered so completely that nothing remained to cause her dismay. Instead, she felt the layers of her independent self being stripped away. Severity and training and medical school were gone, leaving her fifteen and loss-ridden, unable at that time to conceive of any answer to her mother's death. Grief and guilt and her mother were gone, so that she seemed to contain nothing except the cold unexpungeable horror and accusation of her father's suicide. Then even suicide was gone, and she stood under a clean sun in fields and flowers, full of a child's capacity for happiness, joy, love. She could have fallen that way forever.
The sunlight spread its wings about her, and the wind ruffled her hair like a hand of affection. She shouted in pleasure. And her shout was answered. A boy came toward her across the fields. He was older than she-he seemed much older, though he was still only a boy, and the Covenant he would become was nothing more than an implication in the lines of his face, the fire of his eyes. He approached her with a shy half-smile. His hands were open and whole and accessible. Caught in a whirl of instinctive exaltation, she ran toward him with her arms wide, yearning for the embrace which would transform her.
But when she touched him, the gap was bridged, and his emptiness flooded into her. At once, she could see everything, hear everything. All her senses functioned normally. Her companions had fallen silent: they were staring at her in despair. Kasreyn stood near Covenant with his ocular held ready, his hands trembling as if they could no longer suppress their caducity. But behind what she saw and heard, she wailed like a foretaste of her coming life. She was a child in a field of flowers, and the older boy she adored had left her. The love had gone out of the sunlight, leaving the day bereft as if all joy were dead.
Yet she saw him-saw the boy in the man, Thomas Covenant-as life and will spread back into his limbs. She saw him take hold of himself, lift his head. All her senses functioned normally. She could do nothing but wail as he turned toward Kasreyn, exposed himself to the Kemper's geas. He was still too far away from himself to make any defense.
But before the Kemper was able to use his ocular, the instructions she had left in Covenant reached him. He looked straight at Kasreyn and obeyed her.
Distinctly, he articulated one clear word:
"Nom."
What're yours?
, that was pretty wild.
to SRD.
