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

that the lurker might heed him, she meant to guard his back.
    “
Melenkurion abatha
,” she promised softly while the
skurj
arose from the riverbank and swept toward her. “
Duroc minas mill
.
Harad khabaal
.”
    Down the valley from her, Branl did not quicken his pace. He advanced with the remorseless inevitability of a breaking wave.
    “Help her!” Jeremiah panted at the Swordmainnir. “That thing is going to
eat
her!”
    If the Ironhand or any of her comrades replied, Linden did not hear them.
    Now! she told herself. Do it
now
.
    Get away from me, you overgrown slug. You cannot have my son! Or my friends. Or my
husband
.
    With the Staff of Law alive and lurid in her grasp, she flung an ebon torrent of Earthpower and Law between the jaws of the
skurj
.
    The creature’s body radiated heat, but it did not emit light. All of the monster’s radiance came from the cruelty of its fangs. They were lambent and infernal, curved for ripping: they blazed with havoc. Looking into that wide maw was like staring down the gullet of a living cremation.
    But Linden was as ready as she would ever be. Her power was ready. And she was sick of frustration and fear, more profoundly infuriated that she had allowed herself to realize. She felt that she had not struck an effective blow since the day of horror when she had slaughtered uncounted Cavewights with wild magic: sentient creatures whose massacre at her hands still filled her with revulsion. She was by God
ready
to oppose a monster which sought destruction merely to feed its own worst appetites—and to satisfy a Raver’s commands.
    Moksha
Jehannum had once possessed her. She remembered him vividly. Like Covenant, if only with her Staff, she was done with restraint.
    Her dark torrent tore a howl from the throat of the
skurj
. The monster reared back, balancing like a cobra on its length. For a moment or two, long enough for her to shout the Seven Words, it tried to swallow her power; gulp it down as if it were the natural drink of
skurj
. But it could not. Her power shredded its gullet, sent agony inward. Thrashing its head, it clamped shut its mouth, closed its jaws on its horrid lumination. Then it whirled away before she could inflict more pain.
    Branl intercepted the
skurj
smoothly, as if he had foreseen the timing of his strike as soon as he had left Covenant’s side. The flamberge was a streak of theurgy in his hands. One stroke cut halfway through the monster’s neck.
    Then he sprang aside as the
skurj
became a flailing fountain of blood as bitter as acid. Convulsions writhed through the monster: it seemed to snarl itself in knots. But it could not survive its wounds. While it gaped and snapped at the air, the light of its fangs faded into the fog.
    Still Linden did not stop. She had endured too much, and yearned to repay it. Branl had killed the
skurj
for her: she turned her fire to quench the virulence of the monster’s blood.
    Even when she had eradicated every spot and spatter from the dirt, she wanted to continue until she had reduced the corpse to ash. But she felt Stave’s hand on her shoulder, heard him say, “Enough, Linden. The monster is slain. Now you must conserve your magicks. Where one
skurj
arrives, others will surely come.”
    “No,” Jeremiah breathed, apparently to himself. “Not more of those things. I can’t stand it. How did it find us?”
    If he sought reassurance, no one offered it.
    “Aye, Linden Giantfriend,” rumbled the Ironhand. “Your prowess raises a paean in our hearts. Yet Stave Rockbrother counsels wisely. In Kastenessen’s absence, the
skurj
are doubtless ruled by
moksha
Raver. We must believe that a greater force follows this lone creature. We must spare our strength while we may.”
    Someone should have said that to Covenant. He was still trying to coerce a response from the Sarangrave, hacking at the fog with Loric’s
krill
, and yelling intermittently. The gem’s argent spread out until the wetland smothered it. His voice made no sound that Linden could hear.
    “In that case,” she said as if she had only now begun to understand Rime Coldspray’s warning, “we need to
see
. We can’t let whatever comes take us by surprise.
    “Watch for me. I’m going to get rid of this damn fog.”
    The vapors baffled percipience. Like the Ironhand, Linden did not know whether they were natural or invoked. But she did not care. The fog itself was just suspended moisture. Earthpower and Law would dispel it.
    “That would