Lord Foul's Bane by Stephen R. Donaldson Page B

moment passed before he was sure that he could hear a distant rumour of voices. Shortly, Atiaran confirmed this by saying to Trell, “Ah, the gathering. I promised to sing tonight.”
She and Trell stood together, and he said, “So. And then you will speak with the Circle of elders. Some preparations for tomorrow I will make. “See” he pointed at the table-” it will be a fine day- there is no shadow on the heart of the stone."
Almost in spite of himself, Covenant looked where Trell pointed. But he could see nothing.
Noticing his blank look, Atiaran said kindly, “Do not be surprised, Thomas Covenant. No one but a rhadhamaerl can foretell weather in such stones as this. Now come with me, if you will, and I will sing the legend of Berek Halfhand.” As she spoke, she took the pot of graveling from the table to carry with her. “Lena, will you clean the stoneware?”
Covenant, got to his feet. Glancing at Lena, he saw her face twisted with unhappy obedience; she clearly wanted to go with them. But Trell also saw her expression and said, “Accompany our guest, Lena my daughter. I will not be too busy to care for the stoneware.”
Pleasure transformed her instantly, and she leaped up to throw her arms around her father's neck. He returned her embrace for a moment, then lowered her to the floor. She straightened her shift, trying to look suddenly demure, and moved to her mother's side.
Atiaran said, “Trell, you will teach this girl to think she is a queen.” But she took Lena's hand to show that she was not angry, and together they went past the curtain. Covenant followed promptly, went out of the house into the starry night with a sense of release. There was more room for him to explore himself under the open sky.
He needed exploration. He could not understand, rationalize, his mounting excitement. The springwine he had consumed seemed to provide a focus for his energies; it capered in his veins like a raving satyr. He felt inexplicably brutalized by inspiration, as if he were the victim rather than the source of his dream. White gold! he sputtered at the darkness between the houses. Wild magic! Do they think I'm crazy?
Perhaps he was crazy. Perhaps he was at this moment wandering in dementia, tormenting himself with false griefs and demands, the impositions of an illusion. Such things had happened to lepers.
I'm not! he shouted, almost cried out aloud. I know the difference- I know I'm dreaming.
His fingers twitched with violence, but he drew cool air deep into his lungs, put everything behind him. He knew how to survive a dream. Madness was the only danger.
As they walked together between the houses, Lena's smooth arm brushed his. His skin felt lambent at the touch.
The murmur of people grew quickly louder. Soon Lena, Atiaran, and Covenant reached the circle, moved into the gathering of the Stonedown.
It was lit by dozens of hand-held graveling pots, and in the illumination Covenant could see clearly. Men, women, and children clustered the rim of the circle. Covenant guessed that virtually the entire Stonedown had come to hear Atiaran sing. Most of the people were shorter than he was- and considerably shorter than Trell- and they had dark hair, brown or black, again unlike Trell. But they were a stocky, broad-shouldered breed, and even the women and children gave an impression of physical strength; centuries of stone-work had shaped them to suit their labour. Covenant felt the same dim fear of them that he had of Trell. They seemed too strong, and he had nothing but his strangeness to protect him if they turned against him.
They were busy talking to each other, apparently waiting for Atiaran, and they gave no sign of noticing Covenant. Reluctant to call attention to himself, he hung back at the outer edges of the gathering. Lena stopped with him. Atiaran gave her the graveling pot, then moved away through the crowd toward the centre of the circle.
After he had scanned the assembly, Covenant turned his attention to