So he was still sitting, gripping his beard and staring blankly before him, when the people filed out of the amphitheatre, 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 amphitheatre. 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 defences 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.”
“No.” Covenant struggled to give his refusal some force. “No. It isn't like that. What white gold does in the Land has nothing to do with me. It isn't me. I can't touch it, make it work, influence it. It's just another thing that's happened to me. I've got no power. For all I know or can do about it, this wild magic could turn on tomorrow or five seconds from now and blast us all. It could crown Foul king of the universe whether I want it to or not. It has nothing to do with me.”