The Illearth War t1cotc-2 Read online

  Yet under the protesting and the abuse, Manethrall Rue stood firmly, holding up her head with a blaze of pride and fury in her eyes.

  The next moment, Covenant reached her side. Shaking his fists at the assembly, he howled, “Hellfire! Can't you see that she's telling the truth?”

  His voice had no effect. But something in his yell penetrated Hiltmark Quaan. The old veteran knew the Ramen well; he had known Rue during her youth. He jumped to his feet and shouted, “Order!!”

  Caught in their trained military reactions, the Hafts sprang to attention.

  Then High Lord Elena seemed to realize what was happening around her. She reasserted her control with a blast of blue fire from the Staff, and one hot cry:

  “I am ashamed!”

  A stung silence, writhing with fear and indignation, burned in answer to her shout. But she met it passionately, sternly, as if something precious were in danger. “Melenkurion abatha! Have we come to this? Does fear so belittle us? Look! Look at her. If you have not heard the truth in her voice, then look at her now. Remember your Oath of Peace, and look at her. By the Seven! What evil do you see? No-I will hear no protestations that ill can be disguised. We are in the Close of Revelstone. This is the Council of Lords. No Raver could utter falsehood and betrayal here. If there were any wrong in the Manethrall, you would have known it.”

  When she saw that she had mastered the assembly, she continued more quietly. “My friends, we are more than this. I do not know the meaning of Manethrall Rue's tidings. Perhaps the Despiser has captured and broken a Giant through the power of the Illearth Stone. Perhaps he can create ill wights in any semblance he desires, and showed a false Giant to Rue, knowing how the tale of a betraying Rockbrother would harm us. We must gain answers to these questions. But here stands Manethrall Rue of the Ramen, exhausted in the accomplishment of a help which we can neither match nor repay. Cleanse your hearts of all thought against her. We must not do such injustice.”

  “Right.” Troy heaved himself to his feet. His brain was working again. He was ashamed of his weakness and, by extension, ashamed of his Hafts as well. Belatedly, he remembered that the Lords Callindrill and Amatin had been unable to breach Sarangrave Flat and yet Rue had survived it, so that she could come to warn Revelstone. And he did not like to think that Covenant had behaved better than he. “You're right.” He faced the Ramen squarely. “Manethrall, my Hafts and I owe you an apology. You deserve better-especially from us.” He put acid in his tone for the ears of the Hafts. “War puts burdens on people without caring whether they're ready for them or not.”

  He did not wait for any reply. Turning toward Quaan, he said, “Hiltmark-my thanks for keeping your head. Let's make sure that nothing like this happens again.” Then he sat down and withdrew behind his sunglasses to try to think of some way to salvage his battle plans.

  Quaan commanded, “Rest!” The Hafts reseated themselves, looking abashed-and yet in some way more determined than before. That seemed to mark the end of an ugliness. Manethrall Rue and ur-Lord Covenant sagged, leaned tiredly toward each other as if for support. The High Lord started to speak, but Rue interrupted her in a low voice: “I want no more apologies. Release me. I must rest.”

  Elena nodded sadly. “Manethrall Rue, go in Peace. All the hospitality Revelstone can provide is yours for as long as you choose to stay. We do not take the service you have done us lightly. But please hear me. We have never taken the Ramen lightly. And the value of the Ranyhyn to all the Land is beyond any measure. We do not forget. Hail, Manethrall! May the bloom of amanibhavam never fail. Hail, Ramen! May the Plains of Ra be forever swift under your feet. Hail, Ranyhyn! Tail of the Sky, Mane of the World.” Once again, she bowed to Rue in the Ramen fashion.

  Manethrall Rue returned the gesture, and added the traditional salute of farewell; touching the heels of her hands to her forehead, she bent forward and spread her arms wide as if baring her heart. Together, the Lords answered her bow. Then she turned and started up toward the high doors. Covenant went with her, walking at her side awkwardly, as if he wanted and feared to take her arm.

  At the top of the stairs, they stopped and faced each other. Covenant looked at her with emotions that seemed to make the bone between his eyes bulge. He had to strain to speak. “What can I-is there anything I can do-to make you Gay again?”

