“No!” Mhoram protested. “The danger is too great. Either this power did not meet Kevin's need in any way, or its peril was so great that he feared to use it. Do not take this risk.”
“Have you seen it?” she asked. “Do you speak from vision?”
With an effort, Mhoram forced himself to say, "I have not seen it. But I feel it in my heart. There will be death because of it. People will be slain."My friend, you are too careful of all risks but your own. If you held the Staff of Law in my place, you would follow Amok to the ends of the Earth. And people will still be slain. Mhoram, ask your heart-do you truly believe that the future of the Land can be won in war? It was not so for Kevin. I must not lose any chance which may teach me another way to resist the Despiser."
Mhoram bowed his head, too moved to make any answer. In the silence, they melded their thoughts, and after a moment the strain in his face eased. When he looked up again, he directed his gaze explicitly toward Covenant and Troy. Softly, he said, “Then-if you must go-please do not go alone. Take someone with you-someone who may be of service.”
For one wild instant, Troy thought that the High Lord was going to ask him to go with her. Despite his responsibilities to the Warward, his lips were already forming his answer-Yes- when she said, “That is my desire. Ur-Lord Covenant, will you accompany me? I wish to share this quest with you.”
Awkwardly, as if her request embarrassed him, Covenant said, “Do you really think I'm going to be of service?”
A gentle smile touched Elena's lips. “Nevertheless.”
He stared into the expanse of her eyes for a moment. Then, abruptly, he looked away and shrugged. “Yes. I'll come.”
Troy hardly heard the things that were said next the last formal speeches by Elena and Corimini, the Loresraat's brief song of encouragement, the exchange of farewells. When the High Lord said a final word to him, he could barely bring himself to bow in answer. With his Yes frozen on his lips, he watched the end of the ceremonies, and saw Elena and Covenant ride away together westward, accompanied only by Bannor and First Mark Morin. He felt paralyzed in the act of falling-crying, I'm going to lose you! Lord Mhoram came close to him, and spoke. But he did not move until he realized through his distress that Trell had not followed Covenant and the High Lord.
Suddenly, his restraint broke. He spun urgently toward Trell, turned in time to see the Gravelingas yank his heavy fists out of his hair, snatch up the reins of his horse, and start away at a gallop toward the ford of the Llurallin north of Revelwood.
Troy went after him. Mehryl flashed under the Tree, and caught up with Trell in the sunlight beyond the city. Troy ordered the Gravelingas to stop, but Trell ignored him. At once, the Warmark told Mehryl to halt Trell's mount. Mehryl gave one short, commanding whinny, and the horse stopped so sharply that Trell almost lost his seat.
When the Gravelingas forced his head up to meet Troy, his eyes ran with tears, and he panted as if he were being slowly suffocated. But Troy had no more time to spare for considerateness. “What're you doing?” he rasped. “Where're you going?”
“Revelstone,” croaked Trell. “There is nothing for me here.”
“So? We're going south-don't you know that? You live in the South Plains, don't you? Don't you want to help defend your home?” This was not what Troy wanted to ask, but he had not found the words for his real question.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I cannot go back. She is there-I cannot bear it. After this!”
As Trell panted his answer, Lord Mhoram rode up to them. At once, he started to speak, but Troy cut him off with a savage gesture. “She?” the Warmark demanded. “Who? Your daughter?” When Trell nodded dumbly, Troy said, “Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” Things he did not know buffeted him; he had to find answers. “I don't understand. Why don't you go back home-to your daughter? She's going to need you.”
“Melenkurion!” Trell gasped. "I cannot! How could
I look into her face-answer questions-after this? Do not torment me!"
“Warmark!” Mhoram's voice was hard and dangerous-a warning, almost a threat. “Let him be. Nothing that he can say will help you.”
“No!” Troy retorted. “I've got to know. Trell, listen to me. I have got to know. Believe me, I understand how you feel about him.”
Trell no longer seemed to hear Troy. “She chose!” he panted, “chose!” He heaved the words between his clenched teeth as if they were about to burst him. “She chose him-him!”
“Trell, answer me. What were you doing out there yesterday? — at that grave? Trell!”
The word grave penetrated Trell's passion. Abruptly, he wrapped his arms around his chest, hunched forward. Through his tears, he glared at Troy. “You are a fool!” he hissed. “Blind! She wasted her life.”
“Wasted?” Troy gaped. “Wasted?” It's the student who summoned you. Was Covenant right?
“Perhaps,” Lord Mhoram said grimly. This time his tone compelled Troy's attention. Troy stared at
Mhoram with a gaze thick with dread. "He has abundant reason to visit that grave," the Lord went on. "Atiaran Trell-mate is buried there. She died in the act which summoned you to the Land. She gave her life in an effort to regain ur-Lord Covenant but she failed of her purpose. Your presence here is the outcome of her Peace-less grief and her hunger for retribution."
Mhoram's explanation exceeded the limit of Trell's endurance. Pain convulsed his features. He struck his horse a fierce blow with his heels, and it sprang at once into a frightened gallop toward the Llurallin ford. But Troy did not even see him go. The Warmark turned sharply, and found that he could still discern Elena, Covenant, and the two Bloodguard riding westward out of the Valley. Amok was already with them, walking jauntily at the High Lord's side.
Atiaran Trell-mate? Trell-mate? She was his wife? He knew of Atiaran-he had heard too much talk about Covenant not to know that she was the woman who had guided the Unbeliever from Mithil Stonedown to Andelain and the Soulsease River. But he had not known that Trell was her husband. That had been kept from him.
Then he went a step further. Covenant had raped Trell's daughter- Atiaran's daughter-the daughter of the woman who-!
“Covenant! You bastard!” Troy howled. “What have you done?” But he knew that the travellers could not hear him across the distance; the noise of the two rivers obliterated distant shouts. A stiff gust of helplessness knocked down his protest, so that his voice cracked and stumbled into silence.
It was no wonder that Trell could not return home, face his daughter. How could he tell her that the High Lord had chosen friendship rather than retribution for the man who had raped her? Troy did not understand how she could do such a thing to Trell.
Another moment passed before he grasped the rest of what Mhoram had said. She died in the act- Atiaran was his summoner, not some young ignorant or inspired student. That, too, had been kept from him. He was the result and consequence of her unanswerable pain.
It isn't you- Was Covenant right? Were all his plans only so much despair work, set in motion by the extravagance of Atiaran's death?
“Warmark.” Lord Mhoram's tone was stern. “That was not well done. Trell's hurt is great enough.”
“I know,” Troy gritted over the aching of his heart. “But why didn't you tell me? You knew about all this.”
“The Council decided together to withhold this knowledge from you. We saw only harm in the sharing of it. We wished to spare you pain. And we hoped that you would learn to trust ur-Lord Covenant.”