Six: The Graveller

HE awoke urgently, with a suffocating muck on his face that made him strain to move his arms to clear the stuff away. But his hands were tied behind his back. He gagged helplessly for a moment, until he found that he could breathe.

The dry, chill air was harsh in his lungs. But he relished it. Slowly, it drove back the nausea.

From somewhere near him, he heard Linden say flatly, “You'll be all right. They must have hit us with some kind of anaesthetic. It's like ether—makes you feel sick. But the nausea goes away. I don't think we've been hurt.”

He rested briefly on the cold stone, then rolled off his chest and struggled into a sitting position. The bonds made the movement difficult; a wave of dizziness went through him, “Friends,” he muttered. But the air steadied him. “Nassic was right.”

“Nassic was right,” she echoed as if the words did not interest her.

They were in a single room, as constricted as a cell. A heavy curtain covered the doorway; but opposite the entrance a barred window let the pale grey of dawn into the room—the late dawn of a sunrise delayed by mountains. The bars were iron.

Linden sat across from him. Her arms angled behind her; her wrists, too, were bound. Yet she had managed to clean the pulp from her cheeks. Shreds of it clung to the shoulders of her shirt.

His own face wore the dried muck like a leper's numbness.

He shifted so that he could lean against the wall. The bonds cut into his wrists. He closed his eyes. A trap, he murmured. Nassic's death was a trap. He had been killed so that Covenant and Linden would blunder into Mithil Stonedown's defenses and be captured. What's Foul trying to do? he asked the darkness behind his eyelids. Make us fight these people?

“Why did you do it?” Linden said. Her tone was level, as if she had already hammered all the emotion out of it. “Why did you tell me about that girl?”

His eyes jumped open to look at her. But in the dun light he was unable to discern her expression. He wanted to say, Leave it alone, we've got other things to worry about. But she had an absolute right to know the truth about him.

“I wanted to be honest with you.” His guts ached at the memory. “The things I did when I was here before are going to affect what happens to us now. Foul doesn5t forget. And I was afraid”—he faltered at the cost of his desire for rectitude—“you might trust me without knowing what you were trusting. I don't want to betray you—by not being what you think I am.”

She did not reply. Her eyes were shadows which told him nothing. Abruptly, the pressure of his unassuaged bitterness began to force words out of him like barbs.

“After my leprosy was diagnosed, and Joan divorced me, I was impotent for a year. Then I came here. Something I couldn't understand was happening. The Land was healing parts of me that had been dead so long I'd forgotten I had them. And Lena—” The pang of her stung him like an acid. “She was so beautiful I still have nightmares about it. The first night—It was too much for me. Lepers aren't supposed to be potent.”

He did not give Linden a chance to respond; he went on, reliving his old self-judgment. "Everybody paid for it. I couldn't get away from the consequences. Her mother ended up committing a kind of suicide. Her father's life was warped. The man who wanted to marry her lost everything. Her own mind came apart.

“But I didn't stop there. I caused her death, and the death of her daughter, Elena—my daughter. Because I kept trying to escape the consequences. Everybody refused to punish me. I was Berek reborn. They wanted me to save the Land. Lena”—oh, Lena!—“got butchered trying to save my life.”

Linden listened without moving. She looked like a figure of stone against the wall, blank and unforgiving, as if no mere recitation of guilt could touch her. But her knees were pressed tightly, defensively, to her chest. When he ceased, she said thickly, “You shouldn't have told me.”

“I had to.” What else could he say? “It's who I am.”

“No.” She protested as if an accusation of evil had been raised between them. “It isn't who you are. You didn't do it intentionally, did you? You saved the Land, didn't you?”

He faced her squarely. “Yes. Eventually.”

“Then it's over. Done with.” Her head dropped to her knees. She squeezed her forehead against them as if to restrain the pounding of her thoughts. “Leave me alone.”

Covenant studied the top of her head, the way her hair fell about her thighs, and sought to comprehend. He had expected her to denounce him for what he had done, not for having confessed it. Why was she so vulnerable to it? He knew too little about her. But how could he ask her to tell him things which she believed people should not know about each other?

“I don't understand.” His voice was gruff with uncertainty. “If that's the way you feel—why did you keep coming back? You went to a lot of trouble to find out what I was hiding.”

She kept her face concealed. “I said, leave me alone.”

“I can't.” A vibration of anger ran through him. “You wouldn't be here if you hadn't followed me. I need to know why you did it. So I can decide whether to trust you.”

Her head snapped up. “I'm a doctor.”

“That's not enough,” he said rigidly.

The light from the window was growing slowly. Now he could read parts of her countenance—her mouth clenched and severe, her eyes like dark gouges below her forehead. She regarded him as if he were trespassing on her essential privacy.

After a long moment, she said softly, “I followed you because I thought you were strong. Every time I saw you, you were practically prostrate on your feet. You were desperate for help. But you stood there acting as if even exhaustion couldn't touch you.” Her words were fraught with gall. “I thought you were strong. But now it turns out you were just running away from your guilt, like anybody else. Trying to make yourself innocent again, by selling yourself for Joan. What was I supposed to do?” Quiet fury whetted her tone. “Let you commit suicide?”

Before he could respond, she went on, “You use guilt the same way you use leprosy. You want people to reject you, stay away from you—make a victim out of you. So you can recapture your innocence.” Gradually, her intensity subsided into a dull rasp.  “I've already seen more of it than I can stand. If you think I'm such a threat to you, at least leave me alone.”

Again she hid her face in her knees.

Covenant stared at her in silence. Her judgment hurt him like a demonstration of mendacity. Was that what he was doing—giving her a moral reason to repudiate him because she was unmoved by the physical reason of his leprosy? Was he so much afraid of being helped or trusted? Cared about? Gaping at this vision of himself, he heaved to his feet, lurched to the window as if he needed to defend his eyes by looking at something else.

But the view only gave credence to his memories. It verified that he and Linden were in Mithil Stonedown. The wall and roof of another stone dwelling stood directly in front of nun; and on either side of it he could see the corners of other buildings. Their walls were ancient, weathered and battered by centuries of use. They were made without mortar, formed of large slabs and chunks of rock held together by their own weight, topped by flat roofs. And beyond the roofs were the mountains.

Above them, the sky had a brown tinge, as if it were full of dust.

He had been here before, and could not deny the truth; he was " indeed afraid. Too many people who cared about him had already paid horrendously to give him help.

Linden's silence throbbed at his back like a bruise; but he remained still, and watched the sunrise flow down into the valley.? When the tension in him became insistent, he said without turning,' “I wonder what they're going to do with us.”

As if in answer, the room brightened suddenly as the curtain" was thrust aside. He swung around and found a man in the doorway.

