White Gold Wielder (20 page)

And what in hell was this
rhysh
doing here?

His companions had less reason for apprehension. Pitchwife moved as if the Waynhim had restored his sense of adventure, his capacity for excitement. His eyes watched everything, eager for marvels. Warm air and the prospect of safety softened the First’s iron sternness, and she walked with her hand lightly on her husband’s shoulder, willing to accept whatever she saw. Honninscrave’s thoughts were hidden beneath the concealment of his brows. And Mistweave—

At the sight of Mistweave’s face, Covenant winced. Too much had happened too swiftly. He had nearly forgotten the tormented moment of Mistweave’s indecision. But the Giant’s visage bore the marks of that failure like toolwork at the corners of his eyes, down the sides of his mouth—marks cut into the bone of his self-esteem. His gaze turned away from Covenant’s in shame.

Damn it to hell! Covenant rasped to himself. Is every one of us doomed?

Perhaps they all were. Linden walked at his side without looking at him, her mien pale and strict with the characteristic severity which he had learned to interpret as fear. Fear of herself—of her inherited capacity for panic and horror, which had proved once again that it could paralyze her despite every commitment or affirmation she made. Perhaps her reaction to the ambush of the
arghuleh
had restored her belief that she, too, was doomed.

It was unjust. She judged that her whole life had been a form of flight, an expression of moral panic. But in that she was wrong. Her past sins did not invalidate her present desire for good. If they did, then Covenant himself was damned as well as doomed, and Lord Foul’s triumph was already assured.

Covenant was familiar with despair. He accepted it in himself. But he could not bear it in the people he loved. They deserved better.

Then Hamako’s branching way through the rock turned a corner to enter a sizable cavern like a meeting-hall; and Covenant’s attention was pulled out of its galled channel.

The space was large and high enough to have held the entire crew of Starfare’s Gem; but its rough walls and surfaces testified that the Waynhim had not been using it long. Yet it was comfortably well-lit. Many braziers flamed around the walls, shedding kind heat as well as illumination. For a moment, Covenant found himself wondering obliquely why the Waynhim bothered to provide light at all, since they had no eyes. Did the fires aid their lore in some fashion? Or did they draw a simple solace from the heat or scent of the flames? Certainly the former habitation of Hamako’s
rhysh
had been bright with warmth and firelight.

But Covenant could not remember that place and remain calm. And he had never seen so many Waynhim before: at least threescore of them slept on the bare stone, worked together around black metal pots as if they were preparing
vitrim
or invocations, or quietly waited for what they might learn about the people Hamako had brought.
Rhysh
was the Waynhim word for a community; and Covenant had been told that each community usually numbered between one- and twoscore Waynhim who shared a specific interpretation of their racial Weird, their native definition of identity and reason for existence. This Weird, he remembered, belonged to both the Waynhim and the ur-viles, but was read in vastly different ways. So he was looking at at least two
rhysh
. And Hamako had implied that there were more. More communities which had been ripped from home and service by the same terrible necessity that had brought Hamako’s
rhysh
here?

Covenant groaned as he accompanied Hamako into the center of the cavern.

There the Stonedownor addressed the company again. “I know that the purpose which impels you toward the Land is urgent,” he said in his gentle and pain-familiar voice. “But some little time you can spare among us. The horde of the
arghuleh
is unruly and advances with no great speed. We offer you sustenance, safety, and rest as well as inquiries”—he looked squarely at Covenant—“and perhaps also answers.” That suggestion gave another twist to Covenant’s tension. He remembered clearly the question Hamako had refused to answer for him. But Hamako had not paused. He was asking, “Will you consent to delay your way a while?”

The First glanced at Covenant. But Covenant had no intention of leaving until he knew more. “Hamako,” he said grimly, “why are you here?”

The loss and resolution behind Hamako’s eyes showed that he understood. But he postponed his reply by inviting the company to sit with him on the floor. Then he offered around bowls of the dark, musty
vitrim
liquid which looked like vitriol and yet gave nourishment like a distillation of
aliantha
. And when the companions had satisfied their initial hunger and weariness, he spoke as if he had deliberately missed Covenant’s meaning.

