Lord Mhoram's Victory and the Colossus

LFB, TIW, TPTP

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TPTP 16 - Colossus

Post by Cord Hurn »

The moment is made surreal by having the idea suggested to the reader that Covenant's leprosy is to help Lord Foul's purpose of destroying the world by being spread through the wind as a highly-contagious harbinger of rottenness. (Surreal, because leprosy obviously cannot spread that way, and is at most minimally contagious.)
Covenant landed heavily amid sarcastic mirth. He was still too dazed to collect his thoughts. Triock's disgust affected him like a command; he lay prostrate with his eyes closed, trying to smell himself.

It was true. He stank of leprosy. The disease in his hands and feet reeked, gave off a rotten effluvium out of all proportion to the physical size of his infection. And its message was unmistakable. The ordure in him, the putrefaction of his flesh, was spreading--expanding as if he were contagious, as if at last even his body had become a violation of the fundamental health of the Land. In some ways, this was an even more important violation than the Despiser's winter--or rather his stench was the crown of the wind, the apex of Lord Foul's intent. That intent would be complete when his illness became part of the wind, when ice and leprosy together extinguished the Land's last vitality.

Then, in one intuitive leap, he understood his sense of bereavement. He identified his loss. Without looking to verify the perception, he knew that his ring had been taken from him; he could feel its absence like destitution in his heart.

The Despiser's manipulations were complete. The coercion and subterfuge which had shaped Covenant's experiences in the Land had borne fruit. Like a Stone-warped tree, they had fructified to produce this unanswerable end. The wild magic was now in Lord Foul's possession.

A wave of grief rushed through Covenant. The enormity of the disaster he had precipitated upon the Land appalled him. His chest locked in a clench of sorrow, and he huddled on the verge of weeping.
Realizing Covenant doesn't have his ring was vividly shocking to me the first time I read this chapter, because up until now in the story he has never been separated from his ring for any significant amount of time (though he once gave his ring to Eldest Corimini of Revelwood, only to have Corimini give it back in a moment's time). My thought when first reading this was, "Okay, how the hell is Thomas Covenant going to find his way out of THIS mess?!?"
The man had changed again. The strange combination of loathing and hunger, of anger and fear, was gone; the impression he had created that he was using his own anguish cunningly was gone. In the place of such distortions was an extravagant bitterness, a rage not controlled by any of his old restraints. He was himself and not himself. The former supplication of his eyes--the balance and ballast of his long acquaintance with gall--had foundered in passion. Now his brows clenched themselves into a knot of violence above the bridge of his nose; the pleading lines at the corners of his eyes had become as deep as scars; and his cheeks were taut with grimaces. Yet something in his eyes themselves belied the focus of his anger. His orbs were glazed and milky, as if they were blurred by cataracts, and they throbbed with a vain intensity. He looked as if he were going blind.
In some way, seeing Triock like this is more terrible than seeing him Raver-possessed, because we now see the full cost of his long-steadfast loyalty to the Oath of Peace. No wonder Covenant can't stay outraged at him.
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Re: The Power That Preserves 16 - Colossus

Post by Cord Hurn »

Savor Dam wrote:
Cord Hurn wrote:One thing I feel I must note, though: Triock's statement about beating Covenant senseless to awaken him is not very logical, as continued beating of Covenant is likely to send him back into unconsciousness. But I suppose Triock is much too upset at this moment to truly be thinking logically.
There are other influences at work degrading Triock's judgement and whetting his justifiable hate of Covenant. With him there are two Cords, Lal and Whane, who are possessed by turiya and moksha. Surely they are exerting a malign influence on Triock's thinking...
A good point! And I hope to talk about the sad plight of my fellow Ramen in an upcoming post.
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Post by Savor Dam »

Indeed. Speak to the plight of your people. I didn't intend to usurp.

I was only playing the part of the chorus, foreshadowing the story to come. As Covenant regains awareness, Triock is the first person he is aware of. The Ramen follow...and the rest of the story and dramatis personae of the chapter will come in the fullness of time.
Love prevails.
~ Tracie Mckinney-Hammon

Change is not a process for the impatient.
~ Barbara Reinhold

A government which robs Peter to pay Paul, can always count on the support of Paul.
~ George Bernard Shaw
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The Power That Preserves 16 - Colossus

Post by Cord Hurn »

Savor Dam wrote:Indeed. Speak to the plight of your people. I didn't intend to usurp.