The Stonedownor was about Linden's height, but broader and more muscular than Covenant. His black hair and dark skin were emphasized by the colour of his stiff leather jerkin and leggings. He wore nothing on his feet. In his right hand he held a long, wooden staff as if it articulated his authority.

He appeared to be about thirty. His features had a youthful cast; but they were contradicted by two deep frown lines above the bridge of his nose, and by the dullness of his eyes, which seemed to have been worn dim by too much accumulated and useless regret. The muscles at the corners of his jaw bulged as if he had been grinding his teeth for years.

His left arm hung at his side. From elbow to knuckle, it was intaglioed with fine white scars.

He did not speak; he stood facing Covenant and Linden as if he expected them to know why he had come.

Linden lurched to her feet. Covenant took two steps forward, so that they stood shoulder-to-shoulder before the Stonedownor.

The man hesitated, searched Covenant's face. Then he moved into the room. With his left hand, he reached out to Covenant's battered cheek.

Covenant winced slightly, then held himself still while the Stonedownor carefully brushed the dried pulp from his face.

He felt a pang of gratitude at the touch; it seemed to accord him more dignity than he deserved. He studied the man's brown, strong mien closely, trying to decipher what lay behind it.

When he was done, the Stonedownor turned and left the room, holding the curtain open for Covenant and Linden.

Covenant looked toward her to see if she needed encouragement. But she did not meet his gaze. She was already moving. He took a deep breath, and followed her out of the hut.

He found himself on the edge of the broad, round, open certer of Mithil Stonedown. It matched his memory of it closely. All the houses faced inward; and the ones beyond the inner ring were positioned to give as many as possible direct access to the certer. But now he could see that several of them had fallen into serious disrepair, as if their occupants did not know how to mend them. If that were true—He snarled to himself. How could these people have forgotten their stone-lore?

The sun shone over the eastern ridge into his face. Squinting at it indirectly, he saw that the orb had lost its blue aurora. Now it wore pale brown like a translucent cymar.

The Stonedown appeared deserted. All the door—curtains were closed. Nothing moved—not in the village, not on the mountainsides or in the air. He could not even hear the river. The valley lay under the dry dawn as if it had been stricken dumb.

A slow scraping of fear began to abrade his nerves.

The man with the staff strode out into the circle, beckoning for Covenant and Linden to follow him across the bare stone. As they did so, he gazed morosely around the village. He leaned on his staff as if the thews which held his life together were tired.

But after a moment he shook himself into action. Slowly, he raised the staff over his head. In a determined tone, he said, “This is the certer.”

At once, the curtains opened. Men and women stepped purposefully out of their homes.

They were all solid dark people, apparelled in leather garments. They formed a ring like a noose around the rim of the circle, and stared at Covenant and Linden. Their faces were wary, hostile, shrouded. Some of them bore blunt javelins like jerrids; but no other weapons were visible.

The man with the staff joined them. Together, the ring of Stonedownors sat down cross-legged on the ground.

Only one man remained standing. He stayed behind the others, leaning against the wall of a house with his arms folded negligently across his chest. His lips wore a rapacious smile like an anticipation of bloodshed.

Covenant guessed instinctively that this man was Mithil Stonedown's executioner.

The villagers made no sound. They watched Covenant and Linden without moving, almost without blinking. Their silence was loud in the air, like the cry of a throat that had no voice.

The sun began to draw sweat from Covenant's scalp.

“Somebody say something,” he muttered through his teeth.

Abruptly, Linden nudged his arm. “That's what they're waiting for. We're on trial. They want to hear what we've got to say for ourselves.”

“Terrific.” He accepted her intuitive explanation at once; she had eyes which he lacked. “What're we on trial for?”

Grimly, she replied, “Maybe they found Nassic.”

He groaned. That made sense. Perhaps Nassic had been killed precisely so that he and Linden would be blamed for the crime. And yet—He tugged at his bonds, wishing his hands were free so that he could wipe the sweat from his face. And yet it did not explain why they had been captured in the first place.

The silence was intolerable. The mountains and the houses cupped the certer of the village like an arena. The Stonedownors sat impassively, like icons of judgment. Covenant scanned them, mustered what little dignity he possessed. Then he began to speak.

“My name is ur-Lord Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and white gold wielder. My companion is Linden Avery.” Deliberately, he gave her a title. “The Chosen. She's a stranger to the Land.” The dark people returned his gaze blankly. The man leaning against the wall bared his teeth. “But I'm no stranger,” Covenant went on in sudden anger. “You threaten me at your peril.”

“Covenant,” Linden breathed, reproving him.

“I know,” he muttered. “I shouldn't say things like that.” Then he addressed the people again. “We were welcomed by Nassic son of Jous. He wasn't a friend of yours—or you weren't friends of his, because God knows he was harmless.” Nassic had looked so lorn in death—“But he said he had a son here. A man named Sunder. Is Sunder here? Sunder?” He searched the ring. No one responded. “Sunder,” he rasped, “whoever you are—do you know your father was murdered? We found him outside his house with an iron knife in his back. The knife was still hot.”

Someone in the circle gave a low moan; but Covenant did not see who it was. Linden shook her head; she also had not seen.

The sky had become pale brown from edge to edge. The heat of the sun was as arid as dust.

“I think the killer lives here. I think he's one of you. Or don't you even care about that?”

Nobody reacted. Every face regarded him as if he were some kind of ghoul. The silence was absolute.

“Hellfire.” He turned back to Linden. “I'm just making a fool out of myself. You got any ideas?”

Her gaze wore an aspect of supplication. “I don't know—I've never been here before.”

“Neither have I.” He could not suppress his ire. “Not to a place like this. Courtesy and hospitality used to be so important here that people who couldn't provide them were ashamed.” Remembering the way Trell and Atiaran, Lena's parents, had welcomed him to their home, he ground his teeth. With a silent curse, he confronted the Stonedownors. “Are the other villages like this?” he demanded. “Is the whole Land sick with suspicion? Or is this the only place where simple decency has been forgotten?”

The man with the staff lowered his eyes. No one else moved.

“By God, if you can't at least tolerate us, let us go! We'll walk out of here, and never look back. Some other village will give us what we need.”

The man behind the circle gave a grin of malice and triumph.

“Damnation,” Covenant muttered to himself. The silence was maddening. His head was beginning to throb. The valley felt like a desert. “I wish Mhoram was here.”

Dully, Linden asked, “Who is Mhoram?” Her eyes were fixed on the standing man. He commanded her attention like an open wound.

“One of the Lords of Revelstone.” Covenant wondered what she was seeing. “Also a friend. He had a talent for dealing with impossible situations.”

She wrenched her gaze from the gloating man, glared at Covenant. Frustration and anxiety made her tone sedulous. “He's dead. All your friends are dead.” Her shoulders strained involuntarily at her bonds. “They've been dead for three thousand years. You're living in the past. How bad do things have to get before you give up thinking about the way they used to be?”

