His defensive rage was no match for her. He snatched her up from her knees as if he meant to break her back, but then he held her tenderly, put all the gentleness of which he was capable into his face. For an instant, he felt he had in his hands proof that he-not Lord Foul-was responsible for the misery of the Land. And he could not accept that responsibility without rejecting her. What she asked him to do was to forget-
He knew that Foamfollower was watching him. But if Triock and Mhoram and Banner had been behind him as well-if even Trell and Atiaran had been present-he would not have changed his answer.
"No, Lena,'' he said softly. "I don't love you right-I don't have the right kind of love to marry you. I'd only be cheating you. You're beautiful -beautiful. Any other man wouldn't wait for you to ask him. But I'm the Unbeliever, remember? I'm here for a reason.'' With a sick twisting of his lips that was as close as he could come to a smile, he finished, "Berek Halfhand didn't marry his Queen, either."
His words filled him with disgust. He felt that he was telling her a lie worse than the lie of marrying her-that any comfort he might try to offer her violated the severe truth. But as she realized what he was saying, she caught hold of the idea and clasped it to her. She blinked rapidly at her tears, and the harsh effort of holding her confusion at bay faded from her face. In its place, a shy smile touched her lips. "Am I your Queen then, Unbeliever?" she asked in a tone of wonder.
Roughly, Covenant hugged her so that she could not see the savagery which white-knuckled his countenance. "Of course." He forced up the words as if they were too thick for his aching throat. "No one else is worthy."
He held her, half fearing she would collapse if he let her go, but after a long moment, she withdrew from his embrace. With a look that reminded him of her sprightly girlhood, she said, "Let us tell the Giant," as if she wished to announce something better than a betrothal.
Together, they turned and climbed arm in arm up the ravine toward Saltheart Foamfollower.
When they reached him, they found that his buttressed visage was still wet with weeping. Gray ice sheened his face, hung like beads from his stiff beard. His hands were gripped and straining across his knees. "Foamfollower," Lena said in surprise, "this is a moment of happiness. Why do you weep?"
His hands jerked up to scrub away the ice, and when it was gone, he smiled at her with wonderful fondness. "You are too beautiful, my Queen," he told her gently. "You surpass me."
His response made her shine with pleasure. For a moment, her old flesh blushed youthfully, and she met the Giant's gaze with joy in her eyes. Then a recollection started her. "But I am remiss. I have been asleep, and you have not eaten. I must cook for you." Turning lightly, she scampered down the ravine toward Foamfollower's supplies.
The Giant glanced up at the chill sky, then looked at Covenant's gaunt face. His cavernous eyes glinted sharply, as if he understood what Covenant had been through. As gently as he had spoken to Lena, he asked, "Do you now believe in the Land?"
"I'm the Unbeliever. I don't change."
"Do you not?"
"I am going to"-Covenant's shoulders hunched-"exterminate Lord Foul the bloody Despiser. Isn't that enough for you?"
"Oh, it is enough for me," Foamfollower said with sudden vehemence. "I require nothing more. But it does not suffice for you. What do you believe-what is your faith?"
"I don't know."
Foamfollower looked away again at the weather. His heavy brows hid his eyes, but his smile seemed sad, almost hopeless. "Therefore I am afraid."
Covenant nodded grimly, as if in agreement.
Nevertheless, if Lord Foul had appeared before him at that moment, he, Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and leper, would have tried to tear the Despiser's heart out with his bare hands.
He needed to know how to use the white wild magic gold.
But there were no answers in the meal Lena cooked for him and Foamfollower, or in the gray remainder of the afternoon, which he spent huddled over the fire-stones with Lena resting drowsily against him, or in the dank, suffering twilight that finally brought his waiting to an end. When Foamfollower led the way eastward out of the ravine, Covenant felt that he understood nothing but the wind which blew through him like scorn for the impotence of sunlight and warmth. And after that he had no more time to think about it. All his attention was occupied with the work of stumbling numbly through the benighted hills.
