Lords, I am the one who most regrets such an intrusion. I have a deep love for rest. Rest and food, ur-Lord- sleep and sustenance. They are exquisite. Although there are some who would say that I have tasted so much sustenance that I should no longer require rest. No doubt some such argument caused me to be chosen for this arduous and altogether unsavoury journey.” Without asking for permission, he bustled past Covenant into the room. He was grinning.
Covenant blinked his bleary gaze into focus, and took a close look at the man.
He was short and corpulent, with a round, beatific face, but the serenity of his countenance was punctured by his gleeful eyes, so that he looked like a misbegotten cherub. His expression was constantly roiled; fleet smiles, smirks, frowns, grimaces chased each other across the surface of his essential good humour. Now he was regarding Covenant with a look of appraisal, as if he were trying to gauge the Unbeliever's responsiveness to jesting.
“I am Hyrim son of Hoole,” he said fluidly, “a Lord of the Council, as you see, and a lover of all good cheer, as you have perhaps not failed to notice.” His eyes gleamed impishly. “I would tell you of my parentage and history, so that you might know me better-but my time is short. There are consequences to this riding of Ranyhyn, but when I offered myself to their choice I did not know that the honour could be so burdensome. Perhaps you will consent to accompany me?”
Mutely, Covenant's lips formed the word, Accompany?
“To the courtyard, at least-if I can persuade you no farther. I will explain while you ready yourself.”
Covenant felt too groggy to understand what was being asked of him. The Lord wanted him to get' dressed and go somewhere. Was that all? After a moment, he found his voice, and asked, “Why?”
With an effort, Hyrim pulled an expression of Seriousness onto his face. He studied Covenant gravely, then said, “Ur-Lord, there are some things which are difficult to say to you. Both Lord Mhoram and high Lord Elena might have spoken. They do not desire that this knowledge should be withheld from you. But brother Mhoram is reluctant to describe his own pain. And the High Lord-it is in my heart that she fears to send you into peril.”
He grinned ruefully. “But I am not so selfless. You will agree that there is much of me to consider-and every part is tender. Courage is for the lean. I am wiser. Wisdom is no more and no less deep than the skin-and mine is very deep. Of course, it is said that trial and hardship refine the spirit. But I have heard the Giants reply that there is time enough to refine the spirit when the body has no other choice.”
Covenant had heard that, too; Foamfollower had said it to him. He shook his head to clear away the painful memory. “I don't understand.”
“You have cause,” said the Lord. “I have not yet uttered anything of substance. Ah, Hyrim,” he sighed to himself, “brevity is such a simple thing-and yet it surpasses you. Ur-Lord, will you not dress? I must tell you news of the Giants which will not please you.”
A pang of anxiety stiffened Covenant. He was no longer sleepy. “Tell me.”
“While you dress.”
Causing silently, Covenant hurried into the bedroom and began to put on his clothes.
Lord Hyrim spoke from the other room. His tone was careful, as if he were making a deliberate effort to be concise. “Ur-Lord, you know of the Giants. Saltheart Foamfollower himself brought you to Revelstone. You were present in the Close when he spoke to the Council of Lords, telling them that the omens which High Lord Damelon had foreseen for the Giants' hope of Home had come to pass.”
Covenant knew; he remembered it vividly. Back in the age of the Old Lords, the Giants had been wanderers of the sea who had lost their way. For that reason, they called themselves the Unhomed. They had roamed for decades in search of their lost homeland, but had not found it. At last, they had come to the shores of the Land in the region known as Seareach, and there-welcomed and befriended by Damelon-they had made a place for themselves to live until they rediscovered their ancient Home.
Since that time, three thousand years ago, their search had been fruitless. But Damelon Giantfriend had prophesied for them; he had foreseen an end to their exile.
After, and perhaps because, they had lost their Home, the Giants had begun to decline. Though they dearly loved children, few children were born; their seed did not replenish itself. For many centuries, their numbers had been slowly shrinking.
Damelon had foretold that this would change, that their seed would regain its vitality. That was his omen, his sign that the exile was about to end, for good or ill.