“I'm trying to understand what's happened!” Her attack shamed him. It was unjust—and yet he deserved it. Everything he said demonstrated his inadequacy. He swung away from her.

“Listen to me!” he beseeched the Stonedownors. "I've been here before—long ago, during the great war against the Grey Slayer. I fought him. So the Land could be healed. And men and women from Mithil Stonedown helped me. Your ancestors. The Land was saved by the courage of Stonedownors and Woodhelvennin and Lords and Giants and Bloodguard and Ranyhyn.

“But something's happened. There's something wrong in the Land. That's why we're here.” Remembering the old song of Kevin Landwaster, he said formally, “So that beauty and truth should not pass utterly from the Earth.”

With tone, face, posture, he begged for some kind of response, acknowledgment, from the circle. But the Stonedownors refused every appeal. His exertions had tightened the bonds on his wrists, aggravating the numbness of his hands. The sun began to raise heat-waves in the distance. He felt giddy, futile.

“I don't know what you want,” he breathed thickly. “I don't know what you think we're guilty of. But you're wrong about her.” He indicated Linden with his head. “She's never been here before. She's innocent.”

A snort of derision stopped him.

He found himself staring at the man who stood behind the circle. Their eyes came together like a clash of weapons. The man had lost his grin; he glared scorn and denunciation at Covenant. He held violence folded in the crooks of his elbows. But Covenant did not falter. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, met the naked threat of the man's gaze.

After one taut moment, the man looked away.

Softly, Covenant said, “We're not on trial here. You are. The doom of the Land is in your hands, and you're blind to it.”

An instant of silence covered the village; the whole valley seemed to hold its breath. Then the lone man cried suddenly, “Must we hear more?” Contempt and fear collided in his tone. “He has uttered foulness enough to damn a score of strangers. Let us pass judgment now!”

At once, the man with the staff sprang to his feet. “Be still, Marid,” he said sternly. “I am the Graveller of Mithil Stonedown. The test of silence is mine to begin—and to end.”

“It is enough!” retorted Marid. “Can there be greater ill than that which he has already spoken?”

A dour crepitating of assent ran through the circle.

Linden moved closer to Covenant. Her eyes were locked to Marid as if he appalled her. Nausea twisted her mouth. Covenant looked at her, at Marid, trying to guess what lay between them.

“Very well.” The Graveller took a step forward. “It is enough.” He planted his staff on the stone. “Stonedownors, speak what you have heard.”

For a moment, the people were still. Then an old man rose slowly to his feet. He adjusted his jerkin, pulled his gravity about him. “I have heard the Rede of the na-Mhoram, as it is spoken by the Riders of the Clave. They have said that the coming of the man with the halfhand and the white ring bodes unending ruin for us all. They have said that it is better to slay such a man in his slumber, allowing the blood to fall wasted to the earth, than to permit him one free breath with which to utter evil. Only the ring must be preserved, and given to the Riders, so that all blasphemy may be averted from the Land.”

Blasphemy? Clave? Covenant grappled uselessly with his incomprehension. Who besides Nassic's Unfettered ancestor had foretold the return of the Unbeliever?

The old man concluded with a nod to the Graveller. Opposite him, a middle-aged woman stood. Jabbing her hand toward Covenant, she said, “He spoke the name of the na-Mhoram as a friend. Are not the na-Mhoram and all his Gave bitter to Mithil Stonedown? Do not his Riders reave us of blood—and not of the old whose deaths are nigh, but of the young whose lives are precious? Let these two die! Our herd has already suffered long days without forage.”

“Folly!” the old man replied. “You will not speak so when next the Rider comes. It will be soon—our time nears again. In all the Land only the Clave has power over the Sunbane. The burden of their sacrificing is heavy to us—but we would lack life altogether if they failed to spend the blood of the villages.”

“Yet is there not a contradiction here?” the Graveller interposed. “He names the na-Mhoram as friend—and yet the most dire Rede of the Clave speaks against him,”

“For both they must die!” Marid spat immediately. “The na-Mhoram is not our friend, but his power is sure.”

“True!” voices said around the ring.

“Yes.”

“True.”

Linden brushed Covenant with her shoulder. “That man,” she whispered. “Marid. There's something—Do you see it?”

“No,” responded Covenant through his teeth. “I told you I can't. What is it?”

“I don't know.” She sounded frightened. “Something—”

Then another woman stood. “He seeks to be released so that he may go to another Stonedown. Are not all other villages our foes? Twice has Windshorn Stonedown raided our fields during the fertile sun, so that our bellies shrank and our children cried in the night. Let the friends of our foes die.”

Again the Stonedownors growled, “Yes.”

“True.”

Without warning, Marid shouted over the grumble of voices, “They slew Nassic father of Sunder! Are we a people to permit murder unavenged? They must die!”

“No!” Linden's instantaneous denial cracked across the circle like a scourge. “We did not kill that harmless old man!”

Covenant whirled to her. But she did not notice him; her attention was consumed by Marid.

In a tone of acid mockery, the man asked, “Do you fear to die, Linden Avery the Chosen?”

“What is it?” she gritted back at him. “What are you?”

“What do you see?” Covenant urged. “Tell me”

“Something—” Her voice groped; but her stare did not waver. Perspiration had darkened her hair along the line of her forehead. “It's like that storm. Something evil.”

Intuitions flared like spots of sun-blindness across Covenant's mind. “Something hot.”

“Yes!” Her gaze accused Marid fiercely. “Like the knife.”

Covenant spun, confronted Marid. He was suddenly calm. “You,” he said. “Marid. Come here.”

“No, Marid,” commanded the Graveller.

“Hell and blood!” Covenant rasped like deliberate ice. “My hands are tied. Are you afraid to find out the truth?” He did not glance at the Graveller; he held Marid with his will. “Come here. I'll show you who killed Nassic.”

“Watch out,” Linden whispered. “He wants to hurt you.”

Scorn twisted Marid's face. For a moment, he did not move. But now all the eyes of the Stonedown were on him, watching his reaction. And Covenant gave him no release. A spasm of fear or glee tightened Marid's expression. Abruptly, he strode forward, halted in front of Covenant and the Graveller. “Speak your lies,” he sneered. “You will choke upon them before you die.”

Covenant did not hesitate. “Nassic was stabbed in the back,” he said softly, “with an iron knife. It was a lousy job—he bled to death. When we left him, the knife was still hot.”

Marid swallowed convulsively. “You are a fool. What man or woman of Mithil Stonedown could wield a knife with the fire yet within it? Out of your own mouth you are condemned.”

“Graveller,” Covenant said, “touch him with your staff.”

Around him, the Stonedownors rose to their feet.

“For what purpose?” the Graveller asked uncertainly. “It is mere wood. It has no virtue to determine guilt or innocence.”

