〃The sun stands overhead；〃 Mhoram answered。 〃We have survived the vortex and its creatures。 But now Fleshharrower's army enters Doriendor Corishev。 We must depart swiftly。〃
〃Mhoram；〃 Troy coughed hoarsely。 〃Mhoram。〃 Stumbling forward； he fell into the Lord's arms。
Mhoram held him in a forting grip。 Without a word； the Lord supported him until some of his pain passed； and he began to breathe more easily。 Then Mhoram said quietly； 〃I see that you slew one of the Despiser's birds。 You have done well； my friend。 Lord Callindrill and I remain。 Perhaps seventy of the Bloodguard survive。 First Haft Amorine has preserved
a handful of her warriors。 After the passing of the vortex； all the Ranyhyn returned。 They saved many horses。 My friend； we must go。〃
Some of Mhoram's steadiness reached Troy； and he began to regain control of himself。 He did not want to be a burden to the Lord。 Slowly； he drew back； stood on his own。 Covering his burned forehead with his hands as if he were trying to hide his eyelessness； he said； 〃I've got to tell you the rest of my plan。〃
〃May it wait？ We must depart at once。〃
〃Mhoram；〃 Troy moaned brokenly； 〃I can't see。〃
TWENTY： Garroting Deep
Two days later…shortly after noon on the day before the dark of the moon…Lord Mhoram led the Warward to Cravenhaw； the southmost edge of Garroting Deep。 In noon heat； the army had swung stumbling and lurching like a dying man around the foothills； and had marched northward to a quivering halt before the very lips of the fatal Deep。 The warriors stood on a wide； grassy plain…the first healthy green they had seen since leaving the South Plains。 Ahead was the Forest。 Perhaps half a league away on either side； east and west； were mountains； steep and forbidding peaks like the jaws of the Deep。 And behind was the army of moksha Fleshharrower。
The Giant…Raver drove his forces savagely。 Despite the delay at Doriendor Corishev； he was now no more than two leagues away。
That knowledge tightened Lord Mhoram's cold； weary dread。 He had so little time in which to attempt Warmark Troy's plan。 From this position； there were no escapes and no hopes except the one Troy had envisioned。 If Mhoram were not successful…successful soon！…the Warward would be crushed between the Raver and Garroting Deep。
Yet he doubted that he could succeed at all； regardless of the time at his disposal。 In a year or a score of years； he might still fail。 The demand was so great… Even the vortex of trepidation had not made him feel so helpless。
Yet he shuddered when he thought of the vortex。 Although Troy had saved virtually all the Warward； the men and women who had remained in the masterplace had paid heavily for their survival。 Something in Lord Callindrill had been damaged by Fleshharrower's attack。 The strain of bat against bitter ill had humiliated him in some way； taught him a deep distrust of himself。 He had not been able to resist the fear。 Now his clear soft eyes were clouded； pained。 When he melded his thoughts with Lord Mhoram； he shared knowledge and concern； but not strength； he no longer believed in his strength。
In her own way； First Haft Amorine suffered similarly。 During the Raver's onslaught； she had held the collapsing remains of her mand together by the simple force of her courage。 She had taken the terror of her warriors upon herself。 Every time one of them fell under the power of the vortex； or died in the talons of the birds； she had tightened her grip on the survivors。 And after that； when the sirocco had passed； she began a frantic search for Warmark Troy。 The perverted； manlike creatures that rushed into the ruins …some with claws for fingers； others with cleft faces and limbs covered with suckers； still others with extra eyes or arms； all of them warped in some way by the power of the Stone…steadily brought more and more of the city under their control。 But she fought her way through them as if they were mere shades to haunt her while she hunted。 The idea of following Mehryl was hers。
But the Warmark's blindness was too much for her。 The cause of it was clear。 The slain bird's corrosive blood had ravaged his face； and that burning had undone the Land's gift of sight。 Neither of the Lords had any hurtloam； rillinlure； or other arts of healing
with which to counteract the hurt。 When she understood Troy's plight； she appeared to lose herself； independent will deserted her。 Until she rejoined the Warward； she followed Lord Mhoram's requests and instructions blankly； like a puppet from which all authority had evaporated。 And when she saw Hiltmark Quaan again； she transferred herself to him。 As she told him of Troy's plan； she was so numb that she did not even falter。
The Warmark himself had said nothing more after describing his final strategy。 He wrapped himself in his blindness and allowed Mhoram to place him on Mehryl's back。 He did not ask about Fleshharrower's army； though only the speed of the Ranyhyn saved him and his panions from being trapped in the city。 Despite the scream of frustration which roared after the riders； he carried himself like an invalid who had turned his face to the wall。
And Lord Mhoram also suffered。 After the battle of the masterplace； fatigue and dread had forced tenacious fingers into the crevices and crannies of his soul； so that he could not shake them off。 Yet he helped the First Haft and Lord Callindrill as best he could。 He knew that only time and victory could heal their wounds； but he absorbed those parts of their burdens which came within his reach； and gave back to them all the consolation he possessed。
There was nothing he could do to ease the shock which Amorine's report of the Warmark's final plan gave Quaan。 As she spoke； the Hiltmark's concern for her gave way to a livid horror on behalf of the warriors。 His expression flared； and he erupted； 〃Madness！ Every man and woman will be slain！ Troy； what has bee of you？ By the Seven！ TroyWarmark！〃he hesitated awkwardly before uttering his thought 〃Do you rave？ My friend；〃 he breathed gripping Troy's shoulders； 〃how can you meditate such folly？〃
Troy spoke for the first time since he had left Doriendor Corishev。 〃I'm blind；〃 he said in a hollow voice； as if that explained everything。 〃I can't help it。〃 He pulled himself out of Quaan's grasp； sat down near the fire。 Locating the flames by their heat； he
hunched toward them like a man studying secrets in the coals。
Quaan turned to Mhoram。 〃Lord； do you accept this madness？ It will mean death for us all…and destruction for the Land。〃
Quaan's protest made the Lord's heart ache。 But before he could find words for any answer； Troy spoke suddenly。
〃No； he doesn't；〃 the Warmark said。 〃He doesn't actually think I'm a Raver。〃 Inner pain made his voice harsh。 〃He thinks Foul had a hand in summoning me…interfered with Atiaran somehow so that I showed up； instead of somebody else who might have looked less friendly。〃 He stressed the word looked； as if sight itself were inherently untrustworthy。 〃Foul wanted the Lords to trust me because he knew what kind of man I am。 Dear God！ It doesn't matter how much I hate him。 He knew I'm the kind of man who backs into corners where just being fallible is the same thing as treachery。
〃But you forget that it isn't up to me anymore。 I've done my part…I've put you where you haven't got any choice。 Now Mhoram has got to save you。 It's on his head。〃
Quaan appeared torn between dismay for the Warward and concern for Troy。 〃Even a Lord may be defeated；〃 he replied gruffly。
〃I'm not talking about a Lord；〃 Troy rasped。 〃I'm talking about Mhoram。〃
In his weariness； Lord Mhoram ached to deny this； to refuse the burden。 He said； 〃Warmark； of course I will do all that lies within my strength。 But if Lord Foul has chosen you for the work of our destruction…ah； then； my friend； all aid will not avail。 The burden of this plan will return to you at the last。〃
〃No。〃 Troy kept his face toward the fire； as if here reliving the acid burn which had blinded him。 〃You've given your whole life to the Land； and you're going to give it now。〃
〃The Despiser knows me well；〃 Mhoram breathed。 〃He ridicules me in my dreams。〃 He could hear echoes of that belittling mirth