The Illearth War

throat, as if they were accepting a challenge which rightly belonged to him. Foamfollower, please-he thought. Please-But he could not articulate the words, forgive me.

Then he heard a shout behind and above him. Turning back toward Revelstone, he saw a small, slim figure standing with arms raised atop the watchtower — the High Lord. As the mounted company swung around to face her, she flourished the Staff of Law, drew from its tip an intense blue blaze that flared and coruscated against the deep sky-a paean of power which in her hands burned with a core of interfused blue and white turning to purest azure along the flame. Three times she waved the Staff, and its blaze was so bright that its path seemed to linger against the heavens. Then she cried, “Hail!” and thrust the Staff upward. For an instant the whole length of it flashed, so that an immense incandescent burst of Lords-fire sprang toward the sky. For that instant, she cast so much light over the feet of Revelstone that the dawn itself was effaced-as if to show the assembled company that she was strong enough to erase the fate written in the morning.

The Lords answered, wielding their own power and returning the vibrant cry, “Hail!” And the Bloodguard shouted together as one, “Fist and faith! Hail, High Lord!”

For a moment, all the staffs were upraised in fire. Then all the Lords silenced their flames. On that signal, the company of the mission wheeled in a smooth turn and galloped away into the sunrise.

Eight: “Lord Kevin's Lament”

THE departure of the mission-and his meeting with High Lord Elena the previous evening-left Covenant deeply disturbed. He seemed to be losing what little independence or authenticity he possessed. Instead of determining for himself what his position should be, and then acting according to that standard, he was allowing himself to be swayed, seduced even more fundamentally than he had been during his first experience with the Land. Already, he had acknowledged Elena's claim on him, and only that claim had prevented him from acknowledging the Giants as well.

He could not go on in this fashion. If he did, he would soon come to resemble Hile Troy-a man so overwhelmed by the power, of sight that he could not perceive the blindness of his desire to assume responsibility for the Land. That would be suicide for a leper. If he failed, he would die. And if he succeeded, he would never again be able to bear the numbness of his real life, his leprosy. He knew lepers who had died that way, but for them the death was never quick, never clean. Their ends lay beyond a fetid ugliness so abominable that he felt nauseated whenever he remembered that such putrefaction existed.

And that was not the only argument. This seduction of responsibility was Foul's doing. It was the means by which Lord Foul attempted to ensure the destruction of the Land. When inadequate men assumed huge burdens, the outcome could only serve Despite. Covenant had no doubt that Troy was inadequate. Had he not been summoned to the Land by Atiaran in her despair? And as for himself-he, Thomas Covenant, was as incapable of power as if such a thing did not exist. For him it could not. If he pretended otherwise, then the whole Land would become just another leper in Lord Foul's hands.

By the time he reached his rooms, he knew that he would have to do something, take some action to establish the terms on which he had to stand. He would have to find or make some discrepancy, some incontrovertible proof that the Land was a delusion. He could not trust his emotions; he needed logic, an argument as inescapable as the law of leprosy.

He paced the suite for a time as if he were searching the stone floor for an answer. Then, on an impulse, he jerked open the door and looked out into the hallway. Bannor was there, standing watch as imperturbably as if the meaning of his life were beyond question. Stiffly, Covenant asked him into the sitting room.

When Bannor stood before him, Covenant reviewed quickly what he knew about the Bloodguard. They came from a race, the Haruchai, who lived high in the Westron Mountains beyond Trothgard and the Land. They were a warlike and prolific people, so it was perhaps inevitable that at some time in their history they would send an army east into the Land. This they had done during the early years of Kevin's High Lordship. On foot and weaponless-the Haruchai did not use weapons, just as they did not use lore; they relied wholly on their own physical competence-they had marched to Revelstone and challenged the Council of Lords.

But Kevin had refused to fight. Instead, he had persuaded the Haruchai to friendship.

In return, they had gone far beyond his intent. Apparently, the Ranyhyn, and the Giants, and Revelstone itself-as mountain dwellers, the Haruchai had an intense love of stone and bounty had moved them more deeply than anything in their history. To answer Kevin's friendship, they had sworn a Vow of service to the Lords; and something extravagant in their commitment or language had invoked the Earth power, binding them to their Vow in defiance of time and death and choice. Five hundred of their army had become the Bloodguard. The rest had returned home.

Now there were still nearly five hundred. For every Bloodguard who died in battle was sent on his Ranyhyn up through Guards Gap into the Westron Mountains, and another Haruchai came to take his place. Only those whose bodies could not be recovered, such as Tuvor, the former First Mark, were not replaced.

Thus the great anomaly of the Bloodguard's history was the fact that they had survived the Ritual of Desecration intact even though Kevin and his Council and all his works had been destroyed. They had trusted him. When he had ordered them all into the mountains without explaining his intent, they had obeyed. But afterward they had seen reason to doubt that their service was truly faithful. They had sworn the Vow; they should have died with Kevin in Kiril Threndor under Mount Thunder-or prevented him from meeting Lord Foul there in his despair, prevented him from uttering the Ritual which brought the age of the Old Lords to its destruction. They were faithful to an extreme that defied their own mortality, and yet they had failed in their promise to preserve the Lords at any cost to themselves.

Covenant wanted to ask Bannor what would happen to the Bloodguard if they ever came to believe that their extravagant fidelity was false, that in their Vow they had betrayed both Kevin and themselves. But he could not put such a question into words. Bannor deserved better treatment than that from him. And Bannor, too, had lost his wife-She had been dead for two thousand years.

Instead, Covenant concentrated on his search for a discrepancy.

But he soon knew he would not find one by questioning Bannor. In his flat, alien voice, the Bloodguard gave brief answers that told Covenant what he both wanted and did not want to hear concerning the survivors of the Quest for the Staff of Law. He had already learned what had happened to Foamfollower and Lord Mhoram. Now Bannor told him that High Lord Prothall, who had led the Quest, had resigned his Lordship even before his company had returned to Revelstone. He had not been able to forget that the old Hearthrall Birinair had died in his place. And he had felt that in regaining the Staff he had fulfilled his fate, done all that was in him. He had committed the Staff and the Second Ward to Lord Mhoram's care, and had ridden away to his home in the Northrop Climbs. The inhabitants of Lord's Keep never saw him again.

So upon Mhoram's return Osondrea had assumed the High Lordship. Until her death, she had used her power to rebuild the Council, expand the Wayward, and grow Revelwood, the new home of the Loresraat.

After returning to Revelstone, Quaan-the Warhaft of the Eoman that had accompanied Prothall and Mhoram-had also tried to resign. He had been ashamed to bring only half of his warriors back alive. But High Lord Osondrea, knowing his worth, had refused to release him, and soon he had returned to his duties. Now he was the Hiltmark of the Wayward, Hile Troy's second-in-command. Though his hair was white and thin-though his gaze seemed rubbed smooth by age and use-still he was the same strong, honest man he had always been. The Lords respected him. In Troy's absence they would willingly have trusted Quaan to lead the Wayward.

Covenant sighed sourly, and let Bannor go. Such information did not meet his need. Clearly, he was not going to find any easy solutions to his dilemma. If he wanted proof of delusion, he would have to make it for himself.

He faced the prospect with trepidation. Anything he might do would take a long time to bear fruit. It would not become proof, brookless and unblinkable, until his delusion ended-until he had returned to his real life. In the