Covenant clinched Marid in his gaze. “Do it.”

Hesitantly, the Graveller obeyed.

As the tip of the staff neared him, Marid shied. But then a savage exaltation lit his face, and he remained still.

The staff touched his shoulder.

Instantly, the wood burst into red fire.

The Graveller recoiled in astonishment. Stonedownors gasped, gripped each other for reassurance.

With an explosive movement, Marid backhanded Covenant across the side of his head.

The unnatural power of the blow catapulted Covenant backward. He tumbled heavily to the ground. Pain like acid burned through his sore skull.

“Covenant!” Linden cried fearfully.

He heard the Graveller protest, “Marid!”—heard the fright of the Stonedownors turn to anger. Then the pain became a roaring that deafened him. For a moment, he was too dizzy to move. But he fought the fire, heaved himself to his knees so that everyone could see the mark of Marid's blow among his bruises. “Nice work, you bastard,” he rasped. His voice seemed to make no sound. “What were you afraid of? Did you think he was going to help us that much? Or were you just having fun?”

He was aware of a low buzzing around him, but could not make out words. Marid stood with arms across his chest, grinning.

Covenant thrust his voice through the roar. “Why don't you tell us your real name? Is it Herem? Jehannum? Maybe Sheol?”

Linden was beside him. She strove fervidly to free her hands; but the bonds held. Her mouth chewed dumb curses.

“Come on,” he continued, though he could barely see Marid beyond the pain. “Attack me. Take your chances. Maybe I've forgotten how to use it.”

Abruptly, Marid began to laugh: laughter as gelid as hate. It penetrated Covenant's hearing, resounded in his head like a concussion. “It will avail you nothing!” he shouted. “Your death is certain! You cannot harm me!”

The Graveller brandished his flaming staff at Marid. Dimly, Covenant heard the man rage, “Have you slain Nassic my father?”

“With joy!” laughed the Raver. “Ah, how it fed me to plant my blade in his back!”

A woman shrieked. Before anyone could stop her, she sped in a blur of grey hair across the open space, hurled herself at Marid.

He collapsed as if the impact had killed him.

Covenant's strength gave out. He fell to his back, lay panting heavily on the stone.

Then a stench of burned flesh sickened the air. One of the Stonedownors cried out, “Sunder! Her hands!”

Another demanded, “Is he slain?”

“No!” came the reply.

Linden was yelling. “Let me go! I'm a doctor! I can help her!” She sounded frantic. “Don't you know what a doctor is?”

A moment later, hands gripped Covenant's arms, lifted him to his feet. A Stonedownor swam toward him through the hurt; slowly, the face resolved, became the Graveller. His brow was a knot of anger and grief. Stiffly, he said, “Marid sleeps. My mother is deeply burned. Tell me the meaning of this.”

“A Raver.” Covenant's breathing shuddered in his lungs. “Bloody hell.” He could not think or find the words he needed.

The Graveller bunched his fists in Covenant's shirt. “Speak!”

From somewhere nearby, Linden shouted, “Goddamn it, leave him alone! Can't you see he's hurt?”

Covenant fought for clarity. “Let her go,” he said to the Graveller. “She's a healer.”

The muscles along the Graveller's jaw knotted, released. “I have not been given reason to trust her. Speak to me of Marid.”

Marid, Covenant panted. “Listen.” Sweating and dizzy, he squeezed the pain out of his mind. “It was a Raver.”

The Graveller's glare revealed no comprehension.

“When he wakes up, he'll probably be normal again. May not even remember what happened. He was taken over. That Raver could be anywhere. It isn't hurt. You need a lot of power to knock one of them out, even temporarily. You've got to watch for it. It could take over anybody. Watch for somebody who starts acting strange. Violent. Stay away from them. I mean it.”

The Graveller listened first with urgency, then with disgust. Exasperation pulsed in the veins of his temples. Before Covenant finished, the Stonedownor turned on his heel, strode away.

Immediately, the hands holding Covenant's arms dragged him out of the certer of the village.

Linden was ahead of him. She struggled uselessly between two burly men. They impelled her back into their jail.

“Damnation,” Covenant said. His voice had no force. “I'm trying to warn you.”

His captors did not respond. They thrust him into the hut after Linden, and let him fall.

He sank to the floor. The cool dimness of the room washed over him. The suddenness of his release from the sun's brown pressure made the floor wheel. But he rested his pain on the soothing stone; and gradually that quiet touch steadied him.

Linden was cursing bitterly in the stillness. He tried to raise his head. “Linden.”

At once, she moved to his side. “Don't try to get up. Just let me see it.”

He turned his head to show her his hurt.

She bent over him. He could feel her breath on his cheek. “You're burned, but it doesn't look serious. First-degree.” Her tone twitched with nausea and helplessness. “None of the bones are cracked. How do you feel?”

“Dizzy,” he murmured. “Deaf. I'll be all right.”

“Sure you will,” she grated. “You probably have a concussion. I'll bet you want to go to sleep.”

He mumbled assent. The darkness in his head offered him cool peace, and he longed to let himself drown in it.

She took a breath through her teeth. “Sit up.”

He did not move; he lacked the strength to obey her.

She nudged him with her knee. “I'm serious. If you go to sleep, you might drift into a coma, and I won't be able to do anything about it. You've got to stay awake. Sit up.”

The ragged edge in her voice sounded like a threat of hysteria. Gritting his teeth, he tried to rise. Hot pain flayed the bones of his head; but he pried himself erect, then slumped to the side so that his shoulder was braced against the wall.

“Good,” Linden sighed. The pounding in his skull formed a gulf between them. She seemed small and lonely, aggrieved by the loss of the world she understood. “Now try to stay alert. Talk to me.” After a moment, she said, “Tell me what happened.”

He recognized her need. Marid incarnated the fears which Nassic's death had raised for her. A being who lived on hate, relished violence and anguish. She knew nothing about such things.

“A Raver.” Covenant tried to slip his voice quietly past the pain. “I should have known. Marid is just a Stonedownor. He was possessed by a Raver.”

Linden backed away from him, composed herself against the opposite wall. Her gaze held his face. “What's a Raver?”

“Servant of Foul.” He closed his eyes, leaned his head to the stone, so that he could concentrate on what he was saying. “There are three of them. Herem, Sheol, Jehannum—they have a lot of different names. They don't have bodies of their own, so they take over other people—even animals, I guess. Whatever they can find. So they're always in disguise.” He sighed—gently, to minimize the effect on his head. “I just hope these people understand what that means.”

“So,” she asked carefully, “what I saw was the Raver inside Marid? That's why he looked so—so wrong?”

