The Illearth War

hooded eyes and a stooped posture-the result of decades of back-bending study. His voice had a slight tremor of age. “I am Corimini,” he said, “the Eldest of the Loresraat. I speak for all the seekers of the Lore, both Sword and Staff. The accepting of a gift returns honour to the giver. Be welcome.” As he spoke, he held out his hand to help Covenant dismount.

But Covenant either misunderstood the gesture or went beyond it intuitively. Instead of swinging off his mount, he brusquely pulled his wedding band from his left hand and dropped it into Corimini's extended palm.

The Eldest caught his breath; a look of astonishment widened his eyes. Almost at once, he turned to show the ring to the other Lorewardens. With muted awed murmurings of invocation like low snatches of prayer, they crowded around Corimini to gaze at the white gold, and to handle it with fingers that trembled.

But their touches were brief. Shortly Corimini returned to Covenant. The Eldest's eyes were damp with emotion, and his hand shook as he passed the ring back up to the Unbeliever. “Ur-Lord Covenant,” he said with a pronounced quaver, “you exceed us. We will need many generations to repay this honour. Command us, so that we may serve you.”

“I don't need service,” Covenant replied bluntly. “I need an alternative. Find some way to save the Land without me.”

“I do not wholly understand you,” said Corimini. “All our strength is bent toward the preservation of the Land. If that may aid you also, we will be pleased.” Facing the company of the Lords more generally, he went on, “Will you now enter Revelwood with us? We have prepared food and pleasure for you.”

High Lord Elena made a gracious answer, and dropped lightly from Myrha's back. The rest of the riders promptly dismounted. At once, a group of Students hurried out of the shadows of the Tree to take charge of the horses. Then the company was escorted through the ring of trunks toward the central tree. Many lights had appeared throughout Revelwood, and their combined illumination ameliorated the dimness of Troy's sight. He was able to walk confidently with the Lords, and to look up with fondness into the branches of the familiar city. In some ways, he felt more at home here than in Lord's Keep. In Revelwood he had learned to see.

And he felt that Revelwood also suited the High Lord. The two were inextricably linked for him. He was gratified by her just pre-eminence, her glow of gentle authority, and her easy grace as she swung up the wide ladder of the central trunk. Under her influence, he found the fortitude to give Covenant a word of encouragement when the Unbeliever balked at climbing into the Tree.

“You don't understand,” Covenant responded vaguely. “I'm afraid of heights.” With a look of rigid trepidation, he forced his hands to the rungs of the ladder.

Bannor took a position close behind Covenant, making himself responsible for the ur-Lord's safety. Soon they had climbed to the level of the first branches.

Troy moved easily up into the Tree after them. The smooth, strong wood of the rungs made him feel that he could not miss his grip; it almost seemed to lift him upward, as if Revelwood were eager for him. In moments, he was high up the trunk, stepping away from the ladder onto one of the main boughs of the city. The shapers of Revelwood had grown the banyan so that the upper surfaces of the branches were flat, and the level stretch down which Troy walked was wide enough for three or four people to stand safely abreast. As he moved, he waved greetings to the people he knew-most of the Sword Lorewardens, and a few students whose families lived in Lord's Keep.

The procession of the Lords crossed an intersection where several limbs came together, and passed beyond it toward one of the outer trunks. Formed in this trunk was a large hall, and when Troy entered it he found that the room had been set for a banquet. The chamber was brilliant with lillianrill torches; long tables with carpets of moss between them covered the floor; and students of all ages bustled around, carrying trays laden with steaming bowls and flagons.

There Troy was joined by Drinishok, Sword-Elder of the Lorewardens, and the Warmark's first battle-teacher. Except for his grizzled eyebrows, Drinishok did not look like a warrior; his thin, spidery limbs and fingers did not seem sturdy enough to handle either a sword or a bow. But three Lords and three-quarters of Troy's Warward had trained under the old Sword Elder; and his tanned forearms were laced with many white battle scars. Troy greeted his mentor warmly, and after standing together in the Land's customary thanks for food, they sat down to the feast.

