Thomas Covenant 01: Lord Foul's Bane by Stephen R. Donaldson

Author:Stephen R. Donaldson [Donaldson, Stephen R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307818652
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2012-05-15T23:00:00+00:00

“Now is the time for proof and power of troth. Through Giant Woods and Sarangrave Flat and Andelain, I bear the name of the ancient promises.” Then some of the formality dropped from his manner, and he added with a gay glance at Covenant, “And bearing other things as well. My friend Thomas Covenant has promised that a song will be made of my journey.” He laughed gently. “I am a Giant of Seareach. Make no short songs for me.”

His humor drew a chuckle from Lord Mhoram, and Prothall smiled softly; but Osondrea’s dour face seemed incapable of laughter, and neither Variol nor Tamarantha appeared to have heard the Giant. Foamfollower took his seat, and almost at once Osondrea said as if she were impatient, “What is your embassy?”

Foamfollower sat erect in his chair, and his hands stroked the stone of the table intently. “My Lords—Stone and Sea! I am a Giant. These matters do not come easily, though easier to me than to any of my kindred—and for that reason I was chosen. But I will endeavor to speak hastily.

“Please understand me. I was given my embassy in a Giantclave lasting ten days. There was no waste of time. When comprehension is needed, all tales must be told in full. Haste is for the hopeless, we say—and hardly a day has passed since I learned that there is truth in sayings. So it is that my embassy contains much that you would not choose to hear at present. You must know the history of my people—all the sojourn and the loss which brought us ashore here, all the interactions of our peoples since that age—if you are to hear me. But I will forgo it. We are the Unhomed, adrift in soul and lessened by an unreplenishing seed. We are hungry for our native land. Yet since the time of Damelon Giantfriend we have not surrendered hope, though Soulcrusher himself contrives against us. We have searched the seas, and have waited for the omens to come to pass.”

Foamfollower paused to look thoughtfully at Covenant, then went on: “Ah, my Lords, omening is curious. So much is said—and so little made clear. It was not Home that Damelon foretold for us, but rather an end, a resolution, to our loss. Yet that sufficed for us—sufficed.

“Well. One hope we have found for ourselves. When spring came to Seareach, our questing ships returned, and told that at the very limit of their search they came upon an isle that borders the ancient oceans on which we once roamed. The matter is not sure, but our next questers can go directly to this isle and look beyond it for surer signs. Thus across the labyrinth of the seas we unamaze ourselves.”

Prothall nodded, and through the perfect acoustics of the Close, Covenant could hear the faint rustle of the High Lord’s robe.

With an air of nearing the crux of his embassy, Foamfollower continued, “Yet another hope we received from Damelon Giantfriend, High Lord and Heartthew’s son.

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