I was only playing the part of the chorus, foreshadowing the story to come. As Covenant regains awareness, Triock is the first person he is aware of. The Ramen follow...and the rest of the story and dramatis personae of the chapter will come in the fullness of time.
Input is always appreciated, SD, so usurp away if it makes you feel good! :biggrin: ;)

While not currently doing a reread of The Power That Preserves, on a whim I reread this chapter today, and then checked the First Chronicles subforum to see if I'd ever commented about this chapter. To my shock and disbelief, it appears that I've never spoken about this chapter while on the Watch! So, that is why I'm so focused on it, right now. I'm probably going to make a few more posts about it before moving on.
Triock released one hand, cocked his fist deliberately, and hit Covenant in the center of his wounded forehead. He pitched backward, almost fell. But hands caught him from behind, yanked him upright, put him on his feet--hands that burned him like the touch of acid.

He jerked away from them, then whirled to see who had burned him. Fresh blood ran from his yammering forehead into his eyes, clogged his vision, but he gouged it away with numb fingers, made himself see the two figures that had caught him.

They were laughing at him together. Beat for beat, their ridicule came as one, matched each other in weird consonance; they sounded like one voice jeering through two throats.

They were Ramen.

He saw them in an instant, took them in as if they had been suddenly revealed out of midnight by a flash of dismay. He recognized them as two of Manethrall Kam's Cords, Lal and Whane. But they had changed. Even his truncated vision could see the alteration which had been wrought in them, the complete reversal of being which occupied them. Contempt and lust submerged the former spirit of their health. Only the discomfortable spasms which flicked their faces, and the unnecessary violence of their emanations, gave any indication that they had ever been unlike what they were now.

"Our friend Triock spoke the truth," they said together, and the unharmonized unison of their voices mocked both Covenant and Triock.

"Our brother is not with us. He is at work in the destruction of Revelstone. But Triock will take his place--for a time. A short time. We are turiya and moksha, Herem and Jehannum. We have come to take delight in the ruin of things we hate. You are nothing to us now, groveler--Unbeliever.'' Again they laughed, one spirit or impulse uttering contempt through two throats. "Yet you--and our friend Triock--amuse us while we wait."
Ah, those poor Cords Whane and Lal! :sob: They had fought valiantly to protect the Ranyhyn against marauding invaders, and no doubt wanted to go with them to the safety of the Southron Range to continue to serve them. But they did their duty when ordered by their Manethrall Kam to assist Saltheart Foamfollower and former Bloodguard Bannor in locating Thomas Covenant. And what do they get for their loyal efforts? Possession by two of the heinous servants of Fangthane! You know, it's just not fair! :x

He pitched backward, almost fell. But hands caught him from behind, yanked him upright, put him on his feet--hands that burned him like the touch of acid. He jerked away from them, then whirled to see who had burned him. I want to note that this is the first time we get any indication that people possessed by Ravers feel unnaturally hot to the touch, a clue to their condition that seems to be every bit as indicative of Raver presence as discomfortable spasms which flicked their faces and unnecessary violence of their emanations. They've never revealed themselves to Covenant before, either, so this is their first chance to insult him by calling him by their master's epithet of groveler.
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The Power That Preserves 16 - Colossus

Post by Cord Hurn »

Even with all this, Covenant still hasn't found out the worst!
Two other figures stood a short distance behind Whane and Lal.

The two people he had most ached to see since he had regained himself in Morinmoss: Saltheart Foamfollower and Bannor.

The sight of them filled him with horror.

Foamfollower wore a host of recent battle-marks among his older scars, and Banner's silvering hair and lined face had aged perceptibly. But all that was insignificant beside the grisly fact that they were not moving.

They did not so much as turn their heads toward Covenant. They were paralyzed, clenched rigid and helpless, by a green force which played about them like a corona, enveloped them in coercion. They were as motionless as if even pulse and respiration had been crushed out of them by shimmering emerald.

