The Power That Preserves

Nine: Ramen Covert

THE sight of him stunned Covenant. Lithe, loam-collared forms, some wearing light robes shaded to match the grey-white snow, moved closer to him as if to verify his identify; a few of them muttered “Ringthane” in tense voices. He hardly saw them. “But Mhoram said-“

But Mhoram had said that the Bloodguard were lost.

“Ur-Lord Covenant.” Banner inclined his head in a slight bow. “Pardon my error. You are well disguised.”

“Disguised?” Covenant had no conception of what Banner was talking about. Mhoram’s pain had carried so much conviction. Numbly, he glanced downward as if he expected to find two fingers missing from Banner’s right hand.

“A Stonedownor jacket. Sandals. A Giant for a companion.” Banner’s impassive eyes held Covenant’s face. “And you stink of infection. Only your countenance may be recognized.”

“Recognized.” Covenant could not stop himself. He repeated the word because it was the last thing Banner had said. Fighting for self-control, he croaked, “Why aren’t you with the Lords?”

“The Vow was Corrupted. We no longer serve the Lords.”

Covenant gaped at this answer as if it were nonsense. Confusion befogged his comprehension. Had Mhoram said anything like this? He found that his knees were trembling as if the ground under him had shifted. No longer serve the Lords, he repeated blankly. He did not know what the words meant.

But then the sounds of Lena’s struggle penetrated him. “You have harmed him,” she gasped fiercely. “Release me!”

He made an effort to pull himself together. “Let her go,” he said to Banner. “Don’t you understand who she is?”

“Did the Giant speak truly?”

“What? Did he what?” Covenant almost lapsed back into his stupor at the jolt of this distrust. But for Lena’s sake he took a deep breath, resisted. “She is the mother of High Lord Elena,” he grated. “Tell them to let her go.”

Banner glanced past Covenant at Lena, then said distantly, “The Lords spoke of her. They were unable to heal her.” He shrugged slightly. “They were unable to heal many things.”

Before Covenant could respond, the Bloodguard signalled to his companions. A moment later, Lena was at Covenant’s side. From somewhere in her robes, she produced a stone knife and brandished it between Bannor and Covenant. “If you have harmed him, “she fumed, “I will take the price of it from your skin, old man.”

The Bloodguard cocked an eyebrow at her. Covenant reached for her arm to hold her back, but he was still too staggered to think of a way to calm her, reassure her. “Lena,” he murmured ineffectively, “Lena.” When Foamfollower joined them, Covenant’s eyes appealed to the Giant for help.

“Ah, my Queen,” Foamfollower said softly. “Remember your Oath of Peace.”

“Peace!” Lena snapped in a brittle voice. “Speak to them of Peace. They attacked the Unbeliever.”

“Yet they are not our enemies. They are the Ramen.”

She jerked incredulously to face the Giant. “Ramen? The tenders of the Ranyhyn?”

Covenant stared as well. Ramen? He had unconsciously assumed that Banner’s companions were other Bloodguard. The Ramen had always secretly hated the Bloodguard because so many Ranyhyn had died while bearing the Bloodguard in battle. Ramen and Bloodguard? The ground seemed to lurch palpably under him. Nothing was as he believed it to be; everything in the Land would either astound or appall him, if only he were told the truth.

“Yes,” Foamfollower replied to Lena. And now Covenant recognized the Ramen for himself. Eight of them, men and women, stood around him. They were lean, swift people, with the keen faces of hunters, and skin so deeply tanned from their years in the open air that even this winter could not pale them. Except for their scanty robes, their camouflage, they dressed in the Ramen fashion as Covenant remembered it-short shifts and tunics which left their legs and arms free; bare feet. Seven of them had the cropped hair and roped waists characteristic of Cords; and the eighth was marked as a Manethrall by the way his fighting thong tied his long black hair into one strand, and by the small, woven circlet of yellow flowers on the crown of his head.

Yet they had changed; they were not like the Ramen he had known forty-seven years ago. The easiest alteration for him to see was in their attitude toward him. During his first visit to the Land, they had looked at him in awed respect. He was the Ringthane, the man to whom the Ranyhyn had reared a hundred strong. But now their proud, severe faces regarded him with asperity backed by ready rage, as if he had violated their honour by committing some nameless perfidy.

