When all things were prepared, Korik and Sill lifted Lord Hyrim between them, and guided him like a child down the bank onto the raft. He appeared to be unwell. Perhaps the river water he had swallowed was sickening him. As the steersmen thrust the raft out into the centre of the Defiles Course, he murmured to himself, “This is not the end. There will be pain and death to humble this. Hyrim son of Hoole, you are a coward.” Then the mission was gone. Together, Runnik,
Pren, and Porib started into the jungle of Sarangrave Flat.
The fire had died down to coals, and without its light Troy could see nothing-nothing to counteract the images of death and grief in his mind. He knew that there were questions he should ask Runnik, but in the darkness they did not seem important. He was dismayed to think that Shetra's fall had taken place ten days ago; it felt too immediate for such a lapse of time.
The Lords beside him sat still, as if they were stunned or melding; and Covenant was silent-too moved for speech. But after a time Elena said with a shudder of emotion in her voice, “Ah, Verement! How will you bear it?” Her eyes were only visible as embers. In the darkness they had an aspect of focus and unendurable virulence.
Softly, Lord Mhoram sang:
Death is passing on—
the making way of life and time for life.
Hate dying and killing, not death.
Be still, heart:
make no expostulation.
Hold peace and grief,
and be still.
Fifteen: Revelwood
THE High Lord's company reached the Loresraat by nightfall of the sixth day. During the last leagues, the road worked gradually down into the lowlands of Trothgard; and just as the sun started to dip into the Westron Mountains, the riders entered the wide Valley of Two Rivers.
There the Rill and Llurallin came together in a broad V, joined each other in the narrow end of the valley, to the left of the riders. The Llurallin River, which flowed almost due east below them, arose from clear springs high in the raw rock of the mountains beyond Guards Gap, and had a power of purity that had rendered it inviolate to all the blood and hacked flesh and blasted earth which had ruined Kurash Plenethor. Now, generations after the Desecration, it ran with the same crystal taintlessness which had given it its ancient name-the Llurallin.
Across the valley was the Rill River, the southern boundary of Trothgard. Like the Maerl, the Rill had been greatly improved by the long work of the Lords, and the water which flowed from the Valley of Two Rivers no longer deserved the name Grey.
In the centre of the valley, within the broad middle of the river V, was Revelwood, the tree city of the Loresraat.
It was an immense and expansive banyan. Invoked and strengthened by the new knowledge of the Second Ward, and by the Staff of Law, it grew to the height of a mighty oak, sent down roots as thick as hawsers from boughs as broad as walkways-roots which formed new trunks with new boughs and new roots-and spread out in the valley until the central core of the first tree was surrounded by six others, all intergrown, part of each other, the fruit of one seed.
Once these seven trunks were established, the shapers of the tree prevented any more of the hanging roots from reaching the ground, and instead wove the thick bundles into chambers and rooms-homes and places of study for the students and teachers of the Loresraat. Three of the outer trees had been similarly woven before their roots found the soil, and so now their trunks contained cavities large enough for meeting halls and libraries. On the sheltered acres of ground beneath the trees were gardens and practice fields, training areas for the students of both Staff and Sword. And above the main massive limbs of the trees, the lesser branches had been trained and shaped for leaf-roofed dwellings and open platforms.
Revelwood was a thriving city, amply supplied by the fertile lowlands of Trothgard; and the Loresraat was busier now than at any other time in its history. The Lorewardens and apprentices of the Sword and Staff did all the work of the city-all the cooking, farming, herding, cleaning-but they were not its only inhabitants. A band of
As the riders looked down at it, its broad, glossy leaves caught the orange-red fire of the sun, so that it appeared to burn proudly above the shadows spreading down the valley. The company responded to the sight with a glad hail. Clapping their heels to their mounts, they galloped down the slope toward the ford of the Llurallin.
In the time when Revelwood was being grown, the Lords had been mindful of its defence. They had made only two fords for the valley, one across each river. And the ford beds were submerged; they had to be raised before they could be used. All the High Lord's company except Covenant had the necessary knowledge and skill, so Troy was vaguely surprised when Elena halted on the riverbank, and gravely asked Trell to open the ford. Troy understood that she was doing the Gravelingas an honour, but he did not know why. Her gesture deepened the mystery of Trell.
Without meeting her gaze, Trell dismounted, and walked to the Llurallin's edge. At first, he did not appear to know the ford's secret. Troy had learned a few quick words in a strange language and two gestures to raise the bed, but Trell used none of them. He stood on the bank as if he were presenting himself to the deep current, and began to sing a rumbling, cryptic song. The rest of the company watched him in hushed stillness. Troy could not grasp the words of the song, but he felt their effect. They had an old, buried, cavernous sound, as if they were being sung by the bedrock of the valley. For a moment, they made him want to weep.
But soon Trell's singing stopped. In silence, he lifted his arms-and the flat rock of the ford stood up out of the river bottom. It broke water in sections with channels between them so that it did not dam the current. By the time it was ready for crossing, it was as dry as if it had never been submerged.
With his head bowed, Trell walked back to his mount.
When the last horse had crossed the river, and all the company was within the valley, the ford closed itself without any of the usual signals.
Troy was impressed. Remembering Trell's attack on Covenant, he thought that the Unbeliever was lucky to be alive. And he began to feel that he would be well advised to solve the riddle of Trell before he left Trothgard.
But he could do nothing immediately. The last twilight was ebbing out of the valley as if the river currents carried the light away, and he had to concentrate to keep a grip on his own location. The Lorewardens lit torches, but torchlight could not take the place of the sun. Focusing himself sternly, he rode between Lord Mhoram and Ruel across the valley toward Revelwood.
The High Lord's company was met on the ground near the Tree by a welcoming group of Lorewardens. They greeted the Lords with solemn dignity, and embraced their comrades who returned from visiting Lord's Keep. To Warmark Troy, whom they knew well, they gave a special welcome. But when they caught sight of Covenant, they all turned toward him. Squaring their, shoulders as if to meet an inspection, they saluted him, and said together, “Hail, white gold wielder! — you who are named ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and Ringthane. Be welcome in Revelwood! You are the crux and pivot of our age in the Land-the keeper of the wild magic which destroys peace. Honour us by accepting our hospitality.”
Troy expected some discomforting sarcasm from Covenant. But the Unbeliever replied in a gruff, embarrassed voice, “Your hospitality honours me.”
The Lorewardens bowed in answer, and their leader stepped forward. He was an old, wrinkled man with
