And as the sun began to sag toward the high ridge of the Westron Mountains-still distant to the south and west beyond the region which had once been named Trothgard, but near at hand in the east jutting promontory of the range-the companions reached the verge of the jungle below the rocky and barren foothills of the high Keep.
Halting in the last shelter of the trees, they looked up at their destination.
Revelstone: once the proud bastion and bourne of the ancient, Land-serving Lords; now the home of the na-Mhoram and the Clave.
Here, at the apex of the promontory, the peaks dropped to form an upland plateau pointing east and sweeping north. All the walls of the plateau were sheer, as effective as battlements; and in the centre of the upland lay Glimmermere, the eldritch tarn with its waters untouched by the Sunbane until they cascaded down Furl Falls in the long south face of the promontory and passed beyond the sources of their potency. But the Keep itself stood to the east of Glimmermere and Furl Falls. The Unhomed had wrought the city of the Lords into the eastward wedge of the plateau, filling that outcrop of the Earth's hard gutrock with habitations and defences.
Directly above the company stood the watchtower, the tip of the wedge Shorter than the plateau, its upper shaft rose free of the main Keep bulking behind it; but its lower half was sealed by walls of native stone to the rest of the wedge. In that way, Revelstone’s sole entrance was guarded. Long ago, massive gates in the southeast curve of the watchtower's base had protected a passage under the tower-a tunnel which gave admittance only to the closed courtyard between the tower and the main Keep, where stood a second set of gates. During the last war, the siege of Revelstone had broken the outer gates, leaving them in rubble. But Covenant knew from experience that the inner gates still held, warding the Clave with their imponderable thickness and weight.
Above the abutment over its opening, the round shaft of the watchtower was marked with battlements and embrasures to the crenellated rim of its crown. They were irregular and unpredictable, shaped to suit the tower's internal convolutions. Yet the face of the watchtower was as simple as child's-work compared to the dramatic complexity of the walls of the main Keep. For a surprising distance into the plateau, the sheer cliffs had been crafted by the Unhomed-written with balconies and buttresses, parapets and walkways, and punctuated with windows of every description, embrasures on the lower levels, oriels and shaded coigns higher up-a prolific and apparently spontaneous multiplication of detail that always gave Covenant an impression of underlying structure, meaning which only Giants could read. The faint green sunset danced and sheened on the south face, confusing his human ability to grasp the organization of something so tall, grand, and timeless.
But even his superficial senses felt the tremendous power of the Banefire's beam as it struck sunward from athwart the great Keep. With one stroke, that red force transgressed all his memories of grandeur and glory, changed the proud habitation of the Lords to a place of malefic peril. When he had approached Revelstone so many days ago to rescue Linden, Sunder, and Hollian, he had been haunted by grief for the Giants and Lords and beauty the Land had lost. But now the knot of his chosen rage was pulled too tight to admit sorrow.
He intended to tear that place down if necessary to root out the Clave-and the bare thought that he might be forced to damage Revelstone made him savage.
Yet when he looked at his companions, saw the rapt faces of the Giants, his anger loosened slightly. The Keep had the power to entrance them. Pitchwife's mien was wide with the glee of appreciation; the First's eyes shone pride at the handiwork of her long-dead people; Mistweave gazed upward hungrily, all dismay forgotten for a time. Even Honninscrave had momentarily lost his air of doom, as though he knew intuitively that Revelstone would give him a chance to make restitution.
Conflicting passions rose in Covenant's throat. Thickly, he asked, “Can you read it? Do you know what it means? I've been here three times”- four counting the brief translation during which he had refused Mhoram's summons- “but no one's ever been able to tell me what it means.”
For a moment, none of the Giants answered. They could not step back from the wonder of the Keep They had seen Coercri in Seareach and marvelled at it; but for them Revelstone was transcendent. Watching them Covenant knew with a sudden pang that now they would never turn back-that no conceivable suasion would induce them to set their Search and their private purposes aside, to leave the Sunbane and Lord Foul to him. The Sunbane had eroded them in fundamental ways, gnawing at their ability to believe that their Search might actually succeed. What could Giants do to aid a Land in which nature itself had become the source of horror? But the sight of Revelstone restored them to themselves. They would never give up their determination to fight.
Unless Covenant found his own answer soon, he would not be able to save them.
Swallowing heavily, Pitchwife murmured, “No words-There are none. Your scant human tongue is void-” Tears spread through the creases of his face, mapping his emotion.
But the First said for him, “All tongues, Giantfriend. All tongues lack such language. There is that in the granite glory of the world's heart which may not be uttered with words. All other expression must be dumb when the pure stone speaks. And here that speech has been made manifest-Ah, my heart!” Her voice rose as if she wanted to both sing and keen. But for her also no words were adequate. Softly, she concluded, "The Giants of the Land were taught much by their loss of Home. I am humbled before them.”
For a moment Covenant could not respond. But then a memory came back to him-a recollection of the formal salutation that the people of Revelstone had formerly given to the Giants. Hail and welcome, inheritor of Land's loyalty. Welcome whole or hurt, in boon or bane — ask or give. To any requiring name we will not fail- In a husky voice, he breathed:
“Giant troth Revelstone, ancient ward—
Heart and door of Earthfriend's main:
Preserve the true with Power's sword,
Thou ages-Keeper, mountain-reign.”
At that, the First turned toward him; and for an instant her face was concentrated with weeping as if he had touched her deep Giantish love of stone. Almost immediately she recovered her sternness-but not before he had seen how absolutely she was ready now to serve him. Gruffly, she said, “Thomas Covenant, I have titled you Giantfriend, but it is not enough. You are the Earthfriend. No other name suffices.” Then she went and put her arms around her husband.
But Covenant groaned to himself, Earthfriend. God help me! That title belonged to Berek Halfhand, who had fashioned the Staff of Law and founded the Council of Lords. It did not become a man who carried the destruction of the Arch of Time in his envenomed hands. The man who had brought to ruin all Berek's accomplishments.
He glared back up at the Keep. The sun had begun to set behind the Westron Mountains, and its light in his eyes Harnpered his sight; but he discerned no sign that the watchtower was occupied. He had received the same impression the last time he had been here-and had distrusted it then as he did now. Though the outer gates were broken, the tower could still serve as a vital part of the Keep's defences. He would have to be prepared for battle the moment he set foot in that tunnel. If the Clave did not seek to attack him before then.
His shoulders hunching like anticipations of brutality, he turned away from the Keep and retreated a short distance into the vegetation to an area of rocks where the company could camp for the night.