The 1st Chronicles of Thomas Covenant #2: The Illearth War (29 page)

“No!” Elena’s denial was fierce, and Mhoram breathed also, “No” But Troy could hear that Mhoram meant something different.

Then the melding ended, and the Lords returned to their mounts. Soon the company was back on the road, riding after Covenant in the direction of Revelwood.

For the rest of the afternoon, Troy was too disturbed by the Lords’ reaction to Covenant to relax and enjoy the journey. But the next day, he found a way to soothe his vague distress. He envisioned in detail the separate progresses of the Warward-the Bloodguard riding with Lord Callindrill, the mounted Eoward rafting and galloping, the warriors marching behind Amorine. On his mental map of the Land, these various thrusts had a deliberate symmetry that pleased him in some fundamental way. Before long, he began to feel better.

And Trothgard helped him, also. South of the rock gardens, the land’s mantle of soil became thicker and more fertile, so that the hills through which the company rode had no bare stone jutting up among the grass and flowers. Instead, copses and broad swaths

of woodland grew everywhere, punctuating the slopes and unfurling oratorically across the vales and valleys. Under the bright sky and the autumn balm of Trothgard, Troy put his uncertainty about Covenant behind him like a bad dream.

At that point, even the problem of communications did not bother him.

Ordinarily, he was even more concerned by his inability to convey messages to Quaan than by his ignorance of what was happening to Korik’s mission. But he was on his way to Revelwood. High Lord Elena had promised him that the Loresraat was working on his problem. He looked forward hopefully to the chance that the students of the Staff had found a solution for him.

That evening, he enjoyed the singing and talk of the Lords around the campfire.

Mhoram was withdrawn and silent, with a strange look of foreboding in his eyes, and Covenant glowered glum and taciturn into the coals of the fire. But High Lord Elena was in vibrant good spirits. With Amatin, she spread a mood of humor and gaiety over the company until even the somberest of the Lorewardens seemed to effervesce. Troy thought that she had never looked more lovely.

Yet he went to the blindness of his bed with an ache in his heart. He could not help knowing that Elena exerted her brilliance for Covenant’s sake, not for his.

He fell at once into sleep as if to escape his sightlessness. But in the darkest part of the moonless night, sharp voices and the stamping of hooves roused him. Through the obscure illumination of the fire embers, he saw a Bloodguard on a Ranyhyn standing in the center of the camp. The Ranyhyn steamed in the cold air; it had galloped hotly to reach the Lords.

First Mark Morin and Lord Mhoram already stood by the Ranyhyn, and the High Lord was hurrying from her blankets with Lord Amatin behind her. Troy threw an armful of kindling on the fire. The sudden blaze gave him a better view of the Bloodguard.

The grime of hard fighting streaked his face, and among the rents there were patches of dried blood

on his robe. He dismounted slowly, as if he were tired or reluctant.

Troy felt his balance suddenly waver, as if the tree limb of his efforts for the Land had jumped under his feet. He recognized the Bloodguard. He was Runnik, one of the members of Korik’s mission to Seareach.

FOURTEEN: Runnik’s Tale

FOR a moment, Troy groped around him, trying to regain his balance. Runnik should not be here; it was too soon. Only twenty-three days had passed since the departure of Korik’s mission. Even the mightiest Ranyhyn could not gallop to Seareach and back in that time. So Runnik’s arrival here meant Even before the High Lord could speak, Troy found himself demanding in a constricted voice, “What happened? What happened?”

But Elena stopped him with a sharp word. He could see that the implications of Runnik’s presence were not lost on her. She stood with the Staff of Law planted firmly on the ground, and her face was full of fire.

At her side, Covenant had a look of nausea, as if he were already sickened by what he expected to hear. He had the aspect of a man who wanted to know whether or not he had a terminal illness as he rasped at the Bloodguard, “Are they dead?”

Runnik ignored both Covenant and Troy. He nodded to First Mark Morin, then bowed slightly to the High Lord. Despite its flatness, his countenance had a reluctant cast, an angle of unwillingness, that made Troy groan in anticipation.

“Speak, Runnik,” Elena said sternly. “What word have you brought to us?” And after her Morin said, “Speak so that the Lords may hear you.”

Yet Runnik did not begin. Barely visible in the background of his unblinking gaze, there was an ache -a pang that Troy had never expected to see in any Bloodguard.