“Ring-wielder,” he said, “with four other
rhysh
we have come to give battle to the
arghuleh
.”

“Battle?” Covenant demanded sharply. He had always known the Waynhim as creatures of peace.

“Yes.” Hamako had traveled a journey to this place which could not be measured in leagues. “That is our intent.”

Covenant started to expostulate. Hamako stopped him with a firm gesture. “Though the Waynhim serve peace,” he said carefully, “they have risen to combat when their Weird required it of them, Thomas Covenant. I have spoken to you concerning that Weird. The Waynhim are made creatures. They have not the justification of birth for their existence, but only the imperfect lores and choices of the Demondim. And from this trunk grow no boughs but two—the way of the ur-viles, who loathe what they are and seek forever power and knowledge to become what they are not, and the way of the Waynhim, who strive to give value to what they are through service to what they are not, to the birth by Law and beauty of the life of the Land. This you know.”

Yes. I know. But Covenant’s throat closed as he recalled the manner in which Hamako’s
rhysh
had formerly served its Weird.

“Also you know,” the Stonedownor went on, “that in the time of the great High Lord Mhoram, and of your own last battle against the Despiser, Waynhim saw and accepted the need to wage violence in defense of the Land. It was their foray which opened the path by which the High Lord procured the survival of Revelstone.” His gaze held Covenant’s though Covenant could hardly match him. “Therefore do not accuse us that we have risen to violence again. It is not fault in the Waynhim. It is grief.”

And still he forestalled Covenant’s protest, did not answer Covenant’s fundamental question. “The Sunbane and the Despiser’s malign intent rouse the dark forces of the Earth. Though they act by their own will, they serve his design of destruction. And such a force has come among the
arghuleh
, mastering their native savagery and sending them like the hand of winter against the Land. We know not the name of that might. It is hidden from the insight of the Waynhim. But we see it. And we have gathered in this
rhyshyshim
to oppose it.”

“How?” the First interposed. “How will you oppose it?” When Hamako turned toward her, she said, “I ask pardon if I intrude on that which does not concern me. But you have given us the gift of our lives, and we have not returned the bare courtesy of our names and knowledge.” Briefly she introduced her companions. Then she continued, “I am the First of the Search—a Swordmain of the Giants. Battle is my craft and my purpose.” Her countenance was sharp in the firelight “I would share counsel with you concerning this combat.”

Hamako nodded. But his reply suggested politeness rather than any hope for help or guidance—the politeness of a man who had looked at his fate and approved of it.

“In the name of these
rhysh
, I thank you. Our intent is simple. Many of the Waynhim are now abroad, harrying the
arghuleh
to lure them hither. In this they succeed. That massed horde we will meet on the outer plain upon the morrow. There the Waynhim will concert their might and strike inward among the ice-beasts, seeking the dark heart of the force which rules them. If we discover that heart—and are equal to its destruction—then will the
arghuleh
be scattered, becoming once more their own prey.

“If we fail—” The Stonedownor shrugged. There was no fear in his face. “We will at least weaken that horde sorely ere we die.”

The First was faster than Covenant “Hamako,” she said, “I like this not. It is a tactic of desperation. It offers no second hope in event of first failure.”

But Hamako did not waver. “Giant, we are desperate. At our backs lies naught but the Sunbane, and against that ill we are powerless. Wherefore should we desire any second hope? All else has been rent from us. It is enough to strike this blow as best we may.”

The First had no answer for him. Slowly his gaze left her, returned to Covenant. His brown eyes seemed as soft as weeping—and yet too hard to be daunted. “Because I have been twice bereft,” he said in that kind and unbreachable voice, “I have been granted to stand at the forefront, forging the puissance of five
rhysh
with my mortal hands.”

Then Covenant saw that now at last he would be allowed to ask his true question; and for an instant his courage failed. How could he bear to hear what had happened to Hamako? Such extravagant human valor came from several sources—and one of them was despair.

But Hamako’s eyes held no flinch of self-pity. Covenant’s companions were watching him, sensitive to the importance of what lay between him and Hamako. Even Mistweave and Honninscrave showed concern; and Linden’s visage ached as if Hamako’s rue were poignant to her. With a wrench of will, Covenant denied his fear.