  “You are young and I am old. This journey has taken much from me. I have few summers left. There is nothing.”

  “My time has a different speed. Don't covet my life.”

  “You are Covenant Ringthane. You have power. How should I not covet?”

  He ducked away from her gaze; and after a short pause she added, “The Ranyhyn still await your command. Nothing is ended. They served you at Mount Thunder, and will serve you again-until you release them.” When she passed through the doors away from him, he was left staring down at his hands as if their emptiness pained him.

  But after a moment he pulled himself up, and came back down the stairs to take his seat again.

  For a time, there was silence in the Close. The gathered people watched the Lords, and the Lords sat still, bending their minds in toward each other to meld their purpose and strength. This had a calming effect on the assembly. It was part of the mystery of being a Lord, and all the people of the Land, Stonedownor and Woodhelvennin, trusted the Lords. As long as the Council was capable of melding and leadership, Revelstone would not be without hope. Even Warmark Troy gained a glimpse of encouragement from this communion he could not share.

  At last, the contact broke with an almost audible snap from Lord Verement, and the High Lord raised her head to the assembly. “My friends, warriors, servants of the Land,” she said, "now is the time of decision. Deliberation and preparation are at an end. War marches toward us, and we must meet it. In this matter, the chief choice of action is upon Warmark Hile Troy. He will command the Warward, and we will support it with our best strength, as the need of the Land demands.

  “But one matter compels us first-this Giant named Fleshharrower. The question of this must be answered.”

  Roughly, Verement said, “The Stone does not explain. It is not enough. The Giants are strong-yes, strong and wise. They would resist the Stone or evade it.”

  “I agree,” said Loerya. “The Seareach Giants understand the peril of the Illearth Stone. It is easier to believe that they have left the Land in search of their lost Home.”

  “Without the Gildenlode?” Trevor countered uncomfortably. “That is unlikely. And it is not it is not what Mhoram saw.”

  The other Lords turned to Mhoram, and after a moment he said, “No, it is not what I have seen. Let us pray that I have seen wrongly-or wrongly understood what I have seen. But for good or ill, this matter is beyond us at present. We know that Korik and the Lords Hyrim and Shetra will do their uttermost for the Giants. And we cannot send more of our strength to Seareach now, to ask how a Giant has been made to lead Lord Foul's army. It is in my heart that we will learn that answer sooner than any of us would wish.”

  “Very well,” the High Lord sighed. “I hear you. Then let us now divide among ourselves the burdens of this war.” She looked around the Council, measuring each member against the responsibilities which lay ahead. Then she said, “Lord Trevor-Lord Loerya-to you I commit the keeping of Revelstone. It will be your task to care for the people made homeless by this war-to lay up stores and strengthen defences against any siege that may come-to fight the last battle of the Land if we fail. My friends, hear me. It is a grim burden I give you. Those who remain here may in the end require more strength than all others-for if we fall, then you must fight to the last without surrender or despair. You will be in a strait place like that which drove High Lord Kevin to his Desecration. I trust you to resist. The Land must not be doomed in that way again.”

  Troy nodded to himself; her choice was a good one. Lord Loerya would fight extravagantly, and yet would never take any action that would imperil her daughters. And Lord Trevor would work far beyond
his strength in the conviction that he did not do as much as others could. They accepted the High Lord's charge quietly, and she went on to other matters.

  “After the defence of Revelstone, our concern must be for the Loresraat and Trothgard. The Loresraat must be preserved. And Trothgard must be held for as long as may be-as a sanctuary for the homeless, men or beasts-and as a sign that in no way do we bow to the Despiser. Within the Valley of Two Rivers, Trothgard is defensible, though it will not be easy. Lord Callindrill-Lord Amatin-this burden I place upon your shoulders. Preserve Trothgard, so that the ancient name of Kurash Plenethor, Stricken Stone, will not become the new name of our promise to the Land.”

  “Just a minute,” Warmark Troy interrupted hesitantly. “That leaves just you, Mhoram, and Verement to go with me. I think I'm going to need more than that.”

