Free The 1st Chronicles of Thomas Covenant #2: The Illearth War by Stephen R. Donaldson Page B

strengthened Covenant. At last, he found the courage to ask his most important question. “Then why am I here? Why did he let you summon me? Doesn’t he want the white gold?”
    Without raising his head, Mhoram said, “Lord Foul is not yet ready to defeat you.
    The wild magic still surpasses him. Instead, he strives to make you destroy yourself. I have seen it.”
    “Seen it?” Covenant echoed softly, painfully,
    “In gray visions I have caught glimpses of the Despiser’s heart. In this matter, I speak from sure comprehension. Even now, Lord Foul believes that his might is not equal to the wild magic. He is not yet ready to battle you.
    “Remember that forty years ago Drool Rockworm held both Staff and Stone.
    Desiring still more power desiring all power-he exerted himself against you in ways which the Despiser would not have chosen ways which were wasteful or foolish. Drool was mad. And Lord Foul had no wish to teach him wisdom.
    “Matters are otherwise now. Lord Foul wastes no power, takes no risks which do not gain his ends. He seeks indirectly to make you do his bidding. If it comes to the last, and you are still unmastered, he will fight you-but only when he is sure of victory. Until that time, he will strive to bend your will so that you will choose to strike against the Land-or to withhold your hand from our defense, so that he will be free to destroy us.
    “But he will make no open move against you now. He fears the wild magic. White gold is not bound by the law of Time, and he must prevent its use until he can know that it will not be used against him.”
    Covenant heard the truth of Mhoram’s words. The Despiser had told him much the same thing, high on Kevin’s Watch, when he had first appeared in the Land. He shivered under the livid memory of Lord Foul’s contempt-shivered and felt cold, as if behind the clean sunlight over Revelstone blew the dank mist of Despite, dampening his soul with the smell of attar, filling his ears on a level just beyond hearing with the rumble of an avalanche. Looking into Mhoram’s eyes, he knew that he had to speak truly as well, reply as honestly as he could.
    “I don’t have any choice.” Even this made him want to duck his head in shame, but he forced himself to hold the Lord’s gaze. “I’ll have to do it that way. Even if that’s not the one good answer-even if madness is not the only danger in dreams. Even if I believed in this wild magic. I haven’t got one idea how to use it.”
    With an effort, Mhoram smiled gently. But the somberness of his glance overshadowed his smile. He met Covenant’s eyes unwaveringly, and when he spoke, his voice was sad. “Ah, my friend, what will you do?”
    The uncritical softness of the question caught Covenant by the throat. He was not prepared for such sympathy. With difficulty, he answered, “I’ll survive.”
    Mhoram nodded slowly, and a moment later he turned away, back toward the room. As he reached the door, he said, “I am late. The Council waits for me. I must go.”
    But before the Lord could leave, Covenant called after him, “Why aren’t you the High Lord?” He was trying to find some way to thank Mhoram. “Don’t they appreciate you around here?”
    Over his shoulder, Mhoram replied simply, “My time has not yet come.” Then he left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
    FIVE: Dukkha
    COVENANT turned back to the southward view from Revelstone. He had many things to think about, and no easy way to grasp them. But already his senses seemed to be swinging into consonance with the Land. He could smell the crops in the fields east of him they were nearly ready for harvesting-and see the inner ripeness of the distant trees.
    He found autumn in the way the sunlight stroked his face. Such sensations accented the excitement in his veins, but they confused his efforts to deal clearly with his situation. No leper, he thought painfully, no leper should be asked to live in such a healthy world.
    Yet he