Lord Foul's Bane

“Birinair,” said Prothall reprovingly, “surely our work for the Seareach Giants requires you.”

“Requires? Of course. As to that, why,” the Hirebrand huffed, “as to that-no. Shames me to say it. I have given all the orders. No. The others are abler. Have been for years.”

“Prothall,” Tamarantha urged, “do not forbid. We are old-of course we are old. And the way will be long and hard. But this is the great challenge of our time-the only high and bold enterprise in which we will ever be able to share.”

“Is the defence of Revelstone then such a little thing?”

Variol jerked up his head as if Prothall's question had been a gibe. “Revelstone remembers we have failed to retrieve any of Kevin's Lore. What possible help can we be here? Osondrea is more than enough. Without this Quest, our lives will be wasted.”

“No, my Lords-no. Not wasted,” Prothall murmured. With a baffled expression, he looked to Mhoram for support. Smiling crookedly, Mhoram said; “Life is well designed. Men and women grow old so that someone will be wise enough to teach the young. Let them come.”

After another moment's hesitation, Prothall.decided. “Come, then. You will teach us all.”

Variol smiled up at Tamarantha, and she returned his gaze from the high back of the Ranyhyn. Their faces were full of satisfaction and calm expectancy, which they shared in the silent marriage of their eyes. Watching them, Covenant abruptly snatched up his horse's reins and climbed into the saddle. His heart thudded anxiously, but almost at once the clingor gave him a feeling of security which eased his trepidation. Following the example of Prothall and Mhoram, he slid the staff under his left thigh, where it was held by the clingor. Then he gripped the mustang with his knees and tried not to fret.

The man who had been holding the horse touched Covenant's knee to get his attention. “Her name is Dura- Dura Fairflank. Horses are rare in the Land. I have trained her well. She is as good as a Ranyhyn,' he boasted, then lowered his eyes as if embarrassed by his exaggeration.

Covenant replied gruffly, “I don't want a Ranyhyn.”

The man took this as approval of Dura, and beamed with pleasure. As he moved away, he touched his palms to his forehead and spread his arms wide in salute.

From his new vantage, Covenant surveyed the company. There were no packhorses, but attached to every saddle were bags of provisions and tools, and Birinair had a thick bundle of lillianrill rods behind him. The Bloodguard were unencumbered, but Foamfollower carried his huge sack over his shoulder, and looked ready to travel as fast as any horse.

Shortly, Prothall rose in his stirrups and called out over the company, 'My friends, we must depart. The Quest is urgent, and the time of our trial presses upon us. I will not try to stir your hearts with long words, or bind you with awesome oaths. But I give you two charges. Be true to the limit of your strength. And remember the Oath of Peace. We go into danger, and perhaps into war-we will fight if need be. But the Land will not be served by angry bloodshed. Remember the Code:

Do not hurt where holding is enough;

do not wound where hurting is enough;

do not maim where wounding is enough;

and kill not where maiming is enough;

the greatest warrior is one who does not need to kill.”

Then the High Lord wheeled his mount to face Revelstone. He drew out his staff, swung it three times about his head, and raised it to the sky. From its end, a blue incandescent flame burst. And he cried to the Keep

'Hail, Revelstone.

The entire population of the Keep responded with one mighty, heart-shaking shout:

“Hail!”

That myriad-throated paean sprang across the hills; the dawn air itself seemed to vibrate with praise and salutation. Several of the Ranyhyn nickered joyously. In answer, Covenant clenched his teeth against a sudden thickening in his throat. He felt unworthy.

Then Prothall turned his horse and urged it into a canter down the hillside. Swiftly, the company swung into place around him. Mhoram guided Covenant to a position behind Prothall, ahead of Variol and Tamarantha. Four Bloodguard flanked the Lords on either side, Quaan, Tuvor, and Korik rode ahead of Prothall, and behind came Birinair and the Eoman. With a long, loping stride, Foamfollower pulled abreast of Mhoram and Covenant, where he jogged as easily as if such travelling were natural to him.

Thus the Quest for the Staff of Law left Lord's Keep in the sunlight of a new day.

Sixteen: Blood-Bourne

THOMAS Covenant spent the next three days in one long, acute discovery of saddle soreness. Sitting on thin leather, he felt as if he were riding bareback; the hard, physical fact of Dura's spine threatened to saw him open. His knees felt as if they were being twisted out of joint; his thighs and calves ached and quivered with the strain of gripping his mount-a pain which slowly spread into and up his back; and his peck throbbed from the lash of Dura's sudden lurchings as she crossed the obstacles of the terrain. At times, he remained on her back only because the clingor saddle did not let him fall. And at night his clenched muscles hurt so badly that he could not sleep without the benefit of diamondraught.

As a result, he noticed little of the passing countryside, or the weather, or the mood of the company. He ignored or rebuffed every effort to draw him into conversation. He was consumed by the painful sensation of being broken in half. Once again, he was forced to recognize the suicidal nature of this dream, of what the subconscious darkness of his mind was doing to him.

But the Giant's diamondraught and the Land's impossible health worked in him regardless of 'his suffering. His flesh grew tougher to meet the demands of Dura's back. And without knowing it he had been improving as a rider. He was learning how to move with instead of resisting his mount. When he woke up after the third night, he found that physical hurting no longer dominated him.

By that time, the company had left behind the cultivated region around Revelstone, and had moved out into rough plains. They had camped in the middle of a rude flatland; and when Covenant began to look about him, the terrain that met his eyes was rocky and unpromising.

Nevertheless, the sense of moving forward reasserted itself in him, gave him once again the illusion of safety. Like so many other things, Revelstone was behind him. When Foamfollower addressed him, he was able to respond without violence.

At that, the Giant remarked to Mhoram, “Stone and Sea, my Lord! I believe that Thomas Covenant has chosen to rejoin the living. Surely this is the work of diamondraught. Hail, ur-Lord Covenant. Welcome to our company. Do you know, Lord Mhoram, there is an ancient Giantish tale about a war which was halted by diamondraught? Would you like to hear? I can tell it in half a day.”

“Indeed?” Mhoram chuckled. “And will it take only half a day if you tell it on the run, while we ride?”

Foamfollower laughed broadly. “Then I can be done by sunset tomorrow. I, Saltheart Foamfollower, say “I have heard that tale,” High Lord Prothall said.

“But the teller assured me that diamondraught did not in fact end the conflict. The actual rein was Giantish talk. When the Giants were done asking after the causes of the war, the combatants had been listening so long that they had forgotten the answer.”

“Ah, High Lord,” Foamfollower chortled, “you misunderstand. It was the Giants who drank the diamondraught.”

Laughter burst from the listening warriors, and Prothall smiled as he turned to mount his horse. Soon the Quest was on its way, and Covenant fell into place beside Mhoram.