And if they had been able to look at Covenant, they would not have seen him. Their eyes were like Triock's, but much more severely glazed. Only the faintest outlines of pupil and iris were visible behind the white blindness which covered their orbs.

Bannor! Covenant cried. Foamfollower! Ah!

While his body swayed on locked joints, he cowered inwardly. His arms covered his head as if to protect it from an ax. The plight of Bannor and Foamfollower dealt him an unendurable shock. He could not bear it. He quailed where he stood as if the ground were heaving under him.
Hard to see such good friends of Covenant's (and by extension, our friends as we've read along) being made prisoners of a horrid green power that ultimately originates from the Illearth Stone. This is especially upsetting because, as the text soon states, Bannor and Foamfollower aren't used to such helplessness. But what is being used as a vector for the Stone's power? Once we know that, then we and Covenant finally find out the worst of this situation.
Midway between him and the upreared fist of stone stood Elena!

She was robed in radiant green velure, and she bore herself proudly, like a queen. She seemed swathed in an aura of emeralds; her presence sparkled like gems when she smiled. At once, without effort of assertion, she showed that she was the master of the situation. The Ravers and Triock waited before her like subjects before their liege.

In her right hand she held a long staff. It was metal-shod at both ends, and between its heels it was intricately carved with the runes and symbols of theurgy.

The Staff of Law.

But the wonder of its appearance there meant nothing to Covenant compared with the miracle of Elena's return. He had loved her, lost her. Her death at the hands of dead Kevin Landwaster had brought his second sojourn in the Land to an end. Yet she stood now scarcely thirty feet from him. She was smiling.

A thrill of joy shot through him. The love which had tormented his heart since her fall rushed up in him until he felt he was about to burst with it. Blood streamed from his eyes like tears. Joy choked him so that he could not speak. Half blinded, half weeping, he shrugged off his travail and started toward her as if he meant to throw himself down before her, kiss her feet.

Before he had crossed half the distance, she made a short gesture with the Staff, and at once a jolt of force hit him. It drove the air from his lungs, pitched him to his hands and knees on the hard ground.

"No," she said softly, almost tenderly. "All your questions will be answered before I slay you, Thomas Covenant, ur-Lord and Unbeliever--beloved." On her cold lips, the word beloved impugned him. "But you will not touch me. You will come no closer."

A great weight leaned against his shoulders, held him to the ground. He retched for air, but when he gasped it into his lungs, it hurt him as if he were inhaling disease. The atmosphere around him reeked with her presence. She pervaded the air like rot. On a scale that dwarfed him, she smelled as he did--smelled like--leprosy.

He forced up his head, gaped gasping at her from under the streaming spike of his wound.

With a smile like a smirk or leer, she extended her left hand toward him and opened it, so that he could see lying in her palm his white gold wedding band.

Elena! he retched voicelessly. Elena! He felt that he was being crushed under a burden of impenetrable circumstance. In supplication and futility, he reached toward her, but she only laughed at him quietly, as if he were a masque of impotence enacted for her pleasure.

A moment passed before his anguish permitted him to see her clearly, and while he groveled without comprehension, she shone defiantly before him like a soul of purest emerald. But slowly he recovered his vision. Like a reborn phoenix, she flourished in green loveliness. Yet in some way she reminded him of the specter of Kevin Landwaster--a spirit dredged out of its uneasy grave by commands of irrefusable cruelty. Her expression was as placid as power could make it; she radiated triumph and decay. But her eyes were completely lightless, dark. It was as if the strange bifurcation, the dualness, of her sight had gone completely to its other pole, away from the tangible things around her. She seemed not to see where or who she was, what she did; her gaze was focused elsewhere, on the secret which compelled her.

She had become a servant of the Despiser. Even while she stood there with the Staff and the ring in her hands, Lord Foul's eyes held her like the eyes of a serpent.

In her violated beauty, Covenant beheld the doom of the Land. It would be kept fair, so that Lord Foul could more keenly relish its ravishment--and it would be diseased to the marrow.
Elena obviously doesn't like what she is doing, but cannot fight Foul's possession of her through the Stone. Previously, Lord Trevor in Revelstone guessed that the Staff of Law was being used to keep the Land locked within an icy prison, and know we know that Elena has been the enabler of the unnatural winter. It must be exceedingly bitter for her, for we know how much she hates Fangthane!

