srdonaldson.theillearthwar-第8节

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ught　he　recognized…the　Gravelingas　Tohrm；　a　Hearthrall　of　Lord's　Keep；　and　Quaan；　the　Warhaft　who　had　acpanied　the　Quest　for　the　Staff　of　Law。　With　them　were　two　others…one　a　Hirebrand；　judging　by　his　Woodhelvennin　cloak　and　the　circlet　of　leaves　about　his　head；　probably　the　other　Hearthrall；　and　one　the　First　Mark　of　the　Bloodguard。　Vaguely；　Covenant　wondered　who　had　taken　that　position　after　the　loss　of　Tuvor　in　the　catabs　under　Mount　Thunder。
　His　gaze　roamed　on　around　the　Close。　Standing　at　the　table　were　seven　Lords；　not　counting　the　High　Lord　and　Mhoram。　Covenant　recognized　none　of　them。　They　must　all　have　passed　the　tests　and　joined　the　Council　in　the　last　forty；　years。　Forty　years？　he　asked　dimly。　Mhoram　had　aged；　but　he　did　not　look　forty　years　older。　And　Tohrm；　who　had　been　hardly　more　than　a　laughing　boy　when　Covenant　had　known　him；　now　seemed　far　too　young　for　middle　age。　The　Bloodguard　were　not　changed　at　all。　Of　course；　Covenant　groaned　to　himself；　remembering　how　old　they　were　said　to　be。　Only　Quaan　showed　a　believable　age：　white　thinning　hair　gave　the　former　Warhaft　the　look　of　sixty　or　sixty…five　summers。　But　his　square　manding　shoulders　did　not　stoop。　And　the　openness　of　his　countenance　had　not　changed；　he　frowned　down　on　the　Unbeliever　with　exactly　the　frank　disapproval　that　Covenant　remembered。
　He　did　not　see　Prothall　anywhere。　Prothall　had　been　the　High　Lord　during　the　Quest；　and　Covenant　knew　that　he　had　survived　the　final　battle　on　the　slopes　of　Mount　Thunder。　But　he　also　knew　that　Prothall　had　been　old　enough　to　die　naturally　in　forty　years。　In　spite　of　his　pain；　he　found　himself　hoping　that　the　former　High　Lord　had　died　as　he　deserved；　in　peace　and　honor。
　With　a　sour　mental　shrug；　he　moved　his　survey　to　the　one　man　at　the　Lords'　table　who　was　not　standing。　This　individual　was　dressed　like　a　warrior；　with　high；　soft…soled　boots　over　black　leggings；　a　black　sleeveless　shirt　under　a　breastplate　molded　of　a　yellow　metal；　and　a　yellow　headband；　but　on　his　breastplate　were　the　double　black　diagonal　marks　which　distinguished　him　as　the　Warmark；　the　mander　of　the　Wayward；　the　Lords'　army。　He　was　not　looking　at　anyone。　He　sat　back　in　his　stone　chair；　with　his　head　down　and　his　eyes　covered　with　one　hand；　as　if　he　were　asleep。
　Covenant　turned　away；　let　his　gaze　trudge　at　random　around　the　Close。　High　Lord　Elena　was　conferring　in　low　tones　with　the　Lords　nearest　her。　Mhoram　stood　waiting　near　the　broad　stairs　leading　up　to　the　main　doors。　The　acoustics　of　the　chamber　carried　the　mingled　voices　of　the　gallery　to　Covenant；　so　that　the　air　was　murmurous　about　his　head。　He　wiped　the　gathering　blood　from　his　brows；　and　thought　about　dying。
　It　would　be　worth　it；　he　mused。　After　all　it　would　be　worth　it　to　escape。　He　was　not　tough　enough　to　persevere　when　even　his　dreams　turned　against　him。　He　should　leave　living　to　the　people　who　were　potent　for　it。
　Ah；　hellfire；　he　sighed。　Hellfire。
