Stephen Donaldson - The Power That Preserves

Abruptly, Triock got to his feet. The lines around his eyes dominated his face as he scrutinized Covenant. In a low voice, he said, “What will you do?”

“Ask me later.” Covenant was ashamed that he could not match Triock’s gaze. “I’m not ready yet.” Instinctively, he clasped his right hand over his ring, hiding it from consideration.

“There is time,” murmured Foamfollower. “You have a great need for rest.”

Triock said, “Choose soon. We must be on our way at dawn.” Then he moved brusquely away through the mounting snow toward his two companions by the second pot of graveling.

“He is a good man,” Foamfollower said softly. “Trust him.”

Oh, I trust him, Covenant thought. How can I help it?

Despite the warmth of his blankets, he began to shiver again.

As he leaned still closer to the glowing fire-stones, he noticed the look of concern on Foamfollower’s face. To forestall any expression of anxiety which would remind him how little he deserved the Giant’s concern, he said hastily, “I still don’t know what’s happened to you. The Giants Were — I don’t know what happened to them. And you-You’ve been outrageously hacked upon.” In an effort to probe Foamfollower, he went on: “I’d tell you something funny. I was afraid of what you might do — after all that business in Treacher’s Gorge. I was afraid you might go back to your people and-and convince them to stop fighting, give it up. What do you think? Have I finally succeeded in telling you a story you can laugh at?”

But he saw poignantly that he had not. Foamfollower bowed his head, covered his face with one hand. For a moment, the muscles of his shoulders tensed as if with his fingers he were squeezing the bones of his countenance into an attitude which he could not achieve in any other way. “Joy is in the ears that hear,” he said in a voice muffled by his hand. “My ears have been too full of the noise of killing.”

Then he raised his head, and his expression was calm. Only a smouldering deep within the caves of his eyes revealed that he was hurt. “I am not yet ready to laugh over this matter. Were I able to laugh, I would not feel so-driven to slay Soulcrusher’s creatures.”

“Foamfollower,” Covenant murmured again, “what’s happened to you?”

The Giant gestured helplessly with both hands, as if he could not conceive any way to tell his story. “My friend, I am what you see. Here is a tale which lies beyond even my grasp, and I am a Giant-though you will remember that my people considered me uncommonly brief of speech. Stone and Sea! Covenant, I know not what to say. You know how I fought for the Quest for the Staff of Law. When Damelon Giantfriend’s prophecy for my people came to pass, I found that I could not give up this fighting. I had struck blows which would not stop. Therefore I left Seareach, so that I would at least serve the Land with my compulsion.

“But I did not go to the Lords. In my thoughts, the great rare beauty of Revelstone, Giant-wrought Lord’s Keep, daunted me. I did not wish to stand in those brave halls while Soulcrusher’s creatures raved in the Land. For that reason, I fight, and spend my days with people who fight. From the Northron Climbs to the Last Hills I have struck my blows. When I met Triock son of Thuler and his companions-when I learned that he holds a limb of the High Wood, descendant of the One Tree from which the Staff of Law was made-I joined him. In that way, I garnered my scars, and at last came here.”

“You’ve been around humans too long,” muttered Covenant. “You haven’t told me anything. What-? How-? I don’t know where to begin.”

“Then do not begin, my friend. Rest.” Foamfollower reached out and gently touched Covenant’s shoulder. “You also have been too long among-people of another kind. You need days of rest which I fear you will not receive. You must sleep.”

To his surprise, Covenant found that he was capable of sleep. Warm drowsiness seeped into him from the blankets and the graveling light, spread outward from the aliantha in his blood. Tomorrow he would know better what questions to ask. He lay back on the cold ground and pulled the blankets about his ears.

But as Foamfollower adjusted the blankets for him, he asked, “How much longer is this winter going to last?”

“Peace, my friend,” Foamfollower replied. “The Land’s spring should have been born three full moons ago.”

A shudder of ice ran through Covenant. Bloody hell, Foul! he gritted. Hellfire!

But in his reclining position he could not resist his long weariness. He fell asleep almost at once, thinking, Hellfire. Hell and blood.

He lay in red, visionless slumber until sometime after dark he seemed to hear voices that awakened him slightly. Disembodied in his grogginess, they spoke across him as if he were a prostrate corpse.

“You told him little of the truth,” Triock said.

And Foamfollower answered, “He has pain enough for one heart. How could I tell him?”

“He must know. He is responsible.”

“No. For this he is not responsible.”

“Still he must know.”

“Even stone may break when it is too heavily burdened.”

“Ah, Rockbrother. How will you justify yourself if he turns against the Land?”

“Peace, my friend. Do not torment me. I have already learned that I cannot be justified.”

Covenant listened incomprehendingly. When the voices drifted out of his awareness, he sank into wild dreams of purpose and savage restitution.

LATER, he was shaken awake by Foamfollower. The Giant nudged his shoulder until he started up out of his blankets into the darkness. In the dim light of half-covered graveling pots, he could see that the snow had stopped, but dawn was still some time away. Night locked the valley full of black air.

He dropped back into the blankets, muttering groggily, “Go away. Let me sleep.”

Foamfollower shook him again. “Arise, ur-Lord. You must eat now. We will depart soon.”

“Dawn,” Covenant said. The stiff soreness of his lip made him mumble as if the numbness of his hands and feet had spread to his tongue. “He said dawn.”

“Yeurquin reports watch fires approaching Mithil Stonedown from the South Plains. They will not be friendly-few people of the south dare show light at night. And someone climbs toward us from the Stonedown itself. We will not remain here. Arise.” He lifted Covenant into a sitting position, then thrust a flask and bowl into his hands. “Eat.”

Sleepily, Covenant drank from the stone flask, and found that it contained water as icy as melted snow. The chill draft jolted him toward wakefulness. Shivering, he turned to the bowl. It contained unleavened bread and treasure-berries. He began to eat quickly to appease the cold water in his stomach.

Between bites, he asked, “If whatever they are-marauders- are coming, aren’t we safe here?”

“Perhaps. But the Stonedownors will fight for their homes. They are Triock’s people-we must aid them.”

“Can’t they just hide in the mountains-until the marauders go away?”

“They have done so in the past. But Mithil Stonedown has been attacked many times. The Stonedownors are sick at the damage done to their homes in these attacks. This time, they will fight.”

Covenant emptied the bowl, and forced himself to drink deeply from the flask. The chill of the water made his throat ache.

“I’m no warrior.”

“I remember,” Foamfollower said with an ambiguous smile, as if what he remembered did not accord with Covenant’s assertion. “We will keep you from harm.”

He took the flask and bowl and stowed them in a large leather sack. Then from it he pulled out a heavy sheepskin jacket, which he handed to Covenant. “This will serve you well-though it is said that no apparel or blaze can wholly refute the cold of this winter.” As Covenant donned the jacket, the Giant went on, “I regret that I have no better footwear for you. But the Stonedownors wear only sandals.” He took from his sack a pair of thick sandals and passed them to Covenant.