The Power That Preserves

Eight: Winter

WITH snow swirling around him like palpable mist, Thomas Covenant left Mithil Stonedown in the company of Saltheart Foamfollower and Lena daughter of Atiaran. The sensation of purpose ran high in him-he felt that all his complex rages had at last found an effective focus-and he strode impatiently northward along the snow-clogged road as if he were no longer conscious of his still-unhealed forehead and lip, or of the damaged condition of his feet, or of fatigue. He walked leaning ahead into the wind like a fanatic.

But he was not well, could not pretend for any length of time that he was well. Snowflakes hurried around him like subtle grey chips of Lord Foul’s malice, seeking to drain the heat of his life. And he felt burdened by Lena. The mother of Elena his daughter stepped proudly at his side as if his companionship honoured her. Before he had travelled half a league toward the mouth of the valley, his knees were trembling, and his breath scraped unevenly past his sore lip. He was forced to stop and rest.

Foamfollower and Lena regarded him gravely, concernedly. But his former resolution to accept help had deserted him; he was too angry to be carried like a child. He rejected with a grimace the tacit offer in Foamfollower’ s eyes.

The Giant also was not well-his wounds gave him pain-and he appeared to understand the impulse behind Covenant’s refusal. Quietly, he asked, “My friend, do you know the way”-he hesitated as if he were searching for a short name-“the way to Ridjeck Thome, Foul’s Creche?”

“I’m leaving that to you.”

Foamfollower frowned. “I know the way-I have it graven in my heart past all forgetting. But if we are separated-“

“I don’t have a chance if we’re separated,” Covenant muttered mordantly. He wished that he could leave the sound of leprosy out of his voice, but the malady was too rife in him to be stifled.

“Separated? Who speaks of separation?” Lena protested before Foamfollower could reply. “Do not utter such things, Giant. We will not be separated. I have preserved-I will not part from him. You are old Giant. You do not remember the giving of life to life in love-or you would not speak of separation.”

In some way, her words twisted the deep knife of Foamfollower’s hurt. “Old, yes.” Yet after a moment he forced a wry grin onto his lips. “And you are altogether too young for me, fair Lena.”

Covenant winced for them both. Have mercy on me, he groaned. Have mercy. He started forward again, but almost at once he tripped on a snow-hidden roughness in the road.

Lena and Foamfollower caught him from either side and upheld him.

He looked back and forth between them. “Treasure-berries. I need aliantha.”

Foamfollower nodded and moved away briskly, as if his Giantish instincts told him exactly where to find the nearest aliantha. But Lena retained her hold on Covenant’s arm. She had not pulled the hood of her robe over her head, and her white hair hung like wet snow. She was gazing into Covenant’s face as if she were famished for the sight of him.

He endured her scrutiny as long as he could. Then he carefully removed his arm from her fingers and said, “If I’m going to survive this, I’ll have to learn to stand on my own.”

“Why?” she asked. “All are eager to aid-and none more eager than I. You have suffered enough for your aloneness.”

Because I’m all I have, he answered. But he could not say such a thing to her. He was terrified by her need for him.

When he did not reply, she glanced down for a moment, away from the fever of his gaze, then looked up again with the brightness of an idea in her eyes. “Summon the Ranyhyn.”

The Ranyhyn?

“They will come to you. They come to me at your command. It has hardly been forty days since they last came. They come each year on”- she faltered, looked around at the snow with a memory of fear in her face- “on the middle night of spring.” Her voice fell until Covenant could hardly hear her. “This year the winter cold in my heart would not go away. The Land forgot spring-forgot- Sunlight abandoned us. I feared-feared that the Ranyhyn would never come again-that all my dreams were folly.

“But the stallion came. Sweat and snow froze in his coat, and ice hung from his muzzle. His breath steamed as he asked me to mount him. But I thanked him from the bottom of my heart and sent him home. He brought back such thoughts of you that I could not ride.”