“Yes.” When he focused on her voice, his hurt became less demanding; it grew hotter, but also more specific and limited. As a fire in his skin rather than a cudgel in his brain, it crippled his thinking less. “Marid was just a victim. The Raver used him to kill Nassic—set us up for this. What I don't know is why. Does Foul want us killed here? Or is there something else going on? If Foul wants us dead, that Raver made a big mistake when it let itself get caught. Now the Stonedown has something besides us to think about.”

“What I don't know,” Linden said in a lorn voice like an appeal, “is how I was able to see it. None of this is possible.”

Her tone sparked unexpected memories. Suddenly, he realized that the way she had stared at Marid was the same way she had regarded Joan. That encounter with Joan had shaken her visibly.

He opened his eyes, watched her as he said, “That's one of the few things that seems natural to me. I used to be able to see what you're seeing now—the other times I was here.” Her face was turned toward him, but she was not looking at him. Her attention was bent inward as she struggled with the lunacy of her predicament. “Your senses,” he went on, trying to help her, “are becoming attuned to the Land. You're becoming sensitive to the physical spirit around you. More and more, you're going to look at something, or hear it, or touch it, and be able to tell whether it's sick or healthy— natural or unnatural.” She did not appear to hear him. Defying his pain, he rasped, “Which isn't happening to me.” He wanted to pull her out of herself before she lost her way. “For all I can see, I might as well be blind.”

Her head flinched from side to side. “What if I'm wrong?” she breathed miserably. “What if I'm losing my mind?”

“No! That part of you is never going to be wrong. And you can't lose your mind unless you let it happen.” Wildness knuckled her features. "Don't give up."

She heard him. With an effort that wrung his heart, she compelled her body to relax, muscle by muscle. She drew a breath that trembled; but when she exhaled, she was calmer. “I just feel so helpless.”

He said nothing, waited for her.

After a moment, she sniffed sharply, shook her hair away from her face, met his gaze. “If these Ravers can possess anybody,” she said, “why not us? If we're so important—if this Lord Foul is what you say he is—why doesn't he just make us into Ravers, and get it over with?”

With a silent groan of relief, Covenant allowed himself to sag. “That's the one thing he can't do. He can't afford it. He'll manipulate us every way he can, but he has to accept the risk that we won't do what he wants. He needs our freedom. What he wants from us won't have any value if we don't do it by choice.” Also, he went on to himself, Foul doesn't dare let a Raver get my ring. How could he trust one of them with that much power?

Linden frowned. “That might make sense—if I understood what makes us so important. What we've got that he could possibly want. But never mind that now.” She took a deep breath. “If I could see the Raver—why couldn't anybody else?”

Her question panged Covenant. “That's what really scares me,” he said tautly. “These people used to be like you. Now they aren't.” And I'm not. “I'm afraid even to think about what that means. They've lost—” Lost the insight which taught them to love and serve the Land—to care about it above everything else. Oh, Foul, you bastard, what have you done? “If they can't see the difference between a Raver and a normal man, then they won't be able to see that they should trust us.”

Her mouth tightened. “You mean they're still planning to kill us?”

Before Covenant could reply, the curtain was thrust aside, and the Graveller entered the room.

His eyes were glazed with trouble, and his brow wore a scowl of involition and mourning, as if his essential gentleness had been harmed. He had left his staff behind; his hands hung at his sides. But he could not keep them still. They moved in slight jerks, half gestures, as if they sought unconsciously for something he could hold onto.

After a moment of awkwardness, he sat down on his heels near the entryway. He did not look at his prisoners; his gaze lay on the floor between them.

“Sunder,” Covenant said softly, “son of Nassic.”

The Graveller nodded without raising his eyes.

Covenant waited for him to speak. But the Graveller remained silent, as if he were abashed. After a moment, Covenant said, “That woman who attacked Marid. She was your mother.”

“Kalina Nassic-mate, daughter of Alloma.” He held himself harshly quiet. “My mother.”

Linden peered intently at Sunder. “How is she?”

“She rests. But her injury is deep. We have little healing for such hurts. It may be that she will be sacrificed.”

Covenant saw Linden poised to demand to be allowed to help the woman. But he forestalled her. “Sacrificed?”

“Her blood belongs to the Stonedown.” Sunder's voice limped under a weight of pain. “It must not be wasted. Only Nassic my father would not have accepted this. Therefore”—his throat knotted—“it is well he knew not that I am the Graveller of Mithil Stonedown. For it is I who will shed the sacrifice.”

Linden recoiled. Aghast, Covenant exclaimed, “You're going to sacrifice your own mother?”

“For the survival of the Stonedown!” croaked Sunder. “We must have blood.” Then he clamped down his emotion. “You also will be sacrificed. The Stonedown has made its judgment. You will be shed at the rising of the morrow's sun.”

Covenant glared at the Graveller. Ignoring the throb in his head, he rasped, “Why?”

“I have come to make answer.” Sunder's tone and his downcast eyes reproved Covenant. The Graveller plainly loathed his responsibility; yet he did not shirk it. “The reasons are many. You have asked to be released so that you may approach another village.”

“I'm looking for friends,” Covenant countered stiffly. “If I can't find them here, I'll try somewhere else.”

“No.” The Graveller was certain. “Another Stonedown would do as we do. Because you came to them from Mithil Stonedown, they would sacrifice you. In addition,” he continued, “you have spoken friendship for the na-Mhoram, who reaves us of blood.”

Covenant blinked at Sunder. These accusations formed a pattern he could not decipher. “I don't know any na-Mhoram. The Mhoram I knew has been dead for at least three thousand years.”

“That is not possible.” Sunder spoke without raising his head. “You have no more than twoscore years.” His hands twisted. “But that signifies little beside the Rede of the Clave. Though the Riders are loathly to us, their power and knowledge is beyond doubt. They have foretold your coming for a generation. And they are nigh. A Rider will arrive soon to enforce the will of the Clave. Retribution for any disregard would be sore upon us. Their word is one we dare not defy. Our sole concern is that the shedding of your blood may aid the survival of the Stonedown.”

“Wait,” Covenant objected. “One thing at a time.” Pain and exasperation vied in his head. “Three thousand years ago, a man with a halfhand and a white gold ring saved the Land from being completely destroyed by the Grey Slayer. Do you mean to tell me that's been forgotten? Nobody remembers the story?”

The Graveller shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I have heard such a tale—perhaps I alone in Mithil Stonedown. Nassic my father spoke of such things. But he was mad—lost in his wits like Jous and Prassan before him. He would have been sacrificed to the need of the Stonedown, had Kalina his wife and I permitted it.”

Sunder's tone was a revelation to Covenant. It provided him a glimpse of the Graveller's self-conflict. Sunder was torn between what his father had taught him and what the Stonedown accepted as truth. Consciously, he believed what his people believed; but the convictions of his half-mad father worked on him below the surface, eroding his confidence. He was a man unreconciled to himself.