  Elena considered for a moment. Then she said, “Lord Amatin, will you accept the burden of Trothgard alone? Trevor and Loerya will give you all possible aid.”

  “We fight a war,” Amatin replied simply. “It is bootless to protest that I do not suffice. I must learn to suffice. The Lorewardens will support me.”

  “You will be enough,” responded the High Lord with a smile. “Very well. Those Lords who remain Callindrill, Verement, Mhoram, and myself-will march with the Warward. Two other matters, and then the Warmark will speak. First Mark Morin.”

  “High Lord.” Morin stood to receive her requests.

  “Morin, you are the First Mark. You will command the Bloodguard as your Vow requires. Please assign to Warmark Troy every Bloodguard who can be spared from the defence of Revelstone.”

  “Yes, High Lord. Two hundred will join the Warmark's command.”

  “That is well. Now I have another task for you. Riders must be sent to every Stonedown and Woodhelven in the Centre and South Plains, and in the hills beyond. All the people who may live in the Despiser's path must be warned, and offered sanctuary at Trothgard if they choose to leave their homes. And all who dwell along the southward march of the Warward must be asked for aid-food for the warriors, so that they may march more easily, carrying less. Aliantha alone will not suffice for so many.”

  “It will be done. The Bloodguard will depart before moonset.”

  Elena nodded her approval. “No thanks can repay the Bloodguard. You give a new name to unflawed service. While people endure in the Land; you will be remembered for faithfulness.”

  Bowing slightly, the First Mark sat down.

  The High Lord set the Staff of Law on the table before her, took her seat, and signed to Warmark Troy. He took a deep breath, then got stiffly to his feet. He was still groping, juggling. But he had regained a grip on his situation; he was thinking clearly again. Even as he started to speak, new ideas were coming into focus.

  "I'm not going to waste time apologizing for this mess I've gotten us into. I built my strategy on the idea that we would get word of where Foul was marching in fifteen days. Now we're five days short. That's all there is to it.

  "Most of you know generally what I had in mind. As far as I can learn, the Old Lords had two problems fighting Foul the simple attrition of doing battle all the way from Landsdrop, and the terrain. The Centre Plains favour whichever army is fresher and larger. My idea was to let Foul get halfway here on his own, and meet him at the west end of the Mithil valley, where the Mithil River forms the south border of Andelain. Then we would retreat southwest, luring Foul after us across to Doom's Retreat. In all the legends, that's the place armies run to when they're routed. But in fact it's a hell of a place to take on armies that are bigger and faster than you are. The terrain-that bottleneck between the mountains gives a tremendous advantage to the side that gets there first-if it gets there in time to dig in before the enemy arrives.

  “Well, it was a nice idea. Now we're in a different war. We're five days short. Foul will be through the Mithil valley ten days from now. And he'll turn north, forcing us to fight him wherever he wants in the Centre Plains. If we have to retreat at all, we'll end up in Trothgard.”

  He paused for a moment, half expecting groans of dismay. But most of the people simply watched him closely, and several of the Lords had confidence in their eyes. Their trust touched him. He had to swallow down a sudden lump in his throat before he could continue.

  “There's one way we can still do it. It's going to be hell-but it's just about possible.”

  Then for an instant he faltered. Hell was a mild word for what his warriors would have to endure. How could he ask them to do it, when he was to blame for the miscalculation which made it necessary? How-?

  But Elena was watching him steadily. From the beginning, she had supported his desire to command the Warward. And now he was the Warmark. He, Hile Troy. In a tone of anger at the extremity of what he was asking, he said, "Here it is. First. We have nine days. I absolutely guarantee that Foul will hit the western end of the Mithil valley by the end of the ninth day from now. That's one of the things not having any eyes is good for. I can measure things like this. All right? Nine days. We've got to get there before that and block the valley.

  "Morin, your two hundred Bloodguard have got to leave tonight. Callindrill, you go with them. On Ranyhyn you can get there in seven days. You've got to stop Foul right there.

  “Borillar, how many of those big rafts have you got in the lake?”

  Surprised, Hearthrall Borillar answered, `Three,

  Warmark."

  “How many warriors and horses can they carry?”

