The Illearth War

highest honour of Revelwood's hospitality, the invitation of the Eldest, had gone to the Unbeliever. This nettled Troy; he did not like to see the High Lord slighted in favour of Covenant. But he consoled himself by watching the sick look with which Covenant regarded the net and fall below it.

Shortly all the Lorewardens were in their places. The sides of the viancome, and the branches overhead, thronged with the people of Revelwood. Covenant clung to a root over one of the supporting boughs, and Bar or crouched protectively near him.

The Lords and Warmark Troy sat in a fanned group with the Elder Lorewardens, facing south, and Corimini stood before them, looking out over the assembly with a dignified mien. When all the people were still, hushed and expectant, he began the ceremonies of the meeting.

He and the High Lord exchanged traditional salutations, and sang to each other the ritual invocations which they considered appropriate to the purpose of the meeting. Their stately alternation spun a mood of reverent seriousness over the viancome, wrapped all the people together as if it were weaving them into the grim and wondrous history of the Land. Under the influence of the ceremonies, Troy was almost able to forget that half of what was said and sung was intended to honour' the white gold wielder.

But Covenant did not look as if he were being honoured. He sat with an awkward stiffness, as if the point of a knife were pressed against his spine.

After the, last song was done, Corimini gazed at Covenant in silence, giving the Unbeliever a chance to speak. But the glare which Covenant returned almost made the Eldest wince. He turned away, and said, “High Lord Elena, Lord Mhoram, Lord Amatin, Warmark Troy, be welcome in the viancome of Revelwood. We are the Loresraat, the seekers and servants of Kevin's Lore. We gather to honour you-and to offer you the help of all our knowledge in the name of the approaching war. The preservation of Land and Lore is in your hands, as the mystery of Land and Lore is in ours. If there is any way in which we may aid you, only speak of it, and we will put forth all our strength to meet the need.”

With a deep bow, High Lord Elena replied formally, “The gathering of the Loresraat honours us, and I am honoured to speak before the people of Revelwood.” Troy thought that he had rarely seen her look more radiant. 'Eldest, Elders, Lorewardens, students of the Sword and Staff, friends of the Land my friends, in the name of all the Lords, I thank you. We will never be defeated while such faithfulness is alive in the Land.

“My friends, there are matters of which I would speak. I do not speak of the danger that war brings to Revelwood. The Lore of the Sword will not neglect your defence. And Lord Amatin will remain with you, to do all that a Lord may do to preserve the Valley of Two Rivers.”

A cheer started up on the edges of the bowl, but she stopped it with a commanding glance, and went on, 'More, I do not speak of Stonedowns and Woodhelvens which will be destroyed by war-or of people made homeless. I know that the dispossessed of this war will find here all comfort and relief and restitution that human hearts may ask or give. This is sure, and requires no urging.

'More, I do not speak of any need for mastery of Kevin's Lore. You have given your best strength, and have achieved much. You will give and achieve more. All these matters are secure in your fidelity.

“But there are two questions of which I must speak.” A change in the cadence of her voice showed that she was approaching the heart of her reasons for coming to Revelwood. “The second concerns a stranger who has visited Lord's Keep. But the first is one which was presented to you a year ago-at the request of Warmark Hile Troy.” She offered Troy a chance to speak, but he declined with a shake of his head, and she continued, “It is our hope that the Loresraat has discovered a way to speak and hear messages across distances. The Warmark believes that such a way will be of great value in this war.”

Cormini's look of satisfaction revealed his answer before he spoke it. “High Lord, we have learned a way.” Troy's heart surged at the news, and he gripped the handle of his sword. His battle plan appeared suddenly flawless. He was grinning broadly as the Eldest went on, 'Several of our best students and Lorewardens have devoted themselves to this need. And they were aided by Hirebrands of the lillianrill. With the Hirebrands and two students, Staff-Elder Asuraka learned that messages may be spoken and heard through lomillialor, the High Wood of the lillianrill. The task is difficult, and requires strength but it will not surpass any Lord accustomed to the Earthpower.“ Nodding at the Staff-Elder, he said, ”Asuraka will teach the knowledge to you. We have prepared three lomillialor rods for this purpose. More we could not do, for the High Wood is very rare.'

Lomillialor. Troy had heard of it. It was the lillianrill parallel to orcrest- a potent white wood descended from the One Tree from which Berek Halfhand had formed the Staff of Law. The Hirebrands used it-as the Gravelingases used orcrest- to give the test of truth. Lomillialor was said to be a sure test of-fidelity- if the one tested did not far surpass the strength of the tester. Some of the old tales of Covenant's first visit to the Land said that the Unbeliever had passed a test of truth given to him at Soaring Woodhelven.

And Soaring Woodhelven had later been destroyed.

As Troy got up to join Elena in thanking the Loresraat for what it had achieved, he looked over to see how Covenant took Corimini's news.

For some reason; the Unbeliever was on his feet. Swaying uncertainly, afraid of falling, he muttered, “Lomillialor. The test of truth. Are you going to trust that?”

A hot retort leaped into Troy's mouth, but something about Covenant's appearance silenced it. Troy blocked his sight with his hand, adjusted his sunglasses, then looked again. The strangeness was still there.

Covenant's chest seemed to ripple like roiled water. He was solid, but something disturbed the centre of his chest, making it waver like a mirage.

Troy had seen an effect like this once before. He glanced quickly away toward the High Lord. She regarded him with a question in her face. Nothing distorted her. The rippling touched no one else in the viancome. And even Covenant seemed unaware of it. But the Bloodguard around the bowl stood as if at attention, and Bannor held himself at Covenant's side with a coiled poise that belied his blank expression.

Then Troy saw the area of distortion detach itself from Covenant and float lazily toward the High Lord.

The other time he had seen it, it had appeared so briefly, with such evanescence, that he had finally disregarded it as a trick of his vision, a misconception. But now he knew what it was.

He bowed deliberately to Corimini. “Forgive the interruption. I forget what I was going to say.” Without waiting for an answer, he addressed Elena. He hoped that she would understand him through the careful nonchalance of his tone. “Why don't you go ahead? There was something else you wanted to talk to the Loresraat about.” While he spoke, he took a few steps in her direction, as if this were a natural expression of deference. On the edges of his sight, he watched the mirage float toward her.

He turned to get closer to it.

He faced Covenant in a way that allowed him to take two more steps, and remarked pointedly, “You know, it just might turn out that that white gold of yours has been good for something after all.” Some of his excitement forced its way into his tone.

The next instant, he sprang into motion. He took three rapid strides, and threw himself at the roiling distortion in the air.

It tried to evade him, but he caught it in time. He hit it with a jarring impact, and toppled to the net with it in his arms.

It struggled-he could feel invisible arms and legs but he kept his grip. He tightened his hold until the form stopped resisting and lay still. When he heaved himself to his feet, he lifted the light, limp weight easily in his arms.

“All right, my friend,” he gritted at it. “Show yourself. Or shall I ask the High Lord to tickle your ribs with the Staff of Law?”

Covenant was staring at Troy as if the Warmark had lost his mind. But Lord Amatin watched him avidly, and the High Lord moved forward as if to support his threat.

A peal of high, young laughter rang out. “Ah, very well,” said a bodiless voice bubbling with gaiety. “I am captured. You have surprising vision. Release me-I will not escape.”

The air swirled suddenly, and Amok became visible in Troy's grasp. He was the same incongruously ancient youth who had appeared before the Council of Lords in Revelstone.