bravest and gladdest and strongest of all the times of the Land. Kevin's Lore was mighty with Earthpower, and pure with Landservice. Health and gaiety flowered in the Land, and the bright Earth jewel of Andelain bedizened the Land's heart with precious woods and stones. That was a time ”Yet it came to an end. Despair darkened Kevin, and in the Ritual of Desecration he destroyed that which he loved, intending to destroy the Despiser as well. But before the end, he was touched with prophecy or foresight, and found means to save much of power and beauty. He warned the Giants and the Ranyhyn, so that they might flee. He ordered the Bloodguard into safety. And he left his Lore for later ages-hid it in Seven Wards so that it would not fall into wrong or unready hands. The First Ward he gave to the Giants, and when the exile was ended they gave it to the first of the new Lords, the forebearers of this Council. In turn, these Lords conceived the Oath of Peace and carried it to all the people of the Land-an Oath to guard against Kevin's destroying passion. And these Lords, our forebearers, swore themselves and their followers in fealty and service to the Land and the Earthpower.
“Now, my friend, you know we have found the Second Ward. The Two contain much knowledge and much power, and when they are mastered they will lead us to the Third Ward. In this way, mastery will guide us until all Kevin's Lore is ours. But we fail we fail to penetrate. How can I say it? We translate the speech of the Old Lords. We learn the skills and rites and songs of the Lore. We study Peace, and devote ourselves to the life of the Land. And yet something lacks. In some way, we miscomprehend-we do not suffice. Only a part of the power of this knowledge answers to our touch. We can learn nothing of the other Wards-and little of the Seven Words which evoke the Earthpower. Something-ur-Lord, it is something in us which fails. I feel it in my heart. We lack. We have not the stature of mastery.”
The Lord fell silent, musing with his head down and his cheek pressed against his staff. Covenant watched him for a time. The warmth of the sun and the cool breeze seemed to underscore Mhoram's stern self judgment. Revelstone itself dwarfed the people who inhabited it.
Yet the Lord's influence or example strengthened Covenant. At last, he found the courage to ask his most important question. “Then why am I here? Why did he let you summon me? Doesn't he want the white gold?”
Without raising his head, Mhoram said, “Lord Foul is not yet ready to defeat you. The wild magic still surpasses him. Instead, he strives to make you destroy yourself. I have seen it.”
“Seen it?” Covenant echoed softly, painfully,
'In grey visions I have caught glimpses of the Despiser's heart. In this matter, I speak from sure comprehension. Even now, Lord Foul believes that his might is not equal to the wild magic. He is not yet ready to battle you.
'Remember that forty years ago Drool Rockworm held both Staff and Stone. Desiring still more power desiring all power-he exerted himself against you in ways which the Despiser would not have chosen ways which were wasteful or foolish. Drool was mad. And Lord Foul had no wish to teach him wisdom.
'Matters are otherwise now. Lord Foul wastes no power, takes no risks which do not gain his ends. He seeks indirectly to make you do his bidding. If it comes to the last, and you are still unmastered, he will fight you-but only when he is sure of victory. Until that time, he will strive to bend your will so that you will choose to strike against the Land-or to withhold your hand from our defence, so that he will be free to destroy us.
“But he will make no open move against you now. He fears the wild magic. White gold is not bound by the law of Time, and he must prevent its use until he can know that it will not be used against him.”
Covenant heard the truth of Mhoram's words. The Despiser had told him much the same thing, high on Kevin's Watch, when he had first appeared in the Land. He shivered under the livid memory of Lord Foul's contempt-shivered and felt cold, as if behind the clean sunlight over Revelstone blew the dank mist of Despite, dampening his soul with the smell of attar, filling his ears on a level just beyond hearing with the rumble of an avalanche. Looking into Mhoram's eyes, he knew that he had to speak truly as well, reply as honestly as he could.
“I don't have any choice.” Even this made him want to duck his head in shame, but he forced himself to hold the Lord's gaze. “I'll have to do it that way. Even if that's not the one good answer-even if madness is not the only danger in dreams. Even if I believed in this wild magic. I haven't got one idea how to use it.”
With an effort, Mhoram smiled gently. But the sombreness of his glance overshadowed his smile. He met Covenant's eyes unwaveringly, and when he spoke, his voice was sad. “Ah, my friend, what will you do?”
The uncritical softness of the question caught Covenant by the throat. He was not prepared for such sympathy. With difficulty, he answered, “I'll survive.”
Mhoram nodded slowly, and a moment later he turned away, back toward the room. As he reached the door, he said, “I am late. The Council waits for me. I must go.”
But before the Lord could leave, Covenant called after him, “Why aren't you the High Lord?” He was trying to find some way to thank Mhoram. “Don't they appreciate you around here?”
Over his shoulder, Mhoram replied simply, “My time has not yet come.” Then he left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
Five: Dukkha
COVENANT turned back to the southward view from Revelstone. He had many things to think about, and no easy way to grasp them. But already his senses seemed to be swinging into consonance with the Land. He could smell the crops in the fields east of him they were nearly ready for harvesting-and see the inner ripeness of the distant trees. He found autumn in the way the sunlight stroked his face. Such sensations accented the excitement in his veins, but they confused his efforts to deal clearly with his situation. No leper, he thought painfully, no leper should be asked to live in such a healthy world.
Yet he could not deny it; he was moved by Mhoram's account of the dilemmas of the Lords. He was moved by the Land, and by the people who served it though they made him look so small to himself. Sourly, he left the balcony, and scanned the tray of food which had been set for him on a stone table in the centre of his sitting room. The soup and stew still steamed, reminding him how hungry he was.
No. He could not afford to make any more concessions. Hunger was like nerve-health- illusion, deception, dream. He could not A knock at the door interrupted him. For a moment, he stood still, irresolute. He did not want to talk to anyone until he had had more time to think. But at the same time he did not want to be alone. The threat of madness was always at its worst when he was alone.
Keep moving, don't look back, he muttered bitterly to himself, echoing a formula which had served him ambiguously at best.
He went to open the door.
Standing in the outer hallway was Hile Troy.
He was dressed as Covenant had seen him before, with his sunglasses firmly in place; and again the slight smile on his lips looked vaguely mysterious and apologetic. A sharp pang of anxiety joined the tingling of Covenant's blood. He had been trying not to think about this man.
“Come on,” Troy said. His tone was full of the power of command. “The Lords are doing something you ought to see.”
Covenant shrugged to disguise a tremor in his shoulders. Troy was an adversary-Covenant could sense it. But he had made his decision when he had opened the door. Defiantly, he strode out into the hall.
In the hallway, he found Bannor standing watch by his door.
Hile Troy started away with a swift, confident stride, but Covenant turned toward the Bloodguard. Bannor met his look with a nod; for a moment they held each other's eyes. Bannor's flat, brown, unreadable face had not changed a whit, not aged a day that Covenant could discern. As he stood relaxed and ready, the Bloodguard radiated a physical solidity, a palpable competence, which intimidated or belittled Covenant; and yet Covenant sensed something extreme and sad in Bannor's timeless impenetrability.
The Bloodguard were said to be two thousand years old. They were clenched into immutability by a strait and consuming Vow of service to the Lords, while all the people they had ever known-including the long-lived Giants, and High Lord Kevin, who had inspired them to their Vow-fell into dust.
