Lord Foul's Bane (47 page)

With a sudden, bursting, united neigh, all the Ranyhyn reared around him, pawing the air over his head as if they were delivering promises. Then they wheeled, whinnying with relief, and charged away from Manhome. The moonlight did not appear to touch them. They dropped over the edge of the flat and vanished as if they were being welcomed into the arms of the earth.

Almost at once, Llaura reached Covenant's side. Slowly, he released Pietten to her. She gave him a long look that he could not read, then turned away. He followed her, trudging as if he were overburdened with the pieces of himself. He could hear the amazement of the Ramen- amazement too strong for them to feel any offense at what he had done. He was beyond them; he could hear it. “They reared to him,” the whispers ran. But he did not care. He was perversely sick with the sense that he had mastered nothing, proved nothing, resolved nothing.

Lord Mhoram came out to join him. Covenant did not meet Mhoram's gaze, but he heard complex wonder in the Lord's voice as he said, “Ur-Lord- ah! Such honour has never been done to mortal man or woman. Many have come to the Plains, and have been offered to the Ranyhyn- and refused. And when Lord Tamarantha my mother was offered, five Ranyhyn came to consider her- five. It was a higher honour than she had dreamed possible. We could not hear. Have you refused them? Refused?”

“Refused,” Covenant groaned. They hate me.

He pushed past Mhoram and shambled into Manhome. Moving unsteadily, like a ship with a broken keel, he headed toward the nearest cooking fire. The Ramen made way for him, watched him pass with awe in their faces. He did not care. He reached the fire and grabbed the first food he saw. The meat slipped in his halfhand, so he held it with his left fist and devoured it.

He ate, blankly, swallowing food in chunks and taking more by the fistful. Then he wanted something to drink. He looked around, discovered Foamfollower standing nearby with a flagon of
diamondraught
dwarfed in his huge hand.

Covenant took the flagon and drained it. Then he stood numbly still, waiting for the
diamondraught
's effect.

It came swiftly. Soon mist began to fill his head. His hearing seemed hollow, as if he were listening to Manhome from the bottom of a well. He knew that he was going to pass out- wanted hungrily to pass out- but before he lost consciousness, the hurt in his chest made him say, “Giant, I- I need friends.”

“Why do you believe that you have none?”

Covenant blinked, and saw everything that he had done in the Land. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“Then you do believe that we are real.”

“What?” Covenant groped for the Giant's meaning with hands which had no fingers.

“You think us capable of not forgiving you,” Foamfollower explained. “Who would forgive you more readily than your dream?”

“No,” the Unbeliever said. “Dreams- never forgive.”

Then he lost the firelight and Foamfollower's kind face, and stumbled into sleep.

Twenty: A Question of Hope

HE wandered wincing in sleep, expecting nightmares. But he had none. Through the vague rise and fall of his drifting as if even asleep his senses were alert to the Land- he felt that he was being distantly watched. The gaze on him was anxious and beneficent; it reminded him of the old beggar who had made him read an essay on “the fundamental question of ethics.”

When he woke up, he found that Manhome was bright with sunshine.

The shadowed ceiling of the cave was dim, but light reflecting off the village floor seemed to dispel the oppressive weight of the stone. And the sun reached far enough into Manhome to tell Covenant that he had awakened early in the afternoon of a warm pre-summer day. He lay near the back of the cave in an atmosphere of stillness. Beside him sat Saltheart Foamfollower.

Covenant closed his eyes momentarily. He felt he had survived a gauntlet. And he had an unfocused sense that his bargain was going to work. When he looked up again, he asked, “How long have I been asleep?” as if he had just been roused from the dead.

“Hail and welcome, my friend,” returned the Giant. “You make my
diamondraught
appear weak. You have slept for only a night and a morning.”

Stretching luxuriously, Covenant said, “Practice. I do so much of it- I'm becoming an expert.”

“A rare skill,” Foamfollower chuckled.

“Not really. There're more of us lepers than you might think.” Abruptly he frowned as if he had caught himself in an unwitting violation of his promised forbearance. In order to avoid being taken seriously, he added in a lugubrious tone, “We're everywhere.”

But his attempt at humour only appeared to puzzle the Giant. After a moment, Foamfollower said slowly, “Are the others- `Leper' is not a good name. It is too short for such as you. I do not know the word, but my ears hear nothing in it but cruelty.”

Covenant sat up and pushed off his blankets. “It's s not cruel, exactly.” The subject appeared to shame him. While he spoke, he could not meet Foamfollower's gaze. “It's either a meaningless accident- or a “just desert”. If it were cruel, it would happen more often.”

“More often?”

“Sure. If leprosy were an act of cruelty- by God or whatever- it wouldn't be so rare. Why be satisfied with a few thousand abject victims when you could have a few million?”

