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

pounded among them, past them, a prow of force cleaving a path for a second rider, a second Ranyhyn. They were halfway to the fane before Linden and her companion could bring their straining mounts to a halt.
    From atop the construct, Jeremiah flailed his arms with Earthpower blazing in each hand. If he yelled something, anything, Covenant did not hear it. A shock like vertigo seemed to unmoor his mind. He stood on a shattered world—on fragments of comprehension—and did not know what was happening.
    Linden—? How—?
    Linden hardly appeared to see her son; or she absorbed the sight of him in an instant, recognized that he was safe and whole. Wildly she wheeled as if she had arrived with furies and woe on her heels. The
krill
’s shining glared like a crisis in her eyes.
    But not alone. Covenant stared after her. Not alone?
    He should have been able to identify that second Ranyhyn, that stallion. But he had no mind and could not think.
    The stranger was singing—or he emanated complex melodies like an aura. And he was not chasing Linden: he was her companion. Together they turned their mounts to confront the Giants and the
Haruchai
and Covenant.
    Then Rime Coldspray called, “Linden Giantfriend!” and parts of Covenant’s reality fell back into place. When she added, “Manethrall Mahrtiir, most valiant of Ramen!” Covenant began to regain his footing.
    Mahrtiir? No. Impossible.
That
was not—
    Oh, God. Blood and damnation.
    Narunal. The second horse was Narunal.
    Now Covenant recognized Mahrtiir’s eyelessness, Mahrtiir’s fierce visage. But the Manethrall was altogether changed; fraught with music and theurgy. His bandage was gone. In its place, the ravage which had cost him his eyes had become whole skin, seamless and new. He wore a robe of samite so white and pure that it might have been woven of starlight. Garlands of harmony draped his neck: a wreath of counterpoint adorned his head. And his mien—His familiar combative frown had become radiance. It had become eagerness. Reflecting the
krill
’s gem, he looked like wild magic cleansed of its extravagance and peril.
    In his hand he carried a sapling—a
sapling
—as if it were weightless in spite of its root-ball thick with loam and its wealth of new leaves like a gift of verdure to the barren plain.
    His mere presence shed hymns like promises in all directions, and Narunal bore him as if the stallion had been exalted.
    “No,” Linden answered. She sounded hoarse and ragged, as if she had spent hours yelling—or perhaps sobbing. “Not Mahrtiir. Not anymore. This is Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir. If he ever gets the chance, he’s going to be the Forestal of Andelain and Salva Gildenbourne.”
    The figure beside her nodded gravely. He may have been humming. Then he turned away as though Linden had introduced him to people who did not interest him. Guiding Narunal with his knees or his music, he rode, stately and ineffable, toward Jeremiah’s temple.
    Linden remained where she was. Her eyes were full of frenzy. Too much had happened to her. Too much had happened while she was gone.
    “You did—” She appeared to grope for words as if she had no names for what she saw and felt. “Covenant, you—”
    Yet Covenant faced her like the man who had chosen to forsake her days ago. He should have said something,
wanted
to speak. Goading himself with curses, he strained to break the logjam of his emotions. But he was still stunned, still floundering.
    A
Forestal
? Of course. He had urged her to
Remember forbidding
. How else could she have done it?
Without forbidding, there is too little time
. The magicks of the ancient woodland guardians were not instruments which could be passed from one hand to another. They were inherent. So she had decided—or Mahrtiir had decided for her. The Manethrall of the Ramen had been sacrificed.
    And Covenant had no idea where she had found the power to transform Mahrtiir; how far into the Land’s past she had been forced to travel. Hellfire! It was no wonder that she looked wild, frantic. She had done and endured things which had shaken her heart to its foundations.
    He wanted to ask, Who was it? Who did you find? He had the question ready; but he gritted his teeth against it. She needed something more from him. Something better.
    While Covenant stood paralyzed, silent and useless, Jeremiah came running from his construct. His hands burned like shouts as he sprinted toward Linden.
    “Mom! You came back!”
    Linden hardly