But soon Trell's singing stopped. In silence, he lifted his arms-and the flat rock of the ford stood up out of the river bottom. It broke water in sections with channels between them so that it did not dam the current. By the time it was ready for crossing, it was as dry as if it had never been submerged.
With his head bowed, Trell walked back to his mount.
When the last horse had crossed the river, and all the company was within the valley, the ford closed itself without any of the usual signals.
Troy was impressed. Remembering Trell's attack on Covenant, he thought that the Unbeliever was lucky to be alive. And he began to feel that he would be well advised to solve the riddle of Trell before he left Trothgard.
But he could do nothing immediately. The last twilight was ebbing out of the valley as if the river currents carried the light away, and he had to concentrate to keep a grip on his own location. The Lorewardens lit torches, but torchlight could not take the place of the sun. Focusing himself sternly, he rode between Lord Mhoram and Ruel across the valley toward Revelwood.
The High Lord's company was met on the ground near the Tree by a welcoming group of Lorewardens. They greeted the Lords with solemn dignity, and embraced their comrades who returned from visiting Lord's Keep. To Warmark Troy, whom they knew well, they gave a special welcome. But when they caught sight of Covenant, they all turned toward him. Squaring their, shoulders as if to meet an inspection, they saluted him, and said together, “Hail, white gold wielder! — you who are named ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and Ringthane. Be welcome in Revelwood! You are the crux and pivot of our age in the Land-the keeper of the wild magic which destroys peace. Honour us by accepting our hospitality.”
Troy expected some discomforting sarcasm from Covenant. But the Unbeliever replied in a gruff, embarrassed voice, “Your hospitality honours me.”
The Lorewardens bowed in answer, and their leader stepped forward. He was an old, wrinkled man with hooded eyes and a stooped posture-the result of decades of back-bending study. His voice had a slight tremor of age. “I am Corimini,” he said, “the Eldest of the Loresraat. I speak for all the seekers of the Lore, both Sword and Staff. The accepting of a gift returns honour to the giver. Be welcome.” As he spoke, he held out his hand to help Covenant dismount.
But Covenant either misunderstood the gesture or went beyond it intuitively. Instead of swinging off his mount, he brusquely pulled his wedding band from his left hand and dropped it into Corimini's extended palm.
The Eldest caught his breath; a look of astonishment widened his eyes. Almost at once, he turned to show the ring to the other Lorewardens. With muted awed murmurings of invocation like low snatches of prayer, they crowded around Corimini to gaze at the white gold, and to handle it with fingers that trembled.
But their touches were brief. Shortly Corimini returned to Covenant. The Eldest's eyes were damp with emotion, and his hand shook as he passed the ring back up to the Unbeliever. “Ur-Lord Covenant,” he said with a pronounced quaver, “you exceed us. We will need many generations to repay this honour. Command us, so that we may serve you.”
“I don't need service,” Covenant replied bluntly. “I need an alternative. Find some way to save the Land without me.”
“I do not wholly understand you,” said Corimini. “All our strength is bent toward the preservation of the Land. If that may aid you also, we will be pleased.” Facing the company of the Lords more generally, he went on, “Will you now enter Revelwood with us? We have prepared food and pleasure for you.”
High Lord Elena made a gracious answer, and dropped lightly from Myrha's back. The rest of the riders promptly dismounted. At once, a group of Students hurried out of the shadows of the Tree to take charge of the horses. Then the company was escorted through the ring of trunks toward the central tree. Many lights had appeared throughout Revelwood, and their combined illumination ameliorated the dimness of Troy's sight. He was able to walk confidently with the Lords, and to look up with fondness into the branches of the familiar city. In some ways, he felt more at home here than in Lord's Keep. In Revelwood he had learned to see.
And he felt that Revelwood also suited the High Lord. The two were inextricably linked for him. He was gratified by her just pre-eminence, her glow of gentle authority, and her easy grace as she swung up the wide ladder of the central trunk. Under her influence, he found the fortitude to give Covenant a word of encouragement when the Unbeliever balked at climbing into the Tree.
“You don't understand,” Covenant responded vaguely. “I'm afraid of heights.” With a look of rigid trepidation, he forced his hands to the rungs of the ladder.
Bannor took a position close behind Covenant, making himself responsible for the ur-Lord's safety. Soon they had climbed to the level of the first branches.
Troy moved easily up into the Tree after them. The smooth, strong wood of the rungs made him feel that he could not miss his grip; it almost seemed to lift him upward, as if Revelwood were eager for him. In moments, he was high up the trunk, stepping away from the ladder onto one of the main boughs of the city. The shapers of Revelwood had grown the banyan so that the upper surfaces of the branches were flat, and the level stretch down which Troy walked was wide enough for three or four people to stand safely abreast. As he moved, he waved greetings to the people he knew-most of the Sword Lorewardens, and a few students whose families lived in Lord's Keep.
The procession of the Lords crossed an intersection where several limbs came together, and passed beyond it toward one of the outer trunks. Formed in this trunk was a large hall, and when Troy entered it he found that the room had been set for a banquet. The chamber was brilliant with lillianrill torches; long tables with carpets of moss between them covered the floor; and students of all ages bustled around, carrying trays laden with steaming bowls and flagons.
There Troy was joined by Drinishok, Sword-Elder of the Lorewardens, and the Warmark's first battle-teacher. Except for his grizzled eyebrows, Drinishok did not look like a warrior; his thin, spidery limbs and fingers did not seem sturdy enough to handle either a sword or a bow. But three Lords and three-quarters of Troy's Warward had trained under the old Sword Elder; and his tanned forearms were laced with many white battle scars. Troy greeted his mentor warmly, and after standing together in the Land's customary thanks for food, they sat down to the feast.
The fare of Revelwood was simple but excellent it made up in convivial gusto what it lacked in complexity-and all the Lords and Lorewardens were bountifully supplied with meats, rice, cheeses, bread, fruit, and springwine. Warmed by the glow of Revelwood's welcome, the High Lord's company ate with enthusiasm, talking and joking all the while with their hosts and the busy students. Then, when the eating was done, High Lord Elena presided over an entertainment which the students had prepared. Champions of the Sword gave demonstrations of gymnastics and blade work, and the apprentices of the Staff told an intricate tale which they had distilled from the ancient Giantish story of Bahgoon the Unbearable and Thelma Twofist who tamed him. Troy had never heard it before, and it delighted him.
He was reluctant to lose this pleased and comfortable mood, so when the Lords left the hall with the Lorewardens to speak with them concerning the tidings which Runnik had brought from Sarangrave Flat, Troy did not accompany them. Instead, he accepted Drinishok's invitation, and went to spend the night in the old Sword-Elder's home.