Thomas Covenant 03: Power That Preserves (29 page)

“While Pietten was yet young she died. The harm done to her cut short her years.”

“And Pietten?” Foamfollower pursued. “What did the ur-viles do to him?”

Manethrall Kam broke his silence to mutter, “He is mad.”

But Jain countered grimly, “He is the best runner and Ranyhyn-tender in the Plains of Ra—as he said.”

“He serves the Ranyhyn,” Banner added. “He cares for them as entirely as any Manethrall. But there is”—he searched briefly for a description—“a ferocity in his love. He—”

“He liked the taste of blood,” Covenant interrupted. In his memory, he could see Pietten—hardly more than four years old—under the crimson light of the sick moon. Pietten had smeared his hands on the bloody grass, then licked his fingers and smiled.

Bannor agreed with a nod.

“He licks the wounds of the Ranyhyn to clean them!” Kam snapped in horror.

“Because of his great skill with the Ranyhyn,” Bannor went on, “and because of old promises made in the days of the Quest, the Ramen share their lives and work with him. But he is feared for his wildness. Therefore he lives alone. And he abuses the Ramen as if they have outcast him.”

“Yet he fights,” Jain breathed a moment later. “I have seen that spear slay three
kresh
in their very death hold on a Ranyhyn.”

“He fights,” Kam murmured. “He is mad.”

Covenant took a deep breath as if he were trying to inhale courage. “And we’re responsible—Foamfollower and I—we’re the ones who gave him to you, so we’re responsible. Is that it?”

At the sound of his voice, Lena stirred, blinked wearily, and Foamfollower said, “No, my friend.”

But Manethrall Jain answered in a haunted voice, “The Ranyhyn have chosen you. We do not ask you to save them.”

And Kam added, “You may call that pride if you wish. The Ranyhyn are worthy of all pride.”

“And the responsibility is mine,” Foamfollower said in a tone of pain that made Covenant’s hearing ache. “The blame is mine. For after the battle of Soaring Woodhelven—when all the Quest knew that some nameless harm had been done to the child—it was I who denied to him the hurtloam which might have healed him.”

This also Covenant remembered. Stricken by remorse for all the Cavewights he had slain, Foamfollower had used the last of the hurtloam to ease one of the wounded creatures rather than to treat Pietten. In protest against the Giant’s self-judgment, Covenant said, “You didn’t
deny
it. You—”

“I did not
give
it.” Foamfollower’s response was as final as an ax.

“Oh, hell!” Covenant glared around the group, searching for some way in which to grasp the situation. But he did not find it.

He had unintentionally roused Lena. She pulled herself erect, and asked, “Beloved, what is amiss?”

Covenant took her hand in his numb fingers. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here.”

“My Queen,” Foamfollower interposed. He wiped his mouth, set aside the leaves which had held his meal, then climbed to his feet. Towering over the circle of Ramen, he stepped forward to stand beside the fire. “My Queen, our difficulty is that the Ramen misdoubt me. They have spoken their respect for you, Lena Atiaran-daughter, and their acceptance of ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and Ringthane. But me they distrust.”

Lena looked up at him. “Then they are fools,” she said with dignity.

“No.” Foamfollower smiled wanly. “It is true that I have been a guest at Manhome, and a companion of Manethrall Lithe on the Quest for the Staff of Law. And it is true that Bannor of the Bloodguard has known me. We fought together at the battle of Soaring Woodhelven. But they are not fools. They suffer a doom of Giants, and their distrust must be respected.”

He turned to the four Manethralls. “Yet, though I acknowledge your doubt, it is hard for me to bear. My heart urges me to leave this place where I am not trusted. You could not easily stop me. But I do not go. My thoughts urge me to turn to my friend Thomas Covenant. Perhaps he would compel you to accept me. But I do not ask this of him. I must bring your acceptance upon myself. I will strive to meet your doubt—so that the enemies of the Despiser, Soulcrusher and Fangthane, may not be divided against themselves. Ask anything that you require.”

The Manethralls looked sharply at each other, and Covenant felt the atmosphere over the gathering tighten. The Giant’s face was ominously calm, as if he recognized a personal crisis and understood how to meet it. But Covenant did not understand. The hostility of the Ramen continued to amaze him. He ached to jump to the Giant’s defense.

He refrained because he saw why Foamfollower wanted to prove himself—and because he had a fascinated, fearful desire to see how the Giant would do it.