But then, we start to get glimmers of hope.
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The Power That Preserves 16 - Colossus

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His thoughts raced madly, scrambled for alternatives. He could not abide the destruction of the Colossus. He had to find another answer.

"Foamfollower!" he croaked in desperation. "I don't know what's happening to you--I don't know what's being done to you. But you've got to fight it! You're a Giant! You've got to stop her! Try to stop her! Foamfollower! Bannor!"

The Ravers met his plea with sardonic jeers, and Triock rasped without taking his eyes off Elena, "You are a fool, Thomas Covenant. They cannot help you. They are too strong to be mastered--as I have been mastered--and too weak to be masters. Therefore she has imprisoned them by the power of the Staff. The Staff crushes all resistance. Thus it is proven that Law does not oppose Despite. We are all mastered beyond redemption."

"Not you!" Covenant responded urgently. He fought the pressure until he feared his lungs would break, but he could not free himself. Without his ring, he felt as crippled as if his arms had been amputated. Without it, he weighed less than nothing in the scales of the Land's fate. "Not you!" he gasped again. "I can hear you, Triock! You! She isn't afraid of you--she isn't holding you. Triock! Stop her!"

Again the Ravers laughed. But this time Covenant heard the strain in their voices. Heaving against his captivity, he managed to wrench his head around far enough to look at Whane and Lal.

They still stood a safe distance from the Colossus. Neither made any move to help Covenant or oppose Elena. Both went on chuckling as if they could not help themselves. Yet their exertion was unmistakable. They were white-lipped and rigid; beads of effort ran down their faces. With all the long pride of their people, the Ramen were struggling to break free.

And behind them, Foamfollower and Bannor strove for freedom also. Somehow, both of them had found the strength to move slightly. Foamfollower's head was bowed, and he clenched his face with one hand as if he were trying to alter the shape of his skull. Banner's fingers clawed at his sides; his face grew taut, baring his teeth. Urgently, desperately, they fought Elena's power.

Their ordeal felt terrible to Covenant--terrible and hopeless. Like the Ramen, they were beyond the limits of what they could do. Pressure mounted in them, radiated from them. It was so acute that Covenant feared their hearts would rupture. And they had no chance of success. The power of the Staff increased to crush every extravagance of their self-expenditure.

Their futility hurt Covenant more than his own. He was accustomed to impotence, inured to it, but Bannor and Foamfollower were not. The stark vision of their defeat almost made him cry out in anguish. He wanted to shout to them, beg them to stop before they drove themselves soul-mad.

But the next instant a surge of new hope shot through him as he suddenly understood what they were doing. They knew they could not escape, were not trying to escape. They fought toward another goal. Elena was paying no attention to them; she concentrated on preparing for the destruction of the Colossus. So she was not actively exerting herself to imprison them. She had simply left her compulsion in the air and turned her back.

Foamfollower and Bannor were drawing on this compulsion, using it--using it up. As the Giant and the Bloodguard strained for freedom, strove with all their personal might, Triock jerked his head from side to side, quivered in a fever of passion, snapped his jaws as if he were trying to tear hunks of domination out of the air--and began to move toward Elena.

The Ravers made no attempt to stop him. They could not; the struggles of the Ramen gave them no leeway in which to act.

Triock strained as he moved as if his bones were being torn asunder, and he quavered imploringly again and again, "Elena? Elena?" But he moved; he advanced step by step toward her.

Covenant watched him in an agony of suspense.
Their combined resistance appears to be weakening Lord Foul's hold upon the situation, as Covenant realizes. Even Triock, despite all his personal despair welling within him, comes to comprehend this hope. And, it turns out, there's more. Unexpected aid is given from many leagues away, as the attack of Mhoram and his allies in Revelstone's defense against samadhi make for a perfect distraction.
But the next instant, something snatched at her attention, spun her away from the Colossus. Her face pointed lividly toward the west. Surprise and anger contorted her features. For a moment, she stared in speechless indignation at the intrusion.