But that was not the only change in them. As he scrutinized the uncompromising eyes around him, he became conscious of a more significant difference, something he could not define. Perhaps they carried themselves with less confidence or pride; perhaps they had been attacked so often that they had developed a habitual flinch; perhaps this ratio of seven Cords to one Manethrall, instead of three or four to one, as it should have been, indicated a crippling loss of life among their leaders, the teachers of the Ranyhyn-lore. Whatever the reason, they had a haunted look, an aspect of erosion, as if some subliminal ghoul were gnawing at the bones of their courage. Studying them, Covenant was suddenly convinced that they endured Bannor, even followed him, because they were no longer self-sure enough to refuse a Bloodguard.

After a moment, he became aware that Lena was speaking, more in confusion than in anger now. “Why did you attack us? Can you not recognize the Unbeliever? Do you not remember the Rockbrothers of the Land? Can you not see that I have ridden Ranyhyn?”

“Ridden!” spat the Manethrall.

“My Queen,” Foamfollower said softly, “the Ramen do not ride.”

“As for Giants,” the man went on, “they betray.”

“Betray?” Covenant’s pulse pounded in his temples, as if he were too close to an abyss hidden in the snow.

“Twice now Giants have led Fangthane’s rending armies north of the Plains of Ra. These ‘Rockbrothers’ have sent fangs and claws in scores of thousands to tear the flesh of Ranyhyn. Behold!” With a swift tug, he snatched his cord from his hair and grasped it taut like a garrote. “Every Ramen cord is black with blood.” His knuckles tightened as if he were about to leap at the Giant. “Manhome is abandoned. Ramen and Ranyhyn are scattered. Giants!” He spat again as if the very taste of the word disgusted him.

“Yet you know me,” Foamfollower said to Bannor. “You know that I am not one of the three who fell to the Ravers.”

Bannor shrugged noncommittally. “Two of the three are dead. Who can say where those Ravers have gone?”

“I am a Giant, Bannor!” Foamfollower insisted in a tone of supplication, as if that fact were the only proof of his fidelity. “It was I who first brought Thomas Covenant to Revelstone.”

Bannor was unmoved. “Then how is it that you are alive?”

At this, Foamfollower’s eyes glinted painfully. In a thin tone, he said, “I was absent from Coercri- when my kindred brought their years in Seareach to an end.”

The Bloodguard cocked an eyebrow, but did not relent. After a moment, Covenant realized that the resolution of this impasse was in his hands. He was in no condition to deal with such problems, but he knew he had to say something. With an effort, he turned to Bannor. “You can’t claim you don’t remember me. You probably have nightmares about me, even if you don’t ever sleep.”

“I know you, ur-Lord Covenant.” As he spoke, Bannor’s nostrils flared as if they were offended by the smell of illness.

“You know me, too,” Covenant said with mounting urgency to the Manethrall. “Your people call me Ringthane. The Ranyhyn reared to me.”

The Manethrall looked away from Covenant’s demanding gaze, and for an instant the haunted look filled his face like an ongoing tragedy. “Of the Ringthane we do not speak,” he said quietly. “The Ranyhyn have chosen. It is not our place to question the choices of the Ranyhyn.”

“Then back off!” Covenant did not intend to shout, but he was too full of undefined fears to contain himself. “Leave us alone! Hellfire! We’ve got enough trouble as it is.”

His tone brought back the Manethrall’s pride. Severely, the man asked, “Why have you come?”

“I haven’t ‘come.’ I don’t want to be here at all.”

“What is your purpose?”

In a voice full of mordant inflections, Covenant said, “I intend to pay a little visit to Foul’s Creche.”

His words jolted the Cords, and their breath hissed through their teeth. The Manethrall’s hands twitched on his weapon.

A flare of savage desire widened Bannor’s eyes momentarily. But his flat dispassion returned at once. He shared a clear glance with the Manethrall, then said, “Ur-Lord, you and your companions must accompany us. We will take you to a place where more Ramen may give thought to you.”

“Are we your prisoners?” Covenant glowered.

“Ur-Lord, no hand will be raised against you in my presence. But these matters must be given consideration.”

Covenant glared hard into Bannor’s expressionlessness, then turned to Foamfollower. “What do you think?”

“I do not like this treatment,” Lena interjected. ”Saltheart Foamfollower is a true friend of the Land. Atiaran my mother spoke of all Giants with gladness. And you are the Unbeliever, the bearer of white gold. They show disrespect. Let us leave them and go our way.”

Foamfollower replied to them both, “The Ramen are not blind. Bannor is not blind. They will see me more clearly in time. And their help is worth seeking.”

“All right,” Covenant muttered. “I’m no good at fighting anyway.” To Bannor, he said stiffly, “We’ll go with you.” Then, for the sake of everything that had happened between himself and the Bloodguard, he added, “No matter what else is going on here, you’ve saved my life too often for me to start distrusting you now.”