Her eyes had left his face, and now she fell silent as if she had forgotten why she was speaking. But when she raised her head, Covenant saw that her old face was full of tears. “Oh, my dear one,” she said softly, “you are weak and in pain. Summon the Ranyhyn and ride them as you deserve.”

“No, Lena.” He could not accept the kind of help the Ranyhyn would give him. He reached out and awkwardly brushed at her tears. His fingers felt nothing. “I made a bad bargain with them. I’ve made nothing but bad bargains.”

“Bad?” she asked as if he amazed her. “You are Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever. How could any doing of yours be bad?”

Because it let me commit crimes.

But he could not say that aloud either. He reacted instead as if she had struck the touchstone of his fury.

”Listen, I don’t know who you think I am these days; maybe you’ve still got Berek Halfhand on the brain. But I’m not him-I’m not any kind of hero. I’m nothing but a broken-down leper, and I’m doing this because I’ve had it up to here with being pushed around. With or without your company I’m going to start getting even regardless of any misbegotten whatever that tries to get in my way. I’m going to do it my own way. If you don’t want to walk, you can go home.”

Before she had a chance to respond, he turned away from her in shame, and found Foamfollower standing sadly beside him. “And that’s another thing,” he went on almost without pause. “I have also had it with your confounded misery. Either tell me the truth about what’s happened to you or stop snivelling.” He emphasized his last two words by grabbing treasure-berries from the Giant’s open hands. “Hell and blood! I’m sick to death of this whole thing.” Glaring up at the Giant’s face, he jammed aliantha into his mouth, chewed them with an air of helpless belligerence.

“Ah, my friend,” Foamfollower breathed. “This way that you have found for yourself is a cataract. I have felt it in myself. It will bear you to the edge in a rush and hurl you into abysses from which there is no recovery.”

Lena’s hands touched Covenant’s arm again, but he threw them off. He could not face her. Still glaring at Foamfollower, he said, “You haven’t told me the truth.” Then he turned and stalked away through the snow. In his rage, he could not forgive himself for being so unable to distinguish between hate and grief.

Treasure-berries supplied by both Foamfollower and Lena kept him going through most of the afternoon. But his pace remained slow and ragged. Finally his strength gave out when Foamfollower guided him off the road and eastward into the foothills beyond the mouth of the valley. By then, he was too exhausted to worry about the fact that the snowfall was ending. He simply lumbered into the lee of a hill and lay down to sleep. Later, in half-conscious moments, he discovered that the Giant was carrying him, but he was too tired to care.

He awoke sometime after dawn with a pleasant sensation of warmth on his face and a smell of cooking in his nostrils. When he opened his eyes, he saw Foamfollower crouched over a graveling pot a few feet away, preparing a meal. They were in a small ravine. The leaden skies clamped over them like a coffin lid, but the air was free of snow. Beside him, Lena lay deep in weary slumber.

Softly, Foamfollower said, “She is no longer young. And we walked until near dawn. Let her sleep.” With a short gesture around the ravine, he went on: “We will not be easily discovered here. We should remain until nightfall. It is better for us to travel at night.” He smiled faintly. “More rest will not harm you.”

“I don’t want to rest,” Covenant muttered, though he felt dull with fatigue. “I want to keep moving.”

“Rest,” Foamfollower commanded. “You will be able to travel more swiftly when your health has improved.”

Covenant acquiesced involuntarily. He lacked the energy to argue. While he waited for the meal, he inspected himself. Inwardly, he felt steadier; some of his self-possession had returned. The swelling of his lip had receded, and his forehead no longer seemed feverish. The infection in his battered feet did not appear to be spreading.

But his hands and feet were as numb as if they were being gradually gnawed off his limbs by frostbite. The backs of his knuckles and the tops of his arches retained some sensitivity, but the essential deadness was anchored in his bones. At first he tried to believe that the cause actually was frostbite. But he knew better. His sight told him clearly that it was not ice which deadened him.

His leprosy was spreading. Under Lord Foul’s dominion-under the grey malignant winter-the Land no longer had the power to give him health.

