The Illearth War

Why will the very rocks not erupt

for their own cleansing,

or crumble into dust for shame?

While echoes of the song's grief ran over the lake, she met Covenant's gaze for the first time since she had begun her tale.

“Beloved,” she said in a low, thrilling voice, 'I was transformed-restored to life. At the touch of those waters, the blindness or ignorance of my heart fell away. My fear melted, and I was joined to the communion of the Ranyhyn. In an instant of vision, I understood-everything. I saw that in honour of your promise I had been brought to the horserite of Kelenbhrabanal, Father of Horses-a Ranyhyn ritual enacted once each generation to pass on and perpetuate their great legend, the tale of mighty Kelenbhrabanal's death in the jaws of Fangthane the Render. I saw that the turmoiled running of the Ranyhyn was their shared grief and rage and frenzy at the Father's end.

'For Kelenbhrabanal was the Father of Horses, Stallion of the First Herd. The Plains of Ra were his demesne and protectorate. He led the Ranyhyn in their great war against the wolves of Fangthane.

'But the war continued without issue, and the stench of shed blood and rent flesh became a sickness in the Stallion's nostrils. Therefore he made his way to Fangthane. He stood before the Render, and said, `Let this war end. I smell your hate-I know that you must have victims, else in your passion you will consume yourself. I will be your victim. Slaughter me, and let my people live in peace. Appease your hate on me, and end this war.' And Fangthane agreed. So Kelenbhrabanal bared his throat to the Renders teeth, and soaked the earth with his sacrifice.

'But Fangthane did not keep his word-the wolves attacked again. The Ranyhyn were leaderless, heart- stricken. They could not fight well. The remnant of the Ranyhyn was compelled to flee into the mountains. They could not return to their beloved Plains until they had gained the service of the Ramen, and with that aid had driven the wolves away.

“Thus each generation of the Ranyhyn holds its horserite to preserve the tale of the Stallion-to hold pure in memory all their pride at his self-sacrifice, and all their grief at his death, and all their rage at the Despite which betrayed him. Thus they drink of the mind-uniting waters, and hammer out against the ground the extremity of their passion for one day and one night. And thus, when I had tasted the water of the tam, I ran and wept and raged with them throughout the long exaltation of that night. Heart and mind and soul and all, I gave myself to a dream of Fangthane's death.”

Listening to her, clinging to her face with his eyes, Covenant felt himself knotted by the clench of unreleasable grief. She was the woman who had offered herself to him. He understood her passion now, understood the danger she was in. And her elsewhere glance was drawing into focus; already he could feel conflagrations blazing at the corners of her vision.

His dread of that focus gave him the impetus to speak. With his voice rent between fear and love, he wrenched out hoarsely, “What I don't understand is what Foul gets out of all this.”

Twenty Five: The Seventh Ward

FOR a long moment, High Lord Elena gripped the Staff of Law and glared down at him. Focus crackled on the verge of her gaze; it was about to lash out and scourge him. But then she seemed to recollect who he was. Slowly, the passion dimmed in her face, went behind in inward veil. She lowered herself to her seat in the boat. Quietly, dangerously, she asked, “All this? Do you ask what Lord Foul gains from what I have told you?”

He answered her with quivering promptitude. Careless now of the illimitable range of implications with which the echoes multiplied his voice, he hastened to explain himself, ameliorate at least in this way the falseness of his position.

“That, too. You said it yourself-that old, unsufferable bargain I made with the Ranyhyn put you where you are. Never mind what I did to your mother. That, too. But it's really this time I'm thinking about. You summoned me, and we're on our way to the Seventh Ward-and I want to know what Foul gets out of it. He wouldn't waste a chance like this”

“This is no part of his intent,” she replied coldly. “The choice to summon you was mine, not his.”

'Right. That's the way he works. But what made you decide to summon me? I mean aside from the fact that you were going to call me anyway at sometime or other because I have the simple misfortune to wear a white gold wedding ring and have two fingers missing. What made you decide then-when you did?'

“Dukkha Waynhim gave us new knowledge of Fangthane's power.”

“New knowledge, by hell!” Covenant croaked. “Do you think that was an accident? Foul released him.” He shouted the word released, and its echoes jabbered about him like dire significances. “He released that poor suffering devil because he knew exactly what you would do about it. And he wanted me to be in the Land then, at that precise time, not sooner or later.”

The importance of what he was saying penetrated her; she began to hear him seriously. But her voice remained noncommittal as she asked, “Why? How are his purposes served?”

For a moment, he shied away from what he was thinking. “How should I know? If I knew, I might be able to fight it somehow. Aside from the idea that I'm supposed to destroy the Land-” But Elena's grave attention stopped him. For her sake, he mustered his courage. 'Well, look at what's happened because of me. I did something to Loric's krill- therefore Amok showed up-therefore you're going to try to unlock the Seventh Ward. It's as neat as clockwork. If you'd summoned me sooner, then when we got to this point you wouldn't be under such pressure to use lore you don't understand. And if all this had happened later, you wouldn't have come here at all-you would have been too busy fighting the war.

“As for me”-he swallowed and looked away for an instant, then took a step closer to the root of his bargain-'this is the only way I can possibly get off the hook. If things had gone differently, there would have been a lot more pressure on me-from everywhere-to learn how to use this ring. And Joan But this way you've been distracted-you're thinking about the Seventh Ward instead of wild magic or whatever. And Foul doesn't want me to learn what white gold is good for. I might use it against him.

“Don't you see it? Foul put us right where we are. He released dukkha so that we would be right here now. He must have a reason. He likes to destroy people through the things that make them hope. That way he can get them to desecrate-No wonder this is the dark of the moon.” He was poignantly conscious of the way in which he endangered his own cause as he concluded softly, “Elena, the Seventh Ward might be the worst thing that has happened yet.”

But she had her answer ready. “No, beloved. I do not believe it. High Lord Kevin formed his Wards in a time before his wisdom fell into despair. Fangthane's hand is not in them. It may be that the Power of Command is perilous-but it is not ill.”

Her statement did not convince him. But he did not have the heart to protest. The echoes placed too much stress on even his simplest words. Instead, he sat gazing morosely at her feet while he scratched at the itch of his wedding band. As the echoes died-as the boat slid gently to a stop in the water-he felt that he had missed a chance for rectitude.

For a time, no voice arose to move the boat.

Covenant and Elena sat in silence, studying their private thoughts. But then she spoke again. Softly, reverently, she recited the words of Lord Kevin's Lament. The boat glided onward again.

Shortly the craft rounded another column, and Covenant found himself staring at a high, sparkling, silent waterfall ahead. Its upper reaches disappeared into the shadows of the cavern's ceiling. But the torrents which poured noiselessly down its ragged surface caught the fiery rocklight at thousands of bright points, so that the falls looked like a cascade of hot, rich, red gems.

The boat flowed smoothly on Elena's recitation toward a rock levee at one side of the waterfall, and slid up