Bannor gave Covenant another fractional bow. At once, the Manethrall snapped a few orders to the Cords. Two of them left at a flat run toward the northeast, and two more moved off to take scouting positions on either side of the company, while the rest gathered small knapsacks from hiding places around the hollow. Watching them, Covenant was amazed once again at how easily, swiftly, they could disappear into their surroundings. Even their footprints seemed to vanish before his eyes. By the time Foamfollower had packed his leather sack, they had effaced all signs of their presence from the hollow. It looked as untroubled as if they had never been there.

Before long, Covenant found himself trudging between Lena and Foamfollower in the same general direction taken by the two runners. The Manethrall and Bannor strode briskly ahead of them, and the three remaining Cords marched at their backs like guards. They seemed to be moving openly, as if they had no fear of enemies. But twice when he looked back Covenant saw the Cords erasing the traces of their passage from the grey drifts and the cold ground.

The presence of those three ready garrotes behind him only aggravated his confusion. Despite his long experience with hostility, he was not prepared for such distrust from the Ramen. Clearly, important events had taken place-events of which he had no conception. His ignorance afflicted him with a powerful sense that the fate of the Land was moving toward a crisis, a fundamental concatenation in which his own role was beclouded, obscure. The facts were being kept from him. This feeling cast the whole harsh edifice of his purpose into doubt, as if it were erected on slow quicksand. He needed to ask questions, to get answers. But the unspoken threat of those Ramen ropes disconcerted him. And Bannor-! He could not frame his questions, even to himself.

And he was tired. He had already travelled all night, had not slept since the previous afternoon. Only four days had passed since his summoning. As he laboured to keep up the pace, he found that he lacked the strength of concentration to think.

Lena was in no better condition. Although she was healthier than he, she was old, and not hardened to walking. Gradually, he became as worried about her as he was weary himself. When she began to droop against him, he told Banner flatly that he would have to rest.

They slept until midafternoon, then travelled late into the night before camping again. And the next morning, they were on their way before dawn. But Covenant and Lena did better now. The food which the Ramen gave them was hot and nourishing. And soon after grey dim day had shambled into the laden air, they reached the edge of the hills, came in sight of the Plains of Ra. At this point, they swung northward, staying in the rumbled terrain of the hills-edge rather than venturing into the bleak, winter-bitten openness of the Plains. But still they found the going easier. In time, Covenant recovered enough to begin asking questions.

As usual, he had trouble talking to Banner. The Bloodguard’s unbreachable dispassion daunted him, often made him malicious or angry through simple frustration; such reticence seemed outrageously immune from judgment-the antithesis of leprosy. Now all the Bloodguard had abandoned the Lords, Revelstone, death refusal. Lord’s Keep would fall without them. And yet Bannor was here, living and working with the Ramen. When Covenant tried to ask questions, he felt that he no longer knew the man to whom he spoke.

Bannor met his first tentative inquiries by introducing Covenant to the Ramen — Manethrall Kam, and his Cords, Whane, Lal, and Puhl — and by assuring him that they would reach their destination by evening the next day. He explained that this band of Ramen was a scouting patrol responsible for detecting marauders along the western marge of Ra; they had found Covenant and his companions by chance rather than design. When Covenant asked about Rue, the Manethrall who had brought word of Fleshharrower’s army to Revelstone seven years ago, Bannor replied flatly that she had died soon after her return home. But after that, Covenant had to wrestle for what he wanted to know.

At last he could find no graceful way to frame his question. “You left the Lords,” he rasped awkwardly. “Why are you here?”

“The Vow was broken. How could we remain?”

“They need you. They couldn’t need you more.”

“Ur-Lord, I say to you that the Vow was broken. Many things were broken. You were present. We could not-ur-Lord, I am old now. I, Bannor, First Mark of the Bloodguard. I require sleep and hot food. Though I was bred for mountains, this cold penetrates my bones. I am no fit server for Revelstone-no, nor for the Lords, though they do not equal High Lord Kevin who went before them.”

“Then why are you here? Why didn’t you just go home and forget it?”

Foamfollower winced at Covenant’s tone, but Bannor replied evenly, “That was my purpose-when I departed Lord’s Keep. But I found I could not forget. I had ridden too many Ranyhyn. At night I saw them-in my dreams they ran like clear skies and cleanliness. Have you not beheld them? Without Vows or defiance of death, they surpassed the faith of the Bloodguard. Therefore I returned.”

“Just because you were addicted to Ranyhyn? You let the Lords and Revelstone and all go to hell and blood, but you came here because you couldn’t give up riding Ranyhyn?”

“I do not ride.”

