The 1st Chronicles of Thomas Covenant #2: The Illearth War (17 page)

But he knew that he could not stand it much longer. The ambience of Revelstone was as tight as a string about to snap. Pressure was building inside him, rising toward desperation. When Bannor knocked at his door one afternoon, he was so startled that he almost cried out.

However, Bannor had not come to announce the start of the war. In his flat voice, he asked Covenant if the Unbeliever would like to go hear a song.

A song, he echoed numbly. For a moment, he was too confused to respond. He had not expected such a question, certainly not from the Bloodguard. But then he shrugged jerkily. “Why not?” He did not stop to ask what had prompted Bannor’s unusual initiative. With a scowl, he followed the Bloodguard out of his suite.

Bannor took him up through the levels of the Keep until they were higher in the mountain than he had ever been before. Then the wide passage they followed rounded a corner, and came unexpectedly into open sunlight. They entered a broad, roofless amphitheater. Rows of stone benches curved downward to form a bowl around a flat center stage; and behind the topmost row the stone wall rose straight for twenty or thirty feet, ending in the flat of the plateau, where the mountain met the sky. The afternoon sun shone into the amphitheater, drenching the dull white stone of the stage and benches and wall with warmth and light.

The seats were starting to fill when Bannor and Covenant arrived. People from all the occupations of the Keep, including farmers and cooks and warriors, and the Lords Trevor and Loerya with their daughters, came through several openings in the wall to take seats around the bowl. But the Bloodguard formed the largest single group.

Covenant estimated roughly that there were a hundred of them on the benches. This vaguely surprised him. He had never seen more than a score of the Haruchai in one place before. After looking around for a while, he asked Bannor, “What song is this, anyway?”

“Lord Kevin’s Lament,” Bannor replied dispassionately.

Then Covenant felt that he understood. Kevin, he nodded to himself. Of course the Bloodguard wanted to hear this song. How could they be less than keenly interested in anything which might help them to comprehend Kevin Landwaster?

For it was Kevin who had summoned Lord Foul to Kiril Threndor to utter the Ritual of Desecration. The legends said that when Kevin had seen that he could not defeat the Despiser, his heart had turned black with despair. He had loved the Land too intensely to let it fall to Lord Foul. And yet he had failed; he could not preserve it. Torn by his impossible dilemma, he had been driven to dare that Ritual. He had known that the unleashing of that fell power would destroy the Lords and all their works, and ravage the Land from end to end, make it barren for generations. He had known that he would die.

But he had hoped that Lord Foul would also die, that when at last life returned to the Land it would be life free of Despite. He chose to take that risk rather than permit Lord Foul’s victory. Thus he dared the Despiser to join him in Kiril Threndor. He and Lord Foul spoke the Ritual, and High Lord Kevin Landwaster destroyed the Land which he loved.

And Lord Foul had not died. He had been reduced for a time, but he had survived, preserved by the law of Time which emprisoned him upon the Earth so the legends said.

So now all the Land and the new Lords lay under the consequences of Kevin’s despair.

It was not surprising that the Bloodguard wanted to hear this song-or that Bannor had asked Covenant to come hear it also.

As he mused, Covenant caught a glimpse of blue from across the amphitheater.

Looking up, he saw High Lord Elena standing near one of the entrances. She, too, wanted to hear this song.

With her was Warmark Troy.

Covenant felt an urge to go join them, but before he could make up his mind to move, the singer entered the amphitheater. She was a tall, resplendent woman, simply clad in a crimson robe, with golden hair that flew like sparks about her head. As she moved down the steps to the stage, her audience rose to its feet and silently gave her the salute of welcome. She did not return it. Her face bore a look of concentration, as if she were already feeling her song.

When she reached the stage, she did not speak, said nothing to introduce or explain or identify her song. Instead, she took her stance in the center of the stage, composed herself for a moment as the song came over her, then lifted her face to the sun and opened her throat.

At first, her melody was restrained, arid and angular -only hinting at burned pangs and poignancies.

