The Wounded Land

guess more. Doubtless there are many questions to which they hold answers. But-”

Covenant interrupted him. “You know how to fight the Sunbane, and you're not going to tell me that either.”

His tone made Hamako wince. 'Surely your Dead have given to you all which may be wisely told. Ah, Thomas Covenant! My heart yearns to share with you the lore of the Waynhim. But they have instructed me strictly to forbear. For many reasons.

“They are ever loath to impart knowledge where they cannot control the use to which their knowledge is placed. For the ring-wielder, perhaps they would waive such considerations. But they have not the vision of the Dead, and fear to transgress the strictures which have guided the gifts of the Dead. This is the paradox of lore, that it must be achieved rather than granted, else it misleads. This only I am permitted to say: were I to reveal the purpose of this Demondim-spawn, that revelation could well prevent the accomplishment of his purpose.” Bamako's face held a look of supplication. “That purpose is greatly desirable.”

“At any rate, the ur-viles desire it greatly.” Frustration and weakness made Covenant sarcastic. “Maybe these Waynhim aren't as different as you think.”

He emptied the bowl, then tried to get to his feet. But Hamako held him back. Covenant had touched anger in the man. Stiffly, Hamako said, “I owe life and health and use to the succour of the Waynhim. Aye, and many things more. I will not betray their wishes to ease your mind, ring-wielder though you are.”

Covenant thrust against Hamako's grasp, but could not break free. After an effort like palsy, he collapsed back on the grass. “You said two days,” he panted. Futility enfeebled him. Two more days! “I've got to go. I'm already too far behind.”

“You have been deeply harmed,” Hamako replied. “Your flesh will not yet bear you. What urgency drives you?”

Covenant repressed a querulous retort. He could not denigrate Hamako's refusal to answer crucial questions; he had done such things himself. When he had mastered his gall, he said, “Three friends of mine were kidnapped by a Rider. They're on their way to Revelstone. If I don't catch up with them in time, they'll be killed.”

Hamako absorbed this information, then called again for one of the Waynhim. Another rapid conversation took place. Hamako seemed to be stressing something, urging something; the responses of the Waynhim sounded thoughtful, unpersuaded. But the creature ended on a note which satisfied Hamako. As the Waynhim departed, he turned back to Covenant.

“Durhisitar will consult the Weird of the Waynhim,” the man said, “but I doubt not that aid will be granted. No Waynhim will forget the redemption of dhraga — or the peril of the trap which ensnared you. Rest now, and fear not. This rhysh will accord you power to pursue your companions.”

“How? What can they do?”

“The Waynhim are capable of much,” returned Hamako, urging Covenant to lie back. “Rest, I say. Hold only this much trust, and put care aside. It will be bitter to you if you are offered aid, and are too weak to avail yourself of it.”

Covenant could not resist. The grass exuded a somnolent air. His body was leaden with weariness; and the roborant he had drunk seemed to undermine his anxiety. He allowed Hamako to settle him upon the bed. But as the man prepared to leave, Covenant said distantly, “At least tell me how I ended up here. The last thing I remember”- he did not look at Vain — “I was as good as dead. How did you save me?”

Hamako sat on the edge of the bed. Once again, his countenance wore an awkward sympathy. “That I will relate,” he said. “But I must tell you openly that we did not save you.”

Covenant jerked up his head. “No?”

“Softly.” Hamako pushed him flat again. “There is no need for this concern.”

Grabbing the man's arms with both hands, Covenant pulled their faces together. “What the hell am I doing alive?”

“Covenant,” said Hamako with a dry smile, “how may I tell the tale if you are so upwrought?”

Slowly, Covenant released him. “All right.” Spectres crowded his head; but he forced himself to relax. “Tell it.”

“It came to pass thus,” the man said. 'When dhraga Waynhim was set free by your hand, and learned that this Demondim-spawn would not obey the word of command, it desired you to share its flight. But it could not gain your comprehension. Therefore dhraga summoned all the haste which the harm to its body permitted, and sped to inform the rhysh of your plight. Dhraga had been made the bait of a snare. This snare-'

Covenant interrupted him. “What's a rhysh?”

'Ah, pardon me. For a score of turnings of the moon, I have heard no human voice but those warped by the Sunbane. I forget that you do not speak the Waynhim tongue.

“In our speech, the word rhysh means stead. It gives reference to a community of Waynhim. In all the Land, there are many hundred score Waynhim, but all live in rhysh of one or two score. Each rhysh is private unto itself-though I am told that communication exists between them. In the great war of Revelstone, nigh two score centuries past, five rhysh fought together against the ur-viles of the Despiser. But such sharing is rare. Each rhysh holds to itself and interprets the Weird in its own way. Long has this rhysh lived here, serving its own vision.”

Covenant wanted to ask the meaning of the term Weird; but he already regretted having halted Hamako's tale.

“The rhysh,” Hamako resumed, “was informed of your plight by dhraga. At once we set out to attempt your aid. But the distance was too great. When first dhraga was captured the decision was taken to make no rescue. It was bitter to all the rhysh to abandon one of its own. But we had cause to fear this snare. Long have we laboured all too near a strong number of those warped by the Sunbane.” Unexplained tears blurred his eyes. “Long have the ill souls that captured you striven to undo us. Therefore we believed the snare to be for us. Having no wish to slay or be slain, we abandoned dhraga to its doom.”

Covenant was struck by the closeness with which Hamako identified himself with the rhysh, and by the man's evident grief over the Sunbane victims. But he did not interrupt again.

“Also,” Hamako went on, suppressing his emotion, “for three days of desert sun prior to the setting of this snare, the Waynhim tasted Raver spoor.”

A Raver! Covenant groaned. Hellfire! That explained the trap. And the spider.

“Therefore we feared the snare deeply. But when we learned that the ring-wielder had fallen prey, we comprehended our error, and ran to succour you. But the distance,” he repeated, “was too great. We arrived only in time to behold the manner in which you redeemed yourself with wild magic.”

Redeemed-! An ache wrung Covenant's heart. No!

'Though your arm was terrible and black, your white ring spun a great fire. The bonds dropped from you. The wood was scattered. The Sunbane-warped were cast aside like chaff, and fled in terror. Rocks were riven from the escarpment. Only this Demondim-spawn stood scatheless amid the fire.

“The power ended as you fell. Perceiving your venom-ill, we bore you here, and the Waynhim tended you with all their cunning until your death receded from you. Here you are safe until your strength returns.”

Hamako fell silent. After studying Covenant for a moment, he rose to his feet and began to depart.

“The Raver?” Covenant gritted.

“All spoor of him is gone,” Hamako replied quietly. “I fear his purpose was accomplished.”

Or else he's afraid of me, Covenant rasped inwardly. He did not see Hamako leave the chamber. He was consumed by his thoughts. Damnation! First Marid, then the bees, now this. Each attack worse than the one before. And a Raver involved each time. Hell and blood! Why? Bile rose in him. Why else? Lord Foul did not want him dead, not if his ring might fall to a Raver. The Despiser wanted something entirely different. He wanted surrender, voluntary abdication. Therefore the purpose of these attacks lay in their effect on him, in the way they drew power from his delirium, violence over which he had no control.

No control!