　Distantly；　he　heard　the　great　doors　of　the　Close　swing　open。　The　murmuring　in　the　air　stopped　at　once；　everyone　turned　and　looked　toward　the　doors。　Forcing　himself　to　spend　some　of　his　waning　strength；　Covenant　twisted　around　to　see　who　was　ing。
　The　sight　struck　him　cruelly；　seemed　to　take　the　last　rigor　out　of　his　bones。
　He　watched　with　bloodied　eyes　as　two　Bloodguard　came　down　the　stairs；　holding　upright　between　them　a　green…gray　creature　that　oozed　with　fear。　Though　they　were　not　handling　it　roughly；　the　creature　trembled　in　terror　and　revulsion。　Its　hairless　skin　was　slick　with　sweat。　It　had　a　generally　human　outline；　but　its　torso　was　unusually　long；　and　its　limbs　were　short；　all　equal　in　length；　as　if　it　naturally　ran　on　four　legs　through　low　caves。　But　its　limbs　were　bent　and　useless…contorted　as　if　they　had　been　broken　many　times　and　not　reset。　And　the　rest　of　its　body　showed　signs　of　worse　damage。
　Its　head　was　its　least　human　feature。　Its　bald　skull　had　no　eyes。　Above　the　ragged　slit　of　its　mouth；　in　the　center　of　its　face；　were　two　wide；　wet　nostrils　that　quivered　fearfully　around　the　edges　as　the　creature　smelled　its　situation。　Its　small　pointed　ears　perched　high　on　its　skull。　And　the　whole　back　of　its　head　was　gone。　Over　the　gap　was　a　green　membrane　like　a　scar；　pulsing　against　the　remaining　fragment　of　a　brain。
　Covenant　knew　immediately　what　it　was。　He　had　seen　a　creature　like　it　once　before…whole　in　body；　but　dead；　lying　on　the　floor　of　its　Waymeet　with　an　iron　spike　through　its　heart。
　It　was　a　Waynhim。　A　Demondim…spawn；　like　the　ur…viles。　But　unlike　their　black　roynish　kindred；　the　Waynhim　had　devoted　their　lore　to　the　services　of　the　Land。
　This　Waynhim　had　been　lavishly　tortured。
　The　Bloodguard　brought　the　creature　down　to　the　bottom　of　the　Close；　and　held　it　opposite　Covenant。　Despite　his　deep　weakness；　he　forced　himself　to　his　feet；　and　kept　himself　up　by　leaning　against　the　wall　of　the　next　level。　Already；　he　seemed　to　be　regaining　some　of　the　added　dimension　of　sight　which　characterized　the　Land。　He　could　see　into　the　Waynhim　could　feel　with　his　eyes　what　had　been　done　to　it。　He　saw　torment　and　extravagant　painsaw　the　healthy　body　of　the　Waynhim　caught　in　a　fist　of　malice；　and　crushed　gleefully　into　this　crippled　shape。　The　sight　made　his　eyes　hurt。　He　had　to　lock　his　knees　to　brace　himself　up。　A　cold　mist　of　hebetude　and　despair　filled　his　head；　and　he　was；　glad　for　the　blood　which　clogged　his　eyes；　it　preserved　him　from　seeing　the　Waynhim。
　Through　his　fog；　he　heard　Elena　say；　〃Ur…Lord　Covenant；　it　is　necessary　to　burden　you　with　this　sight。　We　must　convince　you　of　our　need。　Please　forgive　such　a　wele　to　the　Land。　The　duress　of　our　plight　leaves　us　little　choice。