After a wordless consultation with the other Manethralls, Jain got to her feet and confronted Foamfollower across the fire. Unbidden, Bannor joined her. They regarded the Giant gravely for a long moment. Then Jain said, “Saltheart Foamfollower, the Render is cunning in malice. To discover him in all his secret treacheries requires an equal cunning. The Ramen have no such cunning. How is it possible for us to test you?”

“Inquire of my past,” Foamfollower responded evenly. “I was absent from Giant-wrought
Coercri
when the Ravers put their hands upon my kindred. Since that time, I have roved the Land, striking—slaying marauders. I have fought at the side of the Stonedownors in defense of their homes. I—”

“They had creatures which destroyed stone!” Lena cut in with sudden vehemence. “Their great, cruel arms tore our homes to rubble. Without the Giant’s strength, we could not have preserved one rock upright.”

“Lena.” Covenant wanted to applaud, cheer her affirmation, but he stopped her gently, squeezed her arm until she turned her angry gaze toward him. “He doesn’t need our help,” he said as if he were afraid her ire might break the frail bones of her face. “He can answer for himself.”

Slowly her anger turned to pain. “Why do they torment us? We seek to save the Ranyhyn also. The Ranyhyn trust us.”

Covenant steadied her as best he could. “They’ve suffered. They’ve got to answer for themselves too.”

“I also shared somewhat in the returning of Thomas Covenant to the Land,” Foamfollower continued. “He would not sit here now, purposing to aid the Land, had I not given of my strength.”

“That does not suffice,” said Jain sternly. “The Render would not hesitate to kill his own for the sake of a larger goal. Perhaps you served the Stonedownors and the summoning so that this white gold might fall into Fangthane’s hands.”

“And you have not given an account of The Grieve.” Bannor’s voice was soft, withdrawn, as if the question he raised were perilous.

But Foamfollower turned such issues aside with a jerk of his massive head. “Then discount my past—discount the scars of risk which cover my flesh. It is possible that I am a tool of the Despiser. Inquire of what you see. Behold me. Do you truly believe that a Raver might disguise himself within me?”

“How can we answer?” Jain muttered. “We have never seen you hale.”

But Foamfollower was facing Bannor now, addressing his question to the Bloodguard.

Evenly, objectively, Bannor replied, “Giant, you do not appear well. Many things are obscured in this winter—but you do not appear well. There is a lust in you that I do not comprehend. It has the look of Corruption.”

The Manethralls nodded in sharp agreement.

“Bannor!” Foamfollower breathed intently. His stiff calm broke momentarily, and a pang of anguish twisted his countenance. “Do not damn me with such short words. It may be that I too much resemble Pietten. I have struck blows that I cannot call back or prevent. And you have seen—there is the blood of Giants upon my head.”

The blood of Giants? Covenant moaned. Foamfollower!

The next instant, Foamfollower regained mastery of himself. “But you have known me, Bannor. You can see that it is not my intent to serve the Despiser. I could not—!” The words ripped themselves savagely past his lips.

“I have known you,” Bannor agreed simply. “In what way do I know you now?”

The Giant’s hands twitched as if they were eager for a violent answer, but he kept his steadiness. Without dropping Bannor’s gaze, he knelt by the fire. Even then he was taller than Bannor or Manethrall Jain. His muscles tensed as he leaned forward, and the orange firelight echoed dangerously out of the dark caves of his eyes.

“You have seen the
caamora
, Bannor,” he said tightly, “the Giantish ritual fire of grief. You have seen its pain. I am not prepared—this is not my time for such rituals. But I will not withdraw until you acknowledge me, Bannor of the Bloodguard.”

He did not release Bannor’s eyes as he thrust both his fists into the hottest coals of the campfire.

The Cords gasped at the sight, and the other Manethralls jumped up to join Jain. Covenant followed as if the Giant had snatched him erect.

Foamfollower was rigid with agony. Though the flames did not consume his flesh, they tortured him horrendously. The muscles of his forehead bulged and worked as if they were tearing his skull apart; the thews of his neck stood out like cables; sweat oozed like blood down his fire-hot cheeks; his lips drew back into a white snarl across his teeth. But his gaze did not waver. In anguish he kept up the demand of his pain.

Bannor stared back with a look of magisterial indifference on his alien mien.

The Cords were appalled. They gaped sickly at Foamfollower’s hands. And the Manethralls painfully, fearfully, watched Bannor and the Giant, measuring the test of will between them. But Lena gave a low cry and hid her face in Covenant’s shoulder.

