Ten: Vale of Crystal

THE presence of the Raver, lurid and tangible, burned through Linden Avery's nerves like a discharge of lightning, stunning her. She could not move. Covenant thrust her behind him, turned to face the onslaught. Her cry drowned as water splashed over her.

Then the swarm hit. Black-yellow bodies as long as her thumb clawed the air, smacked into the River as if they had been driven mad. She felt the Raver all around her—a spirit of ravage and lust threshing viciously among the bees.

Impelled by fear, she dove.

The water under the raft was clear; she saw Sunder diving near her. He gripped his knife and the Sunstone as if he intended to fight the swarm by hand.

Covenant remained on the surface. His legs and body writhed; he must have been swatting wildly at the bees.

At once, her fear changed directions, became fear for him. She lunged toward him, grabbed one ankle, heaved him downward as hard as she could. He sank suddenly in her grasp. Two bees still clung to his face. In a fury of revulsion, she slapped them away. Then she had to go up for air.

Sunder rose nearby. As he moved, he wielded his knife. Blood streamed from his left forearm.

She split the surface, gulped air, and dove again.

The Graveller did not. Through the distortion of the water, she watched red sunfire raging from the orcrest. The swarm concentrated darkly around Sunder. His legs scissored, lifting his shoulders. Power burst from him, igniting the swarm; bees flamed like hot spangles.

An instant later, the attack ended.

Linden broke water again, looked around rapidly. But the Raver was gone. Burnt bodies littered the face of the Mithil.

Sunder hugged the raft, gasping as if the exertion of so much force had ruptured something in his chest.

She ignored him. Her swift scan showed her that Covenant had not regained the surface.

Snatching air into her lungs, she went down for him.

She wrenched herself in circles, searching the water. At first, she could find nothing. Then she spotted him. He was some distance away across the current, struggling upward. His movements were desperate. In spite of the interference of the River, she could see that he was not simply desperate for air.

With all the strength of her limbs, she swam after him.

He reached the surface; but his body went on thrashing as if he were still assailed by bees.

She raised her head into the air near him, surged to his aid.

“Hellfire!” he spat like an ague of fear or agony. Water streamed through his hair and his ragged beard, as if he had been immersed in madness. His hands slapped at his face.

“Covenant!” Linden shouted.

He did not hear her. Wildly, he fought invisible bees, pounded his face. An inchoate cry tore through his throat.

“Sunder!” she panted. “Help me!” Ducking around Covenant, she caught him across the chest, began to drag him toward the bank. The sensation of his convulsions sickened her; but she bit down her nausea, wrestled him through the River.

The Graveller came limping after her, dragging the raft. His mien was tight with pain. A thin smear of blood stained his lips.

Reaching the bank, she dredged Covenant out of the water. Spasms ran through all his muscles, resisting her involuntarily. But his need gave her strength; she stretched him out on the ground, knelt at his side to examine him.

For one horrific moment, her fear returned, threatening to swamp her. She did not want to see what was wrong with him. She had already seen too much; the wrong of the Sunbane had excruciated her nerves so long, so intimately, that she half believed she had lost her mind. But she was a doctor; she had chosen this work for reasons which brooked no excuse of fear or repugnance or incapacity. Setting her self aside, she bent the new dimension of her senses toward Covenant.

Clenchings shook him like bursts of brain-fire. His face contorted around the two bee stings. The marks were bright red and swelling rapidly; but they were not serious. Or they were serious in an entirely different way.

Linden swallowed bile, and probed him more deeply.

His leprosy became obvious to her. It lay in his flesh like a malignant infestation, exigent and dire. But it was quiescent.

Something else raged in him. Baring her senses to it, she suddenly remembered what Sunder had said about the sun of pestilence—and what he had implied about insects. He stood over her. In spite of his pain, he swatted grimly at mosquitoes the size of dragonflies, keeping them off Covenant. She bit her lips in apprehension, looked down at Covenant's right forearm.

