The 1st Chronicles of Thomas Covenant #2: The Illearth War Read Online Free PDF Page A

him, Covenant said intently, “Maybe that isn’t it. Maybe he just needs people. Do you ever get lonely -driving that rig all alone, hour after hour? Maybe this Thomas Covenant just can’t stand to go on living without seeing other faces once in a while. Did you think about that?”
    “So let him stick to lepers. What call is he got to bother decent folks? Use your head.”
    Use my head? Covenant almost shouted. Hellfire! What do you think I’m doing?

    Do you think I like doing this, being here? A grimace that he could not control clutched his face, Fuming, he waved for more drinks. The alcohol seemed to be working in reverse, tightening his tension rather than loosening it. But he was too angry to know whether or not he was getting drunk. The air swarmed with the noise of The Door’s patrons. He was conscious of the people behind him as if they lurked there like ur-viles.
    When the drinks came, he leaned forward to refute the driver’s arguments. But he was stopped by the dimming of the lights for Susie Thurston’s second set.
    Bleakly, their tablemate groaned, “My wife.” His voice was starting to blur around the edges; whatever he was drinking was finally affecting him.
    In the moment of darkness before the MC came on, the driver responded, “You mean that broad’s your wife?”
    At that, the man moaned as though in anguish.
    After a quick introduction, Susie Thurston reseated herself within the spotlight.
    Over a querulous accompaniment from her combo, she put some sting into her voice, and sang about the infidelities of men. After two numbers, there were slow tears running from the dark wounds of her eyes.
    The sound of her angry laments made Covenant’s throat hurt. He regretted fiercely that he was not drunk. He would have liked to forget people and vulnerability and stubborn survival-forget and weep.
    But her next song burned him. With her head back so that her white throat gleamed in the light, she sang a song that ended,
    Let go my heart Your love makes me look small to myself. Now, I don’t want to give you any hurt, But what I feel is part of myself: What you want turns what I’ve got to dirt so let go of my heart.
    Applause leaped on the heels of her last note, as if the audience were perversely hungry for her pain. Covenant could not endure any more. Buffeted by the noise, he threw dollars-did not count them-on the table, and shoved back his chair to escape.
    But when he moved around the table, he passed within five feet of the singer.
    Suddenly she saw him. Spreading her arms, she exclaimed joyfully, “Berek!”
    Covenant froze, stunned and terrified. No!
    Susie Thurston was transported. “Hey!” she called, waving her arms to silence the applause, “Get a spot out here! On him! Berek! Berek, honey!”
    From over the stage, a hot white light spiked down at Covenant. Impaled in the glare, he turned to face the singer, blinking rapidly and aching with fear and rage.
    No!
    “Ladies and gentlemen, kind people, I want you to meet an old friend of mine, a dear man.” Susie Thurston was excited and eager. “He taught me half the songs I know.
    Folks, this is Berek.” She began clapping for him as she said, “Maybe he’ll sing for us:”
    Good-naturedly, the audience joined her applause.
    Covenant’s hands limped about him, searching for support. In spite of his efforts to control himself, he stared at his betrayer with a face full of pain. The applause reverberated in his ears, made him dizzy.
    No!
    For a long moment, he cowered under Susie Thurston’s look. Then, like a wash of revelation, all the houselights came on. Over the bewildered murmurs and rustlings of the audience, a commanding voice snapped, “Covenant.”

    Covenant spun as if to ward off an attack. In the doorway, he saw two men. They both wore black hats and khaki uniforms, pistols in black holsters, silver badges; but one of them towered over the other. Sheriff Lytton. He stood with his fists on his hips. As Covenant gaped