Let's hear if for Mhoram!
Posted: Mon Jan 27, 2003 3:16 am
Just some of my favorite moments of Mhoram's, or about him.
"All right. So you're right. Tell me, just where the hell do you get hope?"
Slowly, the Giant rose to his feet. He towered over Covenant until his head nearly touched the ceiling. "From faith."
"You've been dealing with humans too long - you're getting hasty. 'Faith' is too short a word. What do you mean?"
Foamfollower began picking his way among the flowers. "I mean the Lords. Consider, Covenant. Faith is a way of living. They have dedicated themselves wholly to the services of the Land. And they have sworn the Oath of Peace - committed themselves to serve the great goal of their lives in only certain ways, to choose death rather than submit to the destruction of passion which blinded High Lord Kevin and brought the Desecration. Come - can you believe that Lord Mhoram will ever despair? That is the essence of the Oath of Peace. He will never despair, nor ever do what despair commands - murder, desecrate, destroy. And he will never falter, because his Lordship, his service to the Land, will sustain him. Service enables service."
Covenant gripped the Lord's gave, and said, "Tell me something, Mhoram. How did you get away - when that Raver caught you - near Foul's Creche?"
Mhoram answered with a conscious serenity, a refusal of dismay, which looked like danger in his gold-flecked eyes. "The Bloodguard with me were slain. But when <I>samadhi</I> Raver touched me, he knew me as I knew him. He was daunted."
When Lord Amatin spoke again, she emphasized her words intently. "Amok, what are you?"
Without hesitation, Amok replied, "I am the Seventh Ward of High Lord Kevin's Lore."
His answer threw a stunned silence over the whole gathering. Both Elders gasped, and Corimini had to brace himself on Elena's shoulder. A burst of wild emotion shot across Elena's face. Mhoram's eyes crackled with sudden visionary fire...."
"Do Callindrill and Verement live?"
"Yes. I saw their fire. Can you reach them? They don't have any of that High Wood."
Mhoram smiled grimly. "What message shall I give?"
Now Troy studied Mhoram. He felt oddly vulnerable without his sunglasses, as if he were exposed to reproach, even to abhorrence, but he could see Mhoram acutely. What he saw reassured him. The Lord's eyes gleamed with hazardous potentials, and the bones of his skull had an indomitable hue. The contrast to his own weakness humbled Troy.
He paused again, weighing his words before he said, "Many of you have known Lord Mhoram longer than I have. You know what kind of man he is. He'll succeed. You know that."
"No one may be compelled to fight the Despiser. He is resisted willingly, or not at all. Unbeliever, I release you. You turn from us to save life in your own world. We will not be undone by such motives. And if darkness should fall upon us, still the beauty of the Land endures. If we are a dream - and you the dreamer - then the Land is imperishable, for you will not forget.
"Be not afraid, ur-Lord Thomas Covenant. Go in Peace."
With his new might, he gripped the <I>krill</I> and pulled it easily from the stone. Its edges were so sharp that when he held the knife in his hand he could see their keenness. His power protected him from the heat.
He turned to his companions with a smile that felt like a ray of sunshine on his face.
"Summon Lord Trevor," he said gladly. "I have - a knowledge of power that I wish to share with you."
He was alone against them.
He retreated to the center of the hollow, hunted swiftly around the rim for some gap or weakness in the surrounding horde. He found none. And though he sent his perceptions ranging as far as he could through the air, he discovered no sign of the Warward; if the warriors were still alive, still fighting, they were blocked from his senses by the solid force of the trap.
As he grasped the utterness of his plight, he turned inward, retreated into himself as if he were fleeing. There he looked the end of all his hopes and all his Landservice in the face, and found that its scarred, terrible visage no longer appalled him. He was a fighter, a man born to fight for the Land. As long as something for which he could fight remained, he was impervious to terror. And something did remain; while he lived, at least one flame of love for the Land still burned. He could fight for that.
His crooked lips stretched into an extreme and perilous grin; hot, serene triumph shone in his eyes. "Come, then!" he shouted. "If your master is too much a coward to risk himself against me, then come for me yourselves! I do not wish to harm you, but if you dare me, I will give you death!"
"My friends - people of the Land - Thomas Covenant once inquired of me why we so devote ourselves to the Lore of High Lord Kevin Landwaster. And now, in this war, we have learned the hazard of that Lore. Like the krill, it is a power of two edges, as apt for carnage as for preservation. Its use endangers our Oath of Peace.
"I am Mhoram son of Variol, High Lord by the choice of the Council. I declare that from this day forth we will not devote ourselves to any Lore which precludes Peace. We will gain lore of our own - we will strive and quest and learn until we have found a lore in which the Oath of Peace and the preservation of the Land live together. Hear me, you people! We will serve Earthfriendship in a new way."