The Illearth War (The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever, #2)

by Stephen R. Donaldson

That beauty and truth should pass utterly

Futility is the defining characteristic of life. Pain is the proof of existence.

Drool

possessed the Staff, and with it unearthed the buried bane, the Illearth Stone. By reason of these powers, the Despiser was at Drool’s mercy while the Cavewight lived. “But with Lord Mhoram and High Lord Prothall, you retrieved the Staff and brought the threat of Drool Rockworm to an end. Thus the Stone fell into Lord Foul’s hands. He knew that the Stone, joined with his own lore and power, is a greater strength than the Staff of Law. And he knew that we are no masters for even that little might which we possess.

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.

the Colossus of the Fall forbade another foe—three tree- and soil-hating brothers who were old in the Spoiled Plains before Lord Foul first cast his shadow there. They were triplets, the

spawn of one birth from the womb of their long forgotten mother, and their names were samadhi, moksha, and turiya. They hated the Earth and all its growing things, just as Lord Foul hates all life and love. When the Colossus eased its interdict, they came to the Upper Land, and in their lust for ravage and dismay fell swiftly under the mastery of the Despiser. From that time, they have been his highest servants. They have performed treachery for him when he could not show his hand, and have fought for him when he would not lead his armies. “It was samadhi, now named Sheol, who mastered the heart of Berek’s liege—Sheol who slaughtered the champions of the Land, and drove Berek, half-unhanded and alone, to his extremity on the slopes

of Mount Thunder. It was turiya and moksha, Herem and Jehannum, who lured the powerful and austere Demondim to their breeding dens, and to the spawning of the ur-viles. Now the three are united with Lord Foul again—united, and clamoring for the decimation of the Land. But alas—alas for my ignorance and weakness. I cannot foresee what they will do. I can hear their voices, loud with lust for the ripping of trees and...

Ah, Creator! Timelord and Landsire! Did You intend that beauty and truth should pass utterly from the Earth?

“They say that Kevin understood what he’d done—just before he died. Foul was laughing at him. He died howling.

The only person in life who’s free at all, ever, is a person who’s impotent. Like me. Or what do you think freedom is? Unlimited potential? Unrestricted possibilities? Hellfire! Impotence is freedom.

When you’re incapable of anything, no one can expect anything from you. Power has its own limits—even ultimate power. Only the impotent are free.

Instead of trying to pull away, she turned, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the mouth.

“My friend, killing is always to be abhorred. It is a measure of our littleness that we cannot evade it.

Berek’s Code—it

“Do not hurt where holding is enough; do not wound where hurting is enough; do not maim where wounding is enough; and kill not where maiming is enough; the greatest warrior is he who does not need to kill.

Death is passing on— the making way of life and time for life. Hate dying and killing, not death. Be still, heart: make no expostulation. Hold peace and grief, and be still.

he could not keep himself from reverting to the subject of the Unbeliever. “Mhoram, don’t you resent him? After what he’s done?” Evenly and openly, Lord Mhoram said, “I have no special virtue to make me resent him. One must have strength in order to judge the weakness of others. I am not so mighty.”

“Ah, Warmark,” returned the Lord, “everything that passes unattempted is impossible.”

The legends said that for centuries Doriendor Corishev had been the capital of the nation which gave birth to Berek Halfhand.

the felling of the trees unbound the interdict which the Colossus of the Fall had held over the Lower Land. The Ravers were unleashed—a release which led with deft inevitability to the destruction of Doriendor Corishev’s monarchy in the great war of Berek Halfhand.

Bearer, I have heard much and learned little concerning white gold. It is the girding paradox of the arch of Time, the undisciplined restraint of the Earth’s creation, the absent bone of the Earthpower, the rigidness of water and the flux of rock. It articulates the wild magic which destroys peace. It is spoken of softly by the Bhrathair, and named in awe by the Elohim, though they have never seen it. Great

Kelenbhrabanal dreams of it in his grave, and grim Sandgorgons writhe in voiceless nightmare at the touch of its name. In his last days, High Lord Kevin yearned for it in vain. It is the abyss and the peak of destiny.”

White gold is brought into use like any other power—through passion and mystery, the honest subterfuge of the heart.”