Then she brandished the Staff of Law. "The Lords strike back!" she howled furiously. "Samadhi is threatened! They dare!"

Covenant gaped at the information, at her knowledge of the siege of Revelstone. But he had no time to assimilate it.

"Foul's blood!" she raged. "Blast them, Raver!" Immense forces gathered in the Staff, mounting to be hurled across the distance to samadhi Sheol's aid.

For that instant, she neglected her compulsion of the people around her.

The blindness lost its hold on Bannor and Foamfollower. They tottered, lurched, started into motion. The Ravers tried to react, but could not move quickly enough against the resistance of the Ramen.

Covenant felt the pressure on his back ease. At once, he rolled out from under it. Springing to his feet, he launched himself toward Elena.

But Triock was the only one close enough to her to take advantage of her lapse. With a wild cry, he chopped both fists down at her left hand.

His hands passed through her spectral flesh and struck the ring. The unexpectedness of the blow tore the solid band from her surprised fingers. It dropped free.

He dove after it, got one hand on it, flicked it away toward Covenant as his body slapped the hard ground.

Elena' s reaction came instantly. Before Triock could roll, try to evade her, she stabbed the Staff down at him, hit him in the center of his back. Power flared through him, shattering his spine.

Almost in the same motion, she swung the Staff up again, caught it in a combat grip as she whirled to face Covenant.

His start toward her almost made him miss the ring. It went past him on one side, but he skidded and pounced on it, scooped it up before she could stop him. With his wedding band clenched in his fist, he braced himself to meet her attack.
Once Thomas Covenant is reunited with his ring, thanks to Triock Thuler-son's self-sacrificing heroism, you get the feeling the situation will get under control in the Land's favor very shortly! Which it does.
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TPTP 16 - Colossus

Post by Cord Hurn »

There was something that hinted at hope earlier in this chapter, though it was so subtle that it could easily be missed or dismissed in a first read.
Weak, ringless, and miserable though he was, Covenant still heard Triock, heard the whelming passion with which Triock told him that even now he did not know the worst, had not faced the worst. And that communication made a difference to him. It pushed him deep into his fear, down to a place in him which had not been touched by either capture or horror. It drove him back to the calm which had been given to him in Morinmoss. He seemed to remember a part of himself that had been hidden from him. Something had been changed for him in the Forest, something which could not be taken away. He caught hold of it, immersed himself in the gift.
That something, it turns out, is an empathic connection with Caer-Caveral, the Forestall of Morinmoss. Had Covenant relied upon that connection earlier, when he first encountered turiya Raver in the form of Triock, he would not be in this situation now. (In Covenant's defense, he had never before met a Raver, and also his health-sense was seriously compromised by leprosy, making it harder for him to recognize Triock was possessed.)

That empathic connection suddenly pays off in a big way, as Covenant understands he must have the Forestal's help at a critical moment.
She regarded him momentarily, then chose not to exert herself against him. With one wave of the Staff, she reimprisoned Foamfollower and Bannor, quenched the rebellion of the Ramen. Then she dropped her guard as if she no longer needed it. Her voice shook with anger, but she was steady as she said, "It will not avail him. He knows not how to awaken its might. Herem, Jehannum--I leave him to you."

In horrid unison, the two Ravers snarled their satisfaction, their hunger for him. Together, they moved slowly toward him.

He was caught between them and Elena.

So that he would not lose his ring again, he pushed it onto his wedding finger. He had lost weight; his fingers were gaunt, and the ring hung on him insecurely, as if it might fall off at any moment. Yet his need for it had never been greater. He clenched his fist around it and retreated before the advance of the Ravers.

In the back of his mind, he was sure that Triock was not dead. Triock was his summoner; he would disappear from the Land as soon as the Stonedownor died. But Triock surely had only moments of life left. Without knowing how to do it, Covenant wanted to make those moments count.

He backed away from the Ravers, toward Elena. She stood at rest near the Colossus, observing him. Glee and anger were balanced in her face. The Ravers came at him step by slow step, with their arms extended hungrily, sarcastically, inviting him to abandon resistance and rush into the oblivion of their grasp.