Covenant stared at him.

“I have come to share the work of the Ramen. A few of the Haruchai- I know not how many-a few felt as I did. We had known Kevin in the youth of his glory, and could not forget. Terrel is here, and Runnik. There are others. We teach our skills to the Ramen, and learn from them the tending of the great horses. Perhaps we will learn to make peace with our failure before we die.”

Make peace, Covenant groaned. Bannor! The very simplicity of the Bloodguard’s explanation dismayed him. So all those centuries of untainted and sleepless service came to this.

He asked Bannor no more questions; he was afraid of the answers.

For the rest of that day, he fell out of touch with his purpose. Despite the concern and companionship of Foamfollower and Lena, he walked between them in morose separateness. Banner’s words had numbed his heart. And he slept that night on his back with his eyes upward, as if he did not believe that he would ever see the sun again.

But the next morning he remembered. Shortly after dawn, Manethrall Kam’s party met another Cord. The man was on his way to the edge of the Plains, and in his hands he carried two small bouquets of yellow flowers. The grey wind made their frail petals flutter pathetically. After saluting Manethrall Kam, he strode out into the open, shouted shrilly against the wind in a language Covenant could not understand. He repeated his shout, then waited with his hands extended as if he were offering flowers to the wind.

Shortly, out of the shelter of a frozen gully came two Ranyhyn, a stallion and a mare. The stallion’s chest was scored with fresh claw-marks, and the mare had a broken, hollow look, as if she had just lost her foal. Both were as gaunt as skeletons; hunger had carved the pride from their shoulders and haunches, exposed their ribs, given their emaciated muscles an abject starkness. They hardly seemed able to hold up their heads. But they nickered to the Cord. With a stumbling gait, they trotted forward, and began at once to eat the flowers he offered to them. In three bites the food was gone. He hugged them quickly, then turned away with tears in his eyes.

Without a word, Manethrall Kam gave the Cord the bedraggled circlet from his hair, so that each of the Ranyhyn could have one more bite. “That is amanibhavam, the healing grass of Ra,” he explained stiffly to Covenant. “It is a hardy grass, not so easily daunted by this winter as the Render might wish. It will keep life in them-for another day.” As he spoke, he glared redly into Covenant’s face, as if the misery of these two horses were the Unbeliever’s doing. With a brusque nod toward the Cord feeding the Ranyhyn, he went on: “He walked ten leagues today to bring even this much food to them.” The haunted erosion filled his face; he looked like the victim of a curse. Painfully, he turned and strode away again northward, along the edges of the Plains.

Covenant remembered; he had no trouble remembering his purpose now. When he followed the Manethrall, he walked as if he were fighting the deadness of his feet with outrage.

In the course of that day, he saw a few more Ranyhyn. Two were uninjured, but all were gaunt, weak, humbled. All had gone a long way down the road toward starvation.

The sight of them wore heavily upon Lena. There was no confusion in the way she perceived them, no distortion or inaccuracy. Such vision consumed her. As time passed, her eyes sank back under her brows, as if they were trying to hide in her skull, and dark circles like bruises grew around the orbs. She stared brittlely about her as if even Covenant were dim in her gaze-as if she beheld nothing but the protruding ribs and fleshless limbs of Ranyhyn.

Covenant held her arm as they walked, guided and supported her as best he could. Weariness gradually became irrelevant to him; even the keen wind, flaying straight toward him across the Plains, seemed to lose its importance. He stamped along behind Kam like a wild prophet, come to forge the Ramen to his will.

They reached the outposts of Kam’s destination by midafternoon. Ahead of them, two Cords abruptly stepped out of a barren copse of wattle, and saluted Manethrall Kam in the Ramen fashion, with their hands raised °n either side of their heads and their palms open, weaponless. Kam returned the bow, spoke to the two briefly in a low, aspirated tongue, then motioned for Covenant, Lena, and Foamfollower to continue on with him. As they moved back into the hills, he told them, “My Cords were able to summon only three other Manethralls. But four will be enough.”

“Enough?” Covenant asked.

“The Ramen will accept a judgment made by four Manethralls.”

Covenant met Kam’s glare squarely. A moment later, the Manethrall turned away with an oddly daunted air, as if he had remembered that Covenant’s claim on him came from the Ranyhyn. Hurrying now, he led his company upward with the grey wind cutting at their backs.

