|Chapter 4: "May Be Lost"|
"Why did that--dukkha attack me?"
Again, Lord Mhoram appeared to understand. He brought a wooden stool near the head of the bed, and seated himself there. In a quiet, steady voice, he said, "That is a searching question, my friend. Dukkha has been tormented out of all recognition, and I can only guess at the sore impulses which drive it. But you must remember that it is a Waynhim. For many generations after the Desecration, when the new Lords began their work at Revelstone, the Waynhim served the Land--not out of allegiance to the Lords, but rather out of their desire to expiate to the Land for the dangerous works and dark lore of the ur-viles. Such a creature still lives, somewhere far within dukkha. Despite what has been done to it--even if its soul has been enslaved by the power of the Stone, so that now it serves the Despiser--it still remembers what it was, and hates what it is. That is Lord Foul's way in all things--to force his foes to become that which they most hate, and to destroy that which they most love.
"My friend, this is not pleasant to say. But it is in my heart that dukkha attacked you because you refuse to aid the Land. The Waynhim knows the might you possess--it is of the Demondim, and in all likelihood comprehends more of the uses and power of white gold than any Lord. Now it is in pain too great to allow it to understand you. The last remnant of itself saw dimly that you--that you refuse. For a moment, it became its former self enough to act.
"Ah, ur-Lord. You have said that the Land is a dream for you--and that you fear to be made mad. But madness is not the only danger in dreams. There is also the danger that something may be lost which can never be regained."