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Now moksha Fleshharrower hung from the gibbet。 Black fury congested his face； his swollen tongue protruded like contempt between his teeth； and his eyes stared emptily。 A rictus of hate strained and stretched all his muscles。 His dying frenzy had been so
extravagant that many of his blood vessels had ruptured； staining his skin with dark hemorrhages。
As Lord Mhoram gazed upward through the thickening dusk； he felt suddenly tired and thirsty。 Several moments passed before he noticed that Caerroil Wildwood was nearby。 The Forestal stood to one side of the hill； singing quietly； and his eyes shone with a red and silver light。
At Mhoram's side； Warmark Troy stirred as if he were awakening； and asked dimly； 〃What is it？ What do you see？〃
Mhoram had to swallow several times before he could find his voice。 〃It is Fleshharrower。 The Forestal has slain him。〃
A sharp intensity crossed Troy's face； as if he were straining to see。 Then he smiled。 〃Thank God。〃
〃It is a worthy bargain；〃 Caerroil Wildwood sang。 〃I know that I cannot slay the spirit of a Raver。 But it is a great satisfaction to kill the flesh。 He is garroted。〃 His eyes flared redly for a moment； then faded toward silver again。 〃Therefore do not think that I have rescinded my word。 Your people are unharmed。 The presence of so many faithless mortals disturbed the trees。 To shorten their disfort； I have sent your people out of Garroting Deep to the north。 But because of the bargain； and the price yet to be paid； I have brought you hers。 Behold the retribution of the Forest。〃
Something in his high clear voice made Mhoram shudder。 But he remembered himself enough to ask； 〃What has bee of the Raver's Stone？〃
〃It was a great evil；〃 the Forestal hummed severely。 〃I have destroyed it。〃
Quietly； Lord Mhoram nodded。 〃That is well。〃 Then he tried to focus his attention on the matter of Caerroil Wildwood's price。 He wanted to argue that Troy should not be held to the bargain； the Warmark had not understood what was being asked of him。 But while Mhoram was still searching for words； Terrel distracted him。 Silently； the Bloodguard pointed away upriver。
The night was almost plete； only open starlight
and the glow of Caerroil Wildwood's eyes illumined Gallows Howe。 But when the Lord followed Terrel's indication； he saw two different lights。 Far in the distance； Rivenrock's fiery holocaust was visible。 The violence there seemed to be approaching its climacteric。 The fires spouted furiously； and dark thunder rolled over the Deep as if great cliffs were cracking。 The other light was much closer。 A small； grave； white gleam shone through the trees between Mhoram and the river。 As he looked at it； it moved out of sight beyond the Howe。
Someone was traveling through Garroting Deep along the Black River。
An intuition clutched Lord Mhoram； and at once he found he was afraid。 Glimpses and visions which he had forgotten during the past days； returned to him。 Quickly； he turned to the Forestal。 〃Who es？ Have you made other bargains？〃
〃If I have；〃 sang the Forestal； 〃they are no concern of yours。 But these two pass on sufferance。 They have not spoken to me。 I allow them because the light they bear presents no peril to the trees…and because they hold a power which I must respect。 I am bound by the Law of creation。〃
〃Melenkurion！〃 Mhoram breathed。 〃Creator preserve us！〃 Catching hold of Troy's arm； he started up the bald hill。 His panions hastened after him。 He passed the gibbet； gained the crest of the Howe； and looked down beyond it at the river。
Two men climbed the hill toward him from the riverbank。 One of them held a shining stone in his right hand； and supported his rade with his left arm。 They moved painfully； as if they ascended against a weight of barrenness。 When they were near the hilltop； in full view of all Mhoram's pany； they stopped。
Slowly； Bannor held up the orcrest so that it lighted the crest of the Howe。 With a nod； he acknowledged the Lords。
When Thomas Covenant realized that all the people on the hill were watching him； he pushed away from Bannor's support； stood on his own。 The exertion cost him a sharp effort。 As he stood； he wavered unsteadily。 In the orcrest light； his forehead gleamed atrociously。 His eyes held a sightless stare…a stare without object； and yet of such intensity that his eyes appeared to be crossed； as if he were so conscious of his own duplicities that he could not see singly。 His hands clenched each other against his chest。 But then a fierce blast from Rivenrock struck him； and he almost lost his balance。 He was forced to reach his halfhand toward Bannor。 The movement bared his left fist。
