Foamfollower. Ah, Giant! he groaned. To kill-! Below him and barely twenty feet above the level of the river was a narrow roadway like a ledge in the south wall of the Gorge. And along the roadway to the beat of unheard drums marched an army of Cavewights out of Mount Thunder. Captained by a wedge of ur-viles, file after file of the gangrel creatures jerked out of the mountain and tramped along the ledge with a glare of lust in their laval eyes. Thousands had already left their Wightwarrens; and behind them the files continued as if Mount Thunder were spewing all the hordes of its inhabiting vermin onto the undefended Earth.
Foamfollower!
For a moment, Covenant's heart beat to the rhythm of the Giant's pain. He could not bear to think that Foamfollower and his people might lose their hope of Home because of creatures like those.
Is killing the only answer?
Numbly, half blindly, he began looking for the way in which Foamfollower had meant to reach the ledge and the Cavewights.
He found it easily enough; it looked simple for anyone not timorous of heights. There was a rude, slick stair cut into the rock of the south wall from the rift down to the roadway. Opposite it were steps which went from the rift up to the top of the Gorge. They were as grey, spray-worn and old as native stone.
Lord Mhoram had come up behind Covenant. His voice reached dimly through the river roar. 'This is the ancient Look of Treacher's Gorge. That part of the First Ward which tells of this place is easily understood. It was formed for the watch and concealment of the betrayers. For here at Treacher's Gorge, Lord
Foul the Despiser revealed his true self to High Lord Kevin. Here was struck the first blow of the open war which ended in the Ritual of Desecration.
'Before that time, Kevin Landwaster doubted Lord Foul without knowing why-for the Despiser had enacted no ill which Kevin could discover-and he showed trust for Lord Foul out of shame for his unworthy doubt. Then, through the Despiser's plotting, a message came to the Council of Lords from the Demondim in Mount Thunder. The message asked the Lords to come to the Demondim loreworks, the spawning crypts where the ur-viles were made, to meet with the loremasters, who claimed knowledge of a secret power.
“Clearly, Lord Foul intended for Kevin to go to Mount Thunder. But the High Lord doubted, and did not go. Then he was ashamed of his doubt, and sent in his stead some of his truest friends and strongest allies. So a high company of the Old Lords rafted as was their wont down the Soulsease through Andelain to Mount Thunder. And here, in the roar and spray and ill of Treacher's Gorge, they were ambushed by ur-viles. They were slaughtered, and their bodies sent to the abyss of the mountain. Then marched armies like these out of the catacombs, and the Land was plunged all unready into war.
“That long conflict went on battle after death littered battle without hope. High Lord Kevin fought bravely. But he had sent his friends into ambush. Soon he began his midnight meetings with despair-and there was no hope.”
The seductive, dizzy rush of the river drained Covenant's resistance. Spray beaded on his face like sweat.
Foamfollower had wanted to do the same thing-leap into the writhing allure of the Gorge-fall on the Cavewights from ambush.
With an effort that made him moan through his clenched teeth, Covenant backed away from the Look. Gripping himself against the wall, he asked without apparent transition, “Is he still laughing?”
Mhoram appeared to understand. 'No. Now he sits and quietly sings the song of the Unhomed, and gives no sign.'
Foamfollower! Covenant breathed. “Why did you stop the Bloodguard? He might've hurt Prothall.”
The Lord turned his back on Treacher's Gorge to face Covenant. “Saltheart Foamfollower is my friend. How could I interfere?” A moment later, he added, “The High Lord is not defenceless.”
Covenant persisted. “Maybe a Raver-”
“No.” Mhoram's flat assertion acknowledged no doubt. “Tuvor spoke truly. No Raver has the might to master a Giant.”
“But something”- Covenant groped- “something is hurting him. He-he doesn't believe those omens. He thinks-Drool- or something-is going to prevent the Giants from going Home.”
Mhoram's reply was so soft that Covenant was forced to read it on his crooked lips. “So do I.”
Foamfollower!
Covenant looked down the rift at the Giant. In the darkness Foamfollower sat like a lump of shale against one wall, singing quietly and staring at invisible visions on the stone before him. The sight brought up a surge of sympathetic anger in Covenant, but he clamped it down, clutched his bargain. The walls of the rift leaned in toward him, like suffocating fear, dark wings. He thrust himself past the Giant and out toward the ravine.
Before long, the company gathered there for supper. They ate by the light of one dim
Later, he found himself sharply awake. The red moon had passed the crest of Mount Thunder, and now glared straight down on the ravine. He guessed that midnight was past. At first, he thought that the moon had roused him with its nearly full stare. But then he realized that the vibration of the drums was gone from the rock. He glanced around the camp, and saw Tuvor whispering with High Lord Prothall. The next moment, Tuvor began waking the sleepers.
Soon the warriors were alert and ready. Covenant had his knife in the belt of his robe, his staff in his hand. Birinair held aloft a rod with a small flame flickering from its tip, and in that uncertain light Mhoram and Prothall stood together with Manethrall Lithe, Warhaft Quaan, and the First Mark. Dim shadows shifted like fear and resolution across Prothall's face. His voice sounded weak with age as he said, 'Now is our last hour of open sky. The outpouring of Drool's army has ended. Those of us who will must go into the catacombs of Mount Thunder. We must take this chance to enter, while Drool's attention is still with his army-before he can perceive that we are not where he thinks us to be.
“Now is the time for those who would to lay down the Quest. There can be no retreat, or escape after failure, in the Wightwarrens. The Quest has already been bravely served. None who now lay it down need feel shame.”
Carefully, Quaan said, “Do you turn back, High Lord?”
“Ah, no,” sighed Prothall. “The hand of these times is upon me. I dare not falter.”
Then Quaan replied, “Can a Eoman of the Warward of Lord's Keep turn back when the High Lord leads? Never!”
And the Eoman echoed, “Never!”
Covenant wondered where Foamfollower was, what the Giant would do. For himself, he felt intuitively sure that he had no choice, that his dream would only release him by means of the Staff of Law. Or by death.
The next moment, Manethrall Lithe spoke to Prothall. Her head was back, and her slim form was primed as if she were prepared to explode. “I gave my word. Your horses will be tended. The Cords will preserve them in hope of your return. But I-” She shook her bound hair as if she were defying herself. “I will go with you. Under the ground.” Prothall's protest she stopped with a sharp gesture. “You set an example I must follow. How could I stand before a Ranyhyn again, if I come so far only to turn away when the peril becomes great? And I feel something more. The Ramen know the sky, the open earth. We know air and grass. We do not lose our way in darkness-the Ranyhyn have taught our feet to be sure. I feel that I will always know my way-outward. You may have need of me, though I am far from the Plains of Ra, and from myself.”
The shadows formed Prothall's face into a grimace, but he responded quietly, “I thank you, Manethrall. The Ramen are brave friends of the Land.” Casting his eyes over the whole company, he said, “Come, then. The outcome of our Quest awaits. Whatever may befall us-as long as there are people to sing, they will sing that in this dark hour the Land was well championed. Now be true to the last.” Without waiting for an answer, he went out of the bloody moonlight into the rift.
The warriors let Covenant follow behind the two Lords as if according him a position of respect. Prothall and Mhoram walked side by side; and when they neared the Look, Covenant could see from between them Foamfollower standing at the edge of the cliff. The Giant had his palms braced above his head on either wall. His
