The Illearth War

asked, “What about them? What did you learn?”

“Much or little,” Mhoram sighed, 'according to the uses of the knowledge. The importance of this lore cannot be mistaken-and yet its value eludes us.

'While you were last in the Land, we learned that the Ravers were still aboard-that like their master they had not been undone by the Ritual of Desecration, which Kevin Landwaster wreaked in his despair. Some knowledge of these beings had come to us through the old legends, the Lore of the First Ward, and the teachings of the Giants. We knew that they were named Sheol, Jehannum, and Herem, and that they lived without bodies, feeding upon the souls of others. When the Despiser was powerful enough to give them strength, they enslaved creatures or people by entering into their bodies, subduing their wills, and using the captured flesh to enact their master's purposes. Disguised in forms not their own, they were well hidden, and so could gain trust among their foes. By that means, many brave defenders of the Land were lured to their deaths in the age of the Old Lords.

“But I have learned more. There near Foul's Creche, I was beaten-badly overmastered. I fled through the Shattered Hills with only the staff of Variol my father between me and death, and could not prevent my foe from laying hands upon me. I had thought that I was in battle with a supreme loremaster of the ur-viles. But I learned-I learned otherwise.”

Lord Mhoram stared unseeing into the depths of the sky, remembering with grim, concentrated eyes what had happened to him. After a moment, he continued: “It was a Raver I fought-a Raver in the flesh of an ur-vile. The touch of its hand taught me much. In the oldest time-beyond the reach of our most hoary legends, even before the dim time of the coming of men to the Land, and the cruel felling of the One Forest-the Colossus of the Fall had both power and purpose. It stood on Landsdrop like a forbidding fist over the Lower Land, and with the might of the Forest denied a dark evil from the Upper Land.”

Abruptly, he broke into a slow song like a lament, a quiet declining hymn which told the story of the Colossus as the Lords had formerly known it, before the son of Variol had gained his new knowledge. In restrained sorrow over lost glory, the song described the Colossus of the Fall-the huge stone monolith, upraised in the semblance of a fist, which stood beside the waterfall where the River Landrider of the Plains of Ra became the Ruinwash of the Spoiled Plains.

Since a time that was ancient before Berek Lord-Fatherer lost half his hand, the Colossus had stood in lone sombre guard above the cliff of Landsdrop; and the oldest hinted legends of the Old Lords told of a ` time, during the ages of the One Forest's dominion in the Land, when that towering fist had held the power to forbid the shadow of Despite-held it, and did not wane until the felling of the Forest by that unsuspected enemy, man, had cut too deeply to be halted. But then, outraged and weakened by the slaughter of the trees, the Colossus had unclasped its interdict, and let the shadow free. From that time, from the moment of that offended capitulation, the Earth had slowly lost the power or the will or the chance to defend itself. So the burden of resisting the Despiser had fallen to a race which had brought the shadow upon itself, and the Earth lay under the outcome.

“But it was not Despite which the Colossus resisted,” Mhoram resumed when his song was done. 'Despite was the bane of men. It came with them into the Land from the cold anguish of the north, and from the hungry kingdom of the south. No, the Colossus of the Fall forbade another foe-three tree-and soil-hating brothers who were old in the Spoiled Plains before Lord Foul first cast his shadow there. They were triplets, the spawn of one birth from the womb of their long forgotten mother, and their names were samadhi, moksha, and turiya. They hated the Earth and all its growing things, just as Lord Foul hates all life and love. When the Colossus eased its interdict, they came to the Upper Land, and in their lust for ravage and dismay fell swiftly under the mastery of the Despiser. From that time, they have been his highest servants. They have performed treachery for him when he could not show his hand, and have fought for him when he would not lead his armies.

