“Quaan, you've got the worst job in this whole damn business. You and those Bloodguard with Callindrill. You have got to make this plan of mine work.”
“If it can be done, we will do it.” Quaan spoke steadily, almost easily, but his experience with grim, desperate undertakings gave his statement conviction.
Troy went on hurriedly, “You've got to hold Foul's army in that valley. Even after you get your whole force there, you're going to be outnumbered ten to,one. You've got to hold Foul back, and still keep enough of your force alive to lead him down to Doom's Retreat.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't. I haven't told you the worst of it yet. You have got to hold Foul back for eight days.”
“Eight?” Verement snapped. “You jest!”
Controlling himself sternly, Troy said, “Figure it out for yourself. We've got to march all the way to Doom's Retreat. We need that much time just to get there. Eight days will hardly give us time to get in position.”
“You ask much,” Quaan said slowly.
“You're the man who can do it,” Troy replied. “And the truth is, the warriors'll follow you better in a situation like that than they would ' me. You'll have two Lords working with you, plus all the Bloodguard Callindrill has left. There's nobody who can take your place.”
Quaan met this in silence. Despite the square set of his shoulders, he appeared to be hesitating. Troy leaned close to him, whispered intently through the noise of Furl Falls, “Hiltmark, if you accomplish what I ask, I swear that I will win this war.”
“Swear?” Verement cut in again. “Does the Despiser know that you bind him with your oaths?”
Troy ignored the Lord. “I mean it. If you get that chance for me, I won't waste it.”
A low, war-ready grin touched Quaan's lips. “I hear you,” he said. 'I felt the dour hand of your skill when you won the command of the Warward from me.
Warmark, you will be given your eight days if they lie within the reach of human thew and will.'
“Good!” Quaan's promise gave Troy an obscure feeling of relief, as if he were no longer alone on his narrow limb. “Now. When you engage Foul in the Mithil valley, what you've got to do is force him southward. Push him down into the southern hills the farther the better. Hold the valley closed until he has enough of his army in the hills to attack you from that side. Then run like hell straight toward Doom's Retreat.”
“That will be costly.”
“Not as costly as letting that army go north when we're in the south.” Quaan nodded grimly, and Troy went on, “And not as costly as letting Foul get to the Retreat ahead of us. Whatever else happens, we've got to avoid that. If you can't hold him back eight days' worth, you'll have to figure out where we are, and lead him to us instead of to the Retreat. We'll try to pull him the last way south ourselves.”
Quaan nodded again, and the lines of his face clenched. To relax him, Troy said dryly, “Of course, it would be better if you just defeated him yourself, and saved us the trouble.”
The Hiltmark started to reply, but Lord Verement interrupted him. “If that is your desire, you should choose someone other than an old warrior and a Ranyhyn-less Lord to do your bidding.”
Troy was about to respond when he heard hooves coming toward him from the direction of Revelstone. Now the sun had started to rise-light danced on the blue water pouring over the top of the Falls-and the fog over his vision had begun to fade. When he turned, he made out the Bloodguard Ruel riding toward him.
Ruel stopped his Ranyhyn with a touch of his hand, and said without dismounting, “Warmark, the Warward is ready. High Lord Elena awaits you.”
“On my way,” Troy answered, and swung back to Quaan. For a moment, the Hiltmark's gaze replied firmly to his. Torn between affection and resolve, he muttered, “By God, I will earn what you do for me.” Springing onto Mehryl's back, he started away.
He moved so suddenly that he almost ran into Manethrall Rue. She had been standing a short distance away, regarding Mehryl as if she expected to find that Troy had injured the Ranyhyn. Unintentionally he urged his mount straight toward her. But she stepped aside just as he halted the Ranyhyn.
Her presence surprised him. He acknowledged her, then waited for her to speak. He felt that she deserved any courtesy he could give her.
While she stroked Mehryl's nose with loving hands, she said as if she were explaining something, “I have done my part in your war. I will do no more. I am old, and need rest. I will ride your rafts to Andelain, and from there make my own way homeward.”
“Very well.” He could not deny her permission to ride a raft, but he sensed that this was only a preparation for what she meant to say.
After a heavy pause, she went on: “I will have no further use for this.” With a brusque movement, she twitched the fighting cord from her hair, hesitated, then handed it to Troy. Softly, she said, “Let there be peace between us.”
Because he could think of no fit response, he accepted the cord. But it gave him a pang, as if he were not worthy of it. He tucked it into his belt, and with his hands free, he gave the Manethrall his best approximation of a Ramen bow.
She bowed in turn, gestured for him to move on. But as he started away, she called after him, “Tell Covenant Ringthane that he must defeat Fangthane. The Ranyhyn have reared to him. They require him. He must not let them fall.” Then she was gone, out of sight in the mist.
The thought of Covenant gave him a bitter taste in his mouth, but he forced it down. With Ruel at his side, he left Quaan shouting orders, and urged Mehryl into a brisk trot up the road toward the gate of Revelstone. As he moved, the sunrise began to burn away the last dimness of his vision. The great wrought wall of the Keep became visible; it shone in the new light with a vivid glory that made him feel at once both small and resolute. In it, he caught a glimpse of the true depth of his willingness to sacrifice himself for the Land. Now he could only hope that what he had to offer would be enough.
There was only one thing for which he could not forgive Covenant. That was the Unbeliever's refusal to fight.
Then he topped the last rise, and found the Lords assembled before the gates, above the long, ranked massing of the Warward.
The sight of the Warward gave him a surge of pride. This army was his-a tool of his own shaping, a weapon which he had sharpened himself and knew how to wield. Each warrior stood in place in an Eoman; each Eoman held its position around the fluttering standard of its Eoward; and the thirty-eight Eoward spread out around the foot of Lord's Keep like a human mantle. More than fifteen thousand metal breastplates caught the rising fire of the sun.
All the warriors were on foot except the Hafts and a third of the Warhafts. These officers were mounted to bear the standards and the marching drums, and to carry messages and commands through the Warward. Troy was acutely aware that the one thing his army lacked was some instantaneous means of communication. Without such a resource, he felt more vulnerable than he liked to admit. To make up for it, he had developed a network of riders who could shuttle from place to place in battle. And he had trained his officers in complex codes of signals and flares and banners, so that under at least some circumstances messages could be communicated by sight. But he was not satisfied. Thousands upon thousands of lives were in his hands. As he gazed out over his command, his tree limb seemed to be shaking in the wind.
He swung away from the Warward, and scanned the mounted gathering before the gates. Only Trevor and Loerya were absent. The Lords Amatin and Mhoram were there, with twenty Bloodguard, a handful of Hirebrands and Gravelingases, all the visiting Lorewardens, and First Haft Amorine. Covenant sat on a
She was leaning toward Covenant, listening to him with interest-almost with deference-in every line of her form.
The sight galled Troy.
His own feelings for the High Lord were confused: he could not fit them into any easy categories. She was the Lord who had taught him the meaning of sight. And as he had learned to see, she had taught him the Land, introduced him to it with such gentle delight that he always thought of her and the Land together, as if she herself
