“Is that a fact?” Troy said sourly. “And since you don't have any power, no one can hold you to blame.”
Troy's tone gave Covenant something on which to focus his anger. “That's right!” he flared. "Let me tell you something. The only person in life who's free at all, ever, is a person who's impotent. Like me. Or what do you think freedom is? Unlimited potential? Unrestricted possibilities? Hellfire! Impotence is freedom. When you're incapable of anything, no one can expect anything from you. Power has its own limit seven ultimate power. Only the impotent are free.
“No!” he snapped to stop Troy's protest. “I'll tell you something else. What you're really asking me to do is learn how to use this wild magic so I can go around butchering the poor, miserable creatures in Foul's army. Well, I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to do any more killing-and certainly not in the name of something that isn't even real!”
“Hooray,” muttered Troy in tight sarcasm. “Sweet Jesus. Whatever happened to people who used to believe in things?”
“They got leprosy and died. Weren't you listening to that song?”
Before Troy could reply, they rounded a corner, and entered an intersection where several halls came together. Bannor stood in the junction as if he were waiting for them. He blocked the hall Covenant had intended to take. “Choose another way,” he said expressionlessly. “Turn aside. Now.”
Troy did not hesitate; he swung away to his right. While he moved, he asked quickly, “Why? What's going on?”
But Covenant did not follow. The crest of his anger, his bone-deep frustration, still held him up. He stopped where he was and glared at the Bloodguard.
“Turn aside,” Bannor repeated. “The High Lord desires that you should not meet.”
From the next hallway, Troy called, “Covenant! Come on!”
For a moment, Covenant maintained his defiance. But Bannor's impervious gaze deflated him. The Bloodguard looked as immune to affront or doubt as a stone wall. Muttering uselessly under his breath, Covenant started after Troy.
But he had delayed too long. Before he was hidden in the next hallway, a man came into the intersection from the passage behind Bannor. He was as tall, thick, and solid as a pillar; his deep chest easily supported his broad massive shoulders and brawny arms. He walked with his head down, so that his heavy, regret beard rested like a burden on his breast; and his face had a look of ruddy strength gone ominously rancid, curdled by some admixture of gall.
Woven into the shoulders of his brown Stonedownor tunic was a pattern of white leaves.
Covenant froze; a spasm of suspense and fear gripped his guts. He recognized the Stonedownor. In the still place at the centre of the spasm, he felt sorrow and remorse for this man whose life he had ruined as if he were incapable of regret.
Striding back into the intersection, Troy said, “I don't understand. Why shouldn't we meet this man? He's one of the rhadhamaerl. Covenant, this is-”
Covenant cut Troy off. “I know him.”
Trell's eyes held Covenant readily, as if after years of pressure they were charged with too much blood. “And I know you, Thomas Covenant.” His voice came out stiffly; it sounded disused, cramped, as if he had kept it fettered for a long time, fearing that it would betray him. “Are you not satisfied? Have you come to do more harm?”
Through a roar of pounding blood in his ears, Covenant heard himself saying for the second time, “I'm sorry.”
“Sorry?” Trell almost choked on the word. “Is that enough? Does it raise the dead?” For a moment, he shuddered as if he were about to break apart. His breath came in deep, hoarse gasps. Then, convulsively, he threw his strong arms wide like a man breaking bonds. Jumping forward, he caught Covenant around the chest, lifted him off the floor. With a fierce snarl, he hugged Covenant, striving to crush his ribs.
Covenant wanted to cry out, howl his pain, but he could make no sound. The vice of Trell's arms drove the air from his lungs, stunned his heart. He felt himself collapsing inwardly, destroying himself with his own pressure.
Dimly, he saw Bannor at Trell's back. Twice Bannor punched at Trell's neck. But the Gravelingas only increased his grip, growling savagely.
Someone, Troy, shouted, “Trell! Trell!”
Bannor turned and stepped away. For one frantic instant, Covenant feared that the Bloodguard was abandoning him. But Bannor only needed space for his next attack. He leaped high in the air; and as he dropped toward Trell, he chopped the Gravelingas across the base of his neck with one elbow. Trell staggered; his grip loosened. Continuing the same motion, Bannor caught Trell under the chin with his other arm. The sharp backward jerk pulled Trell off balance. As he toppled, he lost his hold on Covenant.
Covenant landed heavily on his side, retching for air. Through his dizzy gasps, he heard Troy shouting, heard the warning in Troy's voice. He looked up in time to see Trell charge toward him again. But Bannor was swifter. As Trell lunged, Bannor met him head-on, butted him with such force that he reeled backward, crashed against the wall, fell to his hands and knees.
The impact stunned him. His massive frame writhed in pain, and his fingers gouged involuntarily at the stone, as if he were digging for breath.
They clenched into the floor as if it were only stiff clay. In a moment, both his fists were knotted in the rock.
Then he drew a deep shuddering breath, and snatched his hands out of the floor. He stared at the holes he had made; he was appalled to see that he had damaged stone. When he raised his head, he was panting hugely, so that his broad chest strained at the fabric of his tunic.
Bannor and Troy stood between him and Covenant. The Warmark held his sword poised. “Remember your Oath!” he commanded sharply. “Remember what you swore. Don't betray your own life.”
Tears started running soundlessly from Trell's eyes as he stared past the Warmark at Covenant. “My Oath?” he rasped. “He brings me to this. What Oath does he take?” With a sudden exertion, he heaved himself to his feet. Bannor stepped slightly ahead of Troy to defend against another attack, but Trell did not look at Covenant again. Breathing strenuously, as if there were not enough air for him in the Keep, he turned and shambled away down one of the corridors.
Hugging his bruised chest, Covenant moved over to sit with his back against the wall. The pain made him cough thickly. Troy stood nearby, tight-lipped and intense. But Bannor appeared completely unruffled; nothing surprised his comprehensive dispassion.
“Jesus! Covenant,” Troy said at last. “What has he got against you?”
Covenant waited until he found a clear space between coughs. Then he answered, “I raped his daughter.”
“You're joking!”
“No.” He kept his head down, but he was avoiding Bannor's eyes rather than Troy's.
“No wonder they call you the Unbeliever.” Troy spoke in a low voice to keep his rage under control. “No wonder your wife divorced you. You must have been unsufferable.”
No! Covenant panted. I was never unfaithful to her. Never. But he did not raise his head, made no effort to meet the injustice of Troy's accusation.
“Damn you, Covenant.” Troy's voice was soft, fervid. He sounded too furious to shout. As if he could no longer bear the sight of the Unbeliever, he turned on his heel and strode away. But as he moved he could no longer contain his rage. “Good God!” he yelled. “I don't know why you don't drop him in some dungeon and throw away the key! We've got enough trouble as it is!” Soon he was out of view down one of the halls, but his voice echoed after him like an anathema.
Sometime later, Covenant climbed to his feet, hugging the pain in his chest. His voice was weak from the effort of speaking around his hurt. “Bannor.”