any Lord who so chooses may claim the place for himself.” With an effort, Prothall continued firmly, “I now surrender my leadership. Rock and root, the trial of these times is too great for me. Ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, you are permitted to claim the High Lordship if you wish.”
Covenant held Prothall's eyes, trying to measure the High Lord's intentions. But he could find no duplicity in Prothall's offer. Softly, he replied, “You know I don't want it.”
“Yet I ask you to accept it. You bear the white gold.”
“Forget it,” Covenant said. “It isn't that easy.”
After a moment, Prothall nodded slowly. “I see.” He turned to the other Lords. “Do you claim the High Lordship?”
“You are the High Lord,” Mhoram averred. And Osondrea added, “Who else? Do not waste more time in foolishness.”
“Very well.” Prothall squared his shoulders. “The trial and the doom of this time are on my head. I am High Lord Prothall, and by the consent of the Council my will prevails. Let none fear to follow me, or blame mother if my choices fail.”
An involuntary twitch passed across Covenant's face, but he said nothing; and shortly Prothall sat sown, saying, 'Now let us consider what we must do.
In silence the Lords communed mentally with each other. Then Osondrea turned to Foamfollower. 'Rockbrother, it is said, `When many matters press you, consider friendship first.' For the sake of your people you should return to Seareach as swiftly as may be. The Giants must be told all that has transpired here. But I judge that the waterway of Andelain will no longer be safe for you. We will provide an escort to accompany you through Grimmerdhore Forest and the North Plains until you are past Landsdrop and Sarangrave Flat.'
“Thank you, my Lords,” replied Foamfollower formally, “but that will not be needed. I have given some thought myself to this matter. In their wandering, my people learned a saying from the
High Lord Prothall smiled and bowed his head in acknowledgement. “My heart hoped for this. Be welcome in our trial. Peril or plight, the Giants of Seareach strengthen us, and we cannot sing our gratitude enough. But your people must not be left unwarned. We will send other messengers.”
Foamfollower bowed in turn, and then Lord Osondrea resumed by calling on Warmark Garth.
Garth stood and reported, “Lord, I have done as you requested. Furls Fire now burns atop Revelstone. All who see it will warn their folk, and will spread the warning of war south and east and north. By morning, all who live north of the Soulsease and west of Grimmerdhore will be forearmed, and those who live near the river will send runners into the Centre Plains. Beyond that, the warning will carry more slowly.
“I have sent scouts in relays toward Grimmerdhore and Andelain. But six days will pass before we receive clear word of the Forest. And though you did not request it, I have begun preparations for a siege. In all, one thousand three hundred of my warriors are now at work. Twenty Eoman remain ready.”
“That is well,” said Osondrea. “The warning which must be taken to Seareach we entrust to you. Send as many warriors as you deem necessary to ensure the embassy.”
Garth bowed and sat down.
“Now.” She nodded her head as if to clear it of other considerations. “I have given my time to the study of ur-Lord Covenant's tale of his journey. The presence of white gold explains much. But still many things require thought-south-running storms, a three-winged bird, an abominable attack on the Wraiths of Andelain, the bloodying of the moon. To my mind, the meaning of these signs is clear.”
Abruptly, she slapped the table with her palm as if she needed the sound and the pain to help her I speak. “Drool Rockworm has already found his bane-the Illearth Stone or some other deadly evil. With the Staff of Law, he has might enough to blast the seasons in their course!”
A low groan arose from the gallery, but Prothall and Mhoram did not appear surprised. Still, a dangerous glitter intensified in Mhoram's eyes as he said softly, “Please explain.”
'The evidence of power is unmistakable. We know that Drool has the Staff of Law. But the Staff is not a neutral tool. It was carved from the One Tree as a servant of the Earth and the Earth's Law. Yet all that has occurred is unnatural, wrong. Can you conceive the strength of will which could corrupt the Staff even enough to warp one bird? Well, perhaps madness gives Drool that will. Or perhaps the Despiser now controls the Staff. But consider-birthing a three-winged bird is the smallest of these ill feats. At his peak in the former age, Lord Foul did not dare attack the Wraiths. And as for the desecrated noon-only the darkest and most terrible of ancient prophecies bespeak such matters.
“Do you call this proof conclusive that Lord Foul indeed possesses the Staff? But consider-for less exertion than corrupting the moon requires, he could surely stamp us into death. We could not fight such night. And yet he spends himself so-so vainly. Would he employ his strength to so little purpose-against the Wraiths first when he could easily destroy us? And if he would, could he corrupt the moon using the Staff of Law-a tool not made for his hand, resisting his mastery at every touch?
“I judge that if Lord Foul controlled the Staff, he would not and perhaps could not do what has been done-not until we were destroyed. But if Drool still holds the Staff, then it alone does not suffice. No Cavewight is large enough to perform such crimes without the power of both Staff and Stone. The Cavewights are weak-willed creatures, as you know. They are easily swayed, easily enslaved. And they have no heaven-challenging lore. Therefore they have always been the fodder of Lord Foul's armies.
“If I judge truly, then the Despiser himself is as much at Drool's mercy as we are. The doom of this time rides on the mad whim of a Cavewight.
“This I conclude because we have not been attacked.”
Prothall nodded glumly to Osondrea, and Mhoram took up the line of her reasoning. “So Lord Foul relies upon us to save him and damn ourselves. In some way, he intends that our response to ur-Lord Covenant's message will spring upon ourselves a trap which holds both us and him. He has pretended friendship to Drool to preserve himself until his plans are ripe. And he has taught Drool to use this newfound power in ways which will satisfy the Cavewight's lust for mastery without threatening us directly. Thus he attempts to ensure that we will make trial to wrest the Staff of Law from Drool.”
“And therefore,” Osondrea barked, “it would be the utterest folly for us to make trial.”
“How so?” Mhoram objected. “The message said, “Without it, they will not be able to resist me for seven years.” He foretells a sooner end for us if we do not make the attempt, or if we attempt and fail, than if we succeed.”
“What does he gain by such foretellings? What but our immediate deaths? His message is only a lure of false hope to lead us into folly.”
But Mhoram replied by quoting, “Drool Rockworm has the Staff, and that is a cause for terror. He will be enthroned at Lord's Keep in two years if the message fails.”
“The message has not failed!” Osondrea insisted. “We are forewarned. We can prepare. Drool is mad, and his attacks will be flawed by madness. It may be that we will find his weakness and prevail. By the Seven! Revelstone will never fall while the Bloodguard remain. And the Giants and Ranyhyn will come to our aid.” Turning toward the High Lord, she urged, “Prothall, do not follow the lure of this quest. It is chimera. We will fall under the shadow, and the Land will surely die.”
“But if we succeed,” Mhoram countered, “if we gain the Staff, then our chance is prolonged. Lord Foul's prophecy notwithstanding, we may find enough Earthpower in the Staff to prevail in war. And if we do not, still we will have that much more time to search for other salvations.”
“How can we succeed? Drool has both the Staff of Law and the Illearth Stone.”
“And is master of neither.”
“Master enough! Ask the Wraiths the extent of his might. Ask the moon.”
“Ask me,” growled Covenant, climbing slowly to his feet. For a moment he hesitated, torn between a fear of Drool and a dread of what would happen to him if the Lords did not go in search of the Staff. He had a vivid apprehension of the malice behind Drool's Laval eyes. But the thought of the Staff decided him. He felt that he had gained an insight into the logic of his dream. The Staff had brought him to the Land; he would need the Staff to escape. “Ask me,” he said again. “Don't you think I have a stake in this?”
