The 1st Chronicles of Thomas Covenant #2: The Illearth War (31 page)

Immediately, the steersmen sent the raft swinging out into the main channel. Lord Hyrim bent to light a lillianrill rod.

In the rain the torch shone dimly, but it revealed the man. His face and limbs were streaked with dirt and grime, clotted with the blood of numerous small wounds, cuts, and scratches. Surrounded by dirt and blood, the whites of his eyes glistened. His clothes, like the wounds and mud on him, spoke of a long struggle to survive the Flat. The remains of a uniform hung about him in shreds.

Only one piece of his apparel was intact. He wore a scarred metal breastplate, yellow under the filth, with one black diagonal insignia across it.

“By the Seven!” Lord Shetra said. “A Warhaft!”

She caught hold of the man’s shoulders. But then she recoiled as if the man had burned her. “Melenkurion! Warhaft,” she cried, “what has been done to you? Your flesh is ice!”

The man gave no sign that he heard her. He stood where Doar and Pren had placed him, and his head hung to one side. His breathing was shallow. He did not move in any way, except to blink his eyes at long intervals.

But Shetra did not wait for answers. “Hyrim,” she said, “this man is freezing!”

She snatched up her blanket, threw it over him. Lord Hyrim built his torch into a fire.

There he boiled a stoneware pot of water until it was clean, while Shetra seated the man by the

fire. She took hold of his head to force some springwine between his lips.

The cold of his flesh blistered her fingers.

She and Hyrim wrapped their hands in blankets for protection, then laid the man down by the fire and stripped him of his rags. They washed him with boiling water.

When he was clean, Lord Shetra drew a stone vial of hurtloam from her robe, and spread some of the healing mud over the worst of his wounds.

Dawn came through the rain. In the light, the Bloodguard saw the result of the Lords’ work. The man’s skin looked like the flesh of a corpse: On his wounds, the hurtloam lay impotent. The cold in him was uneased.

Yet he breathed and blinked. When the Lords covered him and lifted him into a sitting posture, he squeezed his eyes, and water began to run from them like tears. It spread out over his cheeks and formed beads of ice in his beard.

“By the Seven. By the Seven!” Lord Shetra moaned. “He is dead, and yet he lives.

What has been done to him?”

Lord Hyrim made no answer.

After a time, Korik spoke for the Bloodguard. “He is Hoerkin, a Warhaft of the Warward. He commanded the First Eoman of the Tenth Eoward. The High Lord sent his command to seek out the Giants in Seareach.”

“Yes,” Hyrim murmured. “I remember. When his Eoman did not return, the High Lord sent Callindrill and Amatin to attempt the Sarangrave. Twenty-one warriors-Warhaft Hoerkin and his command-all lost. Callindrill and Amatin found no trace.”

Lord Shetra addressed herself to the man. “Hoerkin. Warhaft Hoerkin. Do you hear me? Speak! I am Shetra Verement-mate, Lord of the Council of Revelstone. I adjure you to speak.”

At first, Hoerkin did not respond. Then his jaw moved, and a low noise came from his mouth.

“I am ahamkara, the Door. I am sent — ”

His voice trailed off into the flow of his tears.

“Sent? Door?” Shetra said. “Hoerkin, speak!”

The Warhaft did not seem to hear. He sat in silence, while his tears formed clusters of ice in his beard.

Then Lord Hyrim commanded, “Ahamkara, answer!”

Hoerkin swallowed, and spoke.

“I am ahamkara, the Door. I am sent to bear witness to-to — ”

He faltered, but resumed a moment later.

“I am sent to bear witness to the downfall of Giants.”

For all the Bloodguard, Korik said, “You lie!” And Lord Shetra sprang on Hoerkin. Regardless of the pain, she gripped his face between her hands, and shouted,

“Despiser!”

He gave a cry and tore himself from her grasp. Huddling with his face against the logs of the raft, he sobbed like a child.

Appalled, Shetra backed away from him. At Lord Hyrim’s side, she stopped and waited. Long moments passed before Hoerkin moved. Then he pushed himself up into his former posture. Still his tears ran down into his beard.

” — the downfall of Giants. There were three, brothers of one birth. Omen of the

,end. They serve Satansheart Soulcrusher.”

He stopped again.

After a moment, Korik said, “This cannot be. It is impossible. The Giants of Seareach are the Rockbrothers of the Land.”

