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

spoke to the company as if he were answering only her.
    “I’ve been inside Mount Thunder twice, and both times I went in by the front door. From the Upper Land along Treacher’s Gorge to Warrenbridge, then into the catacombs.
That’s
the mistake. Foul is bound to be expecting us. We need another way in.”
    “Indeed, ur-Lord,” remarked Branl. “It is certain that other passages exist. One enabled the quest for the Staff of Law to evade Drool Rockworm. Another brought Cavewights and your son to assail us. But such paths are known only to the Cavewights. Also they are perilously small, ill-suited to Giants.”
    “Right.” Covenant did not glance at the Humbled. All of his attention was fixed on Linden. “We’ll have to try a different approach.
    “Forget the Upper Land. If the Sandgorgons and the
skurj
were cutting into Salva Gildenbourne back when the Ardent brought us out of the Lost Deep, they’ll be near Treacher’s Gorge by now. Even if we get into the Wightwarrens ahead of them, they’ll be right behind us.
    “I think we should try climbing up from the Defiles Course.”
    No, Linden repeated. She could not stop herself—and could not find her voice to tell him that he was wrong about her.
No
. What he said made sense. Nothing made sense. She Who Must Not Be Named was too strong for her.
    “The waters are corrupt,” objected Branl.
    “Well, sure,” Covenant countered. Every word was addressed to Linden. “But they must have receded by now. The Soulsease has been pouring into the Lost Deep for days. Until all those chasms and caverns fill up, there won’t be any water coming out. Or not much,” he amended. “There are probably other sources, but they’re nothing like the Soulsease.”
    Branl was not deflected. “Also the path is unknown. Uncounted millennia of slime and filth and dire poisons will clog the channel. The inhalation of the vapors will cause sickness and death. The Giants will not be spared. The
Haruchai
will not.”
    At last Covenant turned away as if Linden’s silence and dismay had defeated him. He sounded sour and forlorn as he retorted, “I’m not worried about the damn
vapors
. Linden has her Staff. We’ll be fine. And we’ll have another advantage. We’ll be close to water.
    “Hellfire!” The scar on his forehead seemed to bleed silver. It squeezed out of his old wound like sweat. “We’ll be close to the lurker. If we need help, we’ll get it. That monster has already staked its life on the alliance. We can do the same.
    “Linden’s fate is ‘writ in water.’ The Ardent told us that. What the hell else do you think he meant? The lurker can’t reach the Upper Land, but the Defiles Course opens into Lifeswallower. That’s where Horrim Carabal
thrives
.”
    But Branl did not relent. He and Stave had already shown their approval. Now the last of the Humbled seemed determined to judge Covenant’s intentions accurately, as if he agreed with Linden.
    “And also there is the matter of the Cords. They have been conveyed to Revelstone to seek the aid of the Masters. Should they succeed, that aid will not find us at the Defiles Course.”
    “Don’t you think I know that?” Covenant snapped. “But they can’t help us. If Bhapa and Pahni succeed, the Masters will head for Treacher’s Gorge—where they’ll be slaughtered. They can’t do anything against
skurj
and Sandgorgons. For their sakes, we have to hope the Cords don’t convince them.
    “Whatever happens, we’ll have to find the way by ourselves.”
    Writ in water
. Finally those words reached Linden. She remembered how Covenant had rescued her from her terror of She Who Must Not Be Named. He had gone to that extreme for her: her husband who loved her. How could she fault him for still being a man who went to extremes? When extremes were needed? And she knew that he was right about Jeremiah, although the truth appalled her. Lord Foul could reach him anywhere. The Despiser did not need proximity.
    While Covenant faced the company with his needs and his pain and his severe convictions, Linden found her voice. But she did not speak to him: she spoke to her son.
    “What do you think, Jeremiah?” Her voice shook. “This has got to be harder for you than anyone else.” He had said as much himself. He had no instrument of power. No weapon, no prowess, no great strength. “Are you willing to go to Mount Thunder and take your chances?”
    Jeremiah’s attention seemed to leap at her. “Sure,” he