her to sit down. She placed herself cross-legged at the foot of his bed, gleaming at the honour the Ringthane did her.
Covenant tried to think of something to say to her; but before he found what he wanted, he saw Warhaft Quaan striding into Manhome. Quaan came toward him squarely, as if he were forging against Covenant's gaze, and when he neared the Unbeliever, he waited only an instant before asking his question. “We were concerned. Life needs food. Are you well?”
“Well?” Covenant felt that he was beginning to glow with his second flask of springwine. “Can't you see? I can see you. You're as sound as an oak.”
“You are closed to us,” said Quaan, stolid with disapproval. “What we see is not what you are.”
This ambiguous statement seemed to invite a mordant retort, but Covenant restrained himself. He shrugged, then said, “I'm eating,” as if he did not want to lay claim to too much health.
Quaan seemed to accept this reply for what it was worth. He nodded, bowed slightly, and left.
Watching him go, Winhome Gay breathed, “He dislikes you.” Her tone expressed awe at the Warhaft's audacity and foolishness. She seemed to ask how he dared to feel as he did-as if Covenant's performance the previous night had exalted him in her eyes to the rank of a Ranyhyn.
“He has good reason,” answered Covenant flatly.
Gay looked unsure. As if she were reaching out for dangerous knowledge, she asked quickly, “Because you are a-a “leper”?
He could see her seriousness. But he felt that he had already said too much about lepers. Such talk compromised his bargain. “No,” he said, “he just thinks I'm obnoxious.”
At this, she frowned as if she could hear his complex dishonestly. For a long moment, she studied the floor as if she were using the stone to measure his duplicity. Then she got to her feet, filled Covenant's flask to the brim from her jug. As she turned away, she said in a low voice, “You do consider me a child.” She walked with a defiant and fearful swing to her hips, as if she believed she was risking her life by treating the Ringthane so insolently.
He watched her young back, and wondered at the pride of people who served horses-and at the inner conditions which made telling the truth so difficult.
From Gay, his gaze shifted to the outer edge of Manhome, where Mhoram and Lithe stood together in the sunlight. They were facing each other-she nut brown and he blue-robed- and arguing like earth and sky. When he concentrated on them, he could make out what they were saying.
“I will,” she insisted.
“No, hear me,” Mhoram replied. “He does not want it. You will only cause pain for him-and for yourself.”
Covenant regarded them uneasily out of the cool, dim cave. Mhoram's rudder nose gave him the aspect of a man who faced facts squarely; and Covenant felt sure that indeed he did not want whatever Mhoram was arguing against.
The dispute ended shortly. Manethrall Lithe swung away from Mhoram and strode into the recesses of the village. She approached Covenant and surprised him entirely by dropping to her knees, bowing her forehead to the stone before him. With her palms on the floor beside her head, she said, “I am your servant. You are the Ringthane, master of the Ranyhyn.”
Covenant gaped at the back of her head. For an instant, he did not understand her; in his surprise, he could not conceive of any emotion powerful enough to make a Manethrall bow so low. His face felt suddenly full of shame. “I don't want a servant,” he grated. But then he saw Mhoram frowning unhappily behind Lithe. He steadied himself, went on more gently, “The honour of your service is beyond me.”
“No!” she averred without raising her head. “I saw. The Ranyhyn reared to you.”
He felt trapped. There seemed to be no way to stop her from humiliating herself without making her aware of the humiliation. He had lived without tact or humour for such a long time. But he had promised to be forbearant. And in the distance he had travelled since Mithil Stonedown, he had tasted the consequences of allowing the people of the Land to treat him as if he were some kind of mythic figure. With an effort, he replied gruffly, “Nevertheless. I'm not used to such things. In my own world, I'm-just a little man. Your homage makes me uneasy.”
Softly, Mhoram sighed his relief, and Lithe raised her head to ask in wonder, “Is it possible? Can such worlds be, where you are not among the great?”
“Take my word for it.” Covenant drank deeply from his flask.
Cautiously, as if fearful that he did not mean what he had said, she climbed to her feet. She threw back her head and shook her knotted hair. “Covenant Ringthane, it shall be as you choose. But we do not forget that the Ranyhyn reared to you. If there is any service we may do, only let it be known. You may command us in all things that do not touch the Ranyhyn.”
“There is one thing,” he said, staring at the mountain stone of the ceiling. “Give Llaura and Pietten a home.”
When he glanced at Lithe, he saw that she was grinning. He snapped fiercely, “She's one of the Heers of Soaring Woodhelven. And he's just a kid. They've been through enough to earn a little kindness.”
Gently, Mhoram interposed, “Foamfollower has already spoken to the Manethralls. They have agreed to care for Llaura and Pietten.”
Lithe nodded. “Such commands are easy. If the Ranyhyn did not challenge us more, we would spend most of our days in sleep.” Still smiling, she left Covenant and cantered out into the sun.
Mhoram also was smiling. “You look-better, ur-Lord. Are you well?”
Covenant returned his attention to his springwine. “Quaan asked me the same thing. How should I know? Half the time these days I can't even remember my name. I'm ready to travel, if that's what you're getting at.”
“Good. We must depart as soon as may be. It is pleasant to rest here in safety. But we must go if we are to preserve such safeties. I will tell Quaan and Tuvor to make preparation.”
But before the Lord could leave, Covenant said, “Tell me something. Exactly why did we come here? You got yourself a Ranyhyn-but we lost four or five days. We could've skipped Morinmoss.”
'Do you wish to discuss tactics? We believe we will gain an advantage by going where Drool cannot expect us to go, and by allowing him time to respond to his defeat at Soaring Woodhelven. Our hope is that he will send out an army. If we arrive too swiftly, the army may still be in Mount Thunder.'
Covenant resisted the plausibility of this. “You planned to come here long before we were attacked at Soaring Woodhelven. You planned it all along. I want to know why.”
Mhoram met Covenant's demand squarely, but his face tensed as if he did not expect Covenant to like his answer. “When we made our plans at Revelstone, I saw that good would come of this.”
“You saw?”
“I am an oracle. I see-occasionally.”
“And?”
“And I saw rightly”
Covenant was not ready to push the question further. “It must be fun.” But there was little sarcasm in his tone, and Mhoram laughed. His laughter emphasized the kindness of his lips. A moment later, he was able to say without bitterness, “I would rather see more such good. There is so little in these times.”
As the Lord walked away to ready the company, Foamfollower said, “My friend, there is hope for you.”
“Forsooth,” Covenant sneered. “Giant, if I were as big and strong as you, there would always be hope for me.”
“Why? Do you believe that hope is a child of strength?”
“Isn't it? Where do you get hope if you don't get it from power? If I'm wrong-by hell! There's a lot of lepers running around the world confused.”
“How is power judged?” Foamfollower asked with a seriousness Covenant had not expected.
“What?”
“I do not like the way in which you speak of lepers. Where is the value of strength if your enemy is stronger?”
“You assume there is some kind of enemy. I think that's a little too easy. I would like nothing better than to blame it on someone else-some enemy who afflicted me. But that's just another kind of suicide. Abdicate the responsibility to keep myself alive.”
“Ah, alive,” Foamfollower countered. “No, consider further, Covenant. What value has power at all if it is not power over death? If you place hope on anything less, then your hope may mislead you.”