In his turn, Damelon's son, Loric, had made a promise to support and affirm that prophecy. He had said that, when Damelon's omens were fulfilled, the Lords would provide the Giants with potent Gildenlode keels and rudders for the building of new ships for their homeward journey.
So it was that Foamfollower had reported to the Council that Wavenhair Haleall, the wife of Sparlimb Keelsetter, had given birth to triplets, three sons-an event unprecedented in Seareach. And at the same time, scouting ships had returned to say that they had found a way which might lead the Giants Home. Foamfollower had come to Revelstone to claim High Lord Loric's promise.
“For forty years,” Lord Hyrim went on, “the
“Foamfollower,” Covenant interrupted. He fumbled at the laces of his boots. A keen concern made him impatient, urgent. “What about him? Is he-? What happened to him-after the Quest?”
The Lord's tone became still more careful. 'When the Quest for the Staff of Law made its way homeward, it found that Saltheart Foamfollower was alive and unharmed. He had gained the safety of Andelain, and so had escaped the Fire-Lions. He returned to his people, and since that time he has come twice to Revelstone to help in the shaping of the Gildenlode and to share knowledge. Many Giants came and went, full of hope.
“But now, ur-Lord-” Hyrim stopped. There was sorrow and grimness in his voice. “Ah, now.”
Covenant strode back into the sitting room, faced the Lord. “Now?” His own voice was unsteady.
'Now for three years a silence has lain over Seareach. No Giant has come to Revelstone-no Giant has set foot on the Upper Land.“ To answer the sudden flaring of Covenant's gaze, he continued, ”Oh, we have not been idle. For a year we did nothing-Seareach is near to four hundred leagues distant, and a silence of a year is not unusual. But after a year, we became concerned. Then for a year we sent messengers. None have ever returned. During the spring, we sent an entire Eoman. Twenty warriors and their Warhaft did not return.
“Therefore the Council decided to risk no more warriors. In the summer, Lord Callindrill and Lord Amatin rode eastward with their Bloodguard, seeking passage. They were thrown back by a dark and nameless power in Sarangrave Flat. Sister Amatin would have died when her horse fell, but the Ranyhyn of Callindrill bore them both to safety. Thus a shadow has come between us and our ancient Rockbrothers, and the fate of the Giants is unknown.”
Covenant groaned inwardly. Foamfollower had been his friend-and yet he had not even said goodbye to the Giant when they had parted. He felt an acute regret. He wanted to see Foamfollower again, wanted to apologize.
But at the same time he was conscious of Hyrim's gaze on him. The Lord's naturally gay eyes held a look of painful sombreness. Clearly, he had some reason for awakening Covenant before dawn like this. With a jerk of his shoulders, Covenant pushed down his regret, and said, “I still don't understand.”
At first Lord Hyrim did not falter. “Then I will speak plainly. During the night after your summoning, Lord Mhoram was called from your side by a vision. The hand of his power came upon him, and he saw sights which turned his blood to dread in his veins. He saw-” Then abruptly he turned away. “Ah, Hyrim,” he sighed, “you are a fat, thistle-brained fool. What business had you to dream of Lords and Lore, of Giants and bold undertakings? When such thoughts first entered your childish head, you should have been severely punished and sent to tend sheep. Your thick, inept self does scant honour to Hoole Gren-mate your father, who trusted that your foolish fancies would not lead you astray.” Over his shoulder, he said softly, “Lord Mhoram saw the death of the Giants marching toward them. He could not make out the face of that death. But he saw that if they are not aided soon-soon, perhaps in a score of days! — they will surely be destroyed.”
Destroyed? Covenant echoed silently. Destroyed? Then he went a step further. Is that my fault, tool “Why,” he began, then swallowed roughly. “Why are you telling me? What do you expect me to do?”
'Because of brother Mhoram's vision, the Council has decided that it must send a mission to Seareach at once-now. Because of the war, we cannot spare much of our strength-but Mhoram says that speed is needed more