Dream health! He knew that it had always been a lie, that leprosy was incurable because dead nerves could not be regenerated, that the previous impossible aliveness of his fingers and toes was the one incontrovertible proof that the Land was a dream, a delusion. Yet the absence of that health staggered him, dismayed the secret, yearning recusancy of his immedicable flesh. Not anymore, he gaped dumbly. Now he had been bereft of that, too. The cruelty of it seemed to be more than he could bear.

“Covenant?” Foamfollower asked anxiously. “My friend?” Covenant gaped at the Giant as well, and another realization shook him. Foamfollower was closed to him. Except for the restless grief which crouched behind the Giant’s eyes, Covenant could see nothing of his inner condition, could not see whether his companion was well or ill, right or wrong. His Land-born sight or penetration had been truncated, crippled. He might as well have been back in his own blind, impervious, superficial world.

“Covenant?” Foamfollower repeated.

For a time, the fact surpassed Covenant’s comprehension. He tested-yes, he could see the interminable corruption eating its ill way toward his wrists, toward his heart. He could smell the potential gangrene in his feet. He could feel the vestiges of poison in his lip, the residual fever in his forehead. He could see hints of Lena’s age, Foamfollower’s sorrow. He could taste the malevolence which hurled this winter across the Land-that he could perceive without question. And he had surely seen the ill in the marauders at Mithil Stonedown.

But that was no feat; their wrong was written on them so legibly that even a child could read it. Everything else was essentially closed to him. He could not discern Foamfollower’s spirit, or Lena’s confusion, or the snow’s falseness. The stubbornness which should have been apparent in the rocky hillsides above him was invisible. Even this rare gift which the Land had twice given him was half denied him now.

“Foamfollower.” He could hardly refrain from moaning. “It’s not coming back. I can’t-this winter-it’s not coming back.”

“Softly, my friend. I hear you. I”-a wry smile bent his lips-“I have seen what effect this winter has upon you. Perhaps I should be grateful that you cannot behold its effect upon me.”

“What effect?” Covenant croaked.

Foamfollower shrugged as if to deprecate his own plight. “At times-when I have been too long unsheltered in this wind-I find I cannot remember certain precious Giantish tales. My friend, Giants do not forget stories.”

“Hell and blood.” Covenant’s voice shook convulsively. But he neither cried out nor moved from his blankets. “Get that food ready,” he juddered. “I’ve got to eat.” He needed food for strength. His purpose required strength.

There was no question in him about what he meant to do. He was shackled to it as if his leprosy were an iron harness. And the hands that held the reins were in Foul’s Creche.

The stew which Foamfollower handed to him he ate severely, tremorously. Then he lay back in his blankets as if he were stretching himself on a slab, and coerced himself to rest, to remain still and conserve his energy. When the warm stew, and the long debt of recuperation he owed to himself, sent him drifting toward slumber, he fell asleep still glowering thunderously at the bleak, grey, cloud-locked sky.

He awoke again toward noon and found Lena yet asleep. But she was nestling against him now, smiling faintly at her dreams. Foamfollower was no longer nearby.

Covenant glanced around and located the Giant keeping watch up near the head of the ravine. He waved when Covenant looked toward him. Covenant responded by carefully extricating himself from Lena, climbing out of his blankets. He tied his sandals securely onto his numb feet, tightened his jacket, and went to join the Giant.

From Foamfollower’s position, he found that he could see over the rims of the ravine into its natural approaches. After a moment, he asked quietly, “How far did we get?” His breath steamed as if his mouth were full of smoke.

“We have rounded the northmost point of this promontory,” Foamfollower replied. Nodding back over his left shoulder, he continued, “Kevin’s Watch is behind us. Through these hills we can gain the Plains of Ra in three more nights.”

“We should get going,” muttered Covenant. “I’m in a hurry.”

“Practice patience, my friend. We will gain nothing if we hasten into the arms of marauders.”

Covenant looked around, then asked, “Are the Ramen letting marauders get this close to the Ranyhyn? Has something happened to them?”

