main Keep, joined only by wooden crosswalks. Covenant remembered that a courtyard lay open to the sky within the granite walls which sealed the base of the tower to the Keep; and the megalithic stone gates under the watchtower were repeated beyond the courtyard, so that Revelstone possessed a double defence for its only entrance. But as he approached the tower, he was shocked to see that the outer gates lay in rubble. Sometime in the distant past, Revelstone had needed its inner defence.
The abutments over the ruined gates were deserted, as were the fortifications and embrasures above it; the whole tower seemed empty. Perhaps it was no longer defensible. Perhaps the Clave saw no need to fear the entry of strangers. Or perhaps this air of desertion was a trap to catch the unwary.
Memla headed directly into the tunnel, which led to the courtyard; but Covenant slipped off Din's back, lowering himself by handholds of hair. She stopped, looked back at him in surprise. “Here is Revelstone,” she said. “Do you not wish to enter?”
“First things first.” His shoulders were tight with apprehension. “Send the na-Mhoram out here. I want him to tell me in person that I'll be safe.”
“He is the na-Mhoram!” she snapped indignantly. “He does not come or go according to the whims of others.”
“Good for him.” He controlled his tension with sarcasm. “The next time I have a whim, I'll keep that in mind.” She opened her mouth to retort. He cut her off. “I've already been taken prisoner twice. It's not going to happen to me again. I'm not going in there until I talk to the na-Mhoram.” On the spur of a sudden intuition, he added, “Tell him I understand the necessity of freedom as well as he does. He can't get what he wants by coercion. He's just going to have to cooperate.”
Memla glared at him for a moment, then muttered, “As you wish.” With a gruff command, she sent Din into the tunnel, leaving Covenant alone with Vain.
Covenant took hold of his anxiety, and waited. Across the peaks, the sun was setting in green and lavender; the shadow of Revelstone spread out over the monstrous verdure like an aegis of darkness. Watching the tower for signs of hostile intent, he observed that no pennons flew from its crown. None were needed: the hot red shaft of Sunbane-force marked Revelstone as the home of the Clave more surely than any oriflamme.
Unable to possess himself in patience, he growled to Vain, “I'm damned if I know what you want here. But I've got too many other problems. You'll have to take care of yourself.”
Vain did not respond. He seemed incapable of hearing.
Then Covenant saw movement in the tunnel. A short man wearing a stark black robe and a red chasuble came out past the ruined gates. He carried an iron crozier as tall as himself, with an open triangle at one end. He did not use the hood of his robe; his round face, bald head, and beardless cheeks were exposed. His visage was irenic, formed in a mould of habitual beatitude or boredom, as if he knew from experience that nothing in life could ruffle his composure. Only his eyes contradicted the hebetude of his mien. They were a piercing red.
“Halfhand,” he said dully. “Be welcome in Revelstone. I am Gibbon na-Mhoram,”
The simple blandness of the man's manner made Covenant uncomfortable. “Memla tells me I'm safe here,” he said. “How am I supposed to believe that, when you've been trying to kill me ever since I first set foot in the Land?”
“You represent great peril to us, Halfhand.” Gibbon spoke as if he were half asleep. “But I have come to believe that you also represent great promise. In the name of that promise, I accept the risk of the peril. The Land has need of every power. I have come to you alone so that you may see the truth of what I say. You are as safe among us as your own purposes permit.”
Covenant wanted to challenge that assertion; but he was not ready to hazard a test. He changed his tack. “Where's Santonin?”
Gibbon did not blink. 'Memla na-Mhoram-in spoke to me of your belief that your companions have fallen into the hands of a Rider. I know nothing of this. Santonin has been long from Revelstone. We feel concern for him. His
Covenant had no answer. He scowled at the na-Mhoram, and remained silent.
The man showed no uncertainty or confusion. He nodded toward Vain, and said, “Now I must ask you concerning your companion. His power is evident, but we do not comprehend him.”
“You see him,” Covenant muttered. “You know as much about him as I do.”
Gibbon permitted his gaze to widen. But he did not mention his incredulity. Instead, he said, “My knowledge of him is nothing. Therefore I will not permit him to enter Revelstone.”
Covenant shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you can keep him out, you're welcome.”
“That will be seen.” The na-Mhoram gestured toward the tunnel. “Will you accompany me?”
For one more moment, Covenant hesitated. Then he said, “I don't think I have much choice.”
Gibbon nodded ambiguously, acknowledging either Covenant's decision or his lack of options, and turned toward the tower.
Walking behind the na-Mhoram, Covenant entered the tunnel as if it were a gullet into peril. His shoulders hunched involuntarily against his fear that people might leap on him from the openings in the ceiling. But nothing attacked him. Amid the echoing of his footsteps, he passed through to the courtyard.
There he saw that the inner gates were intact. They were open only wide enough to admit the na-Mhoram. Members of the Clave stood guard on the fortifications over the entrance.
Motioning for Covenant to follow him, Gibbon slipped between the huge stone doors.
Hellfire, Covenant rasped, denying his trepidation. With Vain at his back, he moved forward.
The gates were poised like jaws. The instant he passed them, they closed with a hollow granite thud, sealing Vain outside.
There was no light. Revelstone crouched around Covenant, as dark as a prison.
Eighteen: Revelstone in Rain
“GIBBON!” Fear and ire lashed Covenant's voice.
“Ah, your pardon,” the na-Mhoram replied out of the darkness. “You desire light. A moment.”
Robes rustled around Covenant. He flung his arms wide to ward them off; but they did not assail him. Then he heard a word of command. Red flame burst from the triangle of a
“Your pardon,” Gibbon repeated. “Revelstone is a place of caution. The Clave is unjustly despised by many, as your own mistrust demonstrates. Therefore we admit strangers warily.”
Groping to recover his inner balance, Covenant grated, “Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe there's a reason why people don't like you?”
“Their mislike is natural,” said the na-Mhoram, unperturbed. “Their lives are fear from dawn to dusk, and they do not behold the fruit of our labour. How should they believe us when we say that without us they would perish? We do not resent this. But we take caution against it.”
Gibbon's explanation sounded dangerously plausible. Yet Covenant distrusted the na-Mhoram's lack of passion. Because he could think of no apt retort, he simply nodded when Gibbon asked, “Will you come?” At the na-Mhoram's side, he walked down the hall, flanked by members of the Clave carrying fires.
The hall was as large as a cavern; it had been formed by Giants to accommodate Giants. But Gibbon soon turned from it into a side passage, and began to ascend broad stairways toward the upper levels of the city. Revelstone was as complex as a maze because it had been laid out according to criteria known only to the long- dead Giants. However, it was familiar to Covenant; though he had not been here for ten of his years, he found that he knew his way. He took a grim satisfaction from the fact.
Loyal to the Keep he remembered, he followed Gibbon upward and away from the spine of Revelstone. Once the entry hall was well behind them, their way was lit by torches smoking in sconces along the walls. Before long, they entered a corridor marked at long intervals by granite doors with wooden handles. Opposite one of them stood a hooded figure wearing a red robe but no chasuble. When the na-Mhoram approached, the figure opened the door
