ability to endure intact.
But the sky above-an openness of which he had hardly been aware-was cut off as if by an axe, and replaced by the huge stone weight of the mountain, so heavy that its aura alone was crushing. In his ears, its mass seemed to rumble like silent thunder. The river's roaring mounted in the gullet of the cave, adumbrated itself as if the constricted pain of the current were again constricted into keener and louder pain. The spray was as thick as rain; ahead of the company, Birinair's flame burned dim and penumbral, nearly quenched by the wet air. And the surface of the roadway was hazardous, littered with holes and rocks and loose shale. Covenant strained his attention as if he were listening for a note of sense in the gibberish of his experience, and under this alertness he wore his hope of escape like a buckler.
In more ways than one, he felt that it was his only protection. The company seemed pathetically weak, defenceless against the dark-dwelling Cavewights and ur-viles. Stumbling through night broken only at the solitary point of Birinair's fire, he predicted that the company would be observed soon. Then a report would go to Drool, and the inner forces of the Wightwarrens would pour forth, and the army would be recalled-what chance had Foamfollower against so many thousands of Cavewights? — and the company would be crushed like a handful of presumptuous ants. And in that moment of resolution or death would come his own rescue or defeat. He could not envision any other outcome.
With these thoughts, he walked as if he were listening for the downward rush of an avalanche.
After some distance, he realized that the sound of the river was changing. The roadway went inward almost horizontally, but the river was falling into the depths of the rock. The current was becoming a cataract, an abysmal plummet like a plunge into death. The sound of it receded slowly as the river crashed farther and farther away from the lip of the chasm.
Now there was less spray in the air to dim Birinair's flame. With less dampness to blur it, the stone wall showed more of its essential granite. Between the wall and the chasm, Covenant clung to the reassurance of the roadway. When he put a foot down hard, he could feel the solidity of the ledge jolt from his heel to the base of his spine.
Around him, the cave had become like a tunnel except for the chasm on the left. He fought his apprehension by concentrating on his feet and the Hirebrand's flame. The river fell helplessly, and its roar faded like fingers scraping for a lost purchase. Soon he began to hear the moving noises of the company. He turned to try to see the opening of the Gorge, but either the road had been curving gradually, or the opening had been lost in the distance; he saw nothing behind him but night as unmitigated as the blackness ahead.
But after a time he felt that the looming dark was losing its edge. Some change in the air attenuated the midnight of the catacombs. He stared ahead, trying to clarify the perception. No one spoke; the company hugged its silence as if in fear that the walls were capable of hearing.
Shortly, however, Birinair halted. Covenant, Lithe, and the Lords quickly joined the old Hirebrand. With him stood Terrel.
“Warrenbridge lies ahead,” said the Bloodguard. “Korik watches. There are sentries.” He spoke softly, but after the long silence his voice sounded careless of hazards.
“Ah, I feared that,” whispered Prothall. “Can we approach?”
“Rocklight makes dark shadows. The sentries stand atop the span. We can approach within bowshot.”
Mhoram called quietly for Quaan while Prothall asked, “How many sentries?”
Terrel replied, “Two.”
“Only two?”
The Bloodguard shrugged fractionally. “They suffice. Between them lies the only entrance to the Wightwarrens.”
But Prothall breathed again, “Only two?” He seemed to be groping to recognize a danger he could not see.
While the High Lord considered, Mhoram spoke rapidly to Quaan. At once, the Warhaft turned to his Eoman, and shortly two warriors stood by Terrel, unslinging their bows. They were tall, slim Woodhelvennin, and in the pale light their limbs hardly looked brawny enough to bend their stiff bows.
For a moment longer, Prothall hesitated, pulling at his beard as if he were trying to tug a vague impression into consciousness. But then he thrust his anxiety down, gave Terrel a sharp nod. Briskly, the Bloodguard led the two warriors away toward the attenuated night ahead.
Prothall whispered intently to the company, “Have a care. Take no risk without my order. My heart tells me there is peril here-some strange danger which Kevin's Lore names-but now I cannot recall it. Ah, memory! That knowledge is so dim and separate from what we have known since the Desecration. Think, all of you. Take great care.”
Walking slowly, he went forward beside Birinair, and the company followed.
Now the light became steadily clearer-an orange-red, rocky glow like that which Covenant had seen long ago in his brief meeting with Drool in Kiril Threndor. Soon the Questers could see that in a few hundred yards the cave took a sharp turn to the right, and at the same time the ceiling of the tunnel rose as if there were a great vault beyond the bend.
Before they had covered half the distance, Korik joined them to guide them to a safe vantage. On the way, he pointed out the position of Terrel and the two warriors. They had climbed partway up the right wall, and were kneeling on a ledge in the angle of the bend.
Korik led the company close to the river cleft until they reached a sheer stone wall. The chasm appeared to leave them-vanish straight into the rock which turned the road toward the right-but light shone over this rock as well as through the chasm. The rock was not a wall, but rather a huge boulder sitting like a door ajar before the entrance to an immense chamber. Terrel had taken the two warriors to a position from which they could fire their shafts over this boulder.
Korik guided Prothall, Mhoram, and Covenant across the shadow cast by the boulder until they could peer to the left around its edge. Covenant found himself looking into a high, flat-floored cavern. The chasm of the river swung around behind the boulder, and cut at right angles to its previous direction straight through the centre of the vault, then disappeared into the far wall. So the roadway went no farther along the river's course. But there were no other openings in the outer half of the cavern.
At that point, the chasm was at least fifty feet wide. The only way, across it was a massive bridge of native stone which filled the middle of the vault.
Carefully, Mhoram whispered, “Only two. They are enough. Pray for a true aim. There will be no second chance.”
At first, Covenant saw no guards. His eyes were held by two pillars of pulsing, fiery rocklight which stood like sentries on either side of the bridge crest. But he forced himself to study the bridge, and shortly he discerned two black figures on the span, one beside each pillar. They were nearly invisible so close to the rocklight.
“Ur-viles,” the High Lord muttered. “By the Seven! I must remember! Why are they not Cavewights? Why does Drool waste ur-viles on such duty?”
Covenant hardly listened to Prothall's uneasiness. The rocklight demanded his attention; it seemed to hold affinities for him that he could not guess. By some perverse logic of its pulsations, he felt himself made aware of his wedding band. The Droolish, powerful glow made his hand itch around his ring like a reminder that its promise of cherishing had failed. Grimly, he clenched his fist.
Prothall gripped himself, said heavily to Korik, “Make the attempt. We can only fail.”
Without a word, Korik nodded up at Terrel.
Together, two bowstrings thrummed flatly.
The next instant, the ur-viles were gone. Covenant caught a glimpse of them dropping like black pebbles into the chasm.
The High Lord sighed his relief. Mhoram turned away from the vault, threw a salute of congratulation toward the two archers, then hurried back to give explanations and orders to the rest of the company. From the Eoman came low murmured cheers, and the noises of a relaxation of battle tension.
“Do not lower your guard!” Prothall hissed. “The danger is not past. I feel it.”
Covenant stood where he was; staring into the rocklight, clenching his fist. Something that he did not understand was happening.
“Ur-Lord,” Prothall asked softly, “what do you see?”
