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

be a benison in all sooth,” answered Coldspray. “Make the attempt, Giantfriend. The Swordmainnir will ward your son.”
    Linden nodded, but she had stopped listening. Again she prepared the Seven Words in her mind. Instinctively she moved away from her companions so that she would have space to work. With only Stave nearby, she tuned her senses to the pitch and timbre of mist. Then she lifted new flames from the Staff and sent them skirling upward.
    She regretted the blackness of her fire. She would always regret it. But she had no idea how to relieve it. The fog was a simpler problem. And her stained theurgy was still Earthpower.
    With her eyes closed, she summoned more and more of her Staff’s potential. Her health-sense recognized and measured the vapors: their specific dampness on her skin; their distinctive currents and flavors. As if she were musing to herself, she murmured the Seven Words.
    The only substantial obstacle to her intent was the extent of the fug. It arose continuously from the Flat, curled up into the valley without ceasing. To be rid of it, she had to dismiss it faster than it came.
    Melenkurion abatha.
    Obliquely she wondered whether it had been invoked by the lurker, perhaps so that the High God of the Feroce would have an excuse for ignoring Covenant’s appeal. On a deeper level, she chewed the gristle of Jeremiah’s question. She feared that she knew the answer.
    Duroc minas mill.
    But she had work to do and could not afford to distract herself. If more
skurj
were coming—
    Harad khabaal.
    Behind her, the Giants muttered their approval. Stalwart as any of his kinsmen, Stave guarded her back.
    When she had cleared the air directly overhead, unveiled the stars and the onset of evening, she sent her fire toward the cliff above the Defiles Course; toward the steep slopes on either side of the exposed gutrock.
    “How did it find us?” Jeremiah repeated. He raised his voice, tried to make his question a demand. “We can’t get away if we don’t know how it found us.”
    The
skurj
were able to sense exertions of Earthpower; but Linden did not know how far their perceptions reached. Could they detect her power while they were ravaging in Salva Gildenbourne? Detect it past the bulk of Mount Thunder? And arrive so quickly? No: she did not believe it.
    She no longer felt Covenant’s irate, tattered summons; no longer sensed the
krill
’s shining imprecation. Grimly she focused her attention on the Staff of Law and fog.
    “There!” one of the Swordmainnir barked softly.
    A quick pang of alarm disturbed Linden’s flames. She bit her lip, resisted her impulse to falter.
    “Where?” asked the Ironhand. “My sight has lost its youth. I do not descry—”
    Calm as mist, Stave said, “Chosen. Direct your strength to the mountainsides beyond the Defiles Course.”
    She complied at once.
Moksha
’s forces were more likely to round Mount Thunder from the north than the south.
    Fresh tension spread among the Giants. Latebirth groaned. Stonemage and Grueburn cursed harshly.
    “Chosen-son!” snapped Cirrus Kindwind. “Stand at my back. Move as I move. I will shield you.”
    To Branl, Coldspray rasped, “You must defend the Timewarden. We cannot. If the Swordmainnir do not stand together, we will soon fall.”
    Linden opened her eyes, but she did not need them to discern the Sandgorgons. She felt their eager ferocity in every nerve.
    There were—
    Oh, God!
    —at least a score of them. Two score? More?
    Fatal as a landslide, they sped among lingering streamers of brume, hurtled down the mountainside toward the valley.
    One led the way. It had pulled some distance ahead of the others. Behind it came three, no, four more Sandgorgons. Nimble on the pads of their feet, the strange backward flex of their legs, they cascaded over the rocks. The rest of the monsters followed, a pale rush angling across Mount Thunder’s contorted slopes.
    For an instant, Linden froze. How many Sandgorgons had left their home across the seas? More than this? Surely not
more
?
    The company could not survive so many.
    Worse, Jeremiah would not be one of the victims. Lord Foul and
moksha
Raver might not be able to control the
skurj
; keep them away from the Despiser’s prize. The Sandgorgons were another matter. The shreds of
samadhi
Sheol animated their minds. They would obey Lord Foul’s wishes.
    As if she had taken herself by the throat, Linden let out a black scream against the fog.
    That was as much as she