Abruptly, Covenant began to flinch. A faint white light winked along his right side-burned and vanished in an instant.
She sat up, hissed, “Sunder.”
The light came again-an evanescent stutter of power from the ring embedded deep in Covenant's swollen finger.
“Heaven and Earth!” whispered Sunder. “It will be seen.”
“I thought-” She watched stupidly as the Graveller slid Covenant's hand into the pocket of his pants. The movement made him bare his teeth in a grin of pain. His dry stare was fixed on the moon. “I thought he needed the Sunstone. To trigger it.” His pocket muffled the intermittent gleaming, but did not conceal it entirely. “Sunder.” Her doming was still damp; she could not stop shivering. “What's happening to him?”
“Ask me not,” Sunder breathed roughly. “I lack your sight.” But a moment later he inquired, “Can it be that this Raver of which he speaks-that this Raver is within him?”
“No!” she snapped, repudiating the idea so swiftly that she had no chance to control her vehemence. “He isn't Marid.” Her senses were certain of this; Covenant was ill, not possessed. Nevertheless, Sunder's suggestion struck chords of anger which took her by surprise. She had not realized that she was investing so much of herself in Thomas Covenant Back on Haven Farm, in the world she understood, she had chosen to support his embattled integrity, hoping to learn a lesson of strength. But she had had no conception of where that decision would carry her. She had already witnessed too much when she had watched him smile for Joan-smile, and forfeit his life. An inchoate part of her clung to this image of him; his self-sacrifice seemed so much cleaner than her own. Now, with a pang, she wondered how much more she had yet to comprehend about him. And about herself. Her voice shook. “Whatever else he is, he isn't a Raver.”
Sunder shifted in the darkness as if he were trying to frame a question. But before he could articulate it, the dun flicker of Covenant's ring was effaced by a bright spangling from the walls of the barranca. Suddenly, the whole ravine seemed to be on fire.
Linden sprang erect, expecting to find scores of angry Stonedownors rushing toward her. But as her eyes adjusted, she saw that the source of the reflection was some distance away. The village must have lit an immense bonfire. Flames showed the profile of stone houses between her and the light; fire echoed off the crystal facets in all directions. She could hear nothing to indicate that she and her companions were in danger.
Sunder touched her shoulder. “Come,” he whispered. “Some high purpose gathers the Stonedown. All its people will attend. Perhaps we have been granted an opportunity to find food ”
She hesitated, bent to examine Covenant. A complex fear made her reluctant. “Should we leave him?” His skin felt crisp with fever.
“Where will he go?” the Graveller responded simply.
She bowed her head. Sunder would probably need her. And Covenant seemed far too ill to move, to harm himself. Yet he looked so frail-But she had no choice. Pulling herself upright, she motioned for the Graveller to lead the way.
Without delay, Sunder crept up the ravine. Linden followed as stealthily as she could.
She felt exposed in the brightness of the vale; but no alarm was raised. And the light allowed them to approach the Stonedown easily. Soon they were among the houses.
Sunder stopped at every corner to be sure that the path was clear. But they saw no one. All the dwellings seemed to be empty. The Graveller chose a house. Motioning for Linden to guard the doorway, he eased himself past the curtain.
The sound of voices reached her. For an instant, she froze with a warning in her throat. But then her hearing clarified, located the sound. It came from the centre of the Stonedown. She gripped her relief and waited.
Moments later, Sunder returned. He had a bulging leather knapsack under his arm. In her ear, he breathed that he had found
He started to leave. But she stopped him, gestured inward. For a moment, he considered the advantages of knowing what transpired in the village. Then he agreed.
Together, they sneaked forward until only one house stood between them and the centre. The voices became distinct; she could hear anger and uncertainty in them. When Sunder pointed at the roof, she nodded at once. He set his knapsack down, lifted her to the flat eaves. Carefully, she climbed onto the roof.
Sunder handed her the sack. She took it, then reached down to help him join her. The exertion tore a groan from his sore chest; but the sound was too soft to disturb the voices. Side by side, they slid forward until they were able to see and hear what was happening in the centre of the Stonedown.
The people were gathered in a tight ring around the open space. They were a substantially larger number than the population of Mithil Stonedown. In an elusive way, they seemed more prosperous, better-fed, than the folk of Sunder's home. But their faces were grim, anxious, fearful. They watched the centre of the circle with tense attention.
Beside the bonfire stood three figures-two men and a woman. The woman was poised between the men in an attitude of prayer, as if she were pleading with both of them. She wore a sturdy leather shift like the other Stonedownor women. Her pale delicate features were urgent, and the disarray of her raven hair gave her an appearance of fatality.
The man nearest to Linden and Sunder was also a Stonedownor, a tall square individual with a bristling black beard and eyes darkened by conflict. But the person opposite him was unlike anyone Linden had seen before. His raiment was a vivid red robe draped with a black chasuble. A hood shadowed his features. His hands held a short iron rod like a sceptre with an open triangle affixed to its end. Emanations of heiratic pride and vitriol flowed from him as if he were defying the entire Stonedown.
“A Rider!” Sunder whispered. “A Rider of the Clave.”
The woman-she was hardly more than a girl-faced the tall Stonedownor. “Croft!” she begged. Tears suffused her mien. “You are the Graveller. You must forbid!”
“Aye, Hollian,” he replied with great bitterness. While he spoke, his hands toyed with a slim wooden wand. “By right of blood and power, I am the Graveller. And you are an eh-Brand- a benison beyond price to the life of Crystal Stonedown. But he is Sivit na-Mhoram-wist. He claims you in the name of the Clave. How may I refuse?”
“You may refuse-” began the Rider in a sepulchral tone.
“You must refuse!” the woman cried.
“But should you refuse,” Sivit continued remorselessly, “should you think to deny me, I swear by the Sunbane that I will levy the na-Mhoram's
At the word
But Hollian defied their fear. “Croft!” she insisted, “forbid! I care nothing for the na-Mhoram or his
“Whim?” barked the Rider. “I speak for the Clave. I do not utter whims. Harken to me, girl. I claim you by right of service. Without the mediation of the Clave-without the wisdom of the Rede and the sacrifice of the na- Mhoram-there would be no life left in any Stonedown or Woodhelven, despite your arrogance. And we must have life for our work. Do you think to deny me? Condemnable folly!”
“She is precious to us,” said the tall Graveller softly. “Do not enforce your will upon us.”
“Is she?” Sivit raged, brandishing his sceptre. “You are sick with her folly. She is not precious. She is an abomination! You think her an eh-Brand, a boon rare in the Land. I say to you, she is a Sun-Sage! Damned as a servant of a-Jeroth! She does not foretell the Sunbane. She causes it to be as she chooses. Against her and her foul kind the Clave strives, seeking to undo the harm such beings wreak.”
The Rider continued to rant; but Linden turned away. To Sunder, she whispered, “Why does he want her?”
“Have you learned nothing?” he replied tightly. “The Clave has power over the Sunbane. For power, they must have blood.”
“Blood?”
