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

to mean, Well enough for what I have to do. “And I need my hands like this. The
krill
gets hot. If I’m in too much pain, I won’t be able to hold it.”
    She considered asking, Why is that important? How much do you know about what we have to do? But she rejected the idea. She did not want an answer: not really. She was in no hurry to think about the Despiser and the World’s End.
    Covenant gave her a look full of hunger. Then he shrugged and nodded his readiness.
    Holding his gaze, she raised her voice. “Come on out, Jeremiah. All of you. It’s time.”
    At once, Jeremiah emerged from the temple. The sight of him both lifted and soured Linden’s spirit. The emotions clenched inside him showed in his aura. He could smile because she had come back for him, and because she and Covenant were finally united—and because he had been able to sleep. But the effects of Kastenessen’s possession persisted: he did not know how to relieve them. And he had accomplished his one purpose. In the aftermath, he had lost the eagerness of his talent, the excitement which had driven and protected him. His ruined pajamas and his muddy gaze made him look haunted.
    Behind him loomed the Swordmainnir, grinning. Sleep and gladness had refreshed them, and their eyes as they regarded Linden and Covenant seemed to glow with warmth.
    Rime Coldspray approached first, followed by Cirrus Kindwind, and then by Cabledarm brimming with restored wholeness. The other women carried their depleted waterskins. Among them, Stave walked like a man who had never been harmed.
    Covenant rose from the grass to greet them. With a mixture of pleasure and regret, he said gruffly, “I should probably thank you. But I’m sure you can understand that one night just isn’t enough.” He touched Linden’s shoulder briefly. “I feel like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life, and now it’s over”—he grimaced—“unless we can do things that are even more unlikely than what we’ve already done.” Glowering like a man who did not know how to smile, he finished, “Just once, I would like to face a challenge that turns out to be easy.”
    Linden smiled for him. He had given her another gift to counterbalance the night’s passing. Indirectly, perhaps, but unmistakably, he had already reassumed his rightful place as the leader of the Land’s defenders.
    “Yet betimes, Timewarden,” replied the Ironhand, “we are granted ease. To behold you and Linden Giantfriend as you are does not test my heart. It gives only joy.”
    Covenant ducked his head. “Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved Giants. You remind me—” He spread his hands as if he had run out of words.
    Linden guessed that he was recalling Saltheart Foamfollower; or perhaps Pitchwife and the First of the Search.
    But other matters quickly claimed the attention of the Swordmainnir. They were hungry, of course. And they knew as well as Linden did, or Covenant, that all of the company’s deeds so far were only stopgaps. Branl outside the bower would have given warning of any imminent threat; but every peril was growing, and time was running out. With both pleasure and rue, the Ironhand and her comrades turned to Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir’s abundance of
aliantha
and clean water.
    Before Jeremiah could join them, Linden stopped him with a hug. “Can we talk, honey?” she asked privately. “I haven’t had a chance to hear how you’re handling what you’ve been through.”
    He avoided her gaze. “There isn’t much to tell, Mom. The Giants and Stave did everything. I mean, pretty much. All I did was organize the pieces and make sure they fit.”
    She recognized the deflection in his voice, but she did not question it. Instead she insisted mildly, “I still want to hear about it. This may sound strange, but you probably know me better than I know you. You’ve been my son for years, but I feel like we’ve just met. I want to understand how you think. Just give me a minute to finish getting dressed.”
    The boy acceded with a glum nod.
    Covenant left her with Jeremiah, but he did not follow the example of the Giants. While she pulled on her socks and boots, he asked Stave abruptly, “Is Branl saying anything?”
    Stave faced the Unbeliever with his customary lack of expression. “Ur-Lord, the storm of the Worm’s coming approaches. He gauges that an hour remains ere we must flee its ravages.” The former Master glanced away briefly before adding, “Should the Worm quicken its