The Illearth War

Seventeen: Tull's Tale

TROY'S heart lurched, and began to labour heavily. Tull! He could feel his pulse beating in his temples. Korik's mission! After the shock of Runnik's news, he had repressed all thought of the Giants, refused to let himself think of them. He had concentrated on the war, concentrated on something he could do something about. But now his thoughts reeled. The Giants!

Almost instantly he began to calculate. He 'gad been away from Revelstone for twenty-five days. The mission to Seareach had left eighteen days before that. That was almost enough time, almost enough. The Giants could not travel as fast as Bloodguard on Ranyhyn-but surely they would not be far behind. Surely

Troy could understand how Tull had come here. It made sense. The other Bloodguard would be leading the Giants, and Tull had come ahead to tell the Warward that help was on the way. With war on the Land and Lord Foul marching, the Giants would not go to Revelstone, would not go north at all. They would go south, around Sarangrave Flat if not through it. The Bloodguard knew Troy's battle plan; they would know what to do. They would pick up the trail of Lord Foul's army above Landsdrop south of Mount Thunder, and would follow it-past Morinmoss, through the Mithil valley, then southwest toward Doom's Retreat. They would be hoping to attack Lord Foul's rear during the battle of the Retreat. And Tull, seeking to circumvent Lord Foul's army in search of the Warward, would naturally come south to skirt the Southron Range toward Doom's Retreat. That route would bring him almost to the doorstep of Mithil Stonedown. Surely-!

When Tull topped the stair and stepped onto the Watch, Troy was so eager that he jumped past all preliminary questions. “Where are they?” The words came so rapidly that he could hardly articulate them. “How far behind are they?”

In the dim light of the graveling, he was unable to make out Tull's face. But he could tell that the Bloodguard was not looking at him. “Lord,” Tull said, “I was charged by Korik to give my tidings to the High Lord. With Shull and Vale I was charged-” For an instant, his fiat voice faltered. “But the Bloodguard in the Stonedown have told me that the High Lord has gone into the Westron Mountains with Amok. I must give my tidings to you. Will you hear?”

Even through his excitement, Troy sensed something strange in Tull's tone, something that sounded like pain. But he could not wait to hear it explained. Before Lord Mhoram could reply, Troy repeated, “Where are they?”

“They?” said the Bloodguard.

“The Giants! How far behind are they?”

Tull turned deliberately away from him to face Lord Mhoram.

“We will hear you,” Mhoram said. His voice was tense with dread, but he spoke steadily, without hesitation. “This war is in our hands. Speak, Bloodguard.”

“Lord, they-we could not-the Giants-” Suddenly the habitual flatness of Tull's voice was gone. “Lord!” The word vibrated with a grief so keen that the Bloodguard could not master it.

The sound of it stunned Troy. He was accustomed to the characteristic alien lack of inflection of all the Bloodguard. He had long since stopped expecting them to express what they felt-had virtually forgotten that they even had emotions. And he was not braced for grief; his anticipation of good news was so great that he could already taste it.

Instantly, before either he or Lord Mhoram could say anything, react at all, Terrel moved toward Tull. Swinging so swiftly that Troy hardly saw the blow, he struck Tull across the face. The hit resounded heavily in the empty air.

At once, Tull stiffened, came to attention. “Lord,” he began again, and now his voice was as expressionless as the night, 'with Shull and Vale I was charged to bear tidings to the High Lord. Before the dawn of the twenty- fourth day of the mission-the dawn after the dark of the moon-we left Coercri and came south, as Korik charged us, seeking to find the High Lord in battle at Doom's Retreat. But because of the evil which is awake, we were compelled to journey on foot around the Sarangrave, and so twelve days were gone. We came too near to the Shattered Hills, and so Vale and Shull fell to the scouts and defenders of Corruption. But I endured. Borne by the Ranyhyn, I fled to Landsdrop and the Upper Land, following

Corruption's army. Striving to pass around it, I rode through the hills to the Southron Range, and so came within hail of Mithil Stonedown-eight days in which the Ranyhyn has run without rest.

“Lord-” Again he faltered, but at once he controlled himself. “I must tell you of the mission to Seareach, and of the ill doom which has befallen The Grieve.”

“I hear you,” Mhoram said painfully. “But forgive me-I must sit.” Like an old man, he lowered himself down his staff to rest with his back against the wall of the parapet. “I lack the strength to stand for such tidings.”

Tull seated himself opposite the Lord across the graveling pot, and Troy sat down also, as if Tull's movement compelled him. The vestiges of his sight were locked on the Bloodguard.

After a moment, Mhoram said, “Runnik came to us in Trothgard. He spoke of Hoerkin and Lord Shetra, and of the lurker of the Sarangrave. There is no need to speak of such things again.”

“Very well.” Tull faced the Lord, but his visage was shrouded in darkness. Troy could not see his eyes; he appeared to have no eyes, no mouth, no features. When he began his tale, his voice seemed to be the voice of the blind night.

But he told his tale clearly and coherently, as if he had rehearsed it many times during his journey from Seareach. And as he spoke, Troy was reminded that he was the youngest of the Bloodguard-a Haruchai no older than Troy himself. Tull had come to Revelstone to replace one of the Bloodguard who had been slain during Lord Mhoram's attempt to scout the Shattered Hills. So he was still new to the Vow. Perhaps that explained his unexpected emotion, and his ability to tell a tale in a way that his hearers could understand.

After the deaths of Lord Shetra and the Bloodguard Cerrin, there was rain in Sarangrave Flat all that day. It was cold and merciless, and it harmed the mission, for Lord Hyrim was sickened by the river water he had swallowed, and the rain made his sickness worse. And the Bloodguard could give him no ease-neither warmth nor shelter. In the capsizing of the raft, all the blankets had been lost. And the rank water of the Defiles Course did other damage: it spoiled all the food except that which had been kept in tight containers; it ruined the lillianrill rods, so that they had no more potency to burn against the rain; it even stained the clothing, so that Lord Hyrim's robe and the raiment of the Bloodguard became black.

Before the end of the day, the Lord was no longer strong enough to propel or steer the raft. Fever filled his eyes, and his lips were blue and trembling with cold. Sitting in the centre of the raft, he hugged his staff as if for warmth.

During the night, he began to rant.

In a voice that bubbled through the water running down his face, he spoke to himself as to an adversary and tormentor, alternately cursing and pleading. At times he wept like a child. His delirium was cruel to him, demeaning him as if he were without use or worth. And the Bloodguard could do nothing to succour him.

But at last before dawn the rain broke, and the sky became clear. Then Korik ordered the raft over to one bank. Though it was perilous to stop thus in darkness, he sent half the Bloodguard foraging into the jungle for firewood and aliantha.

After Sill fed him a handful of treasure-berries, the Lord rallied enough to call up a flame from his staff. With this, Korik started a fire, built it into a steady blaze near the centre of the raft. Then the steersmen pushed the raft out into the night, and the mission continued on its way.

In the course of that day, they slowly passed out of the Sarangrave. Across the leagues, the Defiles Course was now growing constantly wider and shallower, dividing into more channels as islets and mudbanks increased. These channels were treacherous-shallow, barred with mudbanks, full of rotten logs and stumps — and the effort of navigating them slowed the raft still more. And around it, the jungle gradually changed.

The vegetation of the Sarangrave gave way to different kinds of growths: tall, dark trees with limbs that spread out widely above bare trunks, hanging mosses, ferns of all kinds, bushes that clung to naked rock with thin root-fingers and seemed to drink from the river through leaves and branches. Water snakes swam out of the path of