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er battlements to look at the siege。
The ground below them steamed and quivered like wounded flesh； but the malevolence which had stricken it was gone。 Satansfist's army lay prostrate from overexertion in its encampments。 The Giant…Raver himself was nowhere to be seen。
Over all its walls from end to end； Revelstone erupted in the exultation of victory。 Weak； hoarse； ragged； starving voices cheered； wept； shouted raucous defiance as if the siege had been beaten。 Mhoram found his own vision blurred with relief。 When he turned to go back into the Keep； he discovered Loerya behind him； weeping happily and trying to hug all three of her daughters at once。 At her side； Trevor crowed； and tossed one of the girls giggling into the air。
〃Rest now； Mhoram；〃 Loerya said through her joy。 〃Leave the Keep to us。 We know what must be done。〃
High Lord Mhoram nodded his mute gratitude and went wearily away to his bed。
Yet even then he did not relax until he had felt the Warward resume its defensive stance…felt search parties hunting through the Keep for the most blighted survivors of the assault…felt order slowly reform the city like a mammoth being struggling out of chaos。 Only then did he let himself flow with the slow pulse of the gut…rock and lose his burdens in sleep…secure in the confidence of stone。
By the time he awoke the next morning； Lord's Keep had been returned as much as possible to battle…readiness。 Warmark Quaan brought a tray of breakfast to him in his private quarters； and reported the news of the city to him while he ate。
Thanks to its training； and to exceptional service by some of the Hafts and Warhafts； the Warward had survived essentially unscathed。 The Gravelingases were exhausted； but well。 The Lorewardens and Hirebrands had suffered only chance injuries from panic…stricken friends。 But the people who had not answered the Lords' summons had not fared so well。 Search parties had found several score dead； especially in ground…level apartments near the outer walls。 Most of these people had died of thirst； but some were murdered by their fear…mad friends and neighbors。 And of the hundreds of other survivors； four… or fivescore appeared irreparably insane。
After the search had ended； Lord Loerya had taken to the Healers all those who were physically and mentally damaged； as well as those who seemed to remember having mitted murder。 She was assisting the Healers now。 In other ways； Revelstone was swiftly recovering。 The Keep was intact。
Mhoram listened in silence； then waited for the old Warmark to continue。 But Quaan fell studiously silent； and the High Lord was forced to ask； 〃What of the Raver's army？〃
Quaan spat in sudden vehemence。 〃They have not moved。〃
It was true。 Satansfist's hordes had retreated to their encampment and fallen into stasis as if the force which animated them had been withdrawn。
In the days that followed； they remained essentially still。 They moved enough to perform the bare functions of their camp。 They received dark supply wains from the south and east。 From time to time； an indefinite flicker of power ran among them…a halfhearted whip keeping surly beasts under control。 But none of them approached within hailing distance of the Keep。 Samadhi Raver did not show himself。 Only the unbroken girdle of the siege showed that Lord Foul had not been defeated。
For five days…ten…fifteen…the enemy lay like a dead thing around Revelstone。 At first； some of the more optimistic inhabitants of the city argued that the spirit of the attackers had been broken。 But Warmark Quaan did not believe this； and after one long look from the watchtower； Mhoram agreed with his old friend。
Satansfist was simply waiting for Revelstone to eat up its supplies； weaken itself； before he launched his next assault。
As the days passed； High Lord Mhoram lost his capacity to rest。 He lay tense in his chambers and listened to the mood of the city turn sour。
Slowly； day by day； Lord's Keep came to understand its predicament。 The Giants who had delved Revelstone out of the mountain rock thousands of years ago； in the age of Damelon； had made it to be impregnable； and all its inhabitants had lived from birth with the belief that this intention had succeeded。 The walls were granite； and the gates； unbreakable。 In a crisis the fertile upland plateau could provide the Keep with food。 But the Despiser's unforeseen； unforeseeable winter had laid the upland barren； crops and fruit could not grow； cattle or other animals could not live； in the brazen wind。 And the storerooms had already supplied the city since the natural onset of winter。
For the first time in its long history； Revelstone's people saw that they might starve。
In the initial days of waiting； the Lords began a stricter rationing of the supplies。 They reduced each person's daily share of food until everyone in Revelstone felt hungry all the time。 They organized the refectories more stringently； so that food would not be wasted。 But these measures were palpably inadequate。 The city had many thousand inhabitants； even on minimal rations they consumed large portions of the stores every day。
Their earlier elation ran out of them like water leaking into parched sand。 The wait became first stupefying； then heavy and ominous； like pent thunder； then maddening。 And High Lord Mhoram found himself yearning for the next attack。 He could fight back against an attack。
Gradually； the cold gray days of suspense began to weaken the Keep's discretion； its pragmatic sense。 Some of the farmers…people whose lifework had been taken from them by the winter…crept out to the upland hills around Glimmermere； sneaking as if they were ashamed to be caught planting futile rows of seeds in the frozen earth。
Lord Trevor began to neglect some of his duties。 At odd times； he forgot why he had bee a Lord； forgot the impulse which had made him a Lord in defiance of his lack of belief in himself； and he shirked normal responsibilities as if he were inexplicably afraid of failure。 Loerya his wife remained staunch in her work； but she became distracted； almost furtive； as she moved through the Keep。 She often went hungry so that her daughters could have more food。 Whenever she saw the High Lord； she glared at him with a strange resentment in her eyes。
