Covenant heard the personal urgency of Sunder's question; but for a time he lacked the fortitude to reply. Sunder's doubt pained him, weakened him. His veins were empty of life, and his muscles could no longer support him. Even the warmth of the krill under his belt had faded into his general inurement. But Sunder was his friend. The Graveller had already sacrificed too much for him. Fumbling among his frailties, he gave the first answer he found.
“The na-Mhoram is a Raver. Like Marid.”
But that did not satisfy Sunder. “So Linden Avery has said. Yet the Clave moderated the Sunbane for the sake of the Land, and now that moderation has been weakened.”
“No,” Somewhere within him. Covenant discovered a moment of strength. “The Clave doesn't moderate the Sunbane. They've been using it to hurt the Land. Feeding it with blood. They've been serving Lord Foul for centuries.”
Sunder stared; incredulity seemed to hurt his face. Covenant's asseveration violated everything he had ever believed. “Covenant.” Dismay scarred his voice. His hands made imploring gestures. “How can it be true? It is too much. How can I know that it is true?”
“Because I say it's true.” The moment passed, leaving Covenant as weary as death. “I paid for that soothtell with my blood. And I was here. Four thousand years ago. When the Land was healthy. What the Clave taught you is something they made up to justify all that bloodshed.” A distant part of him saw what he was doing, and protested. He was identifying himself with the truth, making himself responsible for it. Surely no man could keep such a promise. Hile Troy had tried-and had lost his soul to the Forestal of Garroting Deep as a consequence.
“Then-” Sunder wrestled for comprehension. His features showed horror at the implications of what Covenant said-horror turning to rage, “Then why do you not fight? Destroy the Clave-end this ill? If they are such an abomination?”
Covenant drooped against Brinn. “I'm too weak.” He hardly heard himself. “And I've already killed-” A spasm of grief twisted his face. Twenty-one people! “I swore I would never kill again.” But for Sunder's sake, he made one more effort to articulate what he believed. “I don't want to fight them until I stop hating them.”
Slowly, the Graveller nodded. The bonfire became a roaring in Covenant's ears. For an instant of giddiness, he thought that Sunder was Nassic. Nassic with young, sane eyes. The Graveller, too, was capable of things which humbled Covenant.
There was movement around him. People were readying themselves for departure. They saluted him; but his numbness prevented him from responding. Escorted by nearly a score of Haruchai, they left the foothills. He did not watch them go. He hung on the verges of unconsciousness and fought to remain alive.
For a time, he drifted along the current of the bonfire. But then he felt himself turned in Brinn's arms, gently shaken erect. He pried his eyes wide, scraped his eyelids across the sabulous exhaustion in his gaze, and saw Memla.
She stood grimly before him. Her chasuble was gone, and her robe had been singed in places. Her age-stained hair straggled about her shoulders. Fire blisters marred her right cheek; her blunt features were battered. But her eyes were angry, and she faced Covenant with her rukh held ready.
At her back champed five of the Clave's huge Coursers.
Brinn nodded to her. “Memla na-Mhoram-in,” he said flatly. “The ur-Lord has awaited you.”
She gave Brinn a gesture of recognition without taking her eyes from Covenant. Her gruff voice both revealed and controlled her wrath. “I cannot live with lies. I will accompany you.”
Covenant had no words for her. Mutely, he touched his right hand to his heart, then raised the palm toward her.
“I have brought Coursers,” she said. “They were not well defended-but well enough to hamper me. Only five could I wrest from so many of the na-Mhoram-cro.” The beasts were laden with supplies. “They are Din, Clang, Clangor, Annoy, and Clash.”
Covenant nodded. His head went on bobbing feebly, as if the muscles of his neck had fallen into caducity.
She gripped his gaze. “But one matter must be open between us. With my rukh, I can wield the Banefire to aid our journey. This the Clave cannot prevent. But I in turn cannot prevent them from knowing where I am and what I do, through my rukh. Halfhand.” Her tone took on an inflection of appeal. “I do not wish to set aside the sole power I possess.”
Her honesty and courage demanded an answer. With an effort that defocused his eyes and made his head spin, he said, “Keep it. I'll take the chance.”
His reply softened her features momentarily. “When first we met,” she said, “your misdoubt was just, though I knew it not. Yet trust is preferable.” Then, abruptly, she stiffened again. “But we must depart. Gibbon has gathered the Clave at the Banefire. While we delay, they raise the Grim against us.”
The Grim! Covenant could not block the surge of his dismay. It carried him over the edge, and he plunged like dead stone into darkness.
As he fell, he heard a cold wail from Revelstone-a cry like the keening of the great Keep, promising loss and blood. Or perhaps the wail was within himself.
Twenty One: Sending
SOMETIME during the night, he wandered close to consciousness. He was being rocked on the back of a Courser. Arms reached around him from behind and knotted together over his heart. They supported him like bands of stone. Haruchai arms.
Someone said tensely, “Are you not a healer? You must succour him.”
“No.” Linden's reply sounded small and wan, and complete. It made him moan deep in his throat.
Glints of rukh-fire hurt his eyes. When he shut out the sight, he faded away once more.
The next time he looked up, he saw the grey of dawn in fragments through the monstrous jungle. The lightening of the sky lay directly ahead of him. He was mounted on Din, with Memla before him and Brinn behind. Another Courser, carrying Ceer and Hergrom, led the way along the line Memla created with her rukh. The rest of the company followed Din.
As Covenant fumbled toward wakefulness, Memla's path ran into an area of relatively clear ground under the shade of a towering stand of rhododendron. There she halted. Over her shoulder, she called to the company, “Remain mounted. The Coursers will spare us from the Sunbane.”
Behind him, Covenant heard Sunder mutter, “Then it is true-”
But Hergrom dropped to the ground, began to accept supplies handed down by Ceer; and Brinn said, “The Haruchai do not share this need to be warded.”
Immune? Covenant wondered dimly. Yes. How else had so many of them been able to reach Revelstone unwarped?
Then the sun began to rise, sending spangles of crimson and misery through the vegetation. Once again, the eh-Brand had foretold the Sunbane accurately.
When the first touch of the sun was past, Memla ordered the Coursers to their knees, controlling them all with her command. The company began to dismount.
Covenant shrugged off Brinn's help and tried to stand alone. He found that he could. He felt as pale and weak as an invalid; but his muscles were at least able to hold his weight.
Unsteadily, he turned to look back westward through the retreating night for some sign of the na-Mhoram's Grim.