“Perhaps. I have had no contact with them. But the Plains are threatened along the whole length of the Roamsedge and Landrider rivers. And the Ramen spend themselves extravagantly to preserve the great horses. Perhaps their numbers are too few for them to ward these hills.”

Covenant accepted this as best he could. “Foamfollower,” he murmured, “whatever happened to all that Giantish talk you used to be so famous for? You haven’t actually told me what you’re worried about. Is it those ‘eyes’ that saw you and Triock summon me? Every time I ask a question, you act as if you’ve got lockjaw.”

With a dim smile, Foamfollower said, “I have lived a brusque life. The sound of my own voice is no longer so attractive to me.”

“Is that a fact?” Covenant drawled. “I’ve heard worse.”

“Perhaps,” Foamfollower said softly. But he did not explain.

The Giant’s reticence made Covenant want to ask more questions, attack his own ignorance somehow. He was sure that the issues at stake were large, that the things he did not yet know about the Land’s doom were immensely important. But he remembered the way in which he had extracted information from Banner on the plateau of Rivenrock. He could not forget the consequences of what he had done. He left Foamfollower’s secrets alone.

Down the ravine from him, Lena’s slumber became more restless. He shivered to himself as she began to flinch from side to side, whimpering under her breath. An impulse urged him to go to her, prevent her from thrashing about for fear that she might break her old, frail bones; but he resisted. He could not afford all that she wanted to mean to him.

Yet when she jerked up and looked frantically around her, found that he was gone from her side-when she cried out piercingly, as if she had been abandoned-he was already halfway down the ravine toward her. Then she caught sight of him. Surging up from her blankets, she rushed to meet him, threw herself into his arms. There she clung to him so that her sobs were muffled in his shoulder.

With his right hand-its remaining fingers as numb and awkward as if they should have been amputated-he stroked her thin white hair. He tried to hold her consolingly to make up for his utter lack of comfortable words. Slowly, she regained control of herself. When he eased the pressure of his embrace, she stepped back. “Pardon me, beloved, “she said contritely. “I feared that you had left me. I am weak and foolish, or I would not have forgotten that you are the Unbeliever. You deserve better trust.”

Covenant shook his head dumbly, as if he wished to deny everything and did not know where or how to begin.

“But I could not bear to be without you,” she went on. “In deep nights-when the cold catches at my breast until I cannot keep it out-and the mirror lies to me, saying that I have not kept myself unchanged for you-I have held to the promise of your return. I have not faltered, no! But I learned that I could not bear to be without you-not again. I have earned-I have-But I could not bear it-to sneak alone into the night and crouch in hiding as if I were ashamed-not again.”

“Not again,” Covenant breathed. In her old face he could see Elena clearly now, looking so beautiful and lost that his love for her wrenched his heart. “As long as I’m stuck in this thing-I won’t go anywhere without you.”

But she seemed to hear only his proviso, not his promise. With anguish in her face, she asked, “Must you depart?”

“Yes.” The stiffness of his mouth made it difficult for him to speak gently; he could not articulate without tearing at his newly formed scabs. “I don’t belong here.”

She gasped at his words as if he had stabbed her with them. Her gaze fell away from his face. Panting, she murmured, “Again! I cannot_ cannot — Oh, Atiaran my mother! I love him. I have given my life without regret. When I was young, I ached to follow you to the Loresraat to succeed so boldly that you could say, ‘There is the meaning of my life, there in my daughter.’ I ached to marry a Lord. But I have given-“

Abruptly, she caught the front of Covenant’s jacket in both hands, pulled herself close to him, thrust her gaze urgently at his face. “Thomas Covenant, will you marry me?”

Covenant gaped at her in horror.

The excitement of the idea carried her on in a rush. “Let us marry! Oh, dearest one, that would restore me. I could bear any burden. We do not need the permission of the elders-I have spoken to them many times of my desires. I know the rites, the solemn promises-I can teach you. And the Giant can witness the sharing of our lives.” Before Covenant could gain any control over his face, she was pleading with him. “Oh, Unbeliever! I have borne your daughter. I have ridden the Ranyhyn that you sent to me. I have waited-! Surely I have shown the depth of my love for you. Beloved, marry me. Do not refuse.”