　〃Ur…Lord；　this　poor　creature　brought　us　to　the　decision　of　your　summoning。　For　years　we　have　known　that　the　Despiser　prepares　his　strength　to　march　against　the　Land…that　the　time　appointed　in　his　prophecy　grows　short　for　us。　You　delivered　that　prophecy　unto　us；　and　the　Lords　of　Revelstone　have　not　been　idle。　From　the　day　in　which　Lord　Mhoram　brought　to　Lord's　Keep　the　Staff　of　Law　and　the　Second　Ward　of　Kevin's　Lore；　we　have　striven　to　meet　this　doom。　We　have　multiplied　the　Warward；　studied　our　defenses；　trained　ourselves　in　all　our　skills　and　strengths。　We　have　learned　some　of　the　uses　of　the　Staff。　The　Loresraat　has　explored　with　all　its　wisdom　and　devotion　the　Second　Ward。　But　in　forty　years；　we　have　gained　no　clear　knowledge　of　Lord　Foul's　intent。　After　the　wresting　of　the　Staff　from　Drool　Rockworm；　the　Despiser's　presence　left　Kiril　Threndor　in　Mount　Thunder；　and　soon　reseated　itself　in　the　great　thronehall　of　Ridjeck　Thome；　Foul's　Creche；　the　Gray　Slayer's　ancient　home。　And　since　that　time；　our　scouts　have　been　unable　to　penetrate　Lord　Foul's　demesne。
　Power　has　been　at　work　there…power　and　ill…but　we　could　learn　nothing　of　it；　though　Lord　Mhoram　himself　assayed　the　task。　He　could　not　breach　the　Despiser's　forbidding　might。
　〃But　there　have　been　dim　and　dark　foreboding　movements　throughout　the　Land。　Kresh　from　the　east　and　ur…viles　from　Mount　Thunder；　griffins　and　other　dire　creatures　from　Sarangrave　Flat；　Cavewights；　little…known　denizens　of　Lifeswallower；　the　Great　Swamp…we　have　heard　them　all　wending　toward　the　Spoiled　Plains　and　Foul's　Creche。　They　disappear　beyond　the　Shattered　Hills；　and　do　not　return。　We　need　no　great　wisdom　to　teach　us　that　the　Despiser　prepares　his　army。　But　still　we　have　lacked　clear　knowledge。　Then　at　last　knowledge　came　to　us。　During　the　summer；　our　scouts　captured　this　creature；　this　broken　remnant　of　a　Waynhim；　on　the　western　edges　of　Grirrimerdhore　Forest。　It　was　brought　here　so　that　we　might　try　to　gain　tidings　from　it。〃
　〃So　you　tortured　it　to　find　out　what　it　knows。〃　Covenant's　eyes　were　sticky　with　blood；　and　he　kept　them　shut；　giving　himself　up　to　useless　rage　and　mist。
　〃Do　you　believe　that　of　us？〃　The　High　Lord　sounded　hurt。　〃No。　We　are　not　Despisers。　We　would　not　so　betray　the　Land。　We　have　treated　the　Waynhim　as　gently　as　we　could　without　releasing　it。　It　has　told　us　willingly　all　that　we　would　know。　Now　it　begs　us　to　kill　it。　Unbeliever；　hear　me。　This　is　Lord　Foul's　handiwork。　He　possesses　the　Illearth　Stone。　This　is　the　work　of　that　bane。〃
　Through　the　grayness　in　his　mind；　Covenant　heard　the　doors　open　again。　Someone　came　down　the　stairs　and　whispered　with　Lord　Mhoram。　Then　Mhoram　said；　〃High　Lord；　hurtloam　has　been　brought　for　the　Unbeliever。　I　fear　that　his　wound　extends　far　beyond　this　simple　cut。　There　is　other　ill　at　work　in　him。　He　must　be　tended　without　delay。〃
　〃Yes；　at　once；〃　High　Lord　Elena　responded　promptly。　〃We　must　do　all　that　we　can　to　heal　him。〃
　With　a　steady　stride；　Mhoram　came　toward　Covenant。
　At　the　thought　of　hurtloam；　Covenant　pushed　himself　away　from　the　wall；　rubbed　the　caked　blood　out　of　his　eyes。　He　saw　Mhoram　holding　a　small　stoneware　bowl　containing　a　light　mud　spangled　with　gold　gleams　that　seemed　to　throb　in　the　glow　of　the　Close。
　〃Keep　that　stuff　away　from　me；〃　he　whispered。
　Mhoram　was　taken　aback。　〃This　is　hurtloam；　ur…Lord。　It　is　the　healing　soil　of　the　Earth。　You　will　be　renewed　by　it。〃
　〃I　know　what　it　does！〃　Covenant's　voice　was　raw　from　all　the　shouting　he　had　done；　and　it　sounded　spectral　and　empty；　like　the　creaki