Traveling was difficult for him. His body's struggle to recover from injury and inanition drained his strength; the bitter cold drained his strength. He could not see where to place his feet, could not avoid tripping, falling, bruising himself on insensate dirt and rock. Yet he kept going, pushed himself after Foamfollower until the sweat froze on his forehead and his clothing grew crusted with stains of ice. His resolve held him. In time, he even became dimly grateful that his feet were numb, so that he could not feel the damage he was doing to himself.
He had no sense of duration or progress; he measured out the time in rest halts, in aliantha unexpectedly handed to him out of the darkness by Foamfollower. Such things sustained him. But eventually he stopped rubbing the ice from his nose and lips, from his forehead and his fanatical beard; he allowed the gray cold to hang like a mask on his features, as if he were becoming a creature of winter. And he stumbled on in the Giant's wake.
When Foamfollower stopped at last, shortly before dawn, Covenant simply dropped to the snow and fell asleep.
Later, the Giant woke him for breakfast, and he found Lena sleeping beside him, curled against the cold. Her lips were faintly tinged with blue, and she shivered from time to time, unable to get warm. Her years showed clearly now in the lines of her face and in the frail, open-mouthed rise and fall of her breathing. Covenant roused her carefully, made her eat hot food until her lips lost their cold hue and the veins in her temples became less prominent. Then, despite her protests, he put her down in blankets and lay beside her until she went back to sleep.
Sometime later, he roused himself to finish his own breakfast. Calculating backward, he guessed that the Giant had been without rest for at least the last three days and nights. So he said abruptly, "I'll let you know when I can't stay awake anymore," took the graveling pot, and moved off to find a sheltered place where he could keep watch. There he sat and watched daylight ooze into the air like seepage through the scab of an old wound.
He awoke late in the afternoon to find Foamfollower sitting beside him, and Lena preparing a meal a short distance away. He jerked erect, cursing inwardly. But his companions did not appear to have suffered from his dereliction. Foamfollower met his gaze with a smile and said, "Do not be alarmed. We have been safe enough-though I was greatly weary and slept until midday. There is a deer run north of us, and some of the tracks are fresh. Deer would not remain here in the presence of marauder spoor.''
Covenant nodded. His breath steamed heavily in the cold. "Foamfollower," he muttered, "I am incredibly tired of being so bloody mortal."
But that night he found the going easier. In spite of the encroaching numbness of his hands and feet, some of his strength had returned. And as Foamfollower led him and Lena eastward, the mountains moved away from them on the south, easing the ruggedness of the hills. As a result, he was better able to keep up the pace.
Yet the relaxation of the terrain caused another problem. Since they were less protected from the wind, they often had to walk straight into the teeth of Lord Foul's winter. In that wind, Covenant's inmost clothing seemed to turn to ice, and he moved as if he were scraping his chest raw like a penitent.
Still, he had enough stamina left at the end of the night's march to take the first watch. The Giant had chosen to camp in a small hollow sheltered on the east by a low hill; and after they had eaten, Foamfollower and Lena lay down to sleep while Covenant took a position under a dead, gnarled juniper just below the crown of the knoll. From there, he looked down at his companions, resting as if they trusted him completely. He was determined not to fail them again.
Yet he knew, could not help knowing, that he was poorly equipped for such duty. The wintry truncation of his senses nagged at him as if it implied disaster-as if his inability to see, smell, hear peril would necessarily give rise to peril. And he was not mistaken. Though he was awake, almost alert-though the day had begun, filling the air with its gray, cold sludge- though the attack came from the east, upwind from him-he felt nothing until too late.
He had just finished a circuit of the hilltop, scanning the terrain around the hollow, and had returned to sit in the thin shelter of the juniper, when at last he became aware of danger. Something imminent ran along the wind; the atmosphere over the hollow became suddenly intense. The next instant, dark figures rose up out of the snow around Foamfollower and Lena. As he tried to shout a warning, the figures attacked.
He sprang to his feet, raced down into the hollow. Below him, Foamfollower surged to his knees, throwing dark brown people aside. With a low cry of anger, Lena struggled against the weight of the attackers who pinned her in her blankets. But before Covenant could get to her, someone hit him from behind, knocked him headlong into the snow.
