Without delay, Sunder crept up the ravine. Linden followed as stealthily as she could.
She felt exposed in the brightness of the vale; but no alarm was raised. And the light allowed them to approach the Stonedown easily. Soon they were among the houses.
Sunder stopped at every corner to be sure that the path was clear. But they saw no one. All the dwellings seemed to be empty. The Graveller chose a house. Motioning for Linden to guard the doorway, he eased himself past the curtain.
The sound of voices reached her. For an instant, she froze with a warning in her throat. But then her hearing clarified, located the sound. It came from the centre of the Stonedown. She gripped her relief and waited.
Moments later, Sunder returned. He had a bulging leather knapsack under his arm. In her ear, he breathed that he had found 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 centre. The voices became distinct; she could hear anger and uncertainty in them. When Sunder pointed at the roof, she nodded at once. He set his knapsack down, lifted her to the flat eaves. Carefully, she climbed onto the roof.
Sunder handed her the sack. She took it, then reached down to help him join her. The exertion tore a groan from his sore chest; but the sound was too soft to disturb the voices. Side by side, they slid forward until they were able to see and hear what was happening in the centre of the Stonedown.
The people were gathered in a tight ring around the open space. They were a substantially larger number than the population of Mithil Stonedown. In an elusive way, they seemed more prosperous, better-fed, than the folk of Sunder's home. But their faces were grim, anxious, fearful. They watched the centre of the circle with tense attention.
Beside the bonfire stood three figures-two men and a woman. The woman was poised between the men in an attitude of prayer, as if she were pleading with both of them. She wore a sturdy leather shift like the other Stonedownor women. Her pale delicate features were urgent, and the disarray of her raven hair gave her an appearance of fatality.
The man nearest to Linden and Sunder was also a Stonedownor, a tall square individual with a bristling black beard and eyes darkened by conflict. But the person opposite him was unlike anyone Linden had seen before. His raiment was a vivid red robe draped with a black chasuble. A hood shadowed his features. His hands held a short iron rod like a sceptre with an open triangle affixed to its end. Emanations of heiratic pride and vitriol flowed from him as if he were defying the entire Stonedown.
“A Rider!” Sunder whispered. “A Rider of the Clave.”
The woman-she was hardly more than a girl-faced the tall Stonedownor. “Croft!” she begged. Tears suffused her mien. “You are the Graveller. You must forbid!”
“Aye, Hollian,” he replied with great bitterness. While he spoke, his hands toyed with a slim wooden wand. “By right of blood and power, I am the Graveller. And you are an eh-Brand- a benison beyond price to the life of Crystal Stonedown. But he is Sivit na-Mhoram-wist. He claims you in the name of the Clave. How may I refuse?”
“You may refuse-” began the Rider in a sepulchral tone.
“You must refuse!” the woman cried.
“But should you refuse,” Sivit continued remorselessly, “should you think to deny me, I swear by the Sunbane that I will levy the na-Mhoram's 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!”