They climbed across two steep bluffs which gave them a panoramic view of the Plains. The hard open ground lay ruined below them, scorched with winter and grey snow until it looked maimed and lifeless. But Manethrall Kam moved rapidly onward, ignoring the sight. He took his companions past the bluffs down into a valley cunningly hidden among rough knolls and hilltops. This valley was largely sheltered from the wind, and faint, cultivated patches of unripe amanibhavam grew on its sides. Now Covenant remembered what he had heard about amanibhavam during his previous visit to the Plains of Ra. This grass, which held such a rare power of healing for horses, was poisonous to humans.

Aside from the grass, the valley contained nothing but three dead copses leaning at various points against the steepest of the slopes. Manethrall Kam walked directly toward the thickest one. As he approached, four Cords stepped out of the wood to meet him. They had a tense, frail air about them which made Covenant notice how young they were; even the two older girls seemed to have had their Cording thrust unready upon them. They saluted Kam nervously, and when he had returned their bow, they moved aside to let him enter the copse.

Covenant followed Banner into the wood and found that at its back was a narrow rift in the hillside. The rift did not close, but its upper reaches were so crooked that Covenant could not see out the top. Under his feet, a layer of damp, dead leaves muffled his steps; he passed in silence like a shadow between the cold stone walls. A smell of musty age filled his nostrils, as if the packed leaves had been rotting in the rift for generations; and despite their wetness, he felt dim warmth radiating from them. No one spoke. Gripping Lena’s chill fingers in his numb hand, he moved behind Banner as the cleft bent irregularly from side to side on its way through the rock.

Then Manethrall Kam stopped. When Covenant caught up with him, he said softly, “We now enter the secret places of a Ramen covert. Be warned, Ringthane. If we are not taught to trust you and your companions, you will not leave this place. In all the Plains of Ra and the surrounding hills, this is the last covert.

“At one time, the Ramen held several such hidden places of refuge. In them the Manethralls tended the grievous wounds of the Ranyhyn and trained Cords in the secret rites of their Maneing. But one by one in turn each covert”- Kam fixed Covenant with a demon-ridden gaze- “has been betrayed. Though we have preserved them with our utterest skill, fresh-ur-viles-Cavewights- ill flesh in every shape-all have found our hidden coverts and ravaged them.” He studied the Ringthane as if he were searching for some sign which would brand Covenant as the betrayer. “We will hold you here-we will kill your companions-rather than permit treachery to this place.”

Without allowing Covenant time to reply, he turned on his heel and stalked around another bend in the cleft.

Covenant followed, scowling stormily. Beyond the bend, he found himself in a large chamber. The air was dim, but he could see well enough to discern several Ranyhyn standing against the walls. They were eating scant bundles of grass, and in this closed space the sharp aroma of the amanibhavam made his head ring. All of them were injured-some so severely that they could hardly stand. One had lost the side of its face in a fight, another still bled from a cruel fretwork of claw-marks in its flanks, and two others had broken legs which hung limply, with excruciating bone-splinters tearing the skin.

As he stared gauntly at them, they became aware of him. A restless movement passed through them, and their heads came up painfully, turning soft, miserable eyes toward him. For a long moment, they looked at him as if they should have been afraid but were too badly hurt for fear. Then, in agony, even the horses with broken legs tried to rear.

“Stop it. Stop.” Covenant hardly knew that he was moaning aloud. His hands flinched in front of his face, trying to ward off an abominable vision. “I can’t stand it.”

Firmly, Banner took his arm and drew him past the chamber into another passage through the rock.

After a few steps, his legs failed him. But Banner gripped him, bore him up. Clutching with useless fingers at the Bloodguard’s shoulders, he pulled himself around until he was facing Bannor. “Why?” he panted into Bannor’s flat visage. “Why did they do that?”

Banner’s face and voice revealed nothing. “You are the Ringthane. They have made promises to you.”

“Promises.” Covenant rubbed a hand over his eyes. The promises of the Ranyhyn limped across his memory. “Hell and blood.” With an effort, he pushed away from Banner. Bracing himself against the wall of the crevice, he clenched his trembling fists as if he were trying to squeeze steadiness out of them. His fingers ached for the Despiser’s throat. “They should be killed!” he raged thickly. “They should be put out of their misery! How can you be so cruel?”

Manethrall Kam spat, “Is that how it is done in your world, Ringthane?”

But Bannor replied evenly, “They are the Ranyhyn. Do not presume to offer them kindness. How can any human decide the choices of death and pain for them?”

At this, Foamfollower reached out and touched Banner’s shoulder in a gesture of respect.

Covenant’s jaw muscles jumped as he bit his shouts into silence. He followed the Giant’s gesture, turned, and looked greyly up at Foamfollower. Both the Giant and Bannor had witnessed his bargain with the Ranyhyn forty-seven years ago, when the great horses had first reared to him; Bannor and Foamfollower and Mhoram and Quaan might be the last remaining survivors of the Quest for the Staff of Law. But they were enough. They could accuse him. The Ramen could accuse him. He still did not know all the things of which they could accuse him.

