“I know,” Covenant murmured. “The fact is that you're starting to find out just how terrible all this responsibility is. Let me know when you start to feel like a failure. We'll commiserate together.”
That stung Troy. “I'm not going to fail!” he snapped.
Covenant grimaced ambiguously. “Then let me know when you succeed, and I'll congratulate you.”
With an effort, Troy swallowed his anger. He was in no mood to be tolerant of Covenant, but for his own sake-and Elena's-rather than for the Unbeliever's, he said, “Covenant, I really don't understand what your trouble is. But if there's ever anything I can do for you, I'll do it.”
Covenant did not meet his gaze. Self-sarcastically, the Unbeliever muttered, “I'll probably need it.”
Troy shrugged. He leaned his weight to send Mehryl toward First Haft Amorine. But then he saw Hearthrall Tohrm striding briskly toward them from the gate of the Keep. He held Mehryl back, and f waited for the Gravelingas.
When Tohrm stepped between their mounts, he saluted them both, then turned to Covenant. The usual playfulness of his expression was cloaked in sobriety as he said, “Ur-Lord, may I speak?”
Covenant glowered at him from under his eyebrows, but did not refuse.
After a brief pause, Tohrm said, “You will soon depart from Revelstone, and it may be that yet another forty years will pass before you return again. Perhaps I will live forty years more-but the chance is uncertain. And I am still in your debt. Ur-Lord Covenant, may I give you a gift?”
Reaching into his robe, he pulled out and held up a smooth, lopsided stone no larger than his palm. Its appearance struck the Warmark. It gave the impression of being transparent, but he could not see through it; it seemed to open into unglimpsed depths like a hole in the visible fabric of Tohrm's hand and the air and the ground.
Startled, Covenant asked, “What is it?”
“It is orcrest, a rare piece of the One Rock which is the heart of the Earth. The Earthpower is abundant in it, and it may serve you in many ways. Will you accept it?”
Covenant stared at the orcrest as if there were something cruel in Tohrm's offer. “I don't want it.”
“I do not offer it for any want,” said Tohrm. “You have the white gold, and need no gifts of mine. No, I offer it out of respect for my old friend Birinair, whom you released from the fire which consumed him. I offer it in gratitude for a brave deed.”
“Brave?” Covenant muttered thickly. “I didn't do it for him. Don't you know that?”
“The deed was done by your hand. No one in the Land could do such a thing. Will you accept it?”
Slowly, Covenant reached out and took the stone. As his left hand closed around it, it changed colour, took on an argent gleam from his wedding ring. Seeing this, he quickly shoved it into the pocket of his pants. Then he cleared his throat, and said, “If I ever-if I ever get a chance-I'll give it back to you.”
Tohrm grinned. “Courtesy is like a drink at a mountain stream. Ur-Lord, it is in my heart that behind the thunder of your brow you are a strangely courteous man.”
“Now you're making fun of me,” Covenant replied glumly.
The Hearthrall laughed at this as if it were a high jest. With a sprightly step, he moved away to re-enter the Keep.
Warmark Troy frowned. Everyone in Revelstone seemed to see something in Covenant that he himself could not perceive. To escape that thought, he sent Mehryl trotting from Covenant's side toward his army.
First Haft Amorine joined him a short way down the hill, and together they spent a brief time speaking with the mounted Warhafts who carried the drums. Troy counted out the pace he wanted them to set, and made sure that they knew it by heart. It was faster than the beat he had trained into them, and he did not want the army to lag. In the back of his mind, he chafed at the delay which kept the march from starting. The sun was well up now; the Warward had already lost the dawn.
He was discussing the terrain ahead with his First Haft when a murmur ran through the army. All the warriors turned toward the great Keep. The Lords Trevor and Loerya had finally arrived.
They stood atop the tower which guarded Revelstone's gates. Between them they held a bundle of blue cloth.
As the Lords took their places, the inhabitants of the Keep began to appear at the south wall. In a rush, they thronged the balconies and ramparts, filled the windows, crowded out onto the edge of the plateau. Their voices rolled expectantly.
Leaving Amorine with the army, Warmark Hile Troy rode back up the hill to take his place with the Lords while Trevor and Loerya busied themselves around the tall flagpole atop the tower. His blood suddenly stirred with eagerness, and he wanted to shout some kind of war cry, hurl some fierce defiance at the Despiser.
When Trevor and Loerya were ready, they waved to High Lord Elena. At their signal, she clapped Myrha with her heels, and galloped away from her mounted companions. A short distance away, between the wall of the Keep and the main body of the Warward, she halted. Swinging Myrha in a tight circle with the Staff of Law raised high over her head, she shouted to the warriors and the inhabitants of Revelstone, “Hail!” Her clear cry echoed off the cliff like a tantara, and was answered at once by one thrilling shout from a myriad of voices:
“Hail!!”
“My friends, people of the Land!” she called out to them, “the time has come. War is upon us, and we march to meet it. Hear me, all! I am the High Lord, holder of the Staff of Law-sworn and dedicate to the services of the Land. At my will, we march to do battle with the Grey Slayer-to pit our strength against him for the sake of the Earth. Hear me! It is I, Elena daughter of Lena, who say it: do not fear! Be of strong heart and bold hand. If it lies within our power, we will prevail!”
As she held high the Staff, she caught the early sunlight. Her hair shone about her like an anadem, and the golden Ranyhyn bore her up like an offering to the wide day. For a moment, she had a look of immolation, and Troy almost choked on the fear of losing her. But there was nothing sacrificial in the upright peal of her voice as she addressed the people of Revelstone.
"Do not mistake. This peril is severe-the gravest danger of our age. It may be that all we have ever seen or heard or felt will be lost. If we are to live-if the Land is to live-we must wrest life from the Despiser. It is a task that surpassed the Old Lords who came before us.
"But I say to you, do not fear! The coming battle is our great test, our soul measure. It is our opportunity to repudiate utterly the Desecration which destroys what it loves. It is our opportunity to shape courage and service and faith out of the very rock of doom. Even if we fall, we will not despair.
“Yet I do not believe that we shall fall.” Taking the Staff in one hand, she thrust it straight toward the heavens, and a bright flame burst from its end. “Hear me, all!” she cried. “Hear the Dedication in Time of War!” Then she opened her throat and began to sing a song that pulsed like the stalking of drums.
Friends! comrades!
Proud people of the Land!
There is war upon us;
blood and pain and killing are at hand.
Together we confront the test of death.
Friends and comrades,
remember Peace!
Repeat the Oath with every breath.
Until the end and Time's release,
we bring no fury or despair,
no passion of hatred, spite, or slaughter,
no Desecration to the service of the Land.
We fight to mend, anneal, repair—
to free the Earth of detestation;