“You still haven’t told me.” Strain made his tone harsh. “All this is fine. I even understand it.” He was intimately familiar with desperation. In the warmth of the cavern, he had begun to sweat. “But why in the name of every good and beautiful thing you’ve ever done in your life are you here at all? Even the threat of that many
arghuleh
can’t compare with what you were doing before.”

The bare memory filled his throat with inextricable wonder and sorrow.

Lord Foul had already destroyed virtually all the natural life of the Land. Only Andelain remained, preserved against corruption by Caer-Caveral’s power. Everything else that grew by Law or love from seed or egg or birth had been perverted.

Everything except that which Hamako’s
rhysh
had kept alive.

In a cavern which was huge on the scale of lone human beings, but still paltry when measured by the destitution of the Land, the Waynhim had nurtured a garden that contained every kind of grass, shrub, flower, and tree, vine, grain, and vegetable they had been able to find and sustain. And in another cave, in a warren of pens and dens, they had saved as many species of animal as their lore and skill allowed.

It was an incomparable expression of faith in the future, of hope for the time when the Sunbane would be healed and the Land might be dependent upon this one tiny pocket of natural life for its renewal.

And it was gone. From the moment when he had recognized Hamako, Covenant had known the truth. Why else were the Waynhim here, instead of tending to their chosen work?

Useless rage cramped his chest, and his courage felt as brittle as dead bone, as he waited for Hamako’s response.

It was slow in coming; but even now the Stonedownor did not waver. “It is as you have feared,” he said softly. “We were driven from our place, and the work of our lives was destroyed.” Then for the first time his voice gave a hint of anger. “Yet you have not feared enough. That ruin did not befall us alone. Across all the Land, every
rhysh
was beaten from its place and its work. The Waynhim gathered here are all that remain of their race. There will be no more.”

At that, Covenant wanted to cry out, plead, protest. No! Not again! Was not the genocide of the Unhomed enough? How could the Land sustain another such loss?

But Hamako seemed to see Covenant’s thoughts in his aghast face. “You err, ring-wielder,” said the Stonedownor grimly. “Against Ravers and the Despiser, we were forewarned and defended. And Lord Foul had no cause to fear us. We were too paltry to give him threat. No. It was the ur-viles, the black and birthless kindred of the Waynhim, that wrought our ruin from
rhysh
to
rhysh
across the Land.”

Wrought our ruin. Our ruin across the Land. Covenant was no longer looking at Hamako. He could not. All that beauty. Gone to grief where all dreams go. If he met those soft, brown, irreparable eyes, he would surely begin to weep.

“Their assault was enabled to succeed because we did not expect it—for had not ur-vile and Waynbim lived in truce during all the millennia of their existence?—and because they have studied destruction as the Waynhim have not.” Slowly the edge of his tone was blunted. “We were fortunate in our way. Many of us were slain—among them some that you have known.
Vraith
,
dhurng
,
ghramin
.” He spoke the names as if he knew how they would strike Covenant; for those were Waynhim who had given their blood so that he could reach Revelstone in time to rescue Linden, Sunder, and Hollian. “But many escaped. Other
rhysh
were butchered entirely.

“Those Waynhim that survived wandered without purpose until they encountered others to form new
rhysh
, for a Waynhim without community is a lorn thing, deprived of meaning. And therefore,” he concluded, “we are desperate in all sooth. We are the last. After us there will be no more.”

“But why?” Covenant asked his knotted hands and the blurred light, his voice as thick as blood in his throat. “Why did they attack—? After all those centuries?”

“Because—” Hamako replied; and now he did falter, caught by the pain behind his resolve. “Because we gave you shelter—and with you that making of the ur-viles which they name Vain.”

Covenant’s head jerked up, eyes afire with protests. This crime at least should not be laid to his charge, though instinctively he believed it. He had never learned how to repudiate any accusation. But at once Hamako said, “Ah, no, Thomas Covenant, Your pardon. I have led you to miscomprehend me.” His voice resumed the impenetrable gentleness of a man who had lost too much. “The fault was neither yours nor ours. Even at Lord Foul’s command the ur-viles would not have wrought such harm upon us for merely sheltering you and any companion. Do not think it. Their rage had another source.”