His wedding band hung loosely on his ring finger; he had lost weight, and the white gold dangled as if it were meaningless. He needed its power. Without power, he was afraid to guess at the things which were being kept from him.

Abruptly, he stepped up to Kam, jabbed the Manethrall’s chest with one stiff finger. “By hell,” he muttered into Kam’s glare, “if you’re only doing this out of pride, I hope you rot for it. You could have taken them south into the mountains-you could have saved them from this. Pride isn’t a good enough excuse.”

Again the ghoul-begotten hurt darkened Kam’s gaze. “It is not pride,” he said softly. “The Ranyhyn do not choose to go.”

Without wanting to, Covenant believed him. He could not doubt what he saw in the Manethrall. He drew back, straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath. “Then you’d better help me. Trust me whether you want to or not. I hate Foul just as much as you do.”

“That may be,” Kam replied, recovering his severity. “We will not contradict the Ranyhyn concerning you. I saw-I would not have believed if I had not seen. To rear! Hurt as they are! You need not fear us. But your companions are another matter. The woman”-he made an effort to speak calmly- “I do not distrust. Her love for the Manes is in her face. But this Giant-he must prove himself.”

“I hear you, Manethrall,” said Foamfollower quietly. “I will respect your distrust as best I can.”

Kam met the Giant’s look, then glanced over at Bannor. The Bloodguard shrugged impassively. Kam nodded and led the way farther down the cleft.

Before following, Covenant regained his grip on Lena’s hand. She did not raise her head, and in the gloom he could see nothing of her eyes but the bruises under them. “Be brave,” he said as gently as he could. “Maybe it won’t all be this bad.” She made no response, but when he drew her forward she did not resist. He kept her at his side, and soon they stepped together out the far end of the passage.

The cleft opened into a hidden valley which seemed spacious after the constriction of its approach. Over a flat floor of packed dirt the sheer walls rose ruggedly to a narrow swath of evening sky. The valley itself was long and deep; its crooked length formed a vague S, ending in another crevice in the hills. Battered rock pillars and piles stood against the walls in several places, and in the corners and crannies around these immense stones, sheltered from any snowfall through the open roof, were Ramen tents-the nomadic homes of individual families. They seemed pitifully few in the canyon.

Manethrall Kam had announced himself with a shout as he entered the valley, and when Covenant and Lena caught up with him, dozens of Ramen were already moving toward them from the tents. Covenant was struck by how much they all shared Kam’s haunted air. In sharp contrast to the Ranyhyn, they were not ill-fed. The Ramen were renowned for their skill as hunters, and clearly they were better able to provide more meat for themselves than grass for the horses. Nevertheless they were suffering. Every one of them who was not either a child or infirm wore the apparel of a Cord, though even Covenant’s untrained and superficial eyes could see how unready some were for the work and risk of being Cords. This fact confirmed his earlier guess that the Ramen population had been dangerously reduced, by winter or war. And they all had Kam’s driven, sleepless aspect, as if they could not rest because their dreams were fraught with horror.

Now Covenant knew intuitively what it was. All of them, even the children, were haunted by the bloody visage of Ranyhyn extermination. They were afraid that the meaning, the reason, of their entire race would soon be eradicated utterly from the Land. The Ramen had always lived for the Ranyhyn, and now they believed they would only survive long enough to see the last Ranyhyn slaughtered. As long as the great horses refused to leave the Plains, the Ramen were helpless to prevent that end.

Only their stubborn, fighting pride kept them from despair.

They met Covenant, Lena, and the Giant with silence and hollow stares. Lena hardly seemed to notice them, but Foamfollower gave them a bow in the Ramen style, and Covenant took his example, though the salute exposed his ring for all to see.

Several Cords murmured at the sight of the white gold, and one of the Manethralls said grimly, “It is true, then. He has returned.” When Kam told them what the wounded Ranyhyn had done, some recoiled in pained amazement, and others muttered angrily under their breath. Yet they all bowed to Covenant; the Ranyhyn had reared to him, and the Ramen could not refuse him welcome.

Then the Winhomes, the Ramen who were too young or too old or too crippled to be Cords, moved away, and the three Manethralls Kam had mentioned earlier came forward to be introduced. When they had given their names, Manethrall Jain, the grim woman who had just spoken, asked Kam, “Was it necessary to admit the Giant?”