They advanced; he retreated; she stood where she was, defying him to touch her. His ring hung lifeless on his finger as if it were a thing of metal and futility, nothing more--a talisman devoid of meaning in his hands. A rising tide of protest filled him with ineffectual curses.

Hellfire. Hellfire. Hell and blood!

Impulsively, without knowing why he did it, he shrieked into the gray wind, "Forestall! Help me!"

At once, the clenched crown of the Colossus burst into flame. For an instant while Herem and Jehannum yowled, the monolith blazed with verdant fire--a conflagration the color of leaves and grass flourishing, green that had nothing in common with Lord Foul's emerald Illearth Stone. Raw, fertile aromas crackled in the air like violent spring.

Abruptly, two bolts of force raged out of the blaze, sprang like lightning at the Ravers. In a coruscating welter of sparks and might, the bolts struck the chests of Lal and Whane.

The monolith's power flamed at their hearts until the mortal flesh of the Ramen was incinerated, flash-burned into nothingness. Then the bolts dropped, the conflagration vanished.

Herem and Jehannum were gone.

The sudden blast and vanishing of the fire staggered Covenant. Forgetting his peril, he stared dumbly about him. The Ramen were dead. More blood, more lives sacrificed to his impotence. He wanted to cry out, No!
The Ravers are banished from the scene, and Covenant has regained his ring, which certainly is putting the situation more in favor of the Land's defense. It is sad that the two Ramen die to make this happen, but they have the satisfaction of being in Ramen heaven with the Ranyhyn, horses, and fellow Ramen who cared for the Manes, so they get a good reward. (That's how I interpret & preach it, and if you can't trust a Raman like me to explain our theology to you, then who CAN you trust?) :soapbox: :grinlove:
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Post by Cord Hurn »

One of the most gripping moments in TPTP, every bit as compelling as the combat between Lord Mhoram and samadhi Sheol:
Some instinct warned him. He ducked, and the Staff of Law hissed past his head.

He jumped away, turned, caught his balance. Elena was advancing toward him. She held the Staff poised in both hands. Her face was full of murder.

She could have felled him with an exertion of the Staff's might, ravaged him where he stood by unleashing her power against him. But she was too mad with rage for such fighting. She wanted to crush him physically, beat him to death with the strength of her own arms. As he faced her, she gestured toward Foamfollower and Banner without even glancing in their direction. They crumpled like puppets with cut strings, fell on their faces and lay still. Then she raised the Staff over his head like an ax and hacked at Covenant.

With a desperate fling of his arm, he deflected the Staff so that it slammed against his right shoulder rather than his head. The force of the blow seemed to paralyze his whole right side, but he grappled for the Staff with his left hand, caught hold of it, prevented her from snatching it back for another strike.

Quickly, she shifted her hands on the Staff and threw her weight onto the wood to take advantage of his defense. Bearing down on his shoulder, she drove him to his knees.

He braced his numb arm on the ground and strained to resist her, tried to get his feet under him. But he was too weak. She changed the direction of her pressure so that it jammed squarely against his throat. He had to fight the Staff with both hands to keep his larynx from being crushed. Slowly, almost effortlessly, she bent him back.

Then she had him flat on the ground. He pushed against the Staff with all his waning strength, but he could not stop her. His breathing was cut off. His bloodied eyes throbbed in their sockets as he stared at her ferocity.

Her gaze was focused on him as if he were food for the rankest hunger of her ill soul. Through it, he seemed to see the Despiser slavering in triumph and scorn. And yet her eyes showed something else as well. Triock had told the truth about her. Behind the savagery of her glare, he felt the last unconquerable core of her sobbing with revulsion.

He lacked the strength to save himself. If he could have hated her, met her fury with fury, he might have been capable of one convulsive heave, one thrust to buy himself another moment or two of life. But he could not. She was his daughter; he loved her. He had put her where she was as surely as if he had been a conscious servant of the Despiser all along. She was about to kill him, and he loved her. The only thing left for him was to die without breaking faith with himself.

He used his last air and his last resistance to croak, "You don't even exist."