I stood on the pinnacle of the Earth: Mount Thunder, its Lions in full flaming mane, raised its crest no higher than the horizons that my gaze commanded; the Ranyhyn, hooves unfettered since the Age began, galloped gladly to my will; iron-thewed Giants from beyond the sun’s birth in the sea came to me in ships as mighty as castles, and cleft my castle from the raw Earth rock and gave it to me out of pure friendship a handmark of allegiance and fealty in the eternal stone of Time; the Lords under my Watch labored to find and make manifest the true purpose of the Earth’s Creator, barred from His creation by the vary power of that purpose-power graven into the flesh and bone of the Land by the immutable Law of its creation: how could I stand so, so much glory and dominion comprehended by the outstretch of my armsstand thus, eye to eye with the Despiser, and not be dismayed?

But then the song changed, as if the singer opened inner chambers to give her voice more resonance. In high, arching spans of song, she gave out her threnody

-highlighted it and underscored it with so many implied harmonies, so many suggestions of other accompanying voices, that she seemed to have a whole choir within her, using her one throat for utterance.

Where is the Power that protects beauty from the decay of life?

preserves truth pure of falsehood? secures fealty from that slow stain of chaos which corrupts?

How are we so rendered small by Despite? Why will the very rocks not erupt for their own cleansing,

or crumble into dust for shame? Creator!

When You desecrated this temple, rid Yourself of this contempt by inflicting it upon the Land, did You intend that beauty and truth should pass utterly from the Earth?

Have You shaped my fate into the Law of life? Am I effectless?

Must I preside over, sanction, acknowledge with the bitter face of treachery, approve the falling of the world?

Her music ached in the air like a wound of song. And as she finished, the people came to their feet with a rush. Together they sang into the fathomless heavens: Ah, Creator!

Timelord and Landsire!

Did You intend that beauty and truth should pass utterly from the Earth?

Bannor stood, though he did not join the song. But Covenant kept his seat, feeling small and useless beside the community of Revelstone. Their emotion climaxed in the refrain, expending sharp grief and then filling the amphitheater with a wash of peace which cleansed and healed the song’s despair, as if the united power of the singing alone were answer enough to Kevin’s outcry. By making music out of despair, the people resisted it. But Covenant felt otherwise. He was beginning to understand the danger that threatened the Land.

So he was still sitting, gripping his beard and staring blankly before him, when the people filed out of the amphitheater, left him alone with the hot brightness of the sun. He remained there, muttering grimly to himself, until he became aware that Hile Troy had come over to him.

When he looked up, the Warmark said, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Gruffly, Covenant responded, “I didn’t expect to see you.” But he was only obliquely thinking about Troy. He was still trying to grapple with Kevin.

As if he could hear Covenant’s thoughts, the Warmark said, “It all comes back to Kevin. He’s the one who made the Seven Wards. He’s the one who inspired the Bloodguard. He’s the one who did the Ritual of Desecration. And it wasn’t necessary-or it wasn’t inevitable. He wouldn’t have been driven that far if he hadn’t already made his big mistake.”

“His big mistake,” Covenant murmured.

“He admitted Foul to the Council, made him a Lord. He didn’t see through Foul’s disguise. After that it was too late. By the time Foul declared himself and broke into open war, he’d had time for so much subtle treachery that he was unbeatable.

“In situations like that, I guess most ordinary men kill themselves. But Kevin was no ordinary man-he had too much power for that, even though it seemed useless. He killed the Land instead. All that survived were the people who had time to escape into exile.

“They say that Kevin understood what he’d done just before he died. Foul was laughing at him. He died howling.

“Anyway, that’s why the Oath of Peace is so important now. Everyone takes it-it’s as fundamental as the Lords’ oath of service to the Land. Together they all swear that somehow they’ll resist the destructive emotions-like Kevin’s despair. They — ”

“I know,” Covenant sighed. “I know all about it.” He was remembering Triock, the man who had loved Lena in Mithil Stonedown forty years ago. Triock had wanted to kill Covenant, but Atiaran had prevented him on the strength of the Oath of Peace.

“Please don’t say any more. I’m having a hard enough time as it is.”

“Covenant,” Troy continued as if he were still on the same subject, “I don’t see why you aren’t ecstatic about being here. How can the ‘real’ world be any more important than this?”

“It’s the only world there is.” Covenant climbed heavily to his feet. “Let’s get out of here. This heat is making me giddy.”