Hoerkin did not respond. Staring at the logs of the raft, he sat like dead clay. But soon he spoke again.

” — crusher. They are named Fleshharrower, Satans-fist-and one other not to be named.”

He swallowed once more.

“They are the three Ravers.”

For a time, all the mission was silent. Then both Hyrim and Shetra strove to compel Hoerkin to say more. But he remained beyond their reach, unspeaking.

At last, Lord Shetra said to Hyrim, “How do you hear his words? What meaning do you see?”

“I hear truth,” Lord Hyrim said. “Omen of the end.”

Korik said, “No. By the Vow, it is impossible.”

Quickly Lord Hyrim said, “Do not swear by your Vow here.”

His reproof was just. The Bloodguard were not ignorant of his meaning. Korik did not speak again. But Lord Shetra said, “I agree with Korik. It surpasses belief to think that a Raver could master any Giant. If the Despiser’s power extended so far, why did he not enslave Giants in the past?”

Lord Hyrim answered her, “That is true. The Ravers do not suffice. They do not explain. But now Lord Foul has possession of the Illearth Stone. That was not so in the age of the Old Lords. Perhaps the Ravers and the Stone together — ”

“Hyrim, we are speaking of the Giants! If such an ill had come upon them, they would have sent word to us.”

“Yes,” Lord Hyrim said. “How was it done?”

“Done?”

“How were they prevented? What has been done to them?”

“To them?” said Lord Shetra. “Ask a more immediate question. What has been done to Hoerkin? What has been done to us?”

“It is the Despiser’s way. In the battle of Soaring Woodhelven-we are told-he damaged the Heer Llaura and the child Pietten so that they would help destroy what they loved.”

“They were used to bait a trap. Hyrim, we are baited!”

She did not wait for an answer. She sprang to the rear of the raft, jammed her staff between the logs, began her song. Strength ran through the ironwood; the raft moved forward through the rain. “Join me!” she called to Lord Hyrim. “We must flee this place!”

Lord Hyrim climbed wearily to his feet. “At Soaring Woodhelven, the trap was complete without Llaura and Pietten. They were an arrogance-a taunt -unnecessary.” As he spoke, his breath began to labor in his chest. The muscles of his neck corded with the strain of inhaling.

The Bloodguard, too, could not breathe easily.

In moments, Hyrim fell to his knees, clutching at his chest. Lord Shetra gasped at the effort of each breath.

The rain falling on the river seemed to make no sound.

Then Warhaft Hoerkin leaped to his feet. From between his lips came a low moan of pain. The sound was terrible. His head bent back, and his cry rose until it became a scream.

It was the same scream which had caused the Ranyhyn to panic.

Korik was the first of the Bloodguard to recover his

strength. At once, he knocked the Warhaft from the

raft. —

Hoerkin sank like a stone. The voice was immediately silent.

Yet the thickness of the air only increased. It tightened around the mission like a fist.

Lord Hyrim struggled to his feet. To Doar, he panted, “Did you put out his fire?

Hoerkin’s fire?”

“No,” Doar said. “It fell when we laid hands upon him.”

“By the Seven!” Hyrim said. “It was you! The Bloodguard! Not the Ranyhyn.

This ill force listens to you! — to the power of the Vow!”

The Bloodguard had no answer. The Vow was not something which could be concealed or denied.

But Lord Shetra was surprised. Her strength dropped away from the raft.

At Korik’s command, the four steersmen took up their poles, and thrust the raft toward the north bank of the Course. He wished to meet the attack on land, if he could.

He made the steersmen responsible for the raft, then called the other Bloodguard to the defense of the Lords.

In that instant, the river erupted. Silently, water blasted upward, hurling the raft into the air, overturning it.

Behind the burst, a black tentacle flicked out of the water. It twisted, coiled, caught Lord Shetra.

Most of the Bloodguard dove clear of the fall of the raft. But Sill and Lord Hyrim were directly under it.

With Pren and Tull, Korik swam for the place where Lord Shetra had been taken.

But the dark water blinded them; they could see nothing, find nothing. The river seemed to have no bottom.

Korik made his decision. The mission to Seareach was in his hands. In a tone that allowed no refusal, he ordered the Bloodguard out of the Course.

Soon he stood on the north bank in the fringe of the jungle. Most of the other Bloodguard were with him. Sill and Lord Hyrim had preceded them. The Lord was uninjured; Sill had protected him from the raft.

