The 1st Chronicles of Thomas Covenant #2: The Illearth War (38 page)

For the rest of the night, Troy lay awake, waiting anxiously. But when dawn came and his sight returned, he perceived that Mhoram had weathered the crisis. The fever in his gaze had been replaced by a hard gleam like a warning that it was perilous to challenge him-a gleam that reminded Troy of that picture in the Hall of Gifts entitled

“Lord Mhoram’s Victory.”

The Lord offered no explanation. In silence they rode away into the third day.

On the horizon ahead, Troy could make out the thin, black finger of Kevin’s Watch, though the valley of Mithil Stonedown was still twenty-two leagues distant. After the strain of the night, he was under even more pressure than before to climb the Watch and see Lord Foul’s army. In that sight he would find the fate of his battle plan. But he did not drive the Ranyhyn beyond their best traveling gait. So the valley was already full of evening shadows when he and Mhoram reached the Mithil River, and followed it upstream into the Southron Range.

Through his personal haze, he caught only one glimpse of Mithil Stonedown.

From the top of a heavy stone bridge across the river, he looked southward along the east bank, and dimly made out a dark, round cluster of stone huts. Then the last penetration of his sight faded, and he had to ride into the village on trust.

When Troy and his companions had dismounted within the round, open center of the Stonedown, Lord Mhoram spoke quietly to the people who came out to greet him.

Soon the Stonedownors were joined by a group of five, bearing with them a wide bowl of graveling. They placed it on a dais in the center of the circle, where its warm glow and fresh loamy smell

spread all around them. The light enabled Troy to see dimly.

The group of five included three women and two men. Four of them were white-haired, aged, and dignified, but one man appeared just past middle age. His thick dark hair was streaked with gray, and over his short, powerful frame he wore a traditional brown Stonedownor tunic, with a curious pattern resembling crossed lightning on his shoulders. He had a permanently twisted bitter expression, as if something had broken in him early in life, turning all the tastes of his experience sour. But despite his bitterness and his relative youth, his companions deferred to him. He spoke first.

“Hail, Mhoram son of Variol, Lord of the Council of Revelstone. Hail, Warmark Hile Troy. Be welcome in Mithil Stonedown. I am Triock son of Thuler,- first among the Circle of elders of Mithil Stonedown. It is not our custom to question our guests before hospitality has cleansed the weariness of their way. But these are perilous times. A Bloodguard brought us tidings of war. What need calls you here?”

“Triock, your welcome honors us,” replied Lord Mhoram. “And we are honored that you know us. We have not met.”

“That is true, Lord. But I studied for a time in the Loresraat. The Lords, and the friends of the Lords” -he nodded to Troy — “were made known to me.”

“Then, Triock, elders and people of Mithil Stonedown, I must tell you that there is indeed war upon the Land. The army of the Gray Slayer marches in the South Plains, to do battle with the Warward of Revelstone at Doom’s Retreat. We have come so that Warmark Troy. may climb Kevin’s Watch, and study the movements of the foe.”

“He must have brave sight, if he can see so far though it is said that High Lord Kevin viewed all the Land from his Watch. But that is not our concern. Please accept the welcome of Mithil Stonedown. How may we serve you?”

Smiling, Mhoram answered, “A hot meal would be

a rich welcome. We have eaten camp food for many days.”

At this, another of the elders stepped forward. “Lord Mhoram, I am Terass Slen-mate. Our home is large, and Slen my husband is proud of his cooking. Will you eat with us?”

“Gladly. Terass Slen-mate. You honor us.”

“Accepting a gift honors the giver,” she returned gravely. Accompanied by the other elders, she led Mhoram and Troy out of the center of the Stonedown. Her home was a wide, flat building which had been formed out of one prodigious boulder. Within, it was bright with graveling. After several ceremonious introductions, Troy and Lord Mhoram found themselves seated at a long stone table. The meal that Slen set before them did full justice to his pride.

When all the guests had eater, their fill, and the stoneware dishes and pots had been cleared away, Lord Mhoram offered to answer the questions of the elders. Terass began by asking generally about the war, but before she had gone far Triock interrupted her.

“Lord, what of High Lord Elena? Is she well? Does she fight in this war?”