On his wedding finger； the argent ring throbbed hotly。
PART III
The Blood of the Earth
TWENTY…ONE：； Lena's Daughter
TROY had called Thomas Covenant's Unbelief a bluff。 But Covenant was not playing a mental game。 He was a leper。 He was fighting for his life。
Unbelief was his only defense against the Land； his only way to control the intensity； the potential suicide； of his response to the Land。 He felt that he had lost every other form of self…protection。 And without self protection he would end up like the old man he had met in the leprosarium…crippled and fetid beyond all endurance。 Even madness would be preferable。 If he went mad； he would at least be insulated from knowing what was happening to him； blind and deaf and numb to the vulturine disease that gnawed his flesh。
Yet as he rode westward away from Revelwood with High Lord Elena； Amok； and the two Bloodguard； in quest of Kevin Landwaster's Seventh Ward； he knew that he was changing。 By fits and starts； his ground shifted under him； some potent； subtle Earthpower altered his personal terrain。 Unstable footing shrugged him toward a precipice。 And he felt helpless to do anything about it。
The most threatening aspect of his immediate situation was Elena。 Her nameless inner force； her ancestry； and her strange irrefusability both disturbed and attracted him。 As they left the Valley of Two Rivers； he was already cursing himself for accepting her invitation。 And yet she had the power to sway him。 She tangled his emotions； and pulled unexpected strands of assent out of the knot。
This was not like his other acquiescences。 When Lord Mhoram had asked him to go with the Warward； he had agreed because he pletely lacked alternatives。 He urgently needed to keep moving； keep searching for an escape。 No similar reasoning vindicated him when the High Lord had asked him to acpany her。 He felt that he was riding away from the crux of his dilemma； the battle against Lord Foul …evading it like a coward。 But in the moment of decision he had not even considered refusing。 And he sensed that she could draw him farther。 Hopelessly； without one jot or tittle of belief to his name； he could be made to follow her； even if she went to attack the Despiser himself。 Her beauty； her physical presence； her treatment of him； ate away portions of his armor； exposing his vulnerable flesh。
Traveling through the crisp autumn of Trothgard； he watched her alertly； timorously。
High and proud on the back of Myrha； her Ranyhyn； she looked like a crowned vestal； somehow both powerful and fragile…as if she could have shattered his bones with a glance； and yet would have fallen from her seat at the touch of a single hurled handful of mud。 She daunted him。
When Amok appeared beside her as if concretized abruptly out of blank air； she turned to speak with him。 They exchanged greetings； and bantered pleasantly like old friends while Revelwood fell into the distance behind them。 Amok's reticence on the subject of his Ward did not prevent him from gay prolixity in other matters。 Soon he was singing and talking happily as if his sole function were to entertain the High Lord。
As Amok whiled away the morning； Covenant gazed over the countryside around him。
The party of the quest rode easily up out of the lowlands of Trothgard。 They traveled a few points south of westward； roughly paralleling the course of the Rill River toward the Westron Mountains。 The western edge of Trothgard； still sixty or sixty…five leagues away； was at least three thousand feet higher than the Valley of Two Rivers； and the whole region slowly climbed toward the mountains。 Already the High Lord's party moved into the gradual uprise。 Covenant could feel their relaxed ascent as they rode through
woodlands anademed in autumn； ablaze with orange； yellow； gold； red leaf…flames； and over lush grassy hillsides； where the scars of Stricken Stone's ancient wars had been effaced by thick heather and timothy like healthy new flesh over the wounds； green with healing。
He was barely able to sense the last hints of Trothgard's convalescence。 Under the mantling growth of grass and trees； all the injuries of Kevin's last war had not been undone。 From time to time； the riders passed near festering barren patches which still refused all repair； and some of the hills seemed to lie awkwardly； like broken bones imperfectly set。 But the Lords had labored to good effect。 The air of Trothgard was tangy； animate； vital。 Very few of the trees showed that their roots ran down into once…desecrated soil。 The new Coun