The Wounded Land

He nodded. “At all times, Riders journey the Land, visiting again and again every village. At each visit, they take one or two or three lives-ever young and strong lives-and bear them to Revelstone, where the na-Mhoram works his work.”

Linden clenched her outrage, kept her voice at a whisper. “You mean they're going to kill her?”

“Yes!” he hissed.

At once, all her instincts rebelled. A shock of purpose ran through her, clarifying for the first time her maddening relationship to the Land. Some of Covenant's ready passion became suddenly explicable. “Sunder,” she breathed, “we've got to save her.”

“Save-?” He almost lost control of his voice. “We are two against a Stonedown. And the Rider is mighty.”

“We've got to!” She groped for a way to convince him. The murder of this woman could not be allowed. Why else had Covenant tried to save Joan? Why else had Linden herself risked her life to prevent his death? Urgently, she said, “Covenant tried to save Marid.”

“Yes!” rasped Sunder. “And behold the cost!”

“No.” For a moment, she could not find the answer she needed. Then it came to her. “What's a Sun- Sage?”

He stared at her. “Such a being cannot exist.”

“What,” she enunciated, “is it?”

“The Rider has said,” he murmured. “It is one who can cause the Sunbane.”

She fixed him with all her determination. “Then we need her,”

His eyes seemed to bulge in their sockets. His hands grasped for something to hold onto. But he could not deny the force of her argument. “Mad,” he exhaled through his teeth. “All of us-mad.” Briefly, he searched the Stonedown as if he were looking for valour. Then he reached a decision. “Remain here,” he whispered. 'I go to find the Rider's Courser. Perhaps it may be harmed, or driven off. Then he will be unable to bear her away. We will gain time to consider other action.'

“Good!” she responded eagerly. “If they leave here, I'll try to see where they take her.”

He gave a curt nod. Muttering softly to himself, “Mad, Mad,” he crept to the rear of the roof and dropped to the ground, taking his knapsack with him.

Linden returned her attention to Hollian's people. The young woman was on her knees, hiding her face in her hands. The Rider stood over her, denouncing her with his sceptre; but he shouted at the Stonedownors.

“Do you believe that you can endure the na-Mhoram's Grim? You are fey and anile. By the Three Corners of Truth! At one word from me, the Clave will unleash such devastation upon you that you will grovel to be permitted to deliver up this foul eh-Brand, and it will avail you nothing!”

Abruptly, the woman jerked upright, threw herself to confront the Graveller. “Croft!” she panted in desperation, “slay this Rider! Let him not carry word to the Clave. Then I will remain in Crystal Stonedown, and the Clave will know nothing of what we have done.” Her hands gripped his jerkin, urging him. “Croft, hear me. Slay him!”

Sivit barked a contemptuous laugh. Then his voice dropped, became low and deadly. “You have not the power.”

“He speaks truly,” Croft murmured to Hollian. Misery knurled his countenance. “He requires no Grim to work our ruin. I must meet his claim, else we will not endure to rue our defiance.”

An inarticulate cry broke from her. For a moment, Linden feared that the young woman would collapse into hysteria. But out of Hollian's distress came an angry dignity. She raised her head, drew herself erect. “You surrender me,” she said bitterly. “I am without help or hope. Yet you must at least accord to me the courtesy of my worth. Restore to me the Iianar”

Croft looked down at the wand in his hands. The rictus of his shoulders revealed his shame and decision. “No,” he said softly. “With this wood you perform your foretelling. Sivit na-Mhoram-wist has no claim upon it-and for you it has no future. Crystal Stonedown will retain it. As a prayer for the birth of a new eh-Brand.”

Triumph shone from the Rider as if he were a torch of malice.

At the far side of the village, Linden glimpsed a sudden hot flaring of red. Sunder's power. He must have made use of his Sunstone. The beam cast vermeil through the crystal, then vanished. She held her breath, fearing that Sunder had given himself away. But the Stonedownors were intent on the conflict in their midst: the instant of force passed unnoticed.

Mute with despair, Hollian turned away from the Graveller, then stopped as if she had been slapped, staring past the corner of the house on which Linden lay. Muffled gasps spattered around the ring; everyone followed the en-Brand's stare.

What-?

Linden peered over the eaves in time to see Covenant come shambling into the centre of the village. He moved like a derelict. His right arm was hideously swollen. Poison blazed in his eyes, His ring spat erratic bursts of white fire.

No! she cried silently. Covenant!

He was so weak that any of the Stonedownors could have toppled him with one hand. But the rage of his fever commanded their restraint; the circle parted for him involuntarily, admitting him to the open space.

He lurched to a stop, stood glaring flames around him. “Linden,” he croaked in a parched voice. “Linden.”

Covenant!

Without hesitation, she dropped from the roof. Before they could realize what was happening, she thrust her way between the Stonedownors, hastened to Covenant.

“Linden?” He recognized her with difficulty; confusion and venom wrestled across his visage. “You left me.”

“The Halfhand!” Sivit yelled. “The white ring!”

The air was bright with peril; it sprang from the bonfire, leaped off the walls of the barranca. Scores of people trembled on the verge of violence. But Linden held everything else in abeyance, concentrated on Covenant. “No. We didn't leave you. We came to find food. And to save her.” She pointed at Hollian.

The stare of his delirium did not shift. “You left me.”

“I say it is the Halfhand!” shouted the Rider. “He has come as the Clave foretold! Take him! Slay him!”

The Stonedownors flinched under Sivit's demand; but they made no move. Covenant's intensity held them back.

“No!” Linden averred to him urgently. “Listen to me! That man is a Rider of the Clave. The Clave. He's going to kill her so that he can use her blood. We've got to save her!”

His gaze twisted toward Hollian, then returned to Linden. He blinked at her uncomprehendingly. “You left me.” The pain of finding himself alone had closed his mind to every other appeal.

“Fools!” Sivit raged. Suddenly, he flourished his sceptre. Blood covered his lean hands. Gouts of red fire spewed from the iron triangle. Swift as vengeance, he moved forward.

“She's going to be sacrificed!” Linden cried at Covenant's confusion. “Like Joan! Like Joan! ”

“Joan?” In an instant, all his uncertainty became anger and poison. He swung to face the Rider. “Joan!”

Before Sivit could strike, white flame exploded around Covenant, enveloping him in conflagration. He burned with silver fury, coruscated the air. Linden recoiled, flung up her hands to ward her face. Wild magic began to erupt in all directions.

A rampage of force tore Sivit's sceptre from his hands. The iron fired black, red, white, then melted into slag on the ground. Argent lashed the bonfire; flaming brands scattered across the circle. Wild lightning sizzled into the heavens until the sky screamed and the crystal walls rang out celestial peals of power.

The very fabric of the dirt stretched under Linden's feet, as if it were about to tear. She staggered to her knees.

The Stonedownors fled. Shrieks of fear escaped among the houses. A moment later, only Croft, Hollian, and Sivit remained. Croft and Hollian were too stunned to move. Sivit huddled on the ground like a craven, with his arms over his head.