The Illearth War

Looking now at Bannor, with his alien countenance and his bare feet and his short brown tunic, Covenant received a sudden intuitive impression, as if a previous subliminal perception had crystallized. How many times had Bannor saved his life? For an instant, he could not remember. He felt unexpectedly sure that the Bloodguard could tell him what he needed to know, that from the extravagance of his two-thousand-year perspective, bereft by the unforeseen power of his Vow of home and sleep and death, of everyone he had ever loved, he had gained the knowledge Covenant needed.

“Bannor-” he began.

“Ur-Lord.” The Bloodguard's voice was as passionless as time.

But Covenant did not know how to ask; he could not put his need into words which would not sound like an attack on the Bloodguard's impossible fidelity. Instead, he murmured, “So we're back to this.”

“The High Lord has chosen me to keep watch over you.”

“Come on,” called Troy peremptorily. “You should see this.”

Covenant disregarded him for a moment longer. To

Bannor, he said, “I hope-I hope it works out better than the last time.” Then he turned and moved down the hall after Troy. He knew that Bannor came behind him, though the Bloodguard walked without a sound.

Impatiently, Hile Troy guided Covenant inward through the levels of the Keep. They passed briskly across high vaulted halls, along connecting corridors, and down stairs until they reached a place that Covenant recognized: the long circular passage around the sacred enclosure, where the inhabitants of Revelstone worshipped.

He followed Troy in through one of the many doors onto a balcony which hung in the great cavern. The cavity was cylindrical in shape, with seven balconies cut into the walls, a flat floor with a dais on one side, and a domed ceiling too high above the balconies to be seen clearly. The enclosure was dim; the only illumination came from four large lillianrill torches set around the dais. Bannor closed the door, shutting out the light from the outer hallway; and in the gloom Covenant clung to the railing for security against the depth of the cavity. He was several hundred feet above the dais.

The balconies were nearly empty. Clearly, whatever ceremony was about to be enacted was not intended for the general population of Revelstone.

The nine Lords were already on the dais. They stood in a circle facing each other. With their backs to the torches, their faces were shadowed, and Covenant could not make out their features.

“This is your doing,” said Troy in an intent whisper. “They have tried everything else. You shamed them into this.”

Two Bloodguard bearing some figure between them moved toward the dais. With a start, Covenant identified the injured Waynhim. Dukkha was struggling feebly, but it could not prevent the Bloodguard from placing it within the circle of the Lords.

“They're going to try to break the hold of the Illearth Stone,” Troy continued. “This is risky. If they fail, it could spread to one of them. They'll be too exhausted to fight it.”

Clutching the railing with both hands, Covenant watched the scene below him. The two Bloodguard left dukkha cowering in the circle, and retreated to the wall of the enclosure. For a long moment, the Lords stood in silent concentration, preparing themselves. Then they lifted their heads, planted their staffs firmly before them on the stone, and began to sing. Their hymn echoed in the enclosure as if the domed gloom itself were resonating. They appeared small in the immense chamber, but their song stood up boldly, filling the air with authority and purpose.

As the echoes died, Troy whispered in Covenant's ear, “If something goes wrong here, you're going to pay for it.”

I know, Covenant said like a prophet. I'm going to have to pay for everything.

When silence at last refilled the enclosure, High Lord Elena said in a clear voice, ”Dharmakshetra, Waynhim, if you can hear us through the wrong which has been done to you, listen. We seek to drive the power of the Illearth Stone from you. Please aid us. Resist the Despiser. Dukkha, head Remember health and hope, and resist this ill!'

Together, the Lords raised their staffs.

Troy's fingers reached out of the darkness and gripped Covenant's arm above the elbow.

Crying in one voice, “Melenkurion abatha!” the Lords struck their staffs on the stone. The metal rang through the sacred enclosure like a clashing of shields, and blue Lords-fire burst from the upheld end of each staff. The incandescent flames burned hotly, outshining the light of the torches. But the Staff of Law dazzled them all, flaring like a tongue of lightning. And the fire of the staffs made a low sound like the rush of distant storm winds.

Slowly, one of the lesser staffs bent toward the head of dukkha. It descended, then stopped with its flame well above the Waynhim's head, as if at that point the fire met resistance. When the wielding Lord pressed down, the air between dukkha's skull and the staff ignited; the whole space burned. But the fire there was as green as cold emerald, and it devoured the Lords' blue power.

Troy's fingers dug like claws into the flesh of Covenant's arm. But Covenant hardly felt them.

To meet the green flame, the Lords broke into s stern antiphonal chant, using words that Covenant could not understand. Their voices pounded against the green, and the rushing wind of their power mounted. Yet through it could be heard the voice of dukkha Waynhim, gibbering.

One by one, the Lords added their fires to the struggle over dukkha's head, until only the Staff of Law remained uncommitted. As each new power touched the green, a sound of hunger and the crushing of bones multiplied in the sir, and the baleful emerald fire blazed up more mightily, expanding like an inferno of cruel ice to combat the Lords' strength.

Abruptly, the lillianrill torches went out, as if extinguished by a high wind.

Troy's fingers tightened.

Then High Lord Elena's voice sprang out over the song of the Lords. “Melenkurion abatha! Duroc minas mill khabaal!” With a sweeping stroke, she swung the Staff of Law into the fray.

For an instant, the force of her attack drove the conflicting fires together. Blue and green became one, and raged up over the circle of the Lords, ravening and roaring like a holocaust. But the next moment, dukkha shrieked as if its soul were torn in two. The towering flame ruptured like a thunderhead.

The detonation blew out all the fire in the enclosure. At once a darkness as complete as a grave closed over the Lords.

Then two small torches appeared in the hands of the Bloodguard. The dim light showed dukkha lying on the stone beside two prostrate Lords. The others stood in their places, leaning on their staffs as if stunned by their exertion.

Seeing the fallen Lords, Troy drew a breath that hissed fiercely through his teeth. His fingers seemed to be trying to bare Covenant's bone. But Covenant bore the pain, watched the Lords.

Swiftly, the Bloodguard refit the four torches around the dais. At the touch of the warm light, one of the Lords Covenant recognized Mhoram-shook off his numbness, and went to kneel beside his collapsed comrades. He examined them for a moment with his hands, using his sense of touch to explore the damage done to them; then he turned and bent over dukkha. Around him vibrated a silence of hushed fear.

At last he climbed to his feet, bracing himself with his staff. He spoke in a low voice, but his words carried throughout the enclosure. “The Lords Trevor and Amatin are well. They have only lost consciousness.” Then he bowed his head, and sighed. “The Waynhim dukkha is dead. May its soul at last find peace.”

“And forgive us,” High Lord Elena responded, “for we have failed.”

Breathing in his deep relief, Troy released Covenant. Covenant felt sudden stabs of pain in his upper arm. The throbbing made him aware that his own hands hurt. The intensity of his hold on the railing had cramped them until they felt crippled. The pain was sharp, but he welcomed it. He could see death in the broken limbs of the Waynhim. The bruises on his arms, the aching stiffness in his palms, were proof of life.

Dully, he said, “They killed it.”

“What did you want them to do?” Troy retorted with ready indignation. “Keep it captive, alive and in torment? Let it go, and disclaim responsibility? Kill it in cold blood?”

“No.”