This insight softened Covenant's vexation. He sensed a range of possibilities in Sunder, intuitions of hope; but he handled them gingerly. “All right,” he said. “Let that pass. How is killing us going to help you?”

“I am the Graveller. With blood I am able to shape the Sunbane.” The muscles along his jaw clenched and relaxed without rhythm or purpose. “Today we lie under the desert sun—today, and for perhaps as many as three days more. Before this day, the sun of rain was upon us, and it followed the sun of pestilence. Our herd needs forage, as we need crops. With your blood, I will be able to draw water from the hard earth. I will be able to raise an acre, perhaps two acres, of grass and grain. Life for the Stonedown, until the fertile sun comes again.”

This made no sense to Covenant. Fumbling for comprehension, he asked, “Can't you get water out of the river?”

“There is no water in the river.”

Abruptly, Linden spoke. “No water?” The words conveyed the depth of her incredulity. “That's not possible. It rained yesterday.”

“I have said,” Sunder snapped like a man in pain, “that we lie under the desert sun. Have you not beheld it?”

In his astonishment, Covenant turned to Linden. “Is he telling the truth?”

Sunder's head jerked up. His eyes nicked back and forth between Covenant and Linden.

Through her teeth, she said, “Yes. It's true.”

Covenant trusted her hearing. He swung back to the Graveller. “So there's no water.” Steadiness rose in him—a mustering of his resources. “Let that pass, too.” The throb in his head insisted on his helplessness; but he closed his ears to it. “Tell me how you do it. How you shape the Sunbane.”

Sunder's eyes expressed his reluctance. But Covenant held the Graveller with his demand. Whatever strength of will Sunder possessed, he was too unsure of himself now to refuse. How many times had his father told him about the Unbeliever? After a moment, he acceded. “I am the Graveller.” He reached a hand into his jerkin. “I bear the Sunstone.”

Almost reverently, he drew out a piece of rock half the size of his fist. The stone was smooth, irregularly shaped. By some trick of its surface, it appeared transparent, but nothing showed through it. It was like a hole in his hand.

“Hellfire,” Covenant breathed. Keen relief ran through him. Here was one hard solid piece of hope. “Orcrest.”

The Graveller peered at him in surprise. “Do you have knowledge of the Sunstone?”

“Sunder.” Covenant spoke stiffly to control his excitement and anxiety. “If you try to kill us with that thing, people are going to get hurt.”

The Stonedownor shook his head. “You will not resist. Mirkfruit will be broken in your faces—the same melon which made you captive. There will be no pain.”

“Oh, there will be pain,” growled Covenant. “You'll be in pain.” Deliberately, he put pressure on the Graveller. “You'll be the only one in this whole Stonedown who knows you're destroying the last hope of the Land. It's too bad your father died. He would have found some way to convince you.”

“Enough!” Sunder almost shouted at the laceration of his spirit. “I have uttered the words I came to speak. In this at least I have shown you what courtesy I may. If there is aught else that you would say, then say it and have done. I must be about my work.”

Covenant did not relent. “What about Marid?”

Sunder jerked to his feet, stood glowering down at Covenant. “He is a slayer, unshriven by any benefit to the Stonedown—a violator of the Rede which all accept. He will be punished.”

“You're going to punish him?” Covenant's control faltered in agitation. “What for?” He struggled erect, thrust his face at the Graveller. “Didn't you hear what I told you? He's innocent. He was taken over by a Raver. It wasn't his fault.”

“Yes,” Sunder retorted. “And he is my friend. But you say he is innocent, and your words have no meaning. We know nothing of any Raver. The Rede is the Rede. He will be punished.”

“Goddamn it!” snapped Covenant, “did you touch him?”

“Am I a fool? Yes, I put my hand upon him. The fire of his guilt is gone. He has awakened and is tormented with the memory of a noisome thing which came upon him out of the rain. Yet his act remains. He will be punished.”

Covenant wanted to take hold of the Graveller, shake him. But his efforts only made the bonds cut deeper into his wrists. Darkly, he asked, “How?”

“He will be bound.” The soft violence of Sunder's tone sounded like self-flagellation. “Borne out into the Plains during the night. The Sunbane will have no mercy for him.” In ire or regret, he evaded Covenant's glare.

With an effort, Covenant put aside the question of Marid's fate, postponed everything he did not understand about the Sunbane. Instead, he asked, “Are you really going to kill Kalina?”

Sunder's hands twitched as if they wanted Covenant's throat. “Should it ever come to pass that I am free to leave this room,” he rasped acidly, “I will do my utmost to heal her. Her blood will not be shed until her death is written on her forehead for all to see. Do you seek to prevent me from her side?”

The Graveller's distress touched Covenant. His indignation fell away. He shook his head, then urged quietly, “Untie Linden. Take her with you. She's a healer. Maybe she—”

Linden interrupted him. “No.” Despite its flatness, her voice carried a timbre of despair. “I don't even have my bag. She needs a hospital, not wishful thinking. Let him make his own decisions.”

Covenant wheeled toward her. Was this the same woman who had insisted with such passion, I can help her! Her face was half hidden by her hair. “Isn't there anything you can do?”

“Third-degree burns”—she articulated each word as if it were a mask for the contradictions of her heart—“are hard enough to treat under the best circumstances. If he wants to commit euthanasia, that's his business. Don't be so goddamn judgmental.”

Without transition, she addressed Sunder. “We need food.”

He regarded her suspiciously. “Linden Avery, there are things that I would give you for your ease, but food is not among them. We do not waste food on any man, woman, or child who is under judgment. Kalina my mother will not be given food unless I am able to show that she can be healed.”

She did not deign to look at him. “We also need water.”

Cursing sourly, Sunder turned on his heel, slapped the curtain out of his way. As he left, he snapped, “You will have water.” Outside, he yelled at someone, “The prisoners require water!” Then he passed beyond earshot.

Covenant watched the swaying of the curtain, and strove to still his confusion. He could feel his pulse beating like the rhythm of slow flame in the bones of his skull. What was wrong with Linden? Moving carefully, he went to her. She sat with her gaze lowered, her features shrouded by the dimness of the room. He sank to his knees to ask her what was the matter.

She faced him harshly, shook her hair. “I must be hysterical. These people are planning to kill us. For some silly reason, that bothers me.”

He studied her for a moment, measuring her belligerence, then retreated to sit against the opposite wall. What else could he do? She was already foundering; he could not insist that she surrender her secrets to him. In her straits, during his first experience with the Land, he had lost himself so badly—He closed his eyes, groped for courage. Then he sighed, “Don't worry about it. They're not going to kill us.”

“Naturally not.” Her tone was vicious. “You're Thomas Covenant, Unbeliever and white gold wielder. They won't dare.”

