|Chapter 15: The Great Challenge|
By the light of Bannor's torch, Covenant appeared gaunt and spectral, as if half seen through shadows. The sockets of his eyes were dark with exhausted emotion; his lips were gray, bloodless; and the skin of his forehead had an ashen undertone. He held his arms across his chest as if he were trying to comfort a pain in his heart--watched the plains as if he were waiting for moonrise. Then he noticed the Bloodguard, and his lips pulled back, bared his teeth.
"You still don't trust me," he said in a spent voice.
Bannor shrugged. "We are the Bloodguard. We have no use for white gold."
"It is a knowledge--a weapon. We have no use for weapons."
"No use?" Covenant repeated dully. "How do you defend the Lords without weapons?"
"We"--Bannor paused as if searching the language of the Land for a word to match his thought--"suffice".