His words inflamed her like an ultimate denial. In mad fury, she eased the pressure for an instant while she gathered all her force, all her strength, and all the power of the Staff, for one crush which would eradicate the offense of his life. She took a deep breath as if she were inhaling illimitable might, then threw her weight and muscle and power, her very Foul-given existence, through the Staff at his throat.

But his hands were clenched on the Staff. His ring pressed the wood. When her force touched his white gold, the wild magic erupted like an uncapped volcano.

His senses went blank at the immensity of the blast. Yet not one flame or thrust of it touched him; all the detonation went back through the Staff at Elena.

It did not hurl her off him; it was not that kind of power. But it tore through the rune-carved wood of the Staff like white sun-fire, rent the Staff fiber from fiber as if its Law were nothing but a shod bundle of splinters. A sharp riving shook the atmosphere, so that even the Colossus seemed to recoil from this unleashing of power.

The Staff of Law turned to ash in dead Elena's hands.

At once, the wind lurched as if the eruption of wild magic were an arrow in its bosom. With flutters and gusts and silent cries, it tumbled to the ground, came to an end as if the raw demon of winter had been stricken out of the air with one shaft.
At last, Lord Foul's hold upon the Land's weather is broken.

I find it interesting that Lord Foul in control of Elena is made furious by Covenant's denial that Elena exists. Elena herself isn't furious at him, at least not for resisting her in this moment, but Foul must be because he realizes he cannot break Covenant's spirit, even when on the cusp of breaking his body.
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Re: Colossus

Post by Cord Hurn »

Lord Mhoram wrote:It's just Elena and Covenant now. In rage, Elena tries to simply beat Covenant to death. She has hiim on the ground and he mutters one of his many famous phrases--"You don't even exist." At this, I have something to say. The fact that he has such despair every time someone dies at his hands, it indicates to me, anyway, that deep down, he knows they do exist.
Great insight coming from the author of this thread, Lord Mhoram, posted all those years ago. The Land and its inhabitants by this time are all very real to Covenant, after all.
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Cord Hurn
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The Power That Preserves 16 - Colossus

Post by Cord Hurn »

Then she was gone, reabsorbed into death. The gyre grew pale, paler, until it had disappeared in unruffled air.

Covenant was left alone with his victims.

Involuntarily, through means over which he had no control, he had saved himself--and had allowed his friends to be struck down. He felt chastened, frail, as devoid of victory as if he had actively slain the woman he loved.

So many people had sacrificed themselves.

He knew that Triock was still alive, so he climbed painfully to his feet and stumbled over to the fallen Stonedownor. Triock's breathing rattled like blood in his throat; he would be dead soon. Covenant seated himself on the ground and lifted Triock so that the man's head rested on his lap.

Triock's face was disfigured by the force which had smashed him. His charred skin peeled off his skull in places, and his eyes had been seared. From the slack dark hole of his mouth came faint plumes of smoke like the fleeing wisps of his soul.
It's hard for me as a reader to feel harsh towards Covenant when he is so harsh towards himself, especially after this expensive victory.
Furls Fire wrote:
Covenant hugged Triock's head with both arms and began to weep.

After a time, the stonedownor sensed in some way. Through the death thickening in his gullet, he struggled to speak. "Covenant."

His voice was barely audible, but Covenant fought back his tears to respond, "I hear you."

"You are not to blame. She was--flawed from birth."

That was as far as his mercy could go. After one final wisp, the smoke faded away. Covenant held him, and knew he had no pulse or breath of life left.
Such sorrow. :(
Another worthy observation from the late, great, Furls Fire. I find the final scene between Triock and Covenant to be very moving, quite emotionally satisfying. Covenant doesn't, because he still finds reason to feel guilt, but I do, because it's more forgiveness from Triock than I ever expected. And it's emotionally satisfying for me because TC still clearly has further chances to make restitution to the Land.
He understood that Triock had forgiven him. The Stonedownor was not to blame if his gift gave no consolation. In addition to everything else, Covenant was responsible for the flaw of Elena's birth. She was the daughter of a crime which could never be undone. So he could do nothing but sit with Triock's unanswerable head in his lap, and weep while he waited for the reversal of his summons, the end which would reave him of the Land.