Downriver, two of the steersmen were tying up the raft, while the other two dove for the company’s supplies.

There was no sign of Cerrin and Lord Shetra.

Hyrim was coughing severely-he had swallowed some of the rank water-but he struggled to his feet, and gasped, “Save her!”

But the Bloodguard made no move to obey. The mission to Seareach was in their hands. And they knew that Cerrin was still alive. He could call to them if their aid would be worth the cost.

“I tried,” Hyrim panted. “But I cannot swim. Oh, worthless!” A convulsion came over him. He threw his arms wide. and cried out into the rain, “Shetra!” A bolt of power struck from his staff down through the water toward the river bottom. Then he collapsed into Sill’s arms.

His blast seemed to have an effect. The river around the point of Lord Shetra’s disappearance started to boil. A turmoil in the water sent up gouts of blood and hunks of black flesh. Steam arose from the current. Deep down in the Defiles Course, a flash of blue was briefly visible.

Then a noise like a thunderclap shook the ground. The river hissed like a torment.

And the thickness of the air broke. It was swept away as if it had been washed off the Sarangrave.

The Bloodguard knew that Cerrin was dead.

Only one sign came back from Lord Shetra’s struggle. Porib saw it first, dove into the river to retrieve it.

Silently, he put it into Lord Hyrims hands-Lord Shetra’s staff..

Between its metal-shod ends, it was completely burned and brittle. It snapped like kindling in Hyrim’s grasp.

The Lord pulled away from Sill, and seated himself against a tree. With tears running openly down his cheeks, he hugged the pieces of Shetra’s staff to his chest.

But the peril was not ended. For the sake of his Vow, Korik said to the Lord, “The lurker is not dead It has only been cut back here. We must go on.”

“Go?” Hyrim said. “Go on? Shetra is dead. How can I go on? I feared from the first that your Vow was a voice which the evil in the Sarangrave could hear. But I said nothing.” There was bitterness in him. “I believed that you would speak of it if my fear were justified.”

Again the Bloodguard had no answer. They had not known beyond doubt or possibility of error that the lurker was alert to their presence. And so many manifestations of power were not what they appeared to be. In respect for the Lord’s grief, the Bloodguard left him alone while they readied the raft to go on their way.

The steersmen had been able to salvage the poles and food, most of the clingor and the lillianrill rods, but none of the clothes or blankets. The raft itself was intact.

Then Korik spoke to Runnik, Pren, and Porib, charged them to bear word of the mission to High Lord Elena. The three accepted without question, but waited for the mission’s departure before starting their westward trek.

When all things were prepared, Korik and Sill lifted Lord Hyrim between them, and guided him like a child down the bank onto the raft. He appeared to be unwell.

Perhaps the river water he had swallowed was sickening him. As the steersmen thrust the raft out into the center of the Defiles Course, he murmured to himself, “This is not the end. There will be pain and death to humble this. Hyrim son of Hoole, you are a coward.”

Then the mission was gone. Together, Runnik,

Pren, and Porib started into the jungle of Sarangrave Flat.

The fire had died down to coals, and without its light Troy could see nothing-nothing to counteract the images of death and grief in his mind. He knew that there were questions he should ask Runnik, but in the darkness they did not seem important. He was dismayed to think that Shetra’s fall had taken place ten days ago; it felt too immediate for such a lapse of time.

The Lords beside him sat still, as if they were stunned or melding; and Covenant was silent-too moved for speech. But after a time Elena said with a shudder of emotion in her voice, “Ah, Verement! How will you bear it?” Her eyes were only visible as embers.

In the darkness they had an aspect of focus and unendurable virulence.

Softly, Lord Mhoram sang:

Death is passing on the making way of life and time for life. Hate dying and killing, not death. Be still, heart: make no expostulation. Hold peace and grief, and be still.

FIFTEEN: Revelwood

THE High Lord’s company reached the Loreraat by nightfall of the sixth day.

During the last leagues, the road worked gradually down into the lowlands of Trothgard; and just as the sun started to dip into the Westron Mountains, the riders entered the wide Valley of Two Rivers.

There the Rill and Llurallin came together in a broad V, joined each other in the narrow end of the valley, to the left of the riders. The Llurallin River, which flowed almost due east below them, arose from clear springs high in the raw rock of the mountains beyond Guards Gap, and had a power of purity that had rendered it inviolate to all the blood and hacked flesh and blasted earth which had ruined Kurash Plenethor.