He rolled, got his feet under him, but immediately arms caught him around the chest above the elbows. His own arms were trapped. He fought, threw himself from side to side, but his captor was far too strong; he could not break the grip. Then a flat, alien voice said into his ear, "Remain still or I will break your back."
His helplessness infuriated him.' Then break it,'' he panted under his breath as he struggled. "Just let her go." Lena was resisting frantically, yelping in frustration and outrage as she failed to free herself.
"Foamfollower!" Covenant shouted hoarsely.
But he saw in shocked amazement that the Giant was not fighting. His attackers stood back from him, and he sat motionless, regarding Covenant's captor gravely.
Covenant went limp with chagrin.
Roughly, the attackers pulled Lena from her blankets. They had already lashed her wrists with cords. She still struggled, but now her only aim seemed to be to break loose so that she could run to Covenant.
Then Foamfollower spoke. Levelly, dangerously, he said, "Release him.'' When the arms holding Covenant did not loosen, the Giant went on: "Stone and Sea! You will regret it if you have harmed him. Do you not know me?"
"The Giants are dead," the voice in Covenant's ear said dispassionately. "Only Giant-Ravers remain."
"Let me go!" Lena hissed. "Oh, look at him, you fools! Melenkurion abatha! Is he a Raver?" But Covenant could not tell whether she referred to Foamfollower or himself.
His captor ignored her. "We have seen-I have seen The Grieve. I have made that journey to behold the work of Ravers."
A shadow tightened in Foamfollower's eyes, but his voice did not flicker. "Distrust me, then. Look at him, as Lena daughter of Atiaran suggests. He is Thomas Covenant."
Abruptly, the strong arms spun Covenant. He found himself facing a compact man with flat eyes and a magisterial mien. The man wore nothing but a thin, short, vellum robe, as if he were impervious to the cold. In some ways he had changed; his eyebrows were stark white against his brown skin; his hair had aged to a mottled gray; and deep lines ran like the erosion of time down his cheeks past the corners of his mouth. But still Covenant recognized him.
He was Banner of the Bloodguard.
[NINE] Ramen Covert
The sight of him stunned Covenant. Lithe, loam-colored forms, some wearing light robes shaded to match the gray-white snow, moved closer to him as if to verify his identify; a few of them muttered "Ringthane" in tense voices. He hardly saw them. "But Mhoram said-"
But Mhoram had said that the Bloodguard were lost.
"Ur-Lord Covenant." Banner inclined his head in a slight bow. "Pardon my error. You are well disguised."
"Disguised?" Covenant had no conception of what Banner was talking about. Mhoram's pain had carried so much conviction. Numbly, he glanced downward as if he expected to find two fingers missing from Banner's right hand.
"A Stonedownor jacket. Sandals. A Giant for a companion." Banner's impassive eyes held Covenant's face. "And you stink of infection. Only your countenance may be recognized."
"Recognized." Covenant could not stop himself. He repeated the word because it was the last thing Banner had said. Fighting for self-control, he croaked, "Why aren't you with the Lords?"
"The Vow was Corrupted. We no longer serve the Lords."
Covenant gaped at this answer as if it were nonsense. Confusion befogged his comprehension. Had Mhoram said anything like this? He found that his knees were trembling as if the ground under him had shifted. No longer serve the Lords, he repeated blankly. He did not know what the words meant.
But then the sounds of Lena's struggle penetrated him. "You have harmed him," she gasped fiercely. "Release me!"
He made an effort to pull himself together. "Let her go," he said to Banner. "Don't you understand who she is?"
"Did the Giant speak truly?"
"What? Did he what?" Covenant almost lapsed back into his stupor at the jolt of this distrust. But for Lena's sake he took a deep breath, resisted. "She is the mother of High Lord Elena,'' he grated. "Tell them to let her go."
Banner glanced past Covenant at Lena, then said distantly, "The Lords spoke of her. They were unable to heal her." He shrugged slightly. "They were unable to heal many things."
