The 1st Chronicles of Thomas Covenant #2: The Illearth War by Stephen R. Donaldson Page B
Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
Tags: Fantasy
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concerned him. “But you-you’re too young. You should be older. Forty years.”
“Ur-Lord, I have seen fifty-nine summers. Forty-one have passed since you came to Revelstone with the Giant, Saltheart Foamfollower.”
“But you’re not old enough. You don’t look more than forty now.”
“Ah,” said Tohrm, grinning broadly, “the service of our lore, and of Revelstone, keeps us young. Without us, these brave Giant-wrought halls would be dark, and in winter-to speak truly-they would be cold. Who could grow old on the joy of such work?”
Happily, he moved off, set one of his pots on the table in the sitting room, and another in the bedroom by the bed. When he uncovered the pots, the warm glow of the graveling joined the fight of the torches, and gave the illumination in the suite a richer and somehow kinder cast.
Tohrm breathed the graveling’s aroma of newly broken earth with a glad smile.
He finished while his companion was lighting the last of his torches in the bedroom.
Before Borillar could return to the sitting room, the older Hearthrall stepped close to Covenant and whispered, “Ur-Lord, say a word to good Borillar. He will cherish it.”
A moment later, Borillar walked across the room to stand stiffly by the door. He looked like a resolute acolyte, determined not to fail a high duty. Finally his young intentness, and Tohrm’s appeal, moved Covenant to say, awkwardly, “Thank you, Hirebrand.”
At once, pleasure transformed Borillar’s face. He tried to maintain his gravity, to control his grin, but the man of legends, Unbeliever and Ringthane, had spoken to him, and he blurted out, “Be welcome, urLord Covenant. You will save the Land.
Tohrm cocked an amused eyebrow at his fellow Hearthrall, gave Covenant a gay, grateful bow, and ushered the Hirebrand from the room. As they departed, Tohrm started to close the door, then stopped, nodded to someone in the hall, and went away leaving the door open.
Bannor stepped into the room. He met Covenant’s gaze with eyes that never slept-that only rarely blinked-and said, “The High Lord would speak with you now.”
“Oh, hell,” Covenant groaned. He looked back with something like regret at his balcony and the night beyond. Then he went with the Bloodguard.
Walking down the hall, he gave himself a quick VSE. It was a pointless exercise, but he needed the habit of it, if for no other reason than to remind himself of who he was, what the central fact of his life was. He did it deliberately, as a matter of conscious choice. But it did not hold his attention. As he moved, Revelstone exerted its old influence over him again.
The high, intricate ways of the Keep had a strange power of suasion, an ability to carry conviction. They had been delved into the mountain promontory by Saltheart Foamfollower’s laughing, story-loving ancestors; and like the Giants they had an air of bluff and inviolable strength. Now Bannor was taking Covenant deeper down into Revelstone than he had ever been before. With his awakening perceptions, he could feel the massive gut-rock standing over him; it was as if he were in palpable contact with absolute weight itself. And on a pitch of hearing that was not quite audible, or not quite hearing, he could sense the groups of people who slept or worked in places beyond the walls from him. Almost he seemed to hear the great Keep breathe. And yet all those myriad, uncountable tons of stone were not fearsome. Revelstone gave him an impression of unimpeachable security; the mountain refused to let him fear that it would fall.
Then he and Bannor reached a dim hall sentried by two Bloodguard standing with characteristic relaxed alacrity on ,either side of the entrance. There were no torches or other lights in the hall, but a strong glow illuminated it from its far end. With a nod to his comrades, Bannor led Covenant inward.
At the end of the hall, they entered a wide, round courtyard under a high cavern, with a stone floor as smooth as
“Ur-Lord, I have seen fifty-nine summers. Forty-one have passed since you came to Revelstone with the Giant, Saltheart Foamfollower.”
“But you’re not old enough. You don’t look more than forty now.”
“Ah,” said Tohrm, grinning broadly, “the service of our lore, and of Revelstone, keeps us young. Without us, these brave Giant-wrought halls would be dark, and in winter-to speak truly-they would be cold. Who could grow old on the joy of such work?”
Happily, he moved off, set one of his pots on the table in the sitting room, and another in the bedroom by the bed. When he uncovered the pots, the warm glow of the graveling joined the fight of the torches, and gave the illumination in the suite a richer and somehow kinder cast.
Tohrm breathed the graveling’s aroma of newly broken earth with a glad smile.
He finished while his companion was lighting the last of his torches in the bedroom.
Before Borillar could return to the sitting room, the older Hearthrall stepped close to Covenant and whispered, “Ur-Lord, say a word to good Borillar. He will cherish it.”
A moment later, Borillar walked across the room to stand stiffly by the door. He looked like a resolute acolyte, determined not to fail a high duty. Finally his young intentness, and Tohrm’s appeal, moved Covenant to say, awkwardly, “Thank you, Hirebrand.”
At once, pleasure transformed Borillar’s face. He tried to maintain his gravity, to control his grin, but the man of legends, Unbeliever and Ringthane, had spoken to him, and he blurted out, “Be welcome, urLord Covenant. You will save the Land.
Tohrm cocked an amused eyebrow at his fellow Hearthrall, gave Covenant a gay, grateful bow, and ushered the Hirebrand from the room. As they departed, Tohrm started to close the door, then stopped, nodded to someone in the hall, and went away leaving the door open.
Bannor stepped into the room. He met Covenant’s gaze with eyes that never slept-that only rarely blinked-and said, “The High Lord would speak with you now.”
“Oh, hell,” Covenant groaned. He looked back with something like regret at his balcony and the night beyond. Then he went with the Bloodguard.
Walking down the hall, he gave himself a quick VSE. It was a pointless exercise, but he needed the habit of it, if for no other reason than to remind himself of who he was, what the central fact of his life was. He did it deliberately, as a matter of conscious choice. But it did not hold his attention. As he moved, Revelstone exerted its old influence over him again.
The high, intricate ways of the Keep had a strange power of suasion, an ability to carry conviction. They had been delved into the mountain promontory by Saltheart Foamfollower’s laughing, story-loving ancestors; and like the Giants they had an air of bluff and inviolable strength. Now Bannor was taking Covenant deeper down into Revelstone than he had ever been before. With his awakening perceptions, he could feel the massive gut-rock standing over him; it was as if he were in palpable contact with absolute weight itself. And on a pitch of hearing that was not quite audible, or not quite hearing, he could sense the groups of people who slept or worked in places beyond the walls from him. Almost he seemed to hear the great Keep breathe. And yet all those myriad, uncountable tons of stone were not fearsome. Revelstone gave him an impression of unimpeachable security; the mountain refused to let him fear that it would fall.
Then he and Bannor reached a dim hall sentried by two Bloodguard standing with characteristic relaxed alacrity on ,either side of the entrance. There were no torches or other lights in the hall, but a strong glow illuminated it from its far end. With a nod to his comrades, Bannor led Covenant inward.
At the end of the hall, they entered a wide, round courtyard under a high cavern, with a stone floor as smooth as
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