Her appeal made him cringe, made him feel grotesque and unclean. In his pain, he wanted to turn his back on her, push her from him and walk away. Part of him was already shouting, You’re crazy, old woman! It’s your daughter I love! But he restrained himself. With his shoulders hunched like a strangler’s to choke the violence of his responses, he gripped Lena’s wrists and pulled her hands from his jacket. He held them up so that his fingers were directly in front of her face. “Look at my hands,” he rasped. “Look at my fingers.”

She stared at them wildly.

“Look at the sickness in them. They aren’t just cold-they’re sick, numb with sickness almost all the way across my palms. That’s my disease.”

“You are closed to me,” she said desolately.

“That’s leprosy, I tell you! It’s there-even if you’re blind to it, it’s there. And there’s only one way you can get it. Prolonged exposure. You might get it if you stayed around me long enough. And children-what’s marriage without children?” He could not keep the passion out of his voice. “Children are even more susceptible. They get it more easily- children and-and old people. When I get wiped out of the Land the next time, you’ll be left behind, and the only absolutely guaranteed legacy you’ll have from me is leprosy. Foul will make sure of it. On top of everything else, I’ll be responsible for contaminating the entire Land.”

“Covenant-beloved,” Lena whispered, “I beg you. Do not refuse ” Her eyes swam with tears, torn by a cruel effort to see herself as she really was. “Behold, I am frail and faulty. I have neither worth nor courage to preserve myself alone. I have given-Please, Thomas Covenant.” Before he could stop her, she dropped to her knees. “I beg-do not shame me in the eyes of my whole life.”

His defensive rage was no match for her. He snatched her up from her knees as if he meant to break her back, but then he held her tenderly, put all the gentleness of which he was capable into his face. For an instant, he felt he had in his hands proof that he-not Lord Foul-was responsible for the misery of the Land. And he could not accept that responsibility without rejecting her. What she asked him to do was to forget-

He knew that Foamfollower was watching him. But if Triock and Mhoram and Banner had been behind him as well-if even Trell and Atiaran had been present-he would not have changed his answer.

“No, Lena,” he said softly. “I don’t love you right-I don’t have the right kind of love to marry you. I’d only be cheating you. You’re beautiful — beautiful. Any other man wouldn’t wait for you to ask him. But I’m the Unbeliever, remember? I’m here for a reason.” With a sick twisting of his lips that was as close as he could come to a smile, he finished, “Berek Halfhand didn’t marry his Queen, either.”

His words filled him with disgust. He felt that he was telling her a lie worse than the lie of marrying her-that any comfort he might try to offer her violated the severe truth. But as she realized what he was saying, she caught hold of the idea and clasped it to her. She blinked rapidly at her tears, and the harsh effort of holding her confusion at bay faded from her face. In its place, a shy smile touched her lips. “Am I your Queen then, Unbeliever?” she asked in a tone of wonder.

Roughly, Covenant hugged her so that she could not see the savagery which white-knuckled his countenance. “Of course.” He forced up the words as if they were too thick for his aching throat. “No one else is worthy.”

He held her, half fearing she would collapse if he let her go, but after a long moment, she withdrew from his embrace. With a look that reminded him of her sprightly girlhood, she said, “Let us tell the Giant,” as if she wished to announce something better than a betrothal.

Together, they turned and climbed arm in arm up the ravine toward Saltheart Foamfollower.

When they reached him, they found that his buttressed visage was still wet with weeping. Grey ice sheened his face, hung like beads from his stiff beard. His hands were gripped and straining across his knees. “Foamfollower,” Lena said in surprise, “this is a moment of happiness. Why do you weep?”

His hands jerked up to scrub away the ice, and when it was gone, he smiled at her with wonderful fondness. “You are too beautiful, my Queen,” he told her gently. “You surpass me.”

