feet.
Even before he had regained his balance, Covenant spun on Bannor and yelled into the Bloodguard's face, “Don't touch me!”
Bannor released Covenant's wrist, backed away a step.
Prothall, Mhoram, Foamfollower, and all the wards were on their feet. They stared at Covenant in reprise, confusion, outrage.
He felt suddenly weak. His legs trembled; he gypped to his knees beside the fire. Thinking, Hell and bloody Foul has done it to me, he's taking me over damnation! he pointed an unsteady finger at the ground that had stung him. “There,” he gasped. “It was there. I felt it.”
The Lords reacted immediately. While Mhoram shouted for Birinair, Prothall hurried forward and stooped over the spot Covenant indicated. Mumbling softly to himself, he touched the spot with the tips of his fingers like a physician testing a wound. Then he was joined by Mhoram and Birinair. Birinair thrust the High Lord aside, took his
“For one moment,” Prothall murmured, “for one moment I felt something-some memory in the Earth. Then it passed beyond my touch.” He sighed. “It was terrible.”
Birinair echoed, “Terrible,” talking to himself in his concentration. Prothall and Mhoram watched him as his hands trembled with either age or sensitivity. Abruptly, he cried, “Terrible! The hand of the Slayer! He dares do this?” He snatched himself away so quickly that he stumbled, and would have fallen if Prothall had not caught him.
Momentarily, Prothall and Birinair met each other's eyes as if they were trying to exchange some knowledge that could not be voiced. Then Birinair shook himself free. Looking about him as if he could see the shards of his dignity scattered around his feet, he mumbled gruffly, “Stand on my own. Not that old yet.” After a glance at Covenant, he went on more loudly, “You think I am old. Of course. Old and foolish. Push himself into a Quest when he should be resting his bones by the hearth. Like a lump.” Pointing toward the Unbeliever, he concluded, “Ask him. Ask.”
Covenant had climbed to his feet while the attention of the company was on the Hirebrand, and had pushed his hands into his pockets to hide the hue of his ring. As Birinair pointed at him, he raised his eyes from the ground. A sick feeling of presage twisted his stomach as he remembered his attacks in Andelain, and what had followed them.
Prothall said firmly, “Step there again, ur-Lord.”
Grimacing, Covenant strode forward and stamped his foot on the spot. As his heel hit the ground, he winced in expectation, tried to brace himself for the sensation that at this one point the earth had become insecure, foundationless. But nothing stung him. As in Andelain, the ill had vanished, leaving him with the impression that a veneer of trustworthiness had been replaced over a pit.
In answer to the silent question of the Lords, he shook his head.
After a pause, Mhoram said evenly, “You have felt this before.”
With an effort, Covenant forced himself to say, “Yes. Several times-in Andelain. Before that attack on the Celebration.”
“The hand of the Grey Slayer touched you,” Birinair spat. But he could not sustain his accusation. His bones seemed to remember their age, and ire sagged tiredly, leaned on his staff. In an odd tone of self reproach, as if he were apologizing, he mumbled, “Of course. Younger. If I were younger.” He tamed from the company and shuffled away to his iced beyond the circle.
“Why did you not tell us?” Mhoram asked severely.
The question made Covenant feel suddenly ashamed, as if his ring were visible through the fabric of his pants. His shoulders hunched, drove his hands deeper into his pockets. “I didn't-at first I didn't want you to know what-how important Foul and Drool think I am. After that”-he referred to his crisis in the Close with his eyes- “I was thinking about other Mhoram accepted this with a nod, and after a moment Covenant went on: “I don't know what it is. But I only get it through my boots. I can't touch it-with my hands or my feet.”
Mhoram and Prothall shared a glance of surprise. Shortly, the High Lord said, “Unbeliever, the cause if these attacks surpasses me. Why do your boots make you sensitive to this wrong? I do not know. But either Lord Mhoram or myself must remain by you at all times, so that we may respond without delay.” Over his shoulder, he said, “First Mark Tuvor. Warhaft Quaan. Have you heard?”
Quaan came to attention and replied, “Yes, High Lord.” And from behind the circle Tuvor's voice carried softly, “There will be an attack. We have heard.”
“Readiness will be needed,” said Mhoram grimly, “and stout hearts to face an onslaught of ur-viles and wolves and Cavewights without faltering.”
“That is so,” the High Lord said at last. “But such things will come in their own time. Now we must rest. We must gather strength.”
Slowly, the company began the business of bedding down. Humming his Giantish plainsong, Foamfollower stretched out on the ground with his arm around his leather flask of
But until he finally fell asleep, he could hear Foam follower's humming and see Prothall sitting by the embers of the fire. The Giant and the High Lord kept watch together, two old friends of the Land sharing some vigil against their impending doom.
The next day dawned grey and cheerless-overcast with clouds like ashes in the sky-and into it Covenant rode bent in his saddle as if he had a weight around his neck. His ring had lost its red stain with the setting of the moon; but the colour remained in his mind, and the ring seemed to drag him down like a meaningless crime. Helplessly, he perceived that an allegiance he had not chosen, could not have chosen, was being forced upon him. The evidence seemed irrefutable. Like the moon, he was falling prey to Lord Foul's machinations. His volition was not required; the strings which dangled him were strong enough to overbear any resistance.
He did not understand how it could happen to him. Was his death wish, his leper's weariness or despair, so strong? What had become of his obdurate instinct for survival? Where was his anger, his violence? Had he been victimized for so long that now he could only respond as a victim, even to himself?
He had no answers. He was sure of nothing but the fear which came over him when the company halted at noon. He found that he did not want to get down from Dura's back.
He distrusted the ground, dreaded contact with it. He had lost a fundamental confidence: his faith that the earth was stable-a faith so obvious and constant and necessary that it had been unconscious until now-had been shaken. Blind silent soil had become a dark hand malevolently seeking out him and him alone.
Nevertheless, he swung down from the saddle, forced himself to set foot on the ground and was stung. The virulence of the sensation made all his nerves cringe, and he could hardly stand as he watched Prothall and Mhoram and Birinair try to capture what he had felt. But they failed completely; the misery of that ill touch withdrew the instant he jumped away from it.
That evening during supper he was stung again. When he went to bed to hide his ring from the moon, he shivered as if he were feverish. On the morning of the sixth day, he arose with a grey face and a crippled look in his eyes. Before he could mount Nomura he was stung again.
And again during one of the company's rest halts.
And again the instant he mustered enough despair to dismount at the end of the day's ride. The wrong felt like another spike in his coffin lid. This time, his nerves reacted so violently that he tumbled to the ground like a demonstration of futility. He had to lie still for a long time before he could coax his arms and legs under control again, and when he finally regained feet, he jerked and winced with fear at every step.
Pathetic, pathetic, he panted to himself. But he could not find the rage to master it.
With keen concern in his eyes, Foamfollower asked him why he did not take off his boots. Covenant had to think for a moment before he could remember why. Then he murmured, “They're part of me-they're part of the way I have to live. I don't have very many parts left. And besides,” he added wanly, “if I don't keep having these fits, how is Prothall going to figure them out?”