“He’s my friend,” Covenant said at once. “And Bannor knows he can be trusted, even if the Bloodguard are too thickheaded to say such things out loud. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Saltheart Foamfollower.”

“You honour me too much,” Foamfollower said wryly.

The Manethralls weighed Covenant’s words as if his speech had more than one meaning. But Bannor said, “Saltheart Foamfollower shared the Quest for the Staff of Law with High Lord Prothall, ur-Lord Covenant, and Manethrall Lithe. At that time, he was worthy of trust. But I have seen many trusts fall into Corruption. Perhaps nothing of the old Giantish faith remains.”

“You don’t believe that,” Covenant snapped.

Bannor raised one eyebrow. “Have you seen The Grieve, ur-Lord? Has Saltheart Foamfollower told you what occurred in the Seareach home of the Giants?”

“No.”

“Then you have been too quick with your trust.”

Covenant tightened his grip on himself. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“That is not my place. I do not offer to guide you to Ridjeck Thome.

Covenant started to protest, but Foamfollower placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. In spite of the conflicting emotions which knotted the Giant’s forehead, smouldered dangerously in his cavernous eye-sockets, his voice was steady as he said, “Is it the Ramen custom to keep their guests standing cold and hungry after a long journey?”

Kam spat on the ground, but Manethrall Jain replied tautly, “No, that is not our custom. Behold.” She nodded toward the head of the canyon, where the Winhomes were busy around a large fire under the overhang of one of the pillars. “The food will be prepared soon. It is kresh meat, but you may eat it in safety-it has been cooked many times.” Then she took Lena’s arm and said, “Come. You have suffered at the sight of the Ranyhyn. Thus you share our pain. We will do what we can to restore you.” As she spoke, she guided Lena toward the fire.

Covenant was seething with frustration and dread, but he could not refuse the warmth of the campfire; his flesh needed it too badly. His fingertips and knuckles had a frostbitten look in addition to their sick numbness, and he knew that if he did not tend his feet soon he would be in danger of blood poisoning and gangrene. The effort of self-command hurt him, yet he followed Lena and Jain to the fire. As quietly as he could, he asked one of the Winhomes for hot water in which to bathe his feet.

Despite his numbness, the soaking of his feet gave him relief. The hot water helped the fire’s warmth thaw out his bones. And his feet were not as badly damaged as he had feared they would be. Both were swollen with infection, but the harm was no worse than it had been several days ago. For some reason, his flesh was resisting the illness. He was glad to discover that he was in no immediate danger of losing his feet.

A short time later, the food was ready. Kam’s seven Cords sat cross-legged around the fire with the four Manethralls, Banner, Foamfollower, Lena, and Covenant, and the Winhomes set dry, brittle banana leaves in front of them as plates. Covenant found himself positioned between Lena and Bannor. A lame man muttering dimly to himself served the three of them stew and hot winter potatoes. Covenant did not relish the idea of eating kresh- he expected to find the meat rank and stringy-but it had been cooked so long, with such potent herbs, that only a faint bitterness remained. And it was hot. His appetite for heat seemed insatiable. He ate as if he could see long days of cold, scarce provender ahead of him.

He had good reason. Without help, he and his companions would not be able to find enough food for the journey to Foul’s Creche. He seemed to remember having heard somewhere that aliantha did not grow in the Spoiled Plains. The hostility of the Ramen boded ill for him in more ways than one.

Though he was afraid of it, he knew he would have to penetrate to the bottom of that hostility.

He looked for an antidote to fear in food, but while he chewed and thought, he was interrupted by a strange man who strode unexpectedly into the covert. The man entered at the far end of the canyon, and moved directly, deliberately, toward the seated men and women. His dress vaguely resembled that of the Ramen; he used the same materials to make his thin shirt and pants, his cloak. But he wore the cloak hanging from his shoulders in a way that affected his freedom of movement more than any Ramen would have tolerated. And he bore no cords anywhere about him. Instead of a Ramen garrote, he carried a short spear like a staff in one hand; and under his belt he wore a sharp wooden stave.

Despite the directness with which he approached, he created an impression of uncomfortable daring, as if he had some reason to believe that the Ramen might jeer at him. His gaze flicked fearfully about him, jumping away from rather than toward what he saw.

He had an air of blood about him that Covenant could not explain. He was clean, uninjured; neither spear nor spike showed recent use. Yet something in him spoke of blood, of killing and hunger. As the man reached the fire, Covenant realized that all the Ramen were sitting stiffly in their places-not moving, not eating, not looking at the stranger. They knew this man in a way that gave them pain.

After a moment, the man said aggressively, “Do you eat without me? I, too, need food.”