  Borillar glanced helplessly over at Quaan. The Hiltmark replied, “Each raft will carry two Eoman and their Warhafts forty-two warriors and horses. But the crowding will be dangerous.”

  “If you ride a raft as far as Andelain, how fast can you get those Eoman to the Mithil valley?”

  “If there is no mishap-in ten days. Four days may be saved through the use of rafts.”

  “All right. We have twelve horse-mounted Eoward, two hundred forty Eoman. Borillar, I need one hundred twenty of those rafts. Quaan, you're in command of this. You've got to get all twelve mounted Eoward-and Verement-down to the Mithil valley as fast as possible-to help Callindrill and the Bloodguard keep Foul from coming through. You've got to buy us the time we need. Get on it.”

  Hiltmark Quaan spoke a word to the Hafts, and twelve of them jumped up to form ranks behind him as he hastened out of the Close. Borillar looked at the High Lord with an expression of indecision, but she nodded to him. Rubbing his hands nervously as if to warm them, he left the chamber, taking all the lillianrill with him.

  “Second,” Troy said. “The rest of the Warward will march straight south from here to Doom's Retreat. That's something less than three hundred leagues.” He called the remaining Hafts to their feet, and addressed them directly. “I think you should explain this to your commands. We've got to get to Doom's Retreat in twenty-eight days. And that's only enough if the Hiltmark can do everything I've got in mind for him. Tell your Eoward-ten leagues a day. That's going to be the easy part of this war.”

  In the back of his mind, he was thinking, Ten leagues a day for twenty-eight days. Good God! Half of them will be dead before we reach the South Plains.

  For a moment, he studied the Hafts, trying to judge their mettle. Then he said, “First Haft Amorine.”

  The First Haft stepped forward, and responded,

  “Warmark.” She was a short, broad, dour woman with blunt features which appeared to have been moulded in a clay too hard and dry for detailed handiwork. But she was a seasoned veteran of the Warward-one of the few survivors of the Eoman which Quaan had commanded on the Quest for the Staff of Law.

  “Ready the Warward. We march at dawn. Pay special attention to the packs. Make them as light as possible. Use all the rest of the horses for cartage if you have to. If we don't make it to Doom's Retreat in time, Revelstone won't have any use for the last few hundred horses. Get started.”

  First Haft Amorine gave a stern command to the Hafts. Saluting the Lords together
, they moved out of the Close behind her.

  Troy watched until they were gone, and the doors were shut after them. Then he turned to the High Lord. With an effort, he forced himself to say, “You know I've never commanded a war before. In fact, I've never commanded anything. All I know is theory just mental exercises. You're putting a lot of faith in me.”

  If she felt the importance of what he said, she gave no sign. “Do not fear, Warmark,” she replied firmly. “We see your value to the Land. You have given us no cause to doubt the rightness of your command.”

  A rush of gratitude took Troy's voice away from him. He saluted her, then sat down and braced his arms on the table to keep himself from trembling.

  A moment later, High Lord Elena said to the remaining assembly, "Ah, my friends, there is much to be done, and the night will be all too short for our need. This is not the time for long talk or exhortation. Let us all go about our work at once. I will speak to the Keep, and to the Warward, at dawn.

  “Hearthrall Tohrm.”

  “High Lord,” Tohrm responded with alacrity.

  "I think that there are ways in which you may make the rafts more stable, safer for horses. Please do so. And send any of your people who may be spared to assist Hearthrall Borillar in the building.

  “My friends, this war is upon us. Give your best strength to the Land now. If mortal flesh may do it, we must prevail.” She drew herself erect, and flourished the Staff. “Be of good heart. I am Elena daughter of Lena, High Lord by the choice of the Council, and wielder of the Staff of Law. My will commands. I speak in the presence of Revelstone itself.” Bowing to the assembly, she swept from the Close through one of the private doors, followed variously by the other Lords.

  The chamber emptied rapidly as the people hurried away to their tasks. Troy stood and started toward the stairs. But on the way, Covenant accosted him. “Actually,” Covenant said as if he were telling Troy a secret, “it isn't you they've got faith in at all. Just as they don't have faith in me. It's the student who summoned you. That's whom they've staked their faith on.”