“It was samadhi, now named Sheol, who mastered the heart of Berek's liege- Sheol who slaughtered the champions of the Land, and drove Berek, half-unhanded and alone, to his extremity on the slopes of Mount Thunder. It was turiya and moksha, Herem and Jehannum, who lured the powerful and austere Demondim to their breeding dens, and to the spawning of the ur-viles. Now the three are united with Lord Foul again-united, and clamouring for the decimation of the Land. But alas-alas for my ignorance and weakness. I cannot foresee what they will do. I can hear their voices, loud with lust for the ripping of trees and the scorching of soil, but their intent eludes me. The Land is in such peril because its servants are weak.”

The rough eloquence of Mhoram's tone carried Covenant along, and under its spell the brilliant sunlight seemed to darken in his eyes. Grimly, unwillingly, he caught a sense of the looming and cruel ill which crept up behind the Land's spirit, defying its inadequate defenders. And when he looked at himself, he saw nothing but omens of futility. Other people who s had protested their weakness to him had suffered terribly at the hands of his own irreducible and immedicable impotence. Harshly-more harshly than he intended-he asked, “Why?”

Mhoram turned away from his private visions, and cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Covenant.

“Why are you weak?”

The Lord met this with a wry smile. “Ah, my friend — I had forgotten that you ask such questions. You lead me into long speeches. I think that if I could reply to you briefly, I would not need you so.” But Covenant did not relent, and after a pause Mhoram said, “Well, I cannot refuse to answer. But come-there is food waiting. Let us eat. Then I will make what answer I can.”

Covenant refused. Despite his hunger, he was unwilling to make any more concessions to the Land until he knew better where he stood.

Mhoram considered him for a moment, then replied in a measured tone, “If what you say is true-if Land and Earth and all are nothing more than a dream, a threat of madness for you-then still you must eat. Hunger is hunger, and need is need. How else-?”

“No.” Covenant dismissed the idea heavily.

At that, the gold flecks in Mhoram's eyes flared, as if they reflected the passion of the sun, and he said levelly, “Then answer that question yourself. Answer it, and save us. If we are helpless and unfriended, it is your doing. Only you can penetrate the mysteries which surround us.”

“No,” Covenant repeated. He recognized what Mhoram was saying, and refused to tolerate it. No, he responded to the heat of Mhoram's look. That's too much like blaming me for being a leper. It's not my fault. “You go too far.”

“Ur-Lord,” Mhoram replied, articulating each word distinctly, “there is peril upon the Land. Distance will not restrain me.”

'That isn't what I meant. I meant you're taking what I said too far. I'm not the-the shaper. I'm not in control. I'm just another victim. All I know is what you tell me.

“What I want to know is why you keep trying to make me responsible. What makes you any weaker than I am? You've got the Staff of Law. You've got the rhadhamaerl and lillianrill. What makes you so bloody weak?”

The heat slowly faded from the Lord's gaze. Folding his arms so that his staff was clasped across his chest, he smiled crookedly. 'Your question grows with each asking. If I require you to ask again, I fear that nothing-less than a Giant's tale will suffice for answer. Forgive me, my friend. I know that our peril cannot be laid on your head. Dream or no-there is no difference for us. We must serve the Land.

'Now, I must first remind you that the rhadhamaerl and lillianrill are another question, separate from the weakness of the Lords. The stone-lore of the rhadhamaerl, and the wood-lore of the lillianrill, have been preserved from past ages by the people of Stonedown and Woodhelven. In their exile after the Ritual of Desecration, the people of the Land lost much of the richness of their lives. They were sorely bereft, and could cling only to that lore which enabled them to endure. Thus, when they returned to the Land, they brought with them those whose work in exile was to preserve and use the lore-Gravelingases of the rhadhamaerl, and Hirebrands of the lillianrill. It is the work of Hirebrand and Gravelingas to make the lives of the villages bounteous-warm in winter and plentiful in summer, true to the song of the Land.

'The Lore of High Lord Kevin Landwaster is another matter. That knowledge is the concern of the Loresraat and the Lords.

“The age of the Old Lords, before Lord Foul broke into open war with Kevin son of Loric, was among the