iffs。 Covenant rolled over on his back。 At first； he watched with a kind of dour satisfaction as darkness climbed the east wall。 He felt ready for the isolation of night and loss。
But then the memory of Joan returned with redoubled force。 It stung him into a sitting position。 Once again； he found himself gaping at the cruelty of his delusion； the malice which tore him away from Joan…for what？ Hellfire！ he gasped。 The gloaming made him feel that he was going blind with anger。 When he saw Elena walking into the gully toward him； she seemed to move through a haze of leprosy。
He looked away from her； tried to steady his sight against the failing light on the eastern cliff； and while his face was averted； she approached； seated herself on the grass by his feet。 He could feel her presence vividly。 At first she did not speak。 But when he still refused to meet her gaze； she said softly； 〃Beloved。 I have made a sculpture for you。〃
With an effort； he turned his head。 He saw her bent forward； with a hopeful smile on her lips。 Both her hands extended toward him a white object that appeared to be made of bone。 He paid no attention to it； his eyes slapped at her face as if that were his enemy。
In a tone of entreaty； she continued； 〃I formed it for you from Myrha's bones。 I cremated her…to do her what honor I could。 Then from her bones I formed this。 For you； beloved。 Please accept it。〃
He glanced at the sculpture。 It caught his unwilling interest。 It was a bust。 Initially； it appeared too thick to have been made from any horse's bone。 But then he saw that four bones had been in some way fused together and molded。 He took the work from her hands to view it more closely。 The face interested him。 Its outlines were less blunt than in other marrowmeld work he had seen。 It was lean and gaunt and impenetrable …a prophetic face； taut with purpose。 It expressed someone he knew； but a moment passed before he recognized the countenance。 Then； gingerly； as if he feared to be wrong； he said； 〃It's Bannor。 Or one of the other Bloodguard。〃
〃You tease me；〃 she replied。 〃I am not so poor a crafter。〃 There was a peculiar hunger in her smile。 〃Beloved； I have sculpted you。〃
Slowly； his ire faded。 After all； she was his daughter； not his wife。 She was entitled to any reproach that seemed fit to her。 He could not remain angry with her。 Carefully； he placed the bust on the grass； then reached out toward her and took her into his arms as the sun set。
She entered his embrace eagerly； and for a time she clung to him as if she were simply glad to put their anger behind them。 But gradually he felt the tension of her body change。 Her affection seemed to bee grim； almost urgent。 Something taut made her limbs hard； made her fingers grip him like claws。 In a voice that shook with passion； she said； 〃This also Fangthane would destroy。〃
He lifted his cheek from her hair； moved her so that he could see her face。
That sight chilled him。 Despite the dimness of the light； her gaze shocked him like an immersion in polar seas。
The otherness of her sight； the elsewhere dimension
of its power； had focused； concentrated until it became the crux of something savage and illimitable。 A terrible might raved out of her orbs。 Though her gaze was not directed at him； it bored through him like an auger。 When it was gone； it left a bloody weal across him。
It was a look of apocalypse。
He could not think of any other name for it but hate。
TWENTY…THREE： Knowledge
THE sight sent him stumbling up the gully away from her。 He had trouble keeping himself erect； he listed as if a gale had left him aground somewhere。 He heard her low cry； 〃Beloved！〃 but he could not turn back。 The vision made his heart smoke like dry ice； and he needed to find a place where he could huddle over the pain and gasp alone。
For a time； smoke obscured his self…awareness。 He ran into Bannor； and fell back as if he had smashed against a boulder。 The impact surprised him。 Bannor's flat mien had the force of a denunciation。 Instinctively； he recoiled。 〃Don't touch me！〃 He lurched off in another direction； stumbled through the night until he had placed a steep hill between himself and the Bloodguard。 There he sat down on the grass； wrapped his arms around his chest； and made a deliberate effort to weep。
He could not do it。 His weakness； his perpetual leprosy； dammed that emotional channel； he had spent too long unlearning the release of grief。 And the frustration of failure made him savage。 He brimmed with old； unresolved rage。 Even in delusion； he could not escape the trap of his illness。 Leaping to his feet； he shook his fists at the sky like a reefed and lonely galleon firing its
guns in bootless defiance of the invulnerable ocean。 Damnation）
But then his self…consciousness returned。 His anger became bitterly cold as he bit off his shout； clamped shut that outlet for his fury。 He felt that he was waking up after a blind sleep。 Snarling extremely between his teeth； he stalked away toward the stream。
He did not bother to take off his clothes。 Fiercely； he dropped flat on his face in the water as if he were diving for some kind of cauterization or release in the glacial frigidity of the brook。
He could not endure the cold for more than a moment； it burned over all his flesh； seized his heart like a convulsion。 Gasping； he sprang up and stood shuddering on the rocky streambed。 The water and the breeze sent a ravenous ache through his bones； as if cold consumed their marrow。 He left the stream。
The next instant； he saw Elena's gaze again； felt it sear his memory。 He halted。 A sudden idea threw back the chill。 It sprang practically full…grown into view as if it had been maturing for days in the darkness of his mind； waiting until he was ready。
He realized that he had access to a new kind of bargain…an arrangement or promise distantly similar； but far superior； to the one which he had formed with the Ranyhyn。 They were too limited； they could not meet his terms； fulfill the contract he had made for his survival。 But the person with whom he could now bargain was almost ideally suited to help him。
It was just possible that he could buy his salvation from the High Lord。
He saw the difficulties at once。 He did not know what the Seventh Ward contained。 He would have to steer Elena's apocalyptic impulse through an unpredictable future toward an uncertain goal。 But that impulse was something he could use。 It made her personally powerful…powerful and vulnerable； blinded by obsession…and she held the Staff of Law。 He might be able to induce her to take his place； assume his position at the onus of Lord Foul's machinations。 He might be able to lead her extravagant passion to replace his white gold at the crux of the Land's doom。 If he could
get her to undertake the bitter responsibility which had been so ineluctably aimed at him； he would be free。 That would remove his head from the chopping block of this delusion。 And all he had to do in return was to place himself at Elena's service in any way which would focus rather than dissipate her inner drives keep her under control until the proper moment。
It was a more expensive bargain than the one he had made with the Ranyhyn。 It did not allow him to remain passive； it required him to help her； manipulate her。 But it was justified。 During the Quest for the Staff of Law； he had been fighting merely to survive an impossibly pelling dream。 Now he understood his true peril more clearly。
So much time had passed since he had thought freedom possible that his heart almost stopped at the thrill of the conception。 But after its first excitement； he found that he was shivering violently。 His clothes were pletely soaked。
Aching with every move； he started back toward the gully and the High Lord。
He found her sitting despondent and thoughtful beside a bright campfire。 She wore one blanket over her robe； the others were spread out by the blaze for warmth。 When he entered the gully； she looked up eagerly。 He could not meet her eyes。 But she did not appear to notice the chagrin behind his blue lips and taut forehead。 Snatching up a warm blanket for him； she drew him close to the fire。 Her few low ments were full of