His skin around the pale scars left by Marid's fangs and Sunder's poniard was already bloated and dark, as if his arm had suffered a new infusion of venom. The swelling worsened as she gazed at it. It was tight and hot, as dangerous as a fresh snakebite. Again, it gave her a vivid impression of moral wrong, as if the poison were as much spiritual as physical.

Marid's venom had never left Covenant's flesh. She had been disturbed by hints of this in days past, but had failed to grasp its significance. Repulsed by aliantha, the venom had remained latent in him, waiting—Both Marid and the bees had been formed by the Sunbane: both had been driven by Ravers. The bee-stings had triggered this reaction.

That must have been the reason for the swarm's attack, the reason why the Raver had chosen bees to work its will. To produce this relapse.

Covenant gaped back at her sightlessly. His convulsions began to fade as his muscles weakened. He was slipping into shock. For a moment, she glimpsed a structure of truth behind his apparent paranoia, his belief in an Enemy who sought to destroy him. All her instincts rebelled against such a conception. But now for an instant she seemed to see something deliberate in the Sunbane, something intentional and cunning in these attacks on Covenant.

The glimpse reft her of self-trust. She knelt beside him, unable to move or choose. The same dismay which had incapacitated her when she had first seen Joan came upon her.

But then the sounds of pain reached her—the moan of Sunder's wracked breathing. She looked up at him, asking mutely for answers. He must have guessed intuitively the connection between venom and bees. That was why he defied his own hurt to prevent further insect bites. Meeting her sore gaze, he said, “Something in me has torn.” He winced at every word. “It is keen—but I think not perilous. Never have I drawn such power from the Sunstone.” She could feel his pain as a palpable emission; but he had clearly rent some of the ligatures between his ribs, not broken any of the ribs themselves, or damaged anything vital.

Yet his hurt, and his resolute self—expenditure on Covenant's behalf, restored her to herself. A measure of her familiar severity returned, steadying the lobor of her heart. She climbed to her feet. “Come on. Let's get him back in the water.”

Sunder nodded. Gently, they lifted Covenant down the bank. Propping his left arm over the raft so that his right arm could hang free in the cool water, they shoved out into the certer of the current. Then they let the River carry them downstream under the bale of a red-ringed sun.

During the remainder of the afternoon, Linden struggled against her memory of Joan, her sense of failure. She could almost hear her mother whining for death. Covenant regained consciousness several times, lifted his head; but the poison always dragged him back before he could speak. Through the water, she watched the black tumescence creep avidly up his arm. It seemed much swifter than the previous time; Marid's poison had increased in virulence during its dormancy. The sight blurred her eyes. She could not silence the fears gnawing at her heart.

Then, before sunset, the River unbent among a clump of hills into a long straight line leading toward a wide ravine which opened on the Mithil. The sides of the ravine were as sheer as a barranca, and they reflected the low sunshine with a strange brilliance. The ravine was like a vale of diamonds; its walls were formed of faceted crystal which caught the light and returned it in delicate shades of white and pink. When the sun of pestilence dipped toward the horizon, washing the terrain in a bath of vermilion, the barranca became a place of rare glory.

People moved on the river-shore; but they gave no indication that they saw the raft. The River was already in shadow, and the brightness of the crystal was dazzling. Soon they left the bank and went up into the ravine.

Linden and Sunder shared a look, and began to steer toward the mouth of the barranca. In dusk macerated only by the last gleamings along the vale rim, they pulled their raft partway up the shore and carefully eased Covenant to dry ground. His arm was black and thick to the shoulder, cruelly pinched by both his ring and his shirt, and he moaned when they moved him.

She sat beside him, stroked his forehead; but her gaze was fixed on Sunder. “I don't know what to do,” she said flatly. “We're going to have to ask these people for help.”

The Graveller stood with his arms around his chest, cradling his pain. “We cannot. Have you forgotten Mithil Stonedown? We are blood that these people may shed without cost to themselves. And the Rede denounces him. I redeemed you from Mithil Stonedown. Who will redeem us here?”

She gripped herself. “Then why did we stop?”