Before Covenant could respond, the Bloodguard signaled to his companions. A moment later, Lena was at Covenant's side. From somewhere in her robes, she produced a stone knife and brandished it between Bannor and Covenant. "If you have harmed him, "she fumed, "I will take the price of it from your skin, old man."
The Bloodguard cocked an eyebrow at her. Covenant reached for her arm to hold her back, but he was still too staggered to think of a way to calm her, reassure her. "Lena," he murmured ineffectively, "Lena." When Foamfollower joined them, Covenant's eyes appealed to the Giant for help.
"Ah, my Queen," Foamfollower said softly. "Remember your Oath of Peace."
"Peace!" Lena snapped in a brittle voice. "Speak to them of Peace. They attacked the Unbeliever."
"Yet they are not our enemies. They are the Ramen."
She jerked incredulously to face the Giant. "Ramen? The tenders of the Ranyhyn?"
Covenant stared as well. Ramen? He had unconsciously assumed that Banner's companions were other Bloodguard. The Ramen had always secretly hated the Bloodguard because so many Ranyhyn had died while bearing the Bloodguard in battle. Ramen and Bloodguard? The ground seemed to lurch palpably under him. Nothing was as he believed it to be; everything in the Land would either astound or appall him, if only he were told the truth.
"Yes," Foamfollower replied to Lena. And now Covenant recognized the Ramen for himself. Eight of them, men and women, stood around him. They were lean, swift people, with the keen faces of hunters, and skin so deeply tanned from their years in the open air that even this winter could not pale them. Except for their scanty robes, their camouflage, they dressed in the Ramen fashion as Covenant remembered it-short shifts and tunics which left their legs and arms free; bare feet. Seven of them had the cropped hair and roped waists characteristic of Cords; and the eighth was marked as a Manethrall by the way his fighting thong tied his long black hair into one strand, and by the small, woven circlet of yellow flowers on the crown of his head.
Yet they had changed; they were not like the Ramen he had known forty-seven years ago. The easiest alteration for him to see was in their attitude toward him. During his first visit to the Land, they had looked at him in awed respect. He was the Ringthane, the man to whom the Ranyhyn had reared a hundred strong. But now their proud, severe faces regarded him with asperity backed by ready rage, as if he had violated their honor by committing some nameless perfidy.
But that was not the only change in them. As he scrutinized the uncompromising eyes around him, he became conscious of a more significant difference, something he could not define. Perhaps they carried themselves wit
h less confidence or pride; perhaps they had been attacked so often that they had developed a habitual flinch; perhaps this ratio of seven Cords to one Manethrall, instead of three or four to one, as it should have been, indicated a crippling loss of life among their leaders, the teachers of the Ranyhyn-lore. Whatever the reason, they had a haunted look, an aspect of erosion, as if some subliminal ghoul were gnawing at the bones of their courage. Studying them, Covenant was suddenly convinced that they endured Bannor, even followed him, because they were no longer self-sure enough to refuse a Bloodguard.
After a moment, he became aware that Lena was speaking, more in confusion than in anger now. "Why did you attack us? Can you not recognize the Unbeliever? Do you not remember the Rockbrothers of the Land? Can you not see that I have ridden Ranyhyn?"
"Ridden!" spat the Manethrall.
"My Queen," Foamfollower said softly, "the Ramen do not ride."
"As for Giants," the man went on, "they betray."
"Betray?" Covenant's pulse pounded in his temples, as if he were too close to an abyss hidden in the snow.
"Twice now Giants have led Fangthane's rending armies north of the Plains of Ra. These 'Rockbrothers' have sent fangs and claws in scores of thousands to tear the flesh of Ranyhyn. Behold!" With a swift tug, he snatched his cord from his hair and grasped it taut like a garrote. "Every Ramen cord is black with blood." His knuckles tightened as if he were about to leap at the Giant. "Manhome is abandoned. Ramen and Ranyhyn are scattered. Giants!" He spat again as if the very taste of the word disgusted him.
"Yet you know me," Foamfollower said to Bannor. "You know that I am not one of the three who fell to the Ravers."
Bannor shrugged noncommittally. "Two of the three are dead. Who can say where those Ravers have gone?"