But no end came. In the past, he had always begun to fail as soon as his summoner died; but now he remained. Moments passed, and still he was undiminished. Gradually, he realized that this time he would not disappear, that for reasons he did not understand, he had not yet lost his chance.

He did not have to accept Elena's fate. It was not the last word--not yet.
A truly memorable chapter, and I felt my commenting on it was long overdue. Having now done that, I think that's all I had to say!
:read: :3M: :R
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Post by Fist and Faith »

I haven't looked in here much in some years. I see you've posted quite a bit, Cord. Well done. I'll have to read your stuff.
All lies and jest
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest
-Paul Simon
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TPTP 15- Lord Mhoram's Victory

Post by Cord Hurn »

Thank you, Fist and Faith! By the way, as a Ranyhyn-lover, I want to also thank you for this terrific post you made!!
Fist and Faith wrote:DRINNY

I did my best to not quote the whole few pages. You can all just go read it, after all, right? :) But here's a slightly abridged version.
Putting grimly aside all his former scruples, he turned to the only possible source of help - the only aid whose faithfulness matched his need. He raised one cold hand to his lips and whistled shrilly three times.

...

he stood erect with the wind snapping in his ears so that his stance would be becoming to the Ranyhyn that was answering his call.

...

Mhoram groaned at the sight. ... The long ordeal of the mountain trek had exacted a severe price from the great stallion. His flesh hung slack over gaunt ribs, he stumbled painfully on swollen joints, and his coat had a look of ragged misery. Still Mhoram recognized the Rayhyn, and greeted him with all the respect his voice could carry:

"Hail, Drinny, proud Ranyhyn! Oh, bravely done! Worthy son of a worthy mother. Tail of the Sky, Mane of the World, I am" - a clench of emotion caught his throat, and he could only whisper - "I am honored."

Drinny made a valiant effort to trot up to Mhoram, but when he reached the High Lord he rested his head trembling on Mhoram's shoulder as if he needed the support in order to keep his feet. Mhoram hugged his neck, whispered words of praise and encouragement in his ear, stroked his ice-clogged coat. They stood together as if in their differing weaknesses they were making promises to each other. Then Mhoram answered the nudging of Drinny's unquenchable pride by springing onto the Ranyhyn's back.

...

People left their work and hastened to the main passage of the tunnel to see him. They lined his way, muttered in wonder or pain at the sight of the Ranyhyn, whispered intently to each other about the look of focused danger which shone in his eyes. Down into the Keep he rode as if he were borne on a low current of astonishment and hope.

After he had ridden a few hundred yards along the main ways of Revelstone, he saw ahead of him the other leaders of the city - the Lords Trevor, Amatin, and Loerya, Warmark Quann, the two Hearthralls, Tohrm and Borillar. They awaited him as if they had come out together to do him honor. When the Ranyhyn stopped before them, they saluted the High Lord and his mount mutely, lacking words for what they felt.
There's never been a character who got so little air-time who made such a huge impact on me. As close to death as a walking thing can be, he, basically, says, "I am a Ranyhyn. I will carry you. None can do what I can do! I'll tell you when I'm unable to do so. Which will not be until three years after I'm dead! Get on!" ("Or I'm takin' names!")

OK, maybe more like this. ;) :) "I have come. We are all needed in this. Your power must fight this foe. But you need to reach him. I will carry you. Don't worry about my condition. I am Ranyhyn, and I will carry you."

8) :Hail: 8) :Hail: 8) :Hail: 8) :Hail:

And the chapter's not even about Drinny!!!!

:clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :Hail: :Hail: :Hail: :Hail: :Hail: :Hail: :Hail: :Hail: :Hail: :Hail: 8) 8) 8) 8) 8) 8) 8) 8) 8) 8)
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TPTP 15 & 16

Post by Cord Hurn »

Foamfollower1013 wrote:
Fist and Faith wrote:Foamy, I'm always so excited when I see your name pop up in Dissecting! I always love your choices of quotes, and appreciate your effort of typing it all out!! You cute, lil' cynical idealist you!! ;)
Yay! That just gave me a warm fuzzy. |G

~Foamy~
This exchange still has the power to make me smile. :mrgreen:
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