Covenant, too, could not bear to see Foamfollower’s hurt. He turned on Bannor and gasped into the Bloodguard’s ear, “Give it up! Admit you know him. Hellfire! Bannor—you bloody egomaniac! You’re so proud—after the Bloodguard failed you can’t stand to admit there might be any faithfulness left anywhere. It’s you or nothing. But he’s a Giant, Bannor!” Bannor did not move, but a muscle quivered along his jaw. “Wasn’t Elena enough for you?” Covenant hissed. “Are you trying to make
another
Kevin out of him?”

For an instant, Bannor’s white eyebrows gathered into a stark frown. Then he said flatly, “Pardon me, Saltheart Foamfollower. I trust you.”

Foamfollower withdrew his hands. They were rigid with pain, and he hugged them to his chest, panting hoarsely.

Bannor turned to Covenant. Something in his pose made Covenant flinch as if he expected the Bloodguard to strike him. “You also caused the fall of High Lord Elena,” Bannor said brittlely. “You compelled us to reveal the unspoken name. Yet you did not bear the burden of that name yourself. Therefore the Law of Death was broken, and Elena fell. I did not reproach you then, and do not now. But I say to you: beware, ur-Lord Covenant! You hold too many dooms in your unwell hands.”

“I know that,” muttered Covenant. He was shaking so badly that he had to keep both arms around Lena to support himself. “I know that. It’s the only thing I know for sure.” He could not look at Foamfollower; he was afraid of the Giant’s pain, afraid that the Giant might resent his intervention. Instead he held onto Lena while his reaction to the strain surged into anger.

“But I’ve had enough of this.” His voice was too violent, but he did not care. He needed some outlet for his passion. “I’m not interested in asking for help anymore. Now I’m going to tell you what to do. Manethrall Lithe promised that the Ramen would do whatever I wanted. You care about promises—you keep this one. I want food, all we can carry. I want guides to take us to Landsdrop as fast as possible. I want scouts to help us get across the Spoiled Plains.” Words tumbled through his teeth faster than he could control them. “If Foamfollower’s been crippled—By hell, you’re going to make it up to him!”

“Ask for the moon,” Manethrall Kam muttered.

“Don’t tempt me!” Hot shouts thronged in his throat like fire; he whirled to fling flames at the Manethralls. But their haunted eyes stopped him. They did not deserve his rage. Like Bannor and Foamfollower, they were the victims of the Despiser—the victims of the things he, Thomas Covenant, had not done, had been unwilling or unable to do, for the Land. Again he could feel the ground on which he stood tremoring.

With an effort, he turned back to Bannor, met the Bloodguard’s aging gaze. “What happened to Elena wasn’t your fault at all,” he mumbled. “She and I—did it together. Or I did it to her.” Then he pushed himself to go to Foamfollower.

But as he moved, Lena caught his arm, swung him around. He had been bracing himself on her without paying any attention to her; now she made him look at her. “Elena—my daughter—what has happened to her?” Horror crackled in her eyes. The next instant, she was clawing at his chest with desperate fingers. “What has happened to her?”

Covenant stared at her. He had half forgotten, he had not wanted to remember that she knew nothing of Elena’s end.

“He said she fell!” she cried at him. “What have you done to her?”

He held her at arm’s length, backed away from her. Suddenly everything was too much for him. Lena, Foamfollower, Bannor, the Ramen—he could not keep a grip on it all at once. He turned his head toward Foamfollower, ignored Lena, and looked dumbly to the Giant for help. But Foamfollower did not even see Covenant’s stricken, silent plea. He was still wrapped in his own pain, struggling to flex his wracked fingers. Covenant lowered his head and turned back toward Lena as if she were a wall against which he had to batter himself.

“She’s dead,” he said thickly. “It’s my fault—she wouldn’t have been in that mess if it hadn’t been for me. I didn’t save her because I didn’t know how.”

He heard shouts behind him, but they made no impression on him. He was watching Lena. Slowly the import of his words penetrated her. “Dead,” she echoed emptily. “Fault.” As Covenant watched her, the light of consciousness in her eyes seemed to falter and go out.

“Lena,” he groaned. “Lena!”

Her gaze did not recognize him. She stared blankly through him as if her soul had lapsed within her.

The shouting behind him mounted. A voice nearby gasped out, “We are betrayed! Ur-viles and Cavewights—! The sentries were slain.”