“Sweet Jesus,” he breathed. “How bad is it?”

Then Lord Mhoram spoke. “Runnik,” he said softly, “the mission to Seareach was given into the hands of the Bloodguard. This is a difficult burden, for you are Vowed to-the preservation of the Lords above all things. There is no blame for you if your Vow and the mission have come into conflict, requiring that one or the other must be set aside.

There can be no doubt of the Bloodguard, whatever the doom that brings you to us thus battle-rent at the dark of the moon.”

For a moment longer, Runnik hesitated. Then he said, “High Lord, I have come from the depths of Sarangrave Flat from the Defiles Course and the mission to Seareach.

To me, and to Pren and Porib with me, Korik said, ‘Return to the High Lord. Tell her all -

all the words of Warhaft Hoerkin, all the struggles of the Ranyhyn, all the attacks of the lurker. Tell her of the fall of Lord Shetra.’ ” Amatin moaned in her throat, and Mhoram stiffened. But Elena held Runnik with the intensity of her face. ” ‘She will know how to hear this tale of Giants and Ravers. Tell her that the mission will not fail.’

“‘Fist and faith,’ we three responded. ‘We will not fail.’

“But for four days we strove with the Sarangrave, and Pren fell to the lurker that has awakened. Then we won our way to the west of the Flat, and there regained our Ranyhyn. With our best speed we rode toward Revelstone. But when we entered Grimmerdhore, we were beset by wolves and ur-viles, though we saw no sign of them when we passed eastward. Porib and his Ranyhyn fell so that I might escape, and I rode onward.

“Then on the west of Grimmerdhore, I met with scouts of the Warward, and learned that Corruption was marching, and that the High Lord had ridden toward Revelwood. So I turned aside from Revelstone and came in pursuit to find you here.

“High Lord, there is much that I must say.”

“We will hear you,” Elena said. “Come.” Turning, she moved to the campfire.

There she seated herself with Mhoram and Amatin beside her. At a sign from her, Runnik sat down opposite her, and allowed one of the Lorewardens who had skill as a Healer to clean his cuts. Troy piled wood on the fire so that he could see better, then positioned himself near the Lords on the far side from Covenant. In a moment, Runnik began to speak.

At first, his narration was brief and awkward. The Bloodguard lacked the Giants’

gift for storytelling; he skimmed crucial subjects, and ignored things his hearers needed to know. But the Lords questioned him carefully. And Covenant repeatedly insisted on details. At times, he seemed to be trying to stall the narrative, postpone the moment when he would have to hear its outcome. Gradually, the events of the mission began to emerge in a coherent form.

Troy listened intensely. He could see nothing beyond the immediate light of the campfire; nothing distracted his attention. Despite the flatness of Runnik’s tone, the Warmark seemed to see what he was hearing as if the mission were taking place in the air before him.

The mission had made its way eastward through Grimmerdhore, and then for three days had ridden in rain. But no rain could halt the Ranyhyn, and this was no great storm. On the eighth day of the mission, when the clouds broke and let sunlight return to the earth, Korik and his party were within sight of Mount Thunder.

It grew steadily against the sky as they rode through the sunshine. They passed twenty-five leagues to the north of it, and reached the great cliff of Landsdrop late that afternoon. They were at one of its highest points, and could look out over the Lower Land from a vantage of more than four thousand feet. Here Landsdrop was as sheer as if the Lower Land had been cut away with an ax. And below it beyond a hilly strip of grassland less than five leagues wide lay Sarangrave Flat.

It was a wet land, latticed with waterways like exposed veins in the flesh of the ground, overgrown with fervid luxuriance, and full of subtle dangers-strange, treacherous, water-bred, and man-shy animals; cunning, old, half-rotten willows and cypresses that sang quiet songs which could bind the unwary; stagnant, poisonous pools, so covered with slime and mud and shallow plants that they looked like solid ground; lush flowers, beautifully bedewed with clear liquids that could drive humans mad; deceptive stretches of dry ground that turned suddenly to quicksand. All this was familiar to the Bloodguard. However ominous to human eyes, or unsuited to human life, Sarangrave Flat was not naturally evil. Rather, because of the darknesses which slumbered beneath it, it was simply dangerous-a wild haven for the misbom of the Land, the warped fruit of evils long past. The Giants, who knew how to be wary, had always been able to travel freely through the Flat, and they had kept paths open for others, so that the crossing of the Sarangrave was not normally a great risk.