Moving slowly, they left the amphitheater. The air in Revelstone welcomed them back with its cool, dim pleasance, and Covenant breathed it deeply, trying to steady himself.

He wanted to get away from Troy, evade the questions he knew Troy would ask him. But the Warmark had a look of determination. After a few moments, he said,

“Listen, Covenant. I’m trying to understand. Since the last time we talked, I’ve spent half my time trying. Somebody has got to have some idea what to expect from you. But I just don’t see it. Back there, you’re a leper. Isn’t this better?”

Dully, answering as briefly as possible, Covenant said, “It isn’t real. I don’t believe it.” Half to himself, he added, “Lepers who pay too much attention to their own dreams or whatever don’t live very long.”

“Jesus,” Troy muttered. “You make it sound as if leprosy is all there is.” He thought for a moment, then demanded, “How can you be so sure this isn’t real?”

“Because life isn’t like this. Lepers don’t get well. People with no eyes don’t suddenly start seeing. Such things don’t happen. Somehow, we’re being betrayed. Our own-our own needs for something that we don’t have-are seducing us into this. It’s crazy.

Look at you. Come on-think about what happened to you. There you were, trapped between a nine-story fall and a raging fire-blind and helpless and about to die. Is it so strange to think that you cracked up?

“That is,” he went on mordantly, “assuming you exist at all. I’ve got an idea about you. I must’ve made you up subconsciously so that I would have someone to argue with.

Someone to tell me I’m wrong.”

“Damn it!” Troy cried. Turning swiftly, he snatched up Covenant’s right hand and gripped it at eye level between them. With his head thrust defiantly forward, he said intensely, “Look at me. Feel my grip. I’m here. It’s a fact. It’s real.”

For a moment, Covenant considered Troy’s hand. Then he said, “I feel you. And I see you. I even hear you. But that only proves my point. I don’t believe it. Now let go of me.”

“Why?!”

Troy’s sunglasses loomed at him darkly, but Covenant glared back into them until they turned away. Gradually, the Warmark released the pressure of his grip. Covenant yanked his hand away, and walked on with a quiver in his breathing. After a few strides, he said, “Because I can feel it. And I can’t afford it. Now listen to me. Listen hard. I’m going to try to explain this so you can understand.

“Just forget that you know there’s no possible way you could have come here. It’s impossible- But just forget that for a while. Listen. I’m a leper. Leprosy is not a directly fatal disease, but it can kill indirectly. I can only-any leper can only stay alive by concentrating all the time every minute to keep himself from getting hurt-and to take care of his hurts as soon as they happen. The one thing- Listen to me. The one thing no leper can afford is to let his mind wander. If he wants to stay alive. As soon as he stops concentrating, and starts thinking about how he’s going to make a better life for himself, or starts dreaming about how his life was before he got sick, or about what he would do if he only got cured, or even if people simply stopped abhorring lepers”

— he threw the words at Troy’s head like chunks of stone — “then he is as good as dead.

“This-Land-is suicide to me. It’s an escape, and I can’t afford even thinking about escapes, much less actually falling into one. Maybe a blind man can stand the risk, but a leper can’t. If I give in here, I won’t last a month where it really counts. Because I’ll have to go back. Am I getting through to you?”

“Yes,” Troy said. “Yes. I’m not stupid. But think about it for a minute. If it should happen-if it should somehow be true that the Land is real-then you’re denying your only hope. And that’s — ”

“I know.”

” — that’s not all. There’s something you’re not taking into account. The one thing that doesn’t fit this delusion theory of yours is power-your power. White gold. Wild magic. That damn ring of yours changes everything. You’re not a victim here. This isn’t being done to you. You’re responsible.”

“No,” Covenant groaned.

“Wait a minute! You can’t just deny this. You’re responsible for your dreams, Covenant. Just like anybody else.”

No! Nobody can control dreams. Covenant tried to fill himself with icy confidence, but his heart was chilled by another cold entirely.

Troy pressed his argument. “There’s been plenty of evidence that white gold is just exactly what the Lords say it is. How were the defenses of the Second Ward broken?

How did the Fire-Lions of Mount Thunder get called down to save you? White gold, that’s how. You’ve already got the key to the whole thing.”