Her scorn hurt him; but he made an effort to suppress his anger. “We'll get out of here tonight.”

“How?” she demanded bluntly.

“Tonight”—he could not silence his weariness—“I'll try to show Sunder why he ought to let us go.”

A moment later, someone pushed two large stoneware bowls of water past the curtain. Linden reacted to them as if they were the only explicable things in the room. She shuttled toward them on her knees, lowered her head to drink deeply.

When Covenant joined her, she ordered him to use the bowl she had used. He obeyed to avoid an argument; but her reasons became clear when she told him to put his hands in the still-full bowl. The water might reduce their swelling, allow more blood past the bonds—perhaps even loosen the bonds themselves.

Apparently, his wrists were tied with leather; as he followed her instructions, the cool fluid palliated his discomfort; and a short while later he felt a tingle of recovery in his palms. He tried to thank her with a smile; but she did not respond. When he left the water, she took his place, soaked her own hands for a long time.

Gradually, Covenant's attention drifted away from her. The sun was beginning to slant toward afternoon; a bright hot sliver of light dissected by iron bars lay on the floor. He rested his head, and thought about the Sunstone.

Orcrest —a stone of power. The former masters of stone-lore had used orcrest to wield the Earthpower in a variety of ways—to shed light, break droughts, test truth. If Sunder's Sunstone were indeed orcrest—

But what if it were not? Covenant returned to the dread which had struck him in Nassic's hut. The world is not what it was. If there were no Earthpower—

Something broken. He could not deny his anguish. He needed orcrest, needed its power; he had to have a trigger. He had never been able to call up wild magic of his own volition. Even in the crisis of his final confrontation with the Despiser, he would have been lost utterly without the catalyst of the Illearth Stone. If the Sunstone were not truly orcrest—

He wished that he could feel his ring; but even if his hands had not been bound, his fingers would have been too numb. Leper, he muttered. Make it work. Make it. The sunlight became a white cynosure, growing until it throbbed like the pain in his head. Slowly, his mind filled with a brightness more fearsome and punishing than any night. He opposed it as if he were a fragment of the last kind dark which healed and renewed.

Then Linden was saying, “Covenant. You've slept enough. It's dangerous if you have a concussion. Covenant.”

The dazzle in his brain blinded him momentarily; he had to squint to see that the room was dim. Sunset faintly collared the air. The sky beyond the window lay in twilight.

He felt stiff and groggy, as if his life had congealed within him while he slept. His pain had burrowed into the bone; but it, too, seemed imprecise— stupefied by fatigue. At Linden's urging, he drank the remaining water. It cleared his throat, but could not unclog his mind.

For a long time, they sat without speaking. Night filled the valley like an exudation from the mountains; the air turned cool as the earth lost its warmth to the clear heavens. At first, the stars were as vivid as language—an articulation of themselves across the distance and the unfathomable night. But then the sky lost its depth as the moon rose.

“Covenant,” Linden breathed, “talk to me.” Her voice was as fragile as ice. She was near the limit of her endurance.

He searched for something that would help them both, fortify her and focus him.

“I don't want to die like this,” she grated. “Without even knowing why.”

He ached because he could not explain why, could not give her his sense of purpose. But he knew a story which might help her to understand what was at stake. Perhaps it was a story they both needed to hear. “All right,” he said quietly.  “I'll tell you how this world came to be created.”

She did not answer. After a moment, he began.

Even to himself, his voice sounded bodiless, as if the dark were speaking for him. He was trying to reach out to her with words, though he could not see her, and had no very clear idea of who she was. His tale was a simple one; but for him its simplicity grew out of long distillation. It made even his dead nerves yearn as if he were moved by an eloquence he did not possess.

In the measureless heavens of the universe, he told her, where life and space were one, and the immortals strode through an ether without limitation, the Creator looked about him, and his heart swelled with the desire to make a new thing to gladden his bright children. Summoning his strength and subtlety, he set about the work which was his exaltation.

First he forged the Arch of Time, so that the world he wished to make would have a place to be. And then within the Arch he formed the Earth. Wielding the greatness of his love and vision as tools, he made the world in all its beauty, so that no eye could behold it without joy. And then upon the Earth he placed all the myriads of its inhabitants—beings to perceive and cherish the beauty which he made. Striving for perfection because it was the nature of creation to desire all things flawless, he made the inhabitants of the Earth capable of creation, and striving, and love for the world. Then he withdrew his hand, and beheld what he had done.

There to his great ire he saw that evil lay in the Earth: malice buried and abroad, banes and powers which had no part in his intent. For while he had lobored over his creation, he had closed his eyes, and had not seen the Despiser, the bitter son or brother of his heart, loboring beside him— casting dross into the forge, adding malignancy to his intent.

Then the Creator's wrath shook the heavens, and he grappled with the son or brother of his heart. He overthrew the Despiser and hurled him to the Earth, sealing him within the Arch of Time for his punishment. Thus it became for the inhabitants of the Earth as it was with the Creator; for in that act he harmed the tiling he loved, and so all living hearts were taught the power of self-despite. The Despiser was abroad in the Earth, awakening ills, seeking to escape his prison. And the Creator could not hinder him, for the reach of any immortal hand through the Arch would topple Time, destroying the Earth and freeing the Despiser. This was the great grief of the Creator, and the unending flaw and sorrow of those who lived and strove upon the Earth.

Covenant fell silent. Telling this story, essentially as he had heard it ten years ago, brought back many things to him. He no longer felt blurred and ossified. Now he felt like the night, and his memories were stars: Mhoram, Foamfollower, Banner, the Ranyhyn. While he still had blood in his veins, air in his lungs, he would not turn his back on the world which had given birth to such people.

Linden started to ask a question; but the rustling of the curtain interrupted her. Sunder entered the room carrying an oil lamp. He set it on the floor and seated himself cross-legged in front of it. Its dim, yellow light cast haggard shadows across his visage. When he spoke, his voice wore ashes, as if he had been bereaved.

“I, too, have heard that tale,” he said thickly. “It was told to me by Nassic my father. But the tale told in the Rede of the na-Mhoram is another altogether.”

Covenant and Linden waited. After a moment, the Graveller went on. “In the Rede it is told that the Earth was formed as a jail and tormenting—place for the Lord of wickedness—him whom we name a-Jeroth of the Seven Hells. And life was placed upon the Earth—men and women, and all other races—to wreak upon a-Jeroth his proper doom. But time and again, throughout the ages, the races of the Land failed their purpose. Rather than exacting pain from a-Jeroth, meting out upon him the Master's just retribution, they formed alliances with the Lord, spared him in his weakness and bowed to him in his strength. And always”—Sunder shot a glance at Covenant, faltered momentarily—"the most heinous of these betrayals have been wrought by men born in the image of the First Betrayer, Berek, father of cowardice. Halfhanded men.