But now something else met the gaze of the mission. Slumbering evil stirred; the hand of Corruption was at work, awakening old wrongs.

The peril was severe, and Lord Hyrim was dismayed. But neither the Lords nor the Bloodguard were surprised. The Lords Callindrill and Amatin-the Bloodguard Morril and Koral-had spoken of this danger. And though he was dismayed, Lord Hyrim did not propose that the mission should evade the danger by riding north and around Sarangrave Flat, a hundred leagues from their way. Therefore in the dawn of the ninth day the mission descended Landsdrop, using a horse trail which the Old Lords had made in the great cliff, and rode eastward across the grassland foothills toward the main Giantway through the Sarangrave.

The air was noticeably warmer and thicker than it had been above Landsdrop. It breathed as if it were clogged with invisible, damp fibers, and it seemed to leave something behind in the lungs when it was exhaled.

Then shrubs and low, twisted bushes began to appear through the grass. And the grass itself grew longer, wetter. At odd intervals, stray, hidden puddles of water splashed under the hooves of the Ranyhyn. Soon gnarled, lichenous trees appeared, spread out moss-draped limbs. They grew thicker and taller as the mission passed into the Sarangrave. In moments, the riders entered a grassy avenue that lay between two unrippling pools and angled away just north of eastward into a jungle which already appeared impenetrable. The Ranyhyn slowed to a more cautious pace. Abruptly, they found themselves plunging through chest-deep elephant grass.

When the riders looked behind them, they could see no trace of the Giantway. The Flat had closed like jaws.

But the Bloodguard knew that that was the way of the Sarangrave. Only the path ahead was visible. The Ranyhyn moved on, thrusting their broad chests through the grass.

As the jungle tightened, the Giantway narrowed until they could ride no more than three abreast each of the Lords flanked by Bloodguard. But the elephant grass receded, allowing them to move with better speed.

Their progress was loud. They disturbed the Flat, and as they traveled they set waves and wakes and noise on both sides. Birds and monkeys gibbered at them; small, furry animals that yipped like hyenas broke out of the grass in front of them and scurried away; and when the jungle gave way on either side for dark, rancid pools or sluggish streams, waterfowl with iridescent plumage clattered fearfully into the air. Sudden splashes echoed across still ponds; pale, vaguely human forms darted away under the ripples.

Throughout the morning, the mission followed the winding trail which careful Giants had made in times long past. No danger threatened, but still the Ranyhyn grew tense. When the riders stopped beside a shallow lake to rest and eat, their mounts became increasingly

restive. Several of them made low, blowing noises; their ears were up and alert, shifting directions in sharp jerks, almost quivering. One of them-the youngest stallion, bearing the Bloodguard Tull stamped a hoof irrhythmically. The Lords land the Bloodguard increased their caution, and rode on down the Giantway.

They had covered only two more leagues when Sill called the Bloodguard to observe Lord Hyrim.

The Lord’s face was flushed as if he had a high fever. Sweat rolled down his cheeks, and he was panting hoarsely, almost gasping for breath. His eyes glittered. But he was not alone. Lord Shetra, too, was flushed and panting.

Then even the Bloodguard found that they were having trouble breathing. The air felt turgid. It resisted being drawn into their lungs, and once within them it clung there with miry fingers, like the grasp of quicksand.

The sensation grew rapidly worse.

Suddenly, all the noise of the Flat ceased.

It was as Lord Callindrill had said.

But the Lord Amatin’s mount had not been a Ranyhyn. Trusting to the great horses, the mission continued on its way.

The riders moved slowly. The Ranyhyn walked with their heads straining forward, ears cocked, nostrils flared. They were sweating, though the air was not warm.

They covered a few hundred yards this way-forcing passage through the stubborn, mucky air and the silence. After that, the jungle fell away on both sides. The Giantway lay along a grassy ridge like a dam between two still pools. One of them was blue and bright, reflecting the sky and the afternoon sunlight, but the other was dark and rank.

The mission was halfway down the ridge when the sound began.

It started low, wet, and weak, like the groan of a dying man. But it seemed to come from the dark pool. It transfixed the riders. As they listened to it, it slowly swelled.