The Wounded Land

gold.

That steadied him. He looked at the na-Mhoram again, and made an intuitive decision not to raise the issue of the door. He had too many other dangers to consider.

“Doubtless,” Gibbon said with perfect blandness, “your neck gives you pain. It will pass. Swarte employed excessive force. I have reprimanded her.”

“How-?” The hurt seemed to cramp his voice. He could barely squeeze out a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been out?”

“It is now midday of the second day of rain.”

Damnation, Covenant groaned. At least one whole day. He tried to estimate how many people the Clave had killed in that period of time, but could not. Perhaps they had killed Brinn-He thrust the idea away.

“Akkasri,” he breathed, filling the name with accusation.

Gibbon nodded calmly. “Akkasri na-Mhoram-in.”

“You lied to me.”

The na-Mhoram's hebetude seemed impervious to offense. “Perhaps. My intent was not false. You came to Revelstone rife with hostility and suspicion. I sought means to allay your mistrust-and at the same time to ward against you if your purpose was evil. Therefore I informed you that Akkasri was of the na-Mhoram-cro. I desired to win your faith. In that I was not false. Guised as a na-Mhoram-cro, Akkasri could answer many questions without presenting to you the apparent threat of power. This I believed because of your treatment of Memla na-Mhoram-in. I regret that the outcome went amiss.”

This sounded plausible; but Covenant rejected it with a shake of his head. Immediately, a stab of soreness made him grimace. Muttering darkly to himself, he massaged his neck. Then he changed the subject, hoping to unsettle Gibbon. “What the hell are you doing with one of the Haruchai in your goddamn prison?”

But the na-Mhoram appeared immune to discomfiture. Folding his arms, he said, 'I sought to withhold that knowledge from you. Already you believe that you have sufficient cause for mistrust. I desired that you should have no more such reasons until you learned to see the sovereign importance of our work.'

Abruptly, Gibbon went in another direction. “Halfhand, did the Haruchai name you truly? Are you indeed ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and white gold wielder?”

“What difference does that make?” growled Covenant.

“That name is mentioned often in the ancient legends. After the First Betrayer, Thomas Covenant was the greatest of all a-Jeroth's servants.”

“That's ridiculous.” This new distortion of the Land's history dismayed him. But he was determined to evade Gibbon's snare. “How could I possibly be that Thomas Covenant? Where I come from, the name's common. So are white gold rings.”

Gibbon gazed redly at him; but Covenant did not blink. A lie for a lie, he rasped. Finally, the na-Mhoram admitted, “You have not the look of such age.” Then he went on, 'But I was speaking of the Haruchai.

“Halfhand, we have not one Haruchai in our hold. We have threescore and seven.”

Three-! Covenant could not keep the horror off his face.

“There.” Gibbon gestured at him. “I had cause to fear your response.”

“By God!” Covenant spat fiercely. “You ought to fear the Haruchai! Don't you know what you're dealing with?”

“I respect them entirely.” The na-Mhoram's dull calm was complete. “Their blood is potent and precious.”

They were my friends! Covenant could hardly refrain from shouting aloud. What in the name of all bloody hellfire and damnation do you think you're doing?

“Halfhand, you know that our work requires blood,” Gibbon continued reasonably. 'As the Sunbane grows, the Banefire must grow to resist it. We are long beyond the time when the people of the Land could meet all our need.

“Five generations past, when Offin na-Mhoram led the Clave, he was faced with the defeat of our dream. He had neared the limit of what the Land could supply, and it did not suffice. I will not dwell on his despair. It is enough to say that at that time-by chance or mercy-the Haruchai came to our aid.”

He shrugged. 'It is true that they did not intend the aid we found in them. Five came from the Westron Mountains in the name of their legends, seeking the Council. But Offin did not flinch his opportunity. He took the five captive.

“With the passage of time, five more came in search of their lost kindred. These also were captured. They were hardy and feral, but the power of the Banefire mastered them. And later more Haruchai came seeking the lost. First by five, then by ten, then by the score they came, with long lapses between. They are a stubborn people, and generation after generation they did not relent. Generation after generation, they were captured.” Covenant thought he saw a glint of amusement in Gibbon's red eyes. 'As their numbers increased, so grew the Banefire. Thus not a one of them prevailed or escaped.

“Their most recent foray comprised five score-a veritable army in their sight.” Gibbon's blandness sounded like the serenity of a pure heart. “Threescore and seven remain.”

An abomination. The na-Mhoram's tale made Covenant ache for violence. He could hardly muffle his vehemence as he asked, “Is this supposed to convince me that you're my friend?”

“I do not seek your conviction here,” replied Gibbon. 'I seek only to explain, so that you will comprehend why I sought to withhold this knowledge-and why Swarte struck you when you beheld the Haruchai, You must perceive the extent of our consecration to our task. We count any one life-or any score of lives-or any myriad-as nothing against the life of the Land. The Sunbane is an immense ill, and we must spend immensely to combat it.

“Also I desire you to understand that your aid — the service of your white ring — promises the redemption of the Land, the saving of many times many lives. Does our shedding distress you? Then aid us, so that the need for blood may be brought to an end. You cannot serve the Land in any other way.”

Covenant held Gibbon with a glare. Through his teeth, he breathed, “I knew the original Mhoram. The last time I was here, I made him choose between the hope of the Land and the life of one little girl. He chose the girl.” No words could articulate all the bile in his mouth. “You're worse than the Sunbane.”

He expected the na-Mhoram to retort; but Gibbon only blinked, and said, “Then it is sooth that you are the Unbeliever?”

“Yes!” Covenant snapped, casting subterfuge and safety aside. “And I'm not going to let you commit genocide on the Haruchai.”

“Ah.” Gibbon sighed, rising to his feet, “I feared that we would come to this,” He made a placating gesture. “I do not seek your harm. But I see only one means by which we may win your aid. I will ready the Clave for a soothtell. It will reveal the truth you covet. Lies will be exposed, hearts laid bare.”

He moved to the doorway. “Rest now, Halfhand. Eat-regain your strength. Walk where you wish. I ask only that you eschew the Aumbrie and the hold until that which stands between us has been resolved. I will send for you when the soothtell has been prepared.” Without waiting for an answer, he left the suite.

Soothtell, Covenant snarled. His inner voice sounded like a croak. By God, yes!

Ignoring the pain in his neck, he threw off the blankets and went to the next room in search of food.

There was a fresh tray on the table. The room had been closed against the rain, and the air reeked of smoke. Strangely certain now that the Clave would not try to poison or drug nun, he attacked the food, wolfing it down to appease his empty rage. But he did not touch the flask of metheglin; he did not want anything to dull his alertness, hamper his reflexes. He sensed that Gibbon's soothtell would be a crisis, and he meant to survive it.

He felt a compelling need to leave his suite and roam Revelstone, measuring his tension and resolve against the huge Keep. But he did not. Exerting a leper's discipline, he sat down in one of the chairs, stretched his legs to another, rested his sore neck on the chairback, and forced himself to be still. Muscle by muscle, he loosened his body, relaxed his forehead, softened his pulse, in an effort to achieve the concentration and poise he required in order to be ready.