“Accident,” Foamfollower murmured. “Just. My friend, you bewilder me. You speak with such haste. Perhaps the Despiser of your world has only a limited power to oppose its Creator.”

“Maybe. Somehow I don't think my world works that way.”

“Yet you said- did you not?- that lepers are everywhere.”

“That was a joke. Or a metaphor.” Covenant made another effort to turn his sarcasm into humour. “I can never tell the difference.”

Foamfollower studied him for a long moment, then asked carefully, “My friend, do you jest?”

Covenant met the Giant's gaze with a sardonic scowl. “Apparently not.”

“I do not understand this mood.”

“Don't worry about it.” Covenant caught his chance to escape this conversation. “Let's get some food. I'm hungry.”

To his relief, Foamfollower began laughing gently. “Ah, Thomas Covenant,” he chuckled, “do you remember our river journey to Lord's Keep? Apparently there is something in my seriousness which makes you hungry.” Reaching down to one side, he brought up a tray of bread and cheese and fruit, and a flask of springwine. And he went on laughing quietly while Covenant pounced on the food.

Covenant ate steadily for some time before he began looking around. Then he was taken aback to find that the cave was profuse with flowers. Garlands and bouquets lay everywhere, as if overnight each Ramen had raised a garden thick with white columbines and greenery. The white and green eased the austerity of Manhome, covered the stone like a fine robe.

“Are you surprised?” asked Foamfollower. “These flowers honour you. Many of the Ramen roamed all night to gather blooms. You have touched the hearts of the Ranyhyn, and the Ramen are not unamazed or ungrateful. A wonder has come to pass for them five score Ranyhyn offering to one man. The Ramen would not exchange such a sight for Andelain itself, I think. So they have returned what honour is in their power.”

Honour? Covenant echoed.

The Giant settled himself more comfortably, and said as if he were beginning a long tale, “It is sad that you did not see the Land before the Desecration. Then the Ramen might have shown you honour that would humble all your days. All matters were higher in that age, but even among the Lords there were few beauties to equal the great craft of the Ramen. “Marrowmeld,” they called it-
anundivian yajna
, in the tongue of the Old Lords. Bone-sculpting it was. From vulture and time-cleaned skeletons on the Plains of Ra, the Ramen formed figures of rare truth and joy. In their hands- under the power of their songs- the bones bent and flowed like clay, and were fashioned curiously, so that from the white core of lost life the Ramen made emblems for the living. I have never beheld these figures, but the tale of them is preserved by the Giants. In the destitution and diminishment, the long generations of hunger and hiding and homelessness, which came to the Ranyhyn and the Ramen with the Desecration, the skill of marrowmeld was lost.”

His voice faded as he finished, and after a moment he began to sing softly:

Stone and Sea are deep in life-

A silence of respectful attention surrounded him. The Winhomes near him had stopped to listen.

A short time later, one of them waved out toward the glade, and Covenant, following the gesture, saw Lithe striding briskly across the fiat. She was accompanied by Lord Mhoram astride a beautiful roan Ranyhyn. The sight gladdened Covenant. He finished his springwine in a salute to Mhoram.

“Yes,” said Foamfollower, noticing Covenant's gaze, “much has occurred this morning. High Lord Prothall chose not to offer himself. He said that his old bones would better suit a lesser mount- meaning, I think, that he feared his `old bones' would give affront to the Ranyhyn. But it would be well not to underestimate his strength.”

Covenant heard a current of intimations running through Foamfollower's words. Distantly, he said, “Prothall is going to resign after this Quest- if it succeeds.”

The Giant's eyes grinned. “Is that prophecy?”

Covenant shrugged. “You know as well as I do. He spends too much time thinking about how he hasn't mastered Kevin's Lore. He thinks he's a failure. And he's going to go on thinking that even if he gets the Staff of Law back.”

“Prophecy, indeed.”

“Don't laugh.” Covenant wondered how he could explain the resonance of the fact that Prothall had refused a chance at the Ranyhyn. “Anyway, tell me about Mhoram.”

Happily, Foamfollower said, “Lord Mhoram son of Variol was this day chosen by Hynaril of the Ranyhyn, who also bore Tamarantha Variol-mate. Behold! She is remembered with honour among the great horses. The Ramen say that no Ranyhyn has ever before borne two riders. Truly, an age of wonders has come to the Plains of Ra.”

“Wonders,” Covenant muttered. He did not like to remember the fear with which all those Ranyhyn had faced him. He glared into his flask as if it had cheated him by being empty.

One of the nearest Winhomes started toward him carrying a jug. He recognized Gay. She approached among the flowers, then stopped. When she saw that he was looking at her, she lowered her eyes. “I would refill your flagon,” she said, “but I fear to offend. You will consider me a child.”