Something abrupt in Triock’s tone irritated Troy, but he left the answers m Mhoram. The Lord replied.. “The High Lord is well. She hat uncovered knowledge of one of the hidder Ward. of Kevin’s Tore, and has gone in quest of the Ward itself ” He Rounded cautious, as if he had some reason. to distrust Triock.

“And what of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever? The Bloodguard said that he has returned to the Land”

“He has returned”

“Ah, yes,” said Triock. He seemed aware of Mhoram’s caution. “And what of Trell Atiaran-mate? For many years he was the Gravelingas of Mithil Stonedown. How does he meet the need of this war?”

“He is in Revelstone, where his skills serve the defense of the Keep.”

At once, Triock’s attitude changed. “Trell is not with the High Lord?” he demanded sharply.

“No.”

“Why not?”

For a moment, Lord Mhoram searched. Triock’s face. Then he said as if he were taking a risk, “UrLord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and Ringthane, rides with the High Lord.”

“With her?” Triock cried, springing to his feet. “Trell permitted this?” He glared bitterly at Mhoram, then spun away and flung out of the house.

His vehemence left an awkward silence in the room, and Terass spoke quietly to ease it. “Please do not be offended, Lord. His life is full of trouble. It may be that you know part of his tale.”

Mhoram nodded, assured Terass that he was not offended. But Triock’s conduct disturbed Warmark Troy; it reminded him vividly of Trell. “I don’t know,” he said bluntly. “What business is the High Lord of his?”

“Ah, Warmark,” Terass said, sadly, “he would not thank me for speaking of it. I —

”

A sharp glance from Mhoram silenced her. Troy turned toward Mhoram, but the Lord did not meet his gaze. “Before ur-Lord Covenant’s first summoning to the Land,”

Mhoram said carefully, “Triock was in love with the daughter of Trell and Atiaran.”

Troy barely restrained an ejaculation. He wanted to curse Covenant; there seemed to be no end to the damage Covenant had done. But he held himself back for the sake of his hosts. He scarcely heard Mhoram ask, “Is Trell’s daughter well? Is there any way in which I may help her?”

“No, Lord,” sighed Terass. “The health of her body is strong, but her mind is unsteady. Always she has believed that the Unbeliever will come for her. She has asked the Circle of elders-asked permission to marry him. We can find no Healer able to touch this illness. I fear you would only turn her thoughts more toward him.”

Mhoram accepted her judgment morosely. “I am sorry. This failure grieves me.

But the Lords know only of one Unfettered Healer with power for such needs-and she left her home, and passed out of

knowledge forty years ago, before the battle of Soaring Woodhelven. It humbles us to be of so little use for such needs.”

His words left behind a pall of silence in their wake. For a time like a muffled sigh, he stared at his clasped hands. But then, rousing himself from his reverie, he said,

“Elders, how will you meet the chance of war? Have you prepared?”

“Yes, Lord,” one of the other women replied. “We have little cause to fear the destruction of our homes, so we will hide in the mountains if war comes. We have prepared food stores against that need. From the mountains, we will harass any who assail Mithil Stonedown.”

Mhoram nodded, and after a moment Terass said, “Lord, Warmark, will you spend the night with us? We will be honored to provide beds for you. And perhaps you will be able to speak to the gathering of the people?”

“No,” said Troy abruptly. Then, hearing his discourtesy, he softened his tone.

“Thank you, but no. I need to get up to the Watch-as soon as possible.”

“What will you see? The night is dark. You may sleep in comfort here, and still climb to Kevin’s Watch before morning.”

But Troy was adamant. His anger at Covenant only increased his impatience; he had a strong sense of pressure, of impending crisis. Lord Mhoram’s polite, firm support soon satisfied the Stonedownors that this decision was necessary, and in a short time he and Troy were on their way. They accepted a pot of graveling from the elders to light their path, left all the Bloodguard except Terrel and Ruel to care for the Ranyhyn and watch over the valley, then started walking briskly along the Mithil into the night.

Troy could see nothing outside the primary glow of the graveling, but when he was sure be was out of earshot of the Stonedown, he said to Mhoram, “You knew about Triock before tonight. Why didn’t you “tell me?”

“I did not know the extent of his distress. Why should I burden you? Yet now it is in my heart that I

have treated him wrongly. I should have dealt with him openly, and trusted him to bear my words. My caution has only increased his pain.”

