|Chapter 10: Seer and Oracle|
In the sudden wash of light from the courtyard, he saw a warrior standing in one of the coigns high above him. The warrior was a young man--too young for war meat, Mhoram thought grimly--who had lost command of himself. "Lord Mhoram!" he blurted. "Come! Now! The Close!"
"Stop!" The authority in Mhoram's tone caught the young man like a bit. He winced, stiffened, forced down a chaotic tumult of words. Then he recovered his self-possession. Seeing this, the Lord said more gently, "I hear you. Speak."
"The High Lord asks that you come to the Close at once. A messenger has come from the Plains of Ra. The Gray Slayer is marching."
"War?" Mhoram spoke softly to conceal a sharp prevision of blood.
"Yes, Lord Mhoram."
"Please say to the High Lord that--that I have heard you."
Bearing himself carefully, Mhoram turned back toward Covenant. The Unbeliever met his gaze with a hot, oddly focused look, as if his skull were splitting between his eyes. Mhoram asked simply, "Will you come?"
Covenant gripped the Lord's gaze, and said, "Tell me something, Mhoram. How did you get away--when that Raver caught you--near Foul's Creche?"
Mhoram answered with conscious serenity, a refusal of dismay, which looked like danger in his gold-flecked eyes. "The Bloodguard with me were slain. But when samadhi Raver touched me, he knew me as I knew him. He was daunted."