His response made her shine with pleasure. For a moment, her old flesh blushed youthfully, and she met the Giant’s gaze with joy in her eyes. Then a recollection started her. “But I am remiss. I have been asleep, and you have not eaten. I must cook for you.” Turning lightly, she scampered down the ravine toward Foamfollower’s supplies.

The Giant glanced up at the chill sky, then looked at Covenant’s gaunt face. His cavernous eyes glinted sharply, as if he understood what Covenant had been through. As gently as he had spoken to Lena, he asked, “Do you now believe in the Land?”

“I’m the Unbeliever. I don’t change.”

“Do you not?”

“I am going to”-Covenant’s shoulders hunched-“exterminate Lord Foul the bloody Despiser. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Oh, it is enough for me,” Foamfollower said with sudden vehemence. “I require nothing more. But it does not suffice for you. What do you believe-what is your faith?”

“I don’t know.”

Foamfollower looked away again at the weather. His heavy brows hid his eyes, but his smile seemed sad, almost hopeless. “Therefore I am afraid.”

Covenant nodded grimly, as if in agreement.

Nevertheless, if Lord Foul had appeared before him at that moment, he, Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and leper, would have tried to tear the Despiser’s heart out with his bare hands.

He needed to know how to use the white wild magic gold.

But there were no answers in the meal Lena cooked for him and Foamfollower, or in the grey remainder of the afternoon, which he spent huddled over the fire-stones with Lena resting drowsily against him, or in the dank, suffering twilight that finally brought his waiting to an end. When Foamfollower led the way eastward out of the ravine, Covenant felt that he understood nothing but the wind which blew through him like scorn for the impotence of sunlight and warmth. And after that he had no more time to think about it. All his attention was occupied with the work of stumbling numbly through the benighted hills.

Travelling was difficult for him. His body’s struggle to recover from injury and inanition drained his strength; the bitter cold drained his strength. He could not see where to place his feet, could not avoid tripping, falling, bruising himself on insensate dirt and rock. Yet he kept going, pushed himself after Foamfollower until the sweat froze on his forehead and his clothing grew crusted with stains of ice. His resolve held him. In time, he even became dimly grateful that his feet were numb, so that he could not feel the damage he was doing to himself.

He had no sense of duration or progress; he measured out the time in rest halts, in aliantha unexpectedly handed to him out of the darkness by Foamfollower. Such things sustained him. But eventually he stopped rubbing the ice from his nose and lips, from his forehead and his fanatical beard; he allowed the grey cold to hang like a mask on his features, as if he were becoming a creature of winter. And he stumbled on in the Giant’s wake.

When Foamfollower stopped at last, shortly before dawn, Covenant simply dropped to the snow and fell asleep.

Later, the Giant woke him for breakfast, and he found Lena sleeping beside him, curled against the cold. Her lips were faintly tinged with blue, and she shivered from time to time, unable to get warm. Her years showed clearly now in the lines of her face and in the frail, open-mouthed rise and fall of her breathing. Covenant roused her carefully, made her eat hot food until her lips lost their cold hue and the veins in her temples became less prominent. Then, despite her protests, he put her down in blankets and lay beside her until she went back to sleep.

Sometime later, he roused himself to finish his own breakfast. Calculating backward, he guessed that the Giant had been without rest for at least the last three days and nights. So he said abruptly, “I’ll let you know when I can’t stay awake anymore,” took the graveling pot, and moved off to find a sheltered place where he could keep watch. There he sat and watched daylight ooze into the air like seepage through the scab of an old wound.

He awoke late in the afternoon to find Foamfollower sitting beside him, and Lena preparing a meal a short distance away. He jerked erect, cursing inwardly. But his companions did not appear to have suffered from his dereliction. Foamfollower met his gaze with a smile and said, “Do not be alarmed. We have been safe enough-though I was greatly weary and slept until midday. There is a deer run north of us, and some of the tracks are fresh. Deer would not remain here in the presence of marauder spoor.”

Covenant nodded. His breath steamed heavily in the cold. “Foamfollower,” he muttered, “I am incredibly tired of being so bloody mortal.”

