The Power That Preserves

Giant. Somehow in Hotash Slay, Foamfollower had carried his most terrible passions through to their apocalypse.

Covenant steadied himself with sea air, and repeated, “I thought you were dead.”

The Giant’s happiness did not falter. “As did I. This outcome is an amazement to me, just as it is to you. Stone and Sea! I would have sworn that I would die. Covenant, the Despiser can never triumph entirely over a world in which such things occur.”

That’s true, Covenant said to himself. In that kind of world. Aloud, he asked, “But how-how did you do it? What happened?”

“I am not altogether certain. My friend, I think you have not forgotten the Giantish caamora, the ritual fire of grief. Giantish flesh is not harmed by ordinary fire. The pain purges, but does not burn. In that way the Unhomed from time to time found relief from the extravagance of their hearts.

“In addition-it will surprise you to hear that I believe your wild magic succoured me in some degree. Before I threw you from my shoulders, j felt — some power sharing strength with me, just as I shared strength with you.”

“Hellfire.” Covenant gaped at the blind argent band on his finger.

Hellfire and bloody damnation. Again he remembered Mhoram’s assertion, You are the white gold. But still he could not grasp what the High Lord had meant.

“And-in addition,” the Giant continued, “there are mysteries alive in the Earth of which Lord Foul, Satansheart and Soulcrusher, does not dream. The Earthpower which spoke to befriend Berek Halfhand is not silent now. It speaks another tongue, perhaps-perhaps its ways have been forgotten by the people who live upon the Earth-but it is not quenched. The Earth could not exist if it did not contain good to match such banes as the Illearth Stone.”

“Maybe,” Covenant mused. He hardly heard himself. The thought of his ring had triggered an entirely different series of ideas in him. He did not want to recognize them, hated to speak of them, but after a moment he forced himself to say, “Are you-are you sure you haven’t been-resurrected- like Elena?”

A look of laughter brightened the Giant’s face. “Stone and Sea! That has the sound of the Unbeliever in it.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, my friend,” Foamfollower chuckled, “I am not sure. I neither know nor care. I am only glad that I have been given one more chance to aid you.”

Covenant consumed Foamfollower’s answer, then found his response. He did his best to measure up to the Giant as he said, “Then let’s do something about it while we still can.”

” Yes.” Gravity slowly entered Foamfollower’s expression, but it did not lessen his aura of ebullience and pain. “We must. At our every delay, more lives are lost in the Land.”

“I hope you have a plan.” Covenant strove to repress his anxiety. “I don’t suppose that warder is just going to wave us through if we ask it nicely.”

“I have given some thought to the matter.” Carefully, Foamfollower outlined the results of his thinking.

Covenant considered for a moment, then said, “That’s all very well. But what if they know we’re coming? What if they’re waiting for us-inside there?”

The Giant shook his head, and explained that he had spent some time listening through the rock of the towers. He had heard nothing which would indicate an ambush, nothing to show that the towers were occupied at all. “Perhaps Soulcrusher truly does not believe that he can be approached in this way. Perhaps this warder is the only guard. We will soon know.”

“Yes, indeed,” Covenant muttered. “Only I hate surprises. You never know when one of them is going to ruin your life.”

Grimly, Foamfollower replied, “Perhaps now we will be able to return a measure of ruin to the miner.”

Covenant nodded. “I certainly hope so.”

Together, they crept back toward the entrance, then separated. Following the Giant’s instructions, Covenant worked his way down among the boulders and rubble, trying to get as close as he could to the front of the cave without being seen. He moved with extreme caution, took a circuitous route. When he was done, he was still at least forty yards from the abutment. The distance distressed him, but he could find no alternative. He was not trying to sneak past the warder; he only wanted to make it hesitate.

Come on, Covenant, he snarled. Get on with it. This is no place for cowards.

He took a deep breath, cursed himself once more as if this were his last chance, and stepped out of his hiding place.

At once, he felt the warder’s gaze spring at him, but he tried to ignore it, strove to pick his way up toward the cave with at least a semblance of nonchalance. Gripping his hands behind him, whistling tunelessly through his teeth, he walked forward as if he expected free admittance to Foul’s Creche.

He avoided the warder’s stare. That gaze felt hot enough to lay bare his purpose, expose him for what he was. It made his skin crawl with revulsion. But as he passed from the rubble onto the polished stone apron of the entry way, he forced himself to look into the figure’s face.

Involuntarily, he faltered, stopped whistling. The yellow ill of the warder’s gaze smote him with chagrin. Those eyes seemed to know him from skin to soul, seemed to know everything about him and hold everything they knew in the utterest contempt. For a fraction of an instant, he feared that this being was the Despiser himself. But he knew better. Like so many of the marauders, this creature was made of warped flesh-a victim of Lord Foul’s Stonework. And there was uncertainty in the way it held itself.

Feigning cockiness, he strode up the apron until he was almost within sword reach of the warder. There he stopped, deliberately scrutinized the figure for a moment. When he had surveyed it from head to foot, he met its powerful gaze again, and said with all the insolence he could muster, “Don’t tell Foul I’m here. I want to surprise him.”

As he said surprise him, he suddenly snatched his hands from behind his back. With his ring exposed on the index finger of his right hand, he lunged forward as if to attack the warder with a blast of wild magic.

The warder jumped into a defensive stance. For an instant, all three of its heads turned toward Covenant.

In that instant, Foamfollower came leaping over the abutment above the entrance to the Creche.

The warder was beyond his reach; but as he landed, he dove forward, rolled at it, swept its feet from under it. It went down in a whirl of limbs and blades.

At once, he straddled it. It was as large as he, perhaps stronger. It was armed. But he hammered it so mightily with his fists, pinned it so effectively with his body, that it could not defend itself. After he dealt it a huge two-fisted blow at the base of its necks, it went limp.

Quickly, he took one of its swords to behead it.

“Foamfollower!” Covenant protested.

Foamfollower thrust himself up from the unconscious figure, faced Covenant with the sword clenched in one fist.

“Don’t kill it.”

Panting slightly at his exertion, the Giant said, “It will alert the Creche against us when it recovers.” His expression was grim, but not savage.

“There’s been enough killing,” Covenant replied thickly. “I hate it.”

For a moment, Foamfollower held Covenant’s gaze. Then he threw back his head and began to laugh.

Covenant felt suddenly weak with gratitude. His knees almost buckled under him. ” That’ s better,” he mumbled in relief. Leaning against one wall of the entry, he rested while he treasured the Giant’s mirth.

Shortly, Foamfollower subsided. “Very well, my friend,” he said quietly. “The death of this creature would gain time for us-time in which we might work our work and then seek to escape. But escape has never been our purpose.” He dropped the sword across the prostrate warder. “If its unconsciousness allows us to reach our goal, we will have been well enough served. Let escape fend for itself.” He smiled wryly, then went on: “However, it is in my heart that I can make a better use of this buckler.”

Bending over the warder, he stripped off its garment, and used the leather to cover his own nakedness.