The Last Dark: The climax of the entire Thomas Covenant Chronicles (Last Chronicles of Thomas Cove)

of strength. It makes some things possible that I couldn’t do without it.”
    Then, to forestall more questions, he urged, “You should get some sleep. We all need rest. Later I’ll figure out some way to give poor Longwrath a
caamora
.” Once before, he had done something similar. “I have Joan’s ring. And the
krill
. I should be able to manage a fire.”
    “Very well,” the Ironhand murmured. She was already drifting. “Though the burden of our woe is great, it is surpassed by weariness.”
    In another moment, her head sagged, and she was asleep.
    Frostheart Grueburn tried to swallow a cavernous yawn. Then she did what she could to make herself comfortable on the bare dirt.
    For a while, Cirrus Kindwind continued to study Covenant through the
krill
’s silver. But she did not prod him further. Nodding as if she were content, she said, “Earlier I had occasion to remind Stave Rockbrother that he is not alone. I would proffer a similar assurance now. Whatever the substance of your fears or pains may be, you will not be required to confront it alone. We are merely weakened. We are not inclined to forsake you.” She hesitated briefly, then added, “And Linden Giantfriend has not forgotten her love for you.”
    Before Covenant could decide whether to weep or smile, Kindwind turned away and settled herself for sleep.

    ovenant dozed for a while himself. Most of his efforts since the struggle with
turiya
Herem had been mental and emotional rather than physical, but they had drained him nonetheless. He did not mean to sleep while he hoped for Linden; but drowsiness overcame him, and he sank into a shallow slumber.
    Later some preterite instinct roused him, and he jerked up his head to look around. Squinting against the blur that marred his sight, he saw Stave enter the fane.
    The former Master moved cautiously, as if he had become unsure of his balance. His right hand and forearm gave the impression that they ached. But his single eye as it caught the
krill
’s shining was clear. It flashed argent at Covenant as if Stave had gained the ability to see into the Unbeliever’s soul.
    Perhaps he had. He had allowed himself to grieve for Galt, his son. And he had let Linden convince him to remain with Jeremiah. To Covenant, those were astonishing changes. Of the
Haruchai
whom he had known, only Cail had revealed a comparable willingness to go beyond rigid stoicism. Even men like Bannor and Brinn, Branl and Clyme, had measured themselves by standards which any other
Haruchai
would have approved.
    Carefully Stave eased himself to the ground in front of Covenant. There he sat cross-legged, upright as a spear driven into the dirt, with the backs of his hands resting on his thighs. His eye seemed to transfix Covenant.
    Without preamble, as if he were resuming a conversation, Stave said, “I did not part willingly from the Chosen.”
    His manner rather than his tone suggested that he wanted to be understood.
    “I know,” Covenant answered quietly. “But you let yourself be persuaded anyway. She asked, and you agreed.”
    “I did,” the former Master admitted. “I have found that I am no longer able to refuse her.”
    Covenant’s mouth twisted. “I know the feeling.”
    Stave flexed the fingers of his right hand, testing them for residual damage. “
Haruchai
do not indulge in regret. Yet I am”—he appeared to search for a word—“unsettled. If she does not return, Timewarden, I will be unable to quench my sense of loss, or my remorse that I did not stand at her side.”
    Now Covenant winced. “I know that feeling, too.” He had not simply turned away from Linden. He had told her not to touch him. More harshly than he intended, he said, “But sometimes things like that have to be done anyway.”
    Stave nodded. “Necessity demands. It does not countenance denial.” Then, unexpectedly, he looked away, as if he rather than Covenant had cause to feel shame. “Thus I am compelled to inquire of myself what purpose is served by regret—or indeed by grief.”
    Without pausing to consider his reply, Covenant countered, “How else do we know we’re alive?”
    “By our deeds,” Stave answered. “By striving and service. By—”
    Abruptly he froze. His gaze sprang back to Covenant’s. Nothing else moved.
    After a moment, he released a long breath. “Ah.” His regard did not waver, but his rigidity eased. “Now I begin to grasp how it transpires that you and the Chosen have failed to comprehend the