Troy took a different view. “You wouldn’t need to be cautious at all if it weren’t for that damned Covenant.”

But Mhoram only walked on up the valley in silence.

Together they worked their way south into the foothills of the surrounding.

mountains, then doubled back northward, up the eastern slopes. On the mountainside, the trail was difficult. Terrel led Lord Mhoram, and Troy followed them with Ruel at his back. As he ascended the path, he could see nothing of his situation-for him, the glow of the graveling was encased in dark fog-but slowly he began to feel a change in the air. The warm autumn night of the South Plains turned cooler, rarer; it made his heart pound. By the time he had climbed a couple thousand feet, he knew that he was moving into mountains which had already received their first winter snows.

Soon after that, he and his companions left the open mountainside and began to work upward through rifts and crevices and hidden valleys. When they reached open space again, they were on a ledge in a cliff face, moving eastward under the huge loom of a peak. This ledge took them to the base of the long, leaning, stone shaft of the Watch.

Then, clambering through empty air like solitary ,dream figures, they went up the exposed stair of the shaft. After another five hundred feet, they found themselves on the parapeted platform of Kevin’s Watch.

Troy moved cautiously over the floor of the Watch and seated himself with his back against the surrounding parapet. He knew from descriptions that he was on the tip of the shaft, poised four thousand feet directly above the foothills of a promontory in the Range, and he did not want to give his blindness a chance to betray him. Even sitting with solid stone between his back and the fall, he had an intense impression of abysses.

His sense of ambience felt poignantly the absence of any comforting confines or enclosures or limits. This was like being cast adrift in the trackless heavens, and he reacted to it like a blind man-with fear, and a conviction of irremediable isolation. He placed the pot of graveling on the stone before him, so that he could at least vaguely see his three companions. Then he braced both arms against the stone beside him as if to keep himself from falling.

A slight breeze drifted onto the Watch from the towering mountain face south of it, and the air carried a foretaste of winter that made Troy shiver. As midnight passed through the darkness, he began to talk desultorily, as if to warm the vigil by the sound of his voice. His present sense of suspension, of voids, reminded him of his last moments in that world which Covenant insisted, on calling “real” — moments during which his apartment had been flame-gutted, forcing him to hang by failing fingers from his windowsill, with the long fall and smash on concrete hovering below him.

He talked erratically about that world until the vividness of the memory eased.

Then he said, “Friend Mhoram, remind me-remind me to tell you sometime how grateful I am-for everything.” He was embarrassed to say such things aloud, but these feelings were too important to be left unexpressed. “You and Elena and Quaan and Amorine-you’re all incredibly precious to me. And the Warward- I think I’d be willing to jump from here if the Warward needed it.”

He fell silent again, and time passed. Although he shivered in the chill breeze, his speech had steadied him. He tried to turn his thought to the fighting ahead, but the unknown sight crouched in the coming day dominated his brain, confusing all his anticipations and plans. And around him the blank night remained unchanged, as impenetrable as chaos. He needed to know where he stood. In the distance, he thought he heard dim hoofbeats. But none of his companions reacted to them; he could not be sure he had heard anything.

He needed to distract himself. Half to Mhoram, he growled, “I hate dawns. I can cope with nights. They keep me they’re something I’ve had experience with, at least. But’ dawns! I can’t stand waiting for what I’m going to see.” Then, abruptly, he asked, “Is the sky clear?”

“It is clear,” Mhoram said softly.

Troy sighed his relief. For a moment, he was able to relax.

Silence encompassed the Watch again. The waiting went on. Gradually, Troy’s shivering became worse. The stone he leaned against remained cold, impervious to his body warmth. He wanted to stand up and pace, but did not dare. Around him, Mhoram, Ruel, and Terrel stood as still as statues. After a while, he could no longer refrain from asking the Lord if he had received any messages from Elena. “Has she tried to contact you? How is she doing?”

“No, Warmark,” Mhoram answered. “The High Lord does not bear with her any of the lomillialor rods.”

“No?” The news dismayed Troy. Until this moment, he had not realized how much trust he had put in Mhoram’s power to contact Elena. He wanted to know that she was safe. And as a last resort, he had counted on being able to summon her. But now she was as completely lost to him as if she were already dead. “No?” He felt suddenly so blind that he could not see Mhoram’s face, that he had never really seen Mhoram’s face.