“Therefore in his wrath the Master turned his face from the Land. He sent the Sunbane upon us, as chastisement for treachery, so that we would remember our mortality, and become worthy again to serve his purpose. Only the intercession of the Clave enables us to endure.”

Protests thronged in Covenant. He knew from experience that this conception of the Land was false and cruel. But before he could try to reply, Linden climbed suddenly to her feet. Her eyes were feverish in the lamplight, afflicted by fear and outrage and waiting. Her lips trembled. “A Master like that isn't worth believing in. But you probably have to do it anyway. How else can you justify killing people you don't even know?”

The Graveller surged erect, faced her extremely. The conflict in him made him grind his teeth. “All the Land knows the truth which the Clave teaches. It is manifest at every rising of the sun. None deny it but Nassic my father, who died in mind before his body was slain, and you, who are ignorant!”

Covenant remained on the floor. While Linden and Sunder confronted each other, he drew all the strands of himself together, braided anger, empathy, determination, memory to make the cord on which all their lives depended. Part of him bled to think of the hurt he meant to inflict on Sunder, the choice he meant to extort; part raged at the brutality which had taught people like Sunder to think of their own lives as punishment for a crime they could not have committed; part quavered in fear at the idea of failure, at the poverty of his grasp on power. When Linden began to retort to the Graveller, he stopped her with, a wrench of his head. I'll do it, he thought silently to her. If it has to be done. Shifting his gaze to Sunder, he asked, “How's your mother?”

A spasm contorted the Graveller's face; his hands bunched into knots of pain and uselessness, “Her death is plain.” His eyes were dull, wounded, articulating the frank torment of his heart. “I must shed her blood with yours at the sun's rising.”

Covenant bowed his head for a moment in tacit acknowledgment. Then, deliberately, he created a space of clarity within himself, set his questions and fears aside. All right, he murmured. Leper. It has to be done.

Taking a deep breath, he rose to his feet, faced the Stonedownor.

“Sunder,” he said softly, “do you have a knife?”

The Graveller nodded as if the question had no meaning.

“Take it out.”

Slowly, Sunder obeyed. He reached to his back, slipped a long iron poniard out of his belt. His fingers held it as if they had no idea how to use it.

“I want you to see that you're safe,” Covenant said. “You have a knife. My hands are tied. I can't hurt you.”

Sunder stared back at Covenant, transfixed by incomprehension.

All right, Covenant breathed. Leper. Do it now. His heartbeat seemed to fill his chest, leaving no room for air. But he did not waver.

“Get out that piece of orcrest. The Sunstone.”

Again, Sunder obeyed. Covenant's will held him.

Covenant did not permit himself to glance down at the stone. He was marginally aware that Linden regarded him as if he were no longer sane. A shudder of apprehension threatened his clarity. He had to grit his teeth to keep his voice steady, “Touch me with it.”

“Touch—?” Sunder murmured blankly.

“Touch my forehead.”

Doubt pinched the corners of Sunder's eyes. His shoulders hunched as he tightened his grip on the knife, the Sunstone.

Do it.

The Graveller's hand seemed to move without volition. The orcrest passed Covenant's face, came to rest cool and possible against his tense brow.

His attention dropped through him to his ring, seeking for the link between orcrest and white gold. He remembered standing in sunlight and desperation on the slopes of Mount Thunder; he saw Bannor take his hand, place his ring in contact with the Staff of Law. A trigger. He felt the detonation of power.

You are the white gold.

The silence in the room vibrated. His lips stretched back from his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut against the strain.

A trigger.

He did not want to die, did not want the Land to die. Lord Foul abhorred all life.

Fiercely, he brought the orcrest and the white gold together in his mind, chose power.

A burst of argent sprang off his forehead.

Linden let out a stricken gasp. Sunder snatched back the orcrest. A gust of force blew out the lamp.

Then Covenant's hands were free. Ignoring the sudden magma of renewed circulation, he raised his arms in front of him., opened his eyes.

His hands blazed the colour of the full moon. He could feel the passion of the fire, but it did him no harm.

The flames on his left swiftly faded, died. But his right hand grew brighter as the blaze focused on his ring, burning without a sound.

Linden stared at him whitely, wildly. Sunder's eyes echoed the argent fire like a revelation too acute to bear.

You are stubborn yet. Yes! Covenant panted. You don't begin to know how stubborn.

With a thought, he struck the bonds from Linden's wrists. Then he reached for the Sunstone.

As he took it from Sunder's stunned fingers, a piercing white light exploded from the stone. It shone like a sun in the small room. Linden ducked her head. Sunder covered his eyes with his free arm, waved his poniard uncertainly.

“Wild magic,” Covenant said. His voice felt like flame in his mouth. The return of blood to his arms raked his nerves like claws. “Your knife means nothing. I have the wild magic. I'm not threatening you. I don't want to hurt anybody.” The night had become cold, yet sweat streamed down his face. “That's not why I'm here. But I won't let you kill us.”

“Father!” Sunder cried in dismay. “Was it true? Was every, word that you spoke a word of truth?”

Covenant sagged. He felt that he had accomplished his purpose; and at once a wave of fatigue broke through him. “Here.” His voice was hoarse with strain. “Take it.”

“Take—?”

“The Sunstone. It's yours.”

Torn by this vision of power as if it turned the world he had always known to chaos, Sunder stretched out his hand, touched the bright orcrest. When its light did not burn him, he closed his fingers on it as if it were an anchor.

With a groan, Covenant released the wild magic. Instantly, the fire went out as if he had severed it from his hand. The Sunstone was extinguished; the room plunged into midnight.

He leaned back against the wall, hugged his pounding arms across his chest. Flares danced along his sight, turning slowly from white to orange and red. He felt exhausted; but he could not rest. He had silenced his power so that the Graveller would have a chance to refuse him. Now he had to meet the cost of his risk. Roughly, he forced out words. "I want to get away from here. Before anything else happens. Before that Raver tries something worse. But we need help. A guide. Somebody who knows the Sunbane. We can't survive alone. I want you."

From out of the darkness, Sunder answered as if he were foundering, “I am the Graveller of Mithil Stonedown. My people hold me in their faith. How shall I betray my home to aid you?”

“Sunder,” Covenant replied, striving to convey the extremity of his conviction, “I want to help the Land. I want to save it all. Including Mithil Stonedown.”

For a long moment, the Graveller was silent. Covenant clinched his chest, did not allow himself to beg for Sunder's aid; but his heart beat over and over again, Please; I need you.

Abruptly, Linden spoke in a tone of startling passion. “You shouldn't have to kill your own mother.”

Sunder took a deep quivering breath. “I do not wish to shed her blood. Or yours. May my people forgive me.”

Covenant's head swam with relief. He hardly heard himself say, “Then let's get started.”