Lord Foul's Bane

Then without warning his movement stopped. Before he could brace himself, a torch flared, and he found himself level with three men who were standing on a limb. In the sudden light, they looked identical to the men who had captured him, but one of them had a small circlet of leaves about his head. The other two considered Covenant for a moment, then reached out and gripped his shirt, pulling him toward their limb. As the solid branch struck his feet, the rope slackened; letting his arms drop.

His wrists were still tied together, but he tried to get a hold on one of the men, keep himself from falling off the limb. His arms were dead; he could not move them. The darkness stretched below him like a hungry beast. With a gasp, he lunged toward the men, striving to make them save him. They grappled him roughly. He refused to bear his own weight, forced them to carry and drag him down the limb until they came to a wide gap in the trunk. There the centre of the stem was hollowed out to form a large chamber, and Covenant dropped heavily to the floor, shuddering with relief.

Shortly, a rising current of activity began around him. He paid no attention to it; he kept his eyes shut to concentrate on the hard stability of the floor, and on the pain of blood returning to his hands and arms. The hurt was excruciating, but he endured it in clenched silence. Soon his hands were tingling, and his fingers felt thick, hot. He flexed them, curled them into claws. Through his teeth, he muttered to the fierce rhythm of his heart, Hellfire. Hell and blood.

He opened his eyes.

He was lying on polished wood at the centre of the myriad concentric circles of the tree trunk. The age rings made the rest of the room seem to focus toward him as if he were sprawled on a target. His arms felt unnaturally inarticulate, but he forced them to thrust him into a sitting position. Then he looked at his hands. His wrists were raw from the cut of the rope, but they were not bleeding.

Bastards!

He raised his head and glowered around him.

The chamber was about twenty feet wide, and seemed to fill the whole inside diameter of the trunk. The only opening was the one through which he had stumbled, and he could see darkness outside; but the room was brightly lit by torches set into the walls-torches which burned smokelessly, and did not appear to be consumed. The polished walls gleamed as if they were burnished, but the ceiling, high above the floor, was rough, untouched wood.

Five Woodhelvennin stood around Covenant in the hollow-three men, including the one wearing the circlet of leaves, and two women. They all were dressed in similar cloaks which clung to their outlines, though the colours varied, and all were taller than Covenant. Their tallness seemed threatening, so he got slowly to his feet, lowering the pack from his shoulders as he stood.

A moment later, the man who had led Covenant's captors on the ground entered the chamber, followed by Atiaran. She appeared unharmed, but weary and depressed, as though the climb and the distrust had sapped her strength. When she saw Covenant, she moved to take her stand beside him.

One of the women said, “Only two, Soranal?”

“Yes,” Atiaran's guard answered. “We watched, and there were no others as they crossed the south glade. And our scouts have not reported any other strangers in the hills.”

“Scouts?” asked Atiaran. “I did not know that scouts were needed among the people of the Land.”

The woman took a step forward and replied, 'Atiaran Trell-mate, the folk of Mithil Stonedown have been known to us since our return to the Land in the new age. And there are those among us who remember your visit here. We know our friends, and the value of friendship.'

“Then in what way have we deserved this treatment?” Atiaran demanded. “We came in search of friends.”

The woman did not answer Atiaran's question directly. “Because we are all people of the Land,” she said, “and because our peril is a peril for all, I will attempt to ease the sting of our discourtesy by explaining our actions. We in this heartwood chamber are the Heers of Soaring Woodhelven, the leaders of our people. I am Llaura daughter of Annamar. Here also”- she indicated each individual with a nod “are Omournil daughter of Mournil, Soranal son of Thiller, Padrias son of Mill, Malliner son of Veinnin, and Baradakas, Hirebrand of the lillianrill.” This last was the man wearing the circlet of leaves. 'We made the decision of distrust, and will give our reasons.

“I see that you are impatient.” A taste of bitterness roughened her voice. “Well, I will not tire you with the full tale of the blighting wind which has blown over us from time to time from Gravin Threndor. I will not describe the angry storms, or show you the body of the three-winged bird that died atop our Woodhelven, or discuss the truth of the rumours of murder which have reached our ears. By the Seven! There are angry songs that should be sung-but I will not sing them now. This I will tell you: all servants of the Grey Slayer are not dead. It is our belief that a Raver has been among us.”

That name carried a pang of danger that made Covenant look rapidly about him, trying to locate the peril. For an instant, he did not comprehend. But then he noticed how Atiaran stiffened at Llaura's words-saw the jumping knot at the corner of her jaw, felt the heightened fear in her, though she said nothing-and he understood. The Woodhelvennin feared that he and she might be Ravers.

Without thinking, he snapped, “That's ridiculous.”

The Heers ignored him. After a short pause, Soranal continued Llaura's explanation. 'Two days past, in the high sun of afternoon, when our people were busy at their crafts and labours, and the children were playing in the upper branches of the Tree, a stranger came to Soaring Woodhelven. Two days earlier, the last ill storm out of Mount Thunder had broken suddenly and turned into good-and on the day the stranger came our hearts were glad, thinking that a battle we knew not of had been won for the Land. He wore the appearance of a Stonedownor, and said his name was Jehannum. We welcomed him with the hospitality which is the joy of the Land. We saw no reason to doubt him, though the children shrank from him with unwonted cries and fears. Alas for us-the young saw more clearly than the old.

'He passed among us with dark hints and spite in his mouth, casting sly ridicule on our crafts and customs. And we could not answer him. But we remembered Peace, and did nothing for a day.

“In that time, Jehannum's hints turned to open foretelling of doom. So at last we called him to the heartwood chamber and the meeting of the Heers. We heard the words he chose to speak, words full of glee and the reviling of the Land. Then our eyes saw more deeply, and we offered him the test of the lomillialor.”

“You know of the High Wood, lomillialor- do you not, Atiaran?” Baradakas spoke for the first time. “There is much in it like the orcrest of the rhadhamaerl. It is an offspring of the One Tree, from which the Staff of Law itself was made.”

“But we had no chance to make the test,” Soranal resumed. “When Jehannum saw the High Wood, he sprang away from us and escaped. We gave pursuit, but he had taken us by surprise-we were too full of quiet, not ready for such evils-and his fleetness far surpassed ours. He eluded us, and made his way toward the east.”

He sighed as he concluded, “In the one day which has passed since that time, we have begun relearning the defence of the Land.”

After a moment, Atiaran said quietly, 'I hear you. Pardon my anger-I spoke in haste and ignorance.

But surely now you can see that we are no friends of the Grey Slayer.'

“We see much in you, Atiaran Trell-mate,” said Llaura, her eyes fixed keenly on the Stonedownor, “much sorrow and much courage. But your companion is closed to us. It may be that we will need to emprison this Thomas Covenant.”

“Melenkurion!” hissed Atiaran. “Do not dare! Do you not know? Have you not looked at him?”

At this, a murmur of relief passed among the Heers, a murmur which accented their tension. Stepping toward Atiaran, Soranal extended his right hand, palm forward, in the salute of welcome, and said, “We have looked-looked and heard. We trust you, Atiaran Trell-mate. You have spoken a name which no Raver would call upon to save a companion.” He took her by the arm and drew her away from Covenant, out of the centre of the chamber.

Without her at his shoulder, Covenant felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable. For the first time, he sensed how much he had come to depend upon her presence, her guidance, if not her support. But he was in no mood to meet threats passively. He poised himself on the balls of his feet, ready to move in any direction; and his eyes shifted