me.”
Marid's eyes shouted a voiceless warning at the Graveller.
Covenant's throat felt like sand; his lungs laboured. In the back of his mind, a pulse of outrage beat like lifeblood.
Three steps to his side, Linden stood frozen and appalled.
Hissing voraciously, Marid flung himself into a run. He sprinted to the rock, up the shelf.
For one splinter of time, Covenant could not move. He saw Marid launch himself at Linden, saw fangs reaching toward her face, saw her standing as if her heart had stopped.
Her need snatched Covenant into motion. He took two desperate strides, crashed head and shoulders against her. They tumbled together across the hard dirt.
He disentangled himself, flipped to his feet.
Marid landed heavily, rolling to get his legs under him.
Wielding his knife, Sunder attempted to close with Marid. But a flurry of fangs drove him back.
At once, Marid rushed toward Linden again.
Covenant met the charge. He stopped one serpent head with his right forearm, caught the other scaly body in his left fist.
The free snake reared back to strike.
In that instant, Sunder reached into the struggle. Too swiftly for the snakes to react, he cut Marid's throat. Viscid fluid splashed the front of Covenant's clothes.
Sunder dropped his dead friend. Blood poured into the dirt. Covenant recoiled several steps. As she rose to her knees, Linden gagged as if she were being asphyxiated by the Sunbane.
The Graveller paid no heed to his companions. A frenetic haste possessed him. “Blood,” he panted. “Life.” He slapped his hands into the spreading pool, rubbed them together, smeared red onto his forehead and cheeks. “At least your death will be of some avail. It is my guilt-gift.”
Covenant stared in dismay. He had not known that a human body could be so lavish of blood.
Snatching out the Sunstone, Sunder bent his head to Marid's neck, sucked blood directly from the cut. With the stone held in both palms, he spewed fluid onto it so that it lay cupped in Marid's rife. Then he looked upward and began to chant in a language Covenant could not understand.
Around him, the air concentrated as if the heat took personal notice of his invocation. Energy blossomed from the
A shaft of vermeil as straight as the line between life and death shot toward the sun. It crackled like a discharge of lightning; but it was steady and palpable, sustained by blood.
It consumed the blood in Sunder's hands, drank the blood from Marid's veins, leeched the blood from the earth. Soon every trace of red was gone. Marid's throat gaped like a dry grin.
Still chanting, Sunder set down the Sunstone near Marid's head. The shaft binding the
Almost at once, water bubbled up around the stone. It gathered force until it was a small spring, as fresh and clear as if it arose from mountain rock rather than from barren dust.
As he watched, Covenant's head began to throb. He was flushed and sweating under the weight of the sun.
Still Sunder chanted; and beside the spring, a green shoot raised its head. It grew with staggering celerity; it became a vine, spread itself along the ground, put out leaves. In a moment, it produced several buds which swelled like melons.
The Graveller gestured Linden toward the spring. Her expression had changed from suffocation to astonishment. Moving as if she were entranced, she knelt beside the spring, put her lips into the water. She jerked back at once, surprised by the water's coldness. Then she was drinking deeply, greedily.
A maleficent fire bloomed in Covenant's right forearm. His breathing was ragged. Dust filled his mouth. He could feel his pulse beating in the base of his throat.
After a time, Linden pulled away from the spring, turned to him. “It's good,” she said in dim wonder. “It's good.”
He did not move, did not look at her. Dread spurted up in him like water from dry ground.
“Come on,” she urged. “Drink.”
He could not stop staring at Marid. Without shifting his gaze, he extended his right arm toward her.
She glanced at it, then gave a sharp cry and leaped to him, took hold of his arm to look at it closely.
He was loath to see what she saw; but he forced himself to gaze downward.
His forearm was livid. A short way up from his wrist, two puncture marks glared bright red against the darkness of the swelling. “Bastard bit me,” he coughed as if he were already dying.
Eight: The Corruption of the Sun
“SUNDER!” Linden barked. “Give me your knife,”
The Graveller had faltered when he saw the fang marks; and the spring had also faltered. But he recovered quickly, restored the cadence of his chant. The shaft of Sunbane-fire wavered, then grew stable once more. The melons continued to ripen.
Still chanting, he extended his poniard toward Linden. She strode over to him, took the blade. She did not hesitate; all her actions were certain. Stooping to one of Marid's ankles, she cut a section of the rope which bound the stake.
The pain became a hammer in Covenant's forearm, beating as if it meant to crush the bones. Mutely, he gripped the elbow with his left hand, squeezed hard in an effort to restrict the spread of the venom. He did not want to die like this, with all his questions unanswered, and nothing accomplished.
A moment later, Linden returned. Her lips were set in lines of command. When she said, “Sit down,” his knees folded as if she held the strings of his will.
She sat in front of him, straightened his arm between them. Deftly, she looped the rope just above his elbow, pulled it tight until he winced; then she knotted it.
“Now,” she said evenly, “I'm going to have to cut you. Get out as much of the venom as I can.”
He nodded. He tried to swallow, but could not.
She set the point of the blade against the swelling, abruptly snatched it back. Her tone betrayed a glimpse of strain. “Goddamn knife's too dirty.”
Frowning, she snapped, “Don't move,” and jumped to her feet. Purposefully, she went to the hot red shaft of Sunder's power. He hissed a warning, but she ignored him. With a physician's care, she touched the poniard to the beam.
Sparks sprayed from the contact; fire licked along the knife. When she withdrew it, she nodded grimly to herself.
She rejoined Covenant, braced his arm. For a moment, she met his gaze. “This is going to hurt,” she said straight into his eyes. “But it'll be worse if I don't do it.”
He fought to clear his throat. “Go ahead.”
Slowly, deliberately, she cut a deep cross between the fang marks. A scream tore his flesh. He went rigid, but did not permit himself to flinch. This was necessary; he had done such things himself. Paul was life; only the dead felt no pain. He remained still as she bent her head to suck at the incisions. With his free hand, he gripped his forehead, clutching the bones of his skull for courage.
Her hands squeezed the swelling, multiplying fire. Her lips hurt him like teeth as she drew blood and venom into her mouth.
The taste shattered her composure; she spat his blood fiercely at the ground. “God!” she gasped. “What kind-?” At once, she attacked the wound again, sucked and spat with violent revulsion. Her hands shuddered as she gripped his arm.
