Lord Foul's Bane

quickly among, the faces that stared at him from the gleaming walls of the chamber.

“Jehannum predicted many things,” said Llaura, “but one especially you should be told. He said that a great evil in the semblance of Berek Halfhand walked the hills toward us out of the south. And here-” She pointed a pale arm at Covenant, her voice rising sternly as she spoke. “Here is an utter stranger to the Land-half unhanded on his right, and on his left bearing a ring of white gold. Beyond doubt carrying messages to the Lords-messages of doom!”

With a pleading intensity, Atiaran said, “Do not presume to judge. Remember the Oath. You are not Lords. And dark words may be warnings as well as prophecies. Will you trust the word of a Raver?”

Baradakas shrugged slightly. “It is not the message we judge. Our test is for the man.” Reaching behind him, he lifted up a smooth wooden rod three feet long from which all the bark had been stripped. He held it by the middle gently, reverently. “This is lomillialor.” As he said the name, the wood glistened as if its clear grain were moist with dew.

What the hell is this? Covenant tried to balance himself for whatever was coming.

But the Hirebrand's next move caught him by surprise. Baradakas swung his rod and lofted it toward the Unbeliever.

He jerked aside and clutched at the lomillialor with his right hand. But he did not have enough fingers to get a quick grip on it; it slipped away from him, dropped to the floor with a wooden click that seemed unnaturally loud in the hush of the chamber.

For an instant, everyone remained still, frozen while they absorbed the meaning of what they had seen. Then, in unison, the Heers uttered their verdict with all the finality of a death sentence.

“The High Wood rejects him. He is a wrong in the Land.”

Ten: The Celebration of Spring

IN one fluid motion, Baradakas drew a club from his cloak and raised it as he moved toward Covenant.

Covenant reacted instinctively, defensively. Before the Hirebrand could reach him, he stooped and snatched up the lomillialor rod with his left hand. As Baradakas swung the club at his head, he slashed the Hirebrand's arm with the rod.

In a shower of white sparks, the club sprang into splinters. Baradakas was flung back as if he had been blasted away by an explosion.

The force of the hit vibrated through Covenant's hand to his elbow, and his fingers were struck momentarily numb. The rod started to slip from his hand. He gaped at it, thinking, What the hell-?

But then the mute astonishment of the Heers, and the Hirebrand's crumpled form, steadied him. Test me? he rasped. Bastards. He took the rod in his right hand, holding it by the middle as Baradakas had done. Its glistening wood felt slick; it gave him a sensation of slippage, as if it were oozing from his grasp, though the wood did not actually move. As he gripped it, he glared around at the Heers, put all the anger their treatment had sparked in him into his gaze. “Now why don't you tell me one more time about how this thing rejects me.”

Soranal and Llaura stood on either side of Atiaran, with Malliner opposite them against the wall. Omournil and Padrias were bent over the fallen Hirebrand. As Covenant surveyed them, Atiaran faced him grimly. “In the older age,” she said, “when High Lord Kevin trusted the Grey Slayer, he was given priceless gifts of orcrest and lomillialor. The tale says that these gifts were soon lost-but while the Grey Slayer possessed them they did not reject him. It is possible for Despite to wear the guise of truth. Perhaps the wild magic surpasses truth.”

Thanks a lot! Covenant glowered at her. What're you trying to do to me?

In a pale voice, Llaura replied, “That is the tale. But we are only Woodhelvennin-not Lords. Such matters are beyond us. Never in the memory of our people has a test of truth struck down a Hirebrand of the lillianrill. What is the song? `he will save or damn the Earth.' Let us pray that we will not find damnation for our distrust.” Extending an unsteady hand toward Covenant in the salute of welcome, she said, “Hail, Unbeliever! Pardon our doubts, and be welcome in Soaring Woodhelven.”

For an instant, Covenant faced her with a bitter retort twisting his lips. But he found when he met her eyes that he could see the sincerity of her apology. The perception abashed his vehemence. With conflicting intentions, he muttered, “Forget it.”

Llaura and Soranal both bowed as if he had accepted her apology. Then they turned to watch as Baradakas climbed dazedly to his feet. His hands pulled at his face as if it were covered with cobwebs, but he assured Omournil and Padrias that he was unharmed. With a mixture of wonder and dismay in his eyes, he also saluted Covenant.

Covenant responded with a dour nod. He did not wait for the Hirebrand to ask; he handed the lomillialor to Baradakas, and was glad to be rid of its disquieting, insecure touch.

Baradakas received the rod and smiled at it crookedly, as if it had witnessed his defeat. Then he slipped it away into his cloak. Turning his smile toward Covenant, he said, “Unbeliever, our presences are no longer needed here. You have not eaten, and the weariness of your journey lies heavily upon you. Will you accept the hospitality of my house?”

The invitation surprised Covenant; for a moment he hesitated, trying to decide whether or not he could trust the Hirebrand. Baradakas appeared calm, unhostile, but his smile was more complex than Llaura's apology. But then Covenant reflected that if the question were one of trust, he would be safer with Baradakas alone than with all the Heers together. Stiffly, he said, “You honour me.”

The Hirebrand bowed. “In accepting a gift you honour the giver.” He looked around at the other Woodhelvennin, and when they nodded their approval, he turned and moved out of the heartwood chamber.

Covenant glanced toward Atiaran, but she was already talking softly to Soranal. Without further delay, he stepped out onto the broad limb beside Baradakas.

The night over the great tree was now scattered with lights-the home fires of the Woodhelvennin. They illuminated the fall far down through the branches, but did not reach to the ground. Involuntarily, Covenant clutched at Baradakas' shoulder.

“It is not far,” the Hirebrand said softly. “Only up to the next limb. I will come behind you-you will not fall.”

Cursing silently through his teeth, Covenant gripped the rungs of the ladder. He wanted to retreat, go back to the solidity of the heartwood chamber, but pride and anger prevented him. And the rungs felt secure, almost adhesive, to his fingers. When Baradakas placed a reassuring hand on his back, he started awkwardly upward.

As Baradakas had promised, the next limb was not far away. Soon Covenant reached another broad branch. A few steps out from the trunk, it forked, and in the fork sat the Hirebrand's home. Holding Baradakas' shoulders for support, he gained the doorway, crossed the threshold as if he were being blown in by a gust of relief.

He was in a neat, two-roomed dwelling formed entirely from the branches of the tree. Interwoven limbs made part of the floor and all the walls, including the partition between the rooms. And the ceiling was a dome of twigs and leaves. Along one wall of the first room, broad knees of wood grew into the chamber like chairs, and a bunk hung opposite them. The place had a warm, clean atmosphere, an ambience of devotion to lore, that Covenant found faintly disturbing, like a reminder that the Hirebrand could be a dangerous man.

While Covenant scanned the room, Baradakas set torches in each of the outer walls and lit them by rubbing his hands over their ends and murmuring softly. Then he rummaged around in the far room for a moment, and returned carrying a tray laden with slabs of bread and cheese, a large bunch of grapes, and a wooden jug. He set a small, three-legged table between two of the chairs, put the tray on it, and motioned for Covenant to sit down.

At the sight of the food, Covenant discovered that he was hungry; he had eaten nothing but aliantha for the past two days. He watched while Baradakas bowed momentarily over the food. Then he seated himself. Following his host's example, he made sandwiches with cheese and grapes between slices of fresh bread, and helped himself liberally to the jug of springwine. In the first rush of eating, he said