He shrugged, winced. “We must have food. Little ussusimiel remains to us.”

“How do you propose to get it?” She disliked the sarcasm in her tone, but could not stifle it.

“When they sleep”—Sunder's eyes revealed his reluctance as clearly as words—“I will attempt to steal what we must have.”

Linden frowned involuntarily. “What about guards?”

“They will ward the hills, and the River from the hills. There is no other approach to this place. If they have not yet observed us, perhaps we are safe.”

She agreed. The thought of stealing was awkward to her; but she recognized that they had no alternative. “I'll come with you.”

Sunder began to protest; she stopped him with a brusque shake of her head. “You're not exactly healthy. If nothing else, you'll need me to watch your back. And,” she sighed, “I want to get some mirkfruit. He needs it.”

The Graveller's face was unreadable in the twilight. But he acquiesced mutely. Retrieving the last of his melons from the raft, he began to cut them open.

She ate her ration, then did what she could to feed Covenant. The task was difficult; she had trouble making him swallow the thin morsels she put in his mouth. Again, dread constricted her heart. But she suppressed it. Patiently, she fed slivers of melon to him, then stroked his throat to trigger his swallowing reflex, until he had consumed a scant meal.

When she finished, the night was deep around her, and a waning moon had just begun to crest the hills. She rested beside Covenant for a while, trying to gather up the unravelled ends of her competence. But she found herself listening to his respiration as if she expected every hoarse intake to be his last. She loathed her helplessness so keenly—A distinct fetor rode the breeze from across the River, the effect of the sun of pestilence on the vegetation. She could not rest.

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 certer 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 mirkfruit as well as food.

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 certer. 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 certer 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 certer 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 Grim upon you, and you will be ground under its might like chaff!”

At the word Grim, a moan ran through the Stonedown; and Sunder shivered.

But Hollian defied their fear. “Croft!” she insisted, “forbid! I care nothing for the na-Mhoram or his Grim. I am an eh-Brand. I foretell the Sunbane! No harm, no Grim or any curse, will find you unwary while I abide here. Croft! My people!” She appealed to the ring of Stonedownors. “Am I nothing, that you cast me aside at the whim of Sivit na-Mhoram-wist?”

“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?”

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 certer 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.

Abruptly, as if Covenant had closed a door in his mind, the wild magic subsided. He emerged from the flame; his ring flickered and went out. His legs started to fold.

Linden surged to her feet, caught him before he fell. Wrapping her arms around him, she held him upright.

Then Sunder appeared, carrying the knapsack. He ran forward, shouting, “Flee! Swiftly, lest they regain their wits and pursue us!” Blood still marked a new cut on his left forearm. As he passed her, he snatched at Hollian's arm. She resisted; she was too numb with shock to understand what was happening. He spun on her, fumed into her face, “Do you covet death?”

His urgency pierced her stupor. She regained her alertness with a moan. "No. I will come. But—but I must have my Iianar.' pointed at the wand in Croft's hands.

Sunder marched over to the tall Stonedownor. Croft's grasp tightened reflexively on the wood.

Wincing with pain, Sunder struck Croft a sharp blow in the stomach. As the taller man doubled over, Sunder neatly plucked the Iianar from him.

“Come!” Sunder shouted at Linden and Hollian. “Now!”

A strange grim relief came over Linden. Her first assessments of Covenant had been vindicated; at last, he had shown himself capable of significant power. Bracing his left arm over her shoulders, she helped him out of the certer of the Stonedown.

Sunder took Hollian's wrist. He led the way among the houses as fast as Covenant could move.

The vale was dark now; only the crescent moon, and the reflection of dying embers along the walls, lit the ravine. The breeze carried a sickly odour of rot from across the Mithil, and the water looked black and viscid, like a Satanist's chrism. But no one hesitated. Hollian seemed to accept her rescue with mute incomprehension. She helped Linden ease Covenant into the water, secure him across the raft. Sunder urged them out into the River, and they went downstream clinging to the wood.