Now he sighed "Yes. But how could our refusal be conveyed to the ur-viles? Their loathing permitted them no understanding of our Weird. And they did not inquire of us what we had done. In our place, they would not have scrupled to utter falsehood. Therefore they could not have believed any reply we gave. So they brought down retribution upon us, compelled by the passion of their desire that the secret of this Vain not be untimely revealed.”
And Vain stood behind the seated company as if he were deaf or impervious. The dead wood of his right forearm dangled from his elbow; but his useless hand was still undamaged, immaculate. As beautifully sculpted as a mockery of Covenant's flawed being.
But Hamako did not flinch or quail again, though his sombre gaze now held a dusky hue of fear.
“Thomas Covenant,” he said, his voice so soft that it barely carried across the circle of the company. “Ring-wielder.” His home. During Stonedown, had been destroyed by the na-Mhoram's Grim; but the Waynhim had given him a new home with them. And then that new home had been destroyed, ravaged for something the rhysh had not done. Twice bereft. "Will you ask once more? Will you inquire of me here the purpose of this black Demondim-spawn?”
At that. Linden sat up straighter, bit her lips to hold back the question. The First tensed, anticipating explanations. Pitchwife's eyes sparkled like hope; even Mistweave stirred from his gloom. Cail cocked one dispassionate eyebrow.
But Covenant sat like Honninscrave, his emotions tangled by Hamako's apprehension. He understood the Stonedownor, knew what Bamako's indirect offer meant. The Waynhim no longer trusted their former refusal-were no longer able to credit the unmalice of the ur-viles' intent. The violence of their rum had shaken them fundamentally. And yet their basic perceptions remained. The trepidation in Hamako’s visage showed that he had learned to dread the implications of both speaking and not speaking.
He was asking Covenant to take the responsibility of decision from him.
He and his rhysh had come here to die. Fiercely, with all the attention of the company on him Covenant forced himself to say, “No.”
His gaze burned as he confronted Hamako across the rude stone. “You've already refused once.” Within himself, he swore bitterly at the necessity which compelled him to reject everything that might help or ease or guide him. But he did not shrink from it. “I trust you.”
Linden gave him a glare of exasperation. Pitchwife's face widened in surprise. But Hamako's rue worn features softened with undisguised relief.
Later, while Covenant's companions rested or slept in the warmth of the cavern, Hamako took the Unbeliever aside for a private conversation. Gently, Hamako urged Covenant to depart before the coming battle. Night was upon the Northron Climbs, the night before the dark of the moon; but a Waynhim could be spared to guide the company up the escarpment toward the relative safety of Landsdrop. The quest would be able to travel without any immediate fear of the arghuleh.
Covenant refused brusquely. “You've done too much for me already. Tm not going to leave you like this,”
Hamako peered into Covenant's clenched glower. After a moment, the Stonedownor breathed. “Ah, Thomas Covenant Will you hazard the wild magic to aid us?”
Covenant's reply was blunt. “Not if I can help it.” If he had heeded the venom coursing in him, the itch of his scarred forearm, he would already have gone out to meet the arghuleh alone. “But my friends aren't exactly useless.” And I don't intend to watch you die for nothing.
He knew he had no right to make such promises. The meaning of Hamako's life, of the lives of the gathered Waynhim, was not his to preserve or sacrifice. But he was who he was. How could he refuse to aid the people who needed him?
Scowling at unresolved contradictions, he studied the creatures. With their eyeless faces, gaping nostrils, and limbs made for running on all fours, they looked more like beasts or monsters than members of a noble race that had given its entire history to the service of the Land. But long ago one of them had been indirectly responsible for his second summons to the Land. Savagely maimed and in hideous pain, that Waynhim had been released from the Despiser's clutches to bait a trap. It had reached the Lords and told them that Lord Foul's armies were ready to march. Therefore High Lord Elena had made the decision to call Covenant. Thus the Despiser had arranged for Covenant's return. And the logic of that return had led ineluctably to Elena's end, the breaking of the Law of Death, and the destruction of the Staff of Law.
Now the last of the Waynhim people stood on the verge of ruin.
A long time passed before Covenant was able to sleep. He saw all too clearly what Lord Foul might hope to gain from the plight of the Waynhim.
But when his grasp on consciousness frayed away, the vitrim he had consumed carried him into deep rest; and he slept until the activity around him became constant and exigent. Raising his bead, he found that the cavern was full of Waynhim-at least twice as many as he had seen earlier. The bleary look in Linden's face showed that she had just awakened; but the four Giants were up and moving tensely among the Waynhim.
Pitchwife came over to Linden and Covenant “You have slept well, my friends,” he said, chuckling as if he were inured to the expectancy which filled the air. “Stone and Seal this vitrim is a hale beverage. A touch of its savour commingled with our diamondraught would gladden even the dullest palate. Life be praised, I have at last found the role which will make my name forever sung among the Giants. Behold!” With a flourish, he indicated his belt which was behung on all sides with leather vitrim-skins. “It will be my dear task to bear this roborant to my people, that they may profit from its potency in the blending of a new liquor. And that unsurpassable draught will be named pitchbrew for all the Earth to adore.” he laughed. “Then will my fame outmeasure even that of great Bahgoon himself!”
The misshapen Giant's banter drew a smile from Linden. But Covenant had climbed out of sleep into the same mood with which the peril of the Waynhim had first afflicted him. Frowning at Pitchwife's humour, he demanded. “What's going on?”
The Giant sobered rapidly. “Ah, Giantfriend,” he sighed, “you have slept long and long. Noon has come to the wasteland, and the Waynhim are gathered to prepare for battle. Although the arghuleh advance slowly, they are now within sight of this covert. I conceive that the outcome of their conflict will be determined ere sunset.”
Covenant swore to himself. He did not want the crisis to be so near at hand.
Linden was facing him. In her controlled, professional voice, she said, “There's still time.”
“Time to get out of here?” he returned sourly. “Let them go out there and probably get butchered as a race without so much as one sympathetic witness to at least grieve? Forget it.”
Her eyes flared. “That isn't what I meant.” Anger sharpened the lines of her face. “I don’t like deserting people any more than you do. Maybe I don't have your background”- she snarled the word- “but I can still see what Bamako and. the Waynhim are worth. You know me better than that.” Then she took a deep breath, steadied herself. Still glaring at him, she said, “What I meant was, there's still time to ask them about Vain.”
Covenant felt like a knotted thunderhead, livid and incapable of release. Her pointed jibe about his background underscored the extent to which he had falsified their relationship. From the time of their first meeting on Haven Farm, he had withheld things from her, arguing that she did not have the background to understand them. And this was the result Everything be said to or heard from the woman he loved became gall.