But that night he found the going easier. In spite of the encroaching numbness of his hands and feet, some of his strength had returned. And as Foamfollower led him and Lena eastward, the mountains moved away from them on the south, easing the ruggedness of the hills. As a result, he was better able to keep up the pace.

Yet the relaxation of the terrain caused another problem. Since they were less protected from the wind, they often had to walk straight into the teeth of Lord Foul’s winter. In that wind, Covenant’s inmost clothing seemed to turn to ice, and he moved as if he were scraping his chest raw like a penitent.

Still, he had enough stamina left at the end of the night’s march to take the first watch. The Giant had chosen to camp in a small hollow sheltered on the east by a low hill; and after they had eaten, Foamfollower and Lena lay down to sleep while Covenant took a position under a dead, gnarled juniper just below the crown of the knoll. From there, he looked down at his companions, resting as if they trusted him completely. He was determined not to fail them again.

Yet he knew, could not help knowing, that he was poorly equipped for such duty. The wintry truncation of his senses nagged at him as if it implied disaster-as if his inability to see, smell, hear peril would necessarily give rise to peril. And he was not mistaken. Though he was awake, almost alert-though the day had begun, filling the air with its grey, cold sludge-though the attack came from the east, upwind from him-he felt nothing until too late.

He had just finished a circuit of the hilltop, scanning the terrain around the hollow, and had returned to sit in the thin shelter of the juniper, when at last he became aware of danger. Something imminent ran along the wind; the atmosphere over the hollow became suddenly intense. The next instant, dark figures rose up out of the snow around Foamfollower and Lena. As he tried to shout a warning, the figures attacked.

He sprang to his feet, raced down into the hollow. Below him, Foamfollower surged to his knees, throwing dark brown people aside. With a low cry of anger, Lena struggled against the weight of the attackers who pinned her in her blankets. But before Covenant could get to her, someone hit him from behind, knocked him headlong into the snow.

He rolled, got his feet under him, but immediately arms caught him around the chest above the elbows. His own arms were trapped. He fought, threw himself from side to side, but his captor was far too strong; he could not break the grip. Then a flat, alien voice said into his ear, “Remain still or I will break your back.”

His helplessness infuriated him.’ Then break it,” he panted under his breath as he struggled. “Just let her go.” Lena was resisting frantically, yelping in frustration and outrage as she failed to free herself.

“Foamfollower!” Covenant shouted hoarsely.

But he saw in shocked amazement that the Giant was not fighting. His attackers stood back from him, and he sat motionless, regarding Covenant’s captor gravely.

Covenant went limp with chagrin.

Roughly, the attackers pulled Lena from her blankets. They had already lashed her wrists with cords. She still struggled, but now her only aim seemed to be to break loose so that she could run to Covenant.

Then Foamfollower spoke. Levelly, dangerously, he said, “Release him.” When the arms holding Covenant did not loosen, the Giant went on: “Stone and Sea! You will regret it if you have harmed him. Do you not know me?”

“The Giants are dead,” the voice in Covenant’s ear said dispassionately. “Only Giant-Ravers remain.”

“Let me go!” Lena hissed. “Oh, look at him, you fools! Melenkurion abatha! Is he a Raver?” But Covenant could not tell whether she referred to Foamfollower or himself.

His captor ignored her. “We have seen-I have seen The Grieve. I have made that journey to behold the work of Ravers.”

A shadow tightened in Foamfollower’s eyes, but his voice did not flicker. “Distrust me, then. Look at him, as Lena daughter of Atiaran suggests. He is Thomas Covenant.”

Abruptly, the strong arms spun Covenant. He found himself facing a compact man with flat eyes and a magisterial mien. The man wore nothing but a thin, short, vellum robe, as if he were impervious to the cold. In some ways he had changed; his eyebrows were stark white against his brown skin; his hair had aged to a mottled grey; and deep lines ran like the erosion of time down his cheeks past the corners of his mouth. But still Covenant recognized him.

He was Banner of the Bloodguard.