With a small jolt Covenant realized that Hamako was not dressed for winter. Only the worn swath of leather around his hips made him less naked than the Waynhim. In Vague fear Covenant wondered if the Stonedownor had truly become Waynhim himself? What did such a transformation mean?
And what in hell was this rhysh doing here?
His companions had less reason for apprehension. Pitchwife moved as if the Waynhim had restored his sense of adventure, his capacity for excitement. His eyes watched everything, eager for marvels. Warm air and the prospect of safety softened the First's iron sternness, and she walked with her hand lightly on her husband's shoulder, willing to accept whatever she saw. Honninscrave's thoughts were hidden beneath the concealment of his brows. And Mistweave—
At the sight of Mistweave's face Covenant winced. Too much had happened too swiftly. He had nearly forgotten the tormented moment of Mistweave's indecision. But the Giant's visage bore the marks of that failure like toolwork at the corners of his eyes, down the sides of his mouth-marks cut into the bone of his self esteem. His gaze turned away from Covenant's in shame.
Damn it to hell! Covenant rasped to himself. Is every one of us doomed?
Perhaps they all were. Linden walked at his side without looking at him, her mien pale and strict with the characteristic severity which he had learned to interpret as fear. Fear of herself-of her inherited capacity for panic and horror, which had proved once again that it could paralyze her despite every commitment or affirmation she made. Perhaps her reaction to the ambush of the arghuleh had restored her belief that she, too, was doomed.
It was unjust. She judged that her whole life had been a form of flight, an expression of moral panic. But in that she was wrong. Her past sins did not invalidate her present desire for good. If they did, then Covenant himself was damned as well as doomed, and Lord Foul's triumph was already assured.
Covenant was familiar with despair. He accepted it in himself. But he could not bear it in the people he loved. They deserved better.
Then Hamako's branching way through the rock turned a corner to enter a sizable cavern like a meeting hall; and Covenant's attention was pulled out of its galled channel.
The space was large and high enough to have held the entire crew of Starfare's Gem; but its rough walls and surfaces testified that the Waynhim had not been using it long. Yet it was comfortably well-lit. Many braziers flamed around the walls, shedding kind heat as well as illumination. For a moment Covenant found himself wondering obliquely why the Waynhim bothered to provide light at all, since they had no eyes. Did the fires aid their lore in some fashion? Or did they draw a simple solace from the heat or scent of the flames? Certainly the former habitation of Hamako's rhysh had been bright with warmth and firelight.
But Covenant could not remember that place and remain calm. And he had never seen so many Waynhim before: at least threescore of them slept on the bare stone, worked together around black metal pots as if they were preparing vitrim or invocations, or quietly waited for what they might learn about the people Hamako had brought. Rhysh was the Waynhim word for a community; and Covenant had been told that each community usually numbered between one-and twoscore Waynhim who shared a specific interpretation of their racial Weird, their native definition of identity and reason for existence. (This Weird, he remembered, belonged to both the Waynhim and the ur-viles, but was read in vastly different ways.) So he was looking at at least two rhysh. And Bamako had implied that there were more. More communities which had been ripped from home and service by the same terrible necessity that had brought Bamako's rhysh here?
Covenant groaned as he accompanied Hamako into the centre of the cavern.
There the Stonedownor addressed the company again. “I know that the purpose which impels you toward the Land is urgent,” he said in his gentle and pain-familiar voice. “But some little time you can spare among us. The horde of the arghuleh is unruly and advances with no great speed. We offer you sustenance, safety, and rest as well as inquiries”- he looked squarely at Covenant- “and perhaps also answers.“ That suggestion gave another twist to Covenant's tension. He remembered clearly the question Hamako had refused to answer for him. But Hamako had not paused. He was asking, “Will you consent to delay your way a while?”
The First glanced at Covenant. But Covenant had no intention of leaving until he knew more. “Hamako,” he said grimly, “why are you here?”
The loss and resolution behind Hamako's eyes showed that he understood. But he postponed his reply by inviting the company to sit with him on the floor. Then he offered around bowls of the dark, musty vitrim liquid which looked like vitriol and yet gave nourishment like a distillation of aliantha. And when the companions had satisfied their initial hunger and weariness, he spoke as if he had deliberately missed Covenant's meaning.
“Ring-wielder,” he said, “with four other rhysh we have come to give battle to the arghuleh.”
“Battle?” Covenant demanded sharply. He had always known the Waynhim as creatures of peace.
“Yes.” Hamako had travelled a journey to this place which could not be measured in leagues. “That is our intent.”
Covenant started to expostulate. Hamako stopped him with a firm gesture. “Though the Waynhim serve peace,” he said carefully, “they have risen to combat when their Weird required it of them. Thomas Covenant. I have spoken to you concerning that Weird. The Waynhim are made creatures. They have not the justification of birth for their existence, but only the imperfect lores and choices of the Demondim. And from this trunk grow no boughs but two-the way of the ur-viles, who loathe what they are and seek forever power and knowledge to become what they are not, and the way of the Waynhim, who strive to give value to what they are through service to what they are not, to the birth by Law and beauty of the life of the Land. This you know.”
Yes. I know. But Covenant's throat closed as he recalled the manner in which Hamako's rhysh had formerly served its Weird.
“Also you know,” the Stonedownor went on, “that in the time of the great High Lord Mhoram, and of your own last battle against the Despiser, Waynhim saw and accepted the need to wage violence in defence of the Land. It was their foray which opened the path by which the High Lord procured the survival of Revelstone.” His gaze held Covenant's though Covenant could hardly match nun. “Therefore do not accuse us that we have risen to violence again. It is not fault in the Waynhim. It is grief.”
And still he forestalled Covenant's protest, did not answer Covenant's fundamental question. “The Sunbane and the Despiser's malign intent rouse the dark forces of the Earth. Though they act by their own will, they serve his design of destruction. And such a force has come among the arghuleh, mastering their native savagery and sending them like the hand of winter against the Land. We know not the name of that might. It is hidden from the insight of the Waynhim. But we see it And we have gathered in this rhyshyshim to oppose it.”
“How?” the First interposed. “How will you oppose it?” When Hamako turned toward her, she said, “I ask pardon if I intrude on that which does not concern me. But you have given us the gift of our lives, and we have not returned the bare courtesy of our names and knowledge.” Briefly, she introduced her companions. Then she continued, “I am the First of the Search-a Swordmain of the Giants. Battle is my craft and my purpose.” Her countenance was sharp in the firelight “I would share counsel with you concerning this combat”