Lord Foul's Bane by Stephen R. Donaldson

could reply, a voice called from outside the house, “Hail! Atiaran Tiaran-daughter. Trell Gravelingas tells us that your work is done for this day. Come and sing to the Stonedown!”
For a moment, Atiaran stood still, shrinking back into herself. Then she sighed, “Ah, the work of my life has just begun,” and turned to the door. Holding aside the curtain, she said into the night, “We have not yet eaten. I will come later. But after the gathering I must speak with the Circle of elders.”
“They will be told,” the voice answered.
“Good,” said Atiaran. But instead of returning to Covenant, she remained in the doorway, staring into the darkness for a while. When she closed the curtain at last and faced Covenant, her eyes were moist, and they held a look that he at first thought was defeat. But then he realized that she was only remembering defeat. “No, Thomas Covenant,” she said sadly, "I know nothing of your fate. Perhaps if I had remained at the Loresraat longer- if I had had the strength. But I passed my limit there, and came home. I know a part of the old Lore that Mithil Stonedown does not guess, but it is too little. All that I can remember for you are hints of a wild magic which destroys peace- 

wild magic graven in every rock, 
contained for white gold to unleash or control 

but the meaning of such lines, or the courses of these times, I do not know. That is a double reason to take you to the Council.“ Then she looked squarely into his face, and added, ”I tell you openly, Thomas Covenant- if you have come to betray the Land, only the Lords may hope to stop you."
Betray? This was another new thought. An instant passed before he realized what Atiaran was suggesting. But before he could protest, Lena put in for him, “Mother! He fought a grey cloud on Kevin's Watch. I saw it. How can you doubt him?” Her defence controlled his belligerent reaction. Without intending to, she had put him on false ground. He had not gone so far as to fight Lord Foul.
Trell's return stopped any reply Atiaran might have made. The big man stood in the doorway for a moment, looking between Atiaran and Lena and Covenant. Abruptly, he said, “So. We are come on hard times.”
“Yes, Trell my husband,” murmured Atiaran. “Hard times.”
Then his eyes caught the shards of stoneware on the floor. “Hard times, indeed,” he chided gently, “when stoneware is broken, and the pieces left to powder underfoot.”
This time, Lena was genuinely ashamed. “I am sorry, Father,” she said. “I was afraid.”
“No matter.” Trell went to her and placed his big hands, light with affection, on her shoulders. “Some wounds may be healed. I feel strong today.”
At this, Atiaran gazed gratefully at Trell as if he had just undertaken some heroic task.
To Covenant's incomprehension, she said, “Be seated, guest. Food will be ready soon. Come, Lena.” The two of them began to bustle around the cooking stone.
Covenant watched as Trell started to pick up the pieces of the broken pot. The Gravelingas' voice rumbled softly, singing an ancient subterranean song. Tenderly, he carried the shards to the table and set them down near the lamp. Then he seated himself. Covenant sat beside him, wondering what was about to happen.
Singing his cavernous song between clenched teeth, Trell began to fit the shards together as if the pot were a puzzle. Piece after piece he set in place, and each piece held where he left it without any adhesive Covenant could see. Trell moved painstakingly, his touch delicate on every fragment, but the pot seemed to grow quickly in his hands, and the pieces fit together perfectly, leaving only a network of fine black lines to mark the breaks. Soon all the shards were in place.
Then his deep tone took on a new cadence. He began to stroke the stoneware with his fingers, and everywhere his touch passed, the black fracture marks vanished as if they had been erased. Slowly, he covered every inch of the pot with his