Manethrall Jain’s eyes did not raise themselves from the ground. “You are welcome, as you know. Join us or take what food you require.”

“Am I so welcome? Where are the salutes and words of greeting? Pah! You do not even gaze at me.”

But when Kam glared up from under his angry brows at the stranger, the man winced and looked away.

Jain said softly, “You have drunk blood.”

” Yes!” the man barked rapidly. ” And you are offended. You understand nothing. If I were not the best runner and Ranyhyn-tender in the Plains of Ra, you would slay me where I stand without a moment’s concern for your promises.”

Darkly, Kam muttered, “We are not so swift to forget promises.”

The stranger took no notice of Kam’s assertion. “Now I see guests among you. The Ringthane himself. And a Giant”-he drawled acerbically-“if my eyes do not mistake. Are Ravers also welcome?”

Covenant was surprised to hear Banner speaking before either Jain or Kam could reply. “He is Saltheart Foamfollower.” The Bloodguard’s alien inflection carried an odd note of intensity, as if he were communicating a crucial fact.

“Saltheart Foamfollower!” the stranger jeered. But he did not meet the Giant’s gaze. “Then you are already certain that he is a Raver.”

Kam said, “We are uncertain.”

Still the man ignored him. “And the Ringthane-the tormentor of horses. Does he also Rave? He holds his proper place-at the right hand of a Bloodguard. This is a proud feast-all the crudest foes of the Ranyhyn together. And welcome!”

At this, Jain’s tone tightened. “You also are welcome. Join us-or take what food you require and go.”

A Winhome moved hesitantly toward the stranger, carrying a leaf laden with food. He caught it from her hands brusquely. “I will go. I hear your heart deny your words. I am not proud or welcome enough to eat with such as these.” At once, he turned sarcastically on his heel, strode back the way he had come. Moments later, he had left the covert as abruptly as he had entered.

Covenant stared uncomprehendingly after him, then looked toward the Manethralls for some explanation. But they sat glowering at their food as if they could not meet either his eyes or each other’s. Foamfollower also showed no understanding of what had happened. Lena had not noticed it; she was half asleep where she sat. Covenant turned to Banner.

The Bloodguard faced Covenant’s question squarely, answered it with the same dispassionate intensity. “He is Pietten.”

“Pietten,” Covenant repeated dismally. And Foamfollower echoed thickly, “Pietten!”

“He and the Heer Llaura were saved by the Quest for the Staff of Law at the battle of Soaring Woodhelven. Do you remember? Llaura and the child Pietten were damaged-“

“I remember,” Covenant answered bitterly. “The ur-viles did something to them. They were used to bait the trap. She-she- ” The memory appalled him. Llaura had been horribly abused, and all her great courage had not sufficed to overcome what had been done to her. And the child, Pietten-the child, too, had been abused.

Across Covenant’s dismay, Foamfollower said, “We bore both Heer Llaura and Pietten to the Plains of Ra and Manhome.” Covenant remembered that the Giant had carried Pietten in his arms. “There, at the request of the Ringthane and-and myself-the Ramen took Llaura and Pietten into their care.”

Banner nodded. “That is the promise of which he spoke.”

“Llaura?” asked Covenant weakly.

“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 axe.

“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 Banner 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 defence.

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 defence 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 Banner’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 Banner’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 Banner and gasped into the Bloodguard’s ear, “Give it up! Admit you know him. Hellfire! Banner-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, Banner’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.”

The urgency in the voice reached him. He turned dully. A young Cord almost chattering with fear stood before the Manethralls and Bannor. Behind her, in the entrance to the covert, fighting had already begun. Covenant could hear the shouts and groans of frantic hand-to-hand combat echoing out of the rift.

The next instant, a tight pack of Cavewights burst into the canyon, whirling huge broadswords in their powerful, spatulate hands. With a shrill roar, they charged the Ramen.

Before Covenant could react, Bannor caught hold of him and Lena, began to drag them both toward the other end of the valley. “Flee,” he said distinctly as he impelled them forward. “The Giant and I will prevent pursuit. We will overtake you-as soon as may be. Flee north, then east.”

The cliffs narrowed until Covenant and Lena stood in the mouth of another cleft through the hills. Banner thrust them in the direction of the dark crevice. ” Make haste. Keep to the left.” Then he was gone, running toward the battle.

Half unconsciously, Covenant checked to be sure that he still had Triock’s knife under his belt. Part of him yearned to run after Banner, to throw himself like Banner into the absolution of the fray-to seek forgiveness.

Clutching hard at Lena’s arm, he drew her with him into the cleft.