Still chanting, he extended his poniard toward Linden. She strode over to him, took the blade. She did not hesitate; all her actions were certain. Stooping to one of Marid's ankles, she cut a section of the rope which bound the stake.
The pain became a hammer in Covenant's forearm, beating as if it meant to crush the bones. Mutely, he gripped the elbow with his left hand, squeezed hard in an effort to restrict the spread of the venom. He did not want to die like this, with all his questions unanswered, and nothing accomplished.
A moment later, Linden returned. Her lips were set in lines of command. When she said, “Sit down,” his knees folded as if she held the strings of his will.
She sat in front of him, straightened his arm between them. Deftly, she looped the rope just above his elbow, pulled it tight until he winced; then she knotted it.
“Now,” she said evenly, “I'm going to have to cut you. Get out as much of the venom as I can.”
He nodded. He tried to swallow, but could not.
She set the point of the blade against the swelling, abruptly snatched it back. Her tone betrayed a glimpse of strain. “Goddamn knife's too dirty.”
Frowning, she snapped, “Don't move,” and jumped to her feet. Purposefully, she went to the hot red shaft of Sunder's power. He hissed a warning, but she ignored him. With a physician's care, she touched the poniard to the beam.
Sparks sprayed from the contact; fire licked along the knife. When she withdrew it, she nodded grimly to herself.
She rejoined Covenant, braced his arm. For a moment, she met his gaze. “This is going to hurt,” she said straight into his eyes. “But it'll be worse if I don't do it.”
He fought to clear his throat. “Go ahead.”
Slowly, deliberately, she cut a deep cross between the fang marks. A scream tore his flesh. He went rigid, but did not permit himself to flinch. This was necessary; he had done such things himself. Paul was life; only the dead felt no pain. He remained still as she bent her head to suck at the incisions. With his free hand, he gripped his forehead, clutching the bones of his skull for courage.
Her hands squeezed the swelling, multiplying fire. Her lips hurt him like teeth as she drew blood and venom into her mouth.
The taste shattered her composure; she spat his blood fiercely at the ground. “God!” she gasped. “What kind-?” At once, she attacked the wound again, sucked and spat with violent revulsion. Her hands shuddered as she gripped his arm.
What kind-? Her words throbbed along the pressure in his head. What was she talking about?
A third time she sucked, spat. Her features strained whitely, like clenched knuckles. With unintended brutality, she dropped his arm; a blaze shot up through his shoulder. Springing to her feet, she stamped on the spat blood, ground it into the dirt as if it were an outrage she wanted to eradicate from the world.
“Linden,” he panted wanly through his pain, “what is it?”
“Venom!” She fulminated with repugnance. “What kind of place is this?” Abruptly, she hastened to Sunder's spring, began rinsing her mouth. Her shoulders were knots of abhorrence.
When she returned to Covenant, her whole body was trembling, and her eyes were hollow. “Poison.” She hugged herself as if she were suddenly cold. “I don't have words for it. That wasn't just venom. It was something more-something worse. Like the Sunbane. Some kind of moral poison.” She pulled her hands through her hair, fighting for control. “God, you're going to be so sick-! You need a hospital. Except there's no antivenin in the world for poison like that.”
Covenant whirled in pain, could not distinguish between it and fear. Moral poison? He did not understand her description, but it clarified other questions. It explained why the Raver in Marid had allowed itself to be exposed. So that Marid would be condemned to the Sunbane, would become a monster capable of inflicting such poison. But why? What would Lord Foul gain if Covenant died like this? And why had Marid aimed his attack at Linden? Because she was sensitive to the Land, could see things the Despiser did not want seen?
Covenant could not think. The reek of blood on his shirt filled his senses. Everything became dread; he wanted to wail. But Linden came to his aid. Somehow, she suppressed her own distress. Urging him upright, she supported Mm to the water so that he could drink. He was already palsied. But his body recognized its need for water; he swallowed thirstily at the spring.
When he was done, she helped him into the shade of the shelf. Then she sat beside him and held his livid arm with her hands, trying in that way to make him comfortable.
Blood dripped unremarked from his cute. The swelling spread darkness up toward his elbow.
Sunder had been chanting continuously; but now he stopped. He had at last been able to make his invocation briefly self-sustaining. When he fell silent, the orcrest's vermeil shaft flickered and went out, leaving the stone empty, like a hole in the ground; but the spring continued to flow for a few moments. He had time to drink deeply before the water sank back into the barren earth.
With his poniard, he cut the melons from their vine, then bore them into the shade, and sat down on Covenant's left. Unsteadily, he began slicing the melons into sections, scooping out the seeds. The seeds he put away in a pocket of his jerkin. Then he handed sections of melon across to Linden.
“This is ussusimiel” he said in a fragile tone, as if he were exhausted and feared contradiction. “At need it will sustain life with no other food.” Wearily, he began to eat.
Linden tasted the fruit. She nodded her approval, then started to devour the sections Sunder had given her. Dully, Covenant accepted a piece for himself. But he felt unable to eat. Pain excruciated the bones of his right arm; and that fire seemed to draw all other strength out of him, leaving him to drown in a wide slow whirl of lassitude. He was going to pass out-And there were so many things his companions did not understand.
One was more important than the others. He tried to focus his sight on the Graveller. But he could not keep his vision clear. He closed his eyes so that he would not have to watch the way the Stonedownor blurred and ran.
“Sunder.”
“Ur-Lord?”
Covenant sighed, dreading Sunder's reaction. “Listen.” He concentrated the vestiges of his determination in his voice. “We can't stay here. I haven't told you where we're going.”
“Let it pass,” said his guide quietly. “You are harmed and hungry. You must eat. We will consider such questions later.”
“Listen.” Covenant could feel midnight creeping toward him. He strove to articulate his urgency. “Take me to Revelstone.”
“Revelstone?” Sunder exploded in protest. “You wander in your wits. Do you not know that Revelstone is the Keep of the na-Mhoram? Have I not spoken of the Rede concerning you? The Riders journey throughout the Land, commanding your destruction. Do you believe that they will welcome you courteously?”
“I don't care about that.” Covenant shook his head, then found that he could not stop. The muscles of his neck jerked back and forth like the onset of hysteria. “That's where the answers are. I've got to find out how this happened.” He tried to gesture toward the barrenness; but all his horizons were dark, blinded by dust and dead air. “What the Sunbane is. I can't fight it if I don't know what it is.”
“Ur-Lord, it is three hundred leagues.”
“I know. But I've got to go. I have to know what happened.” He insisted weakly, like a sick child. “So I can fight it”
“Heaven and Earth!” Sunder groaned. “This is the greatest madness of all.” For a long moment, he remained still, scouring himself for endurance or wisdom. Please, Covenant breathed into the silence. Sunder. Please.