The fare of Revelwood was simple but excellent it made up in convivial gusto what it lacked in complexity- and all the Lords and Lorewardens were bountifully supplied with meats, rice, cheeses, bread, fruit, and springwine. Warmed by the glow of Revelwood's welcome, the High Lord's company ate with enthusiasm, talking and joking all the while with their hosts and the busy students. Then, when the eating was done, High Lord Elena presided over an entertainment which the students had prepared. Champions of the Sword gave demonstrations of gymnastics and blade work, and the apprentices of the Staff told an intricate tale which they had distilled from the ancient Giantish story of Bahgoon the Unbearable and Thelma Twofist who tamed him. Troy had never heard it before, and it delighted him.

He was reluctant to lose this pleased and comfortable mood, so when the Lords left the hall with the Lorewardens to speak with them concerning the tidings which Runnik had brought from Sarangrave Flat, Troy did not accompany them. Instead, he accepted Drinishok's invitation, and went to spend the night in the old Sword- Elder's home.

High in one of the outer trees, in a chamber woven of leaves and branches, he and Drinishok sat up for a long time, drinking springwine and discussing the war. Drinishok was excited by the prospect of the battle, and he avowed that only Revelwood's need for a strong defence kept him from marching with the Warward. As always, he showed a swift grasp of Troy's ideas, and when the Warmark finally went to bed the only immediate blot on his private satisfaction was the mystery of Trell.

The breeze in the branches lulled him into a fine sleep, and he awoke early the next morning feeling eager for the new day. He was amused but not surprised to find that his host was up and away before him; he knew the rigorous schedule of the Loresraat. He bathed and dressed, pulled his high boots over his black leggings, and carefully adjusted his headband and his sunglasses. After a quick breakfast, he spent a few moments polishing his breastplate and his gleaming ebony sword. When he was properly apparelled as the Warmark of the Lords' Warward, he left Drinishok's chambers, moved to the central tree, and started up it toward the lookout of Revelwood.

On a small platform in the uppermost branches of the Tree, he joined the two students on watch duty. While he exchanged pleasantries with them, he breathed the crisp autumn air and studied the whole length and breadth of the Valley of Two Rivers. In the west, he could see the snow crests of the mountains. He was not being cautious, looking for danger. He loved the fertile hills of Trothgard, and he wanted to fix them in his mind so that he would never forget them. If something were to strike him down during the coming war, he wanted to be sure to the very end, death or blindness, that he had in fact seen this place.

He was still in the lookout when he heard the signal for the gathering of the Loresraat.

At once, he took leave of the two students, and started down the Tree. Shortly, he reached the wide, roofless bowl of the gathering place. High in the city, on a frame of four heavy boughs radiating from the central trunk, the shapers of Revelwood had woven an immense net of banyan roots and hung it around the central trunk. It formed a wide basin supported by the four boughs and anchored by the roots themselves in each of the six outer trees. The result was the viancome, a meeting place large enough for half the population of the city. People sat on the roots and dangled their feet through the gaps of the net.

These gaps were rarely larger than a foot square, but they made the viancome,an uneasy experience for novices. However, the people of Revelwood moved and even ran lightly over the net. Warmark Troy, with a blind man's alert, careful feet, was able to walk confidently away from the central trunk to join Drinishok and the other Sword Lorewardens where they stood partway up one side of the bowl.

Lord Amatin was already there, talking intently with a cluster of Staff Lorewardens and advanced students. Most of the Bloodguard were stationed around the edge of the net, and past them came a steady flow of Revelwood's inhabitants. As Troy joined Drinishok, he caught sight of Lord Mhoram moving across the bowl toward Amatin. If the viancome caused Mhoram any anxiety, he did not show it; he strode boldly from root to root with his staff held in the crook of his arm.

Soon High Lord Elena arrived in the company of the Staff-Elder, Asuraka. Troy was taken slightly aback; he had expected her to be with Corimini, the Eldest of the Loresraat. But when Corimini entered the bowl, he brought with him ur-Lord Covenant. Troy saw what had happened. The Loresraat ranked Covenant above Elena, and so the