Like Loerya； Lord Amatin grew slowly distant。 At every free moment she plunged into a feverish study of the First and Second Wards； searching so hard for the unlocking of mysteries that when she went back to her public duties her forehead looked as sore as if she had been battering it against her table。
Several Hirebrands and Gravelingases took to carrying fire with them wherever they went； like men who were going inprehensibly blind。 And on the twentieth day of the waiting； Warmark Quaan abruptly reversed all his former decisions； without consulting any of the Lords； he sent a party of scouts out of the Keep toward Satansfist's camp。 None of them returned。
Still the Raver's army lay like dormant chains； constricting the heart of Revelstone。
Quaan berated himself to the High Lord。 〃 I am a fool；〃 he articulated severely； 〃an old fool。 Replace me before I am mad enough to send the Warward itself out to die。〃
〃Who can replace you？〃 Mhoram replied gently。 〃It is the Despiser's purpose to make mad all the defenders of the Land。〃
Quaan looked around him as if to measure with his eyes the chill of Revelstone's travail。 〃He will succeed。 He requires no weapon but patience。〃
Mhoram shrugged。 〃Perhaps。 But I think it is an unsure tactic。 Lord Foul cannot foretell the size of our stores…or the extent of our determination。〃
〃Then why does he wait？〃
The High Lord did not need to be a seer to answer this question。 〃Samadhi Raver awaits a sign…perhaps from us…perhaps from the Despiser。〃
Glowering at the thought； Quaan went back to his duties。 And Mhoram returned to a problem which had been nagging at him。 For the third time； he went in search of Trell。
But once again he could not locate the tormented Gravelingas。 Trell must have secreted himself somewhere。 Mhoram found no trace； felt no emanation； and none of the other rhadhamaerl had seen the big Stonedownor recently。 Mhoram ached at the thought of Trell in hiding； gnawing in cataleptic isolation the infested meat of his anguishes。 Yet the High Lord could not afford either the time or the energy to dredge all Revelstone's private places for the sake of one embittered Gravelingas。 Before he had pleted even a cursory search； he was distracted by a group of Lorewardens who had irrationally decided to go and negotiate a peace with the Raver。 Once again； he was pelled to put aside the question of Trell Atiaran…mate。
On the twenty…fourth day； Lord Trevor forsook his duties altogether。
He sealed himself in his study like a penitent； and refused all food and drink。 Loerya could get no response from him； and when the High Lord spoke to him； he said nothing except that he wished his wife and daughters to have his ration of food。
〃Now even I am a cause of pain to him；'' Loerya murmured with hot tears in her eyes。 〃Because I have given some of my food to my daughters； he believes that he is an insufficient husband and father； and must sacrifice himself。'' She gave Mhoram one desperate glance； like a woman trying to judge the cost of abdication； then hurried away before he could reply。
On the twenty…fifth day； Lord Amatin strode up to Mhoram and demanded without preface or explanation that he reveal to her his secret knowledge。
〃Ah； Amatin；〃 he sighed； 〃are you so eager for burdens？〃
She turned at once and walked fragilely away as if he had betrayed her。
When he went to stand his solitary watch on the tower； a dull vermeil mood was on him； and he felt that he had in fact betrayed her； he had withheld dangerous knowledge from her as if he judged her unable to bear it。 Yet nowhere in his heart could he find the courage to give his fellow Lords the key to the Ritual of Desecration。 That key had a lurid； entrancing weight。 It urged him to rage at Trevor； pummel the pain from Loerya's face； shake Amatin's frail shoulders until she understood； call down fire from the hidden puissance of the skies on Satansfist's head…and refused to let him speak。
On the twenty…seventh day； the first of the storerooms was emptied。 Together； the chief cook and the most experienced Healer reported to Mhoram that the cold and infirm would begin to die of hunger in a few days。
When he went to his chambers to rest； he felt too cold to sleep。 Despite the warm graveling； Lord Foul's winter reached through the stone walls at him as if the gray； unfaltering wind were tuned to his most vulnerable resonances。 He lay wide…eyed on his pallet like a man in a fever of helplessness and imminent despair。
The next night he was snatched off his bed shortly after midnight by the sudden thrill of trepidation which raced through the walls like a flame in the extreme tinder of the Keep' s anticipation。 He was on his way before any summons could reach him； with his staff clenched whitely in his hand； he hastened toward the highest eastward battlements of the main Keep。 He focused on Quaan's dour presence； found the Warmark on a balcony overlooking the watchtower and the night soot of Satansfist's army。
As Mhoram joined him； Quaan pointed one rigid arm like an indictment away toward the east。 But the High Lord did not need Quaan's gesture； the sight seemed to spring at him out of the darkness like a bright abomination on the wind。
Running from the east toward Revelstone was a rift in the clouds； a break that stretched out to the north and south as far as Mhoram could see。 The rift appeared wide； assertive； but the clouds behind it were as impenetrable as ever。
It was so clearly visible because through it streamed light as green as the frozen essence of emerald。
Its brightness made it seem swift； but it moved like a slow； ineluctable tide across the ice…blasted fields beyond the foothills。 Its green； radiant swath swept like a blaze of wrong over the ground； igniting invisible contours into brilliance and then quenching them again。 Mhoram watched it