Covenant scowled at her. She affected him like a reproach, and he stiffened where he sat. With an effort that made him sound coldly formal, he said, “Forget last night. It wasn't your fault.” Awkwardly, he extended the flask toward her.

She came forward, and poured out springwine for him with hands that shook slightly.

He said distinctly, “Thank you.”

She gazed at him widely for a moment. Then a look of relief filled her face, and she smiled.

Her smile reminded him of Lena. Deliberately, as if she were a burden he refused to shirk, he motioned for her to sit down. She placed herself cross-legged at the foot of his bed, gleaming at the honour the Ringthane did her.

Covenant tried to think of something to say to her; but before he found what he wanted, he saw Warhaft Quaan striding into Manhome. Quaan came toward him squarely, as if he were forging against Covenant's gaze, and when he neared the Unbeliever, he waited only an instant before asking his question. “We were concerned. Life needs food. Are you well?”

“Well?” Covenant felt that he was beginning to glow with his second flask of springwine. “Can't you see? I can see you. You're as sound as an oak.”

“You are closed to us,” said Quaan, stolid with disapproval. “What we see is not what you are.”

This ambiguous statement seemed to invite a mordant retort, but Covenant restrained himself. He shrugged, then said, “I'm eating,” as if he did not want to lay claim to too much health.

Quaan seemed to accept this reply for what it was worth. He nodded, bowed slightly, and left.

Watching him go, Winhome Gay breathed, “He dislikes you.” Her tone expressed awe at the Warhaft's audacity and foolishness. She seemed to ask how he dared to feel as he did- as if Covenant's performance the previous night had exalted him in her eyes to the rank of a Ranyhyn.

“He has good reason,” answered Covenant flatly.

Gay looked unsure. As if she were reaching out for dangerous knowledge, she asked quickly, “Because you are a- a “leper”?

He could see her seriousness. But he felt that he had already said too much about lepers. Such talk compromised his bargain. “No,” he said, “he just thinks I'm obnoxious.”

At this, she frowned as if she could hear his complex dishonestly. For a long moment, she studied the floor as if she were using the stone to measure his duplicity. Then she got to her feet, filled Covenant's flask to the brim from her jug. As she turned away, she said in a low voice, “You do consider me a child.” She walked with a defiant and fearful swing to her hips, as if she believed she was risking her life by treating the Ringthane so insolently.

He watched her young back, and wondered at the pride of people who served horses- and at the inner conditions which made telling the truth so difficult.

From Gay, his gaze shifted to the outer edge of Manhome, where Mhoram and Lithe stood together in the sunlight. They were facing each other- she nut brown and he blue-robed- and arguing like earth and sky. When he concentrated on them, he could make out what they were saying.

“I will,” she insisted.

“No, hear me,” Mhoram replied. “He does not want it. You will only cause pain for him- and for yourself.”

Covenant regarded them uneasily out of the cool, dim cave. Mhoram's rudder nose gave him the aspect of a man who faced facts squarely; and Covenant felt sure that indeed he did not want whatever Mhoram was arguing against.

The dispute ended shortly. Manethrall Lithe swung away from Mhoram and strode into the recesses of the village. She approached Covenant and surprised him entirely by dropping to her knees, bowing her forehead to the stone before him. With her palms on the floor beside her head, she said, “I am your servant. You are the Ringthane, master of the Ranyhyn.”

Covenant gaped at the back of her head. For an instant, he did not understand her; in his surprise, he could not conceive of any emotion powerful enough to make a Manethrall bow so low. His face felt suddenly full of shame. “I don't want a servant,” he grated. But then he saw Mhoram frowning unhappily behind Lithe. He steadied himself, went on more gently, “The honour of your service is beyond me.”

“No!” she averred without raising her head. “I saw. The Ranyhyn reared to you.”

He felt trapped. There seemed to be no way to stop her from humiliating herself without making her aware of the humiliation. He had lived without tact or humour for such a long time. But he had promised to be forbearant. And in the distance he had travelled since Mithil Stonedown, he had tasted the consequences of allowing the people of the Land to treat him as if he were some kind of mythic figure. With an effort, he replied gruffly, “Nevertheless. I'm not used to such things. In my own world, I'm- just a little man. Your homage makes me uneasy.”

Softly, Mhoram sighed his relief, and Lithe raised her head to ask in wonder, “Is it possible? Can such worlds be, where you are not among the great?”

“Take my word for it.” Covenant drank deeply from his flask.

Cautiously, as if fearful that he did not mean what he had said, she climbed to her feet. She threw back her head and shook her knotted hair. “Covenant Ringthane, it shall be as you choose. But we do not forget that the Ranyhyn reared to you. If there is any service we may do, only let it be known. You may command us in all things that do not touch the Ranyhyn.”

“There is one thing,” he said, staring at the mountain stone of the ceiling. “Give Llaura and Pietten a home.”