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

could do. She wanted to strike at the Sandgorgons before they reached the valley, do as much damage as she could from a distance. But she had already caught the reek of more gangrene.
    High above the Defiles Course, a second chancre had appeared, a second suppuration. The gutrock bled vile fluids like pus.
    God in Heaven! We can’t—
    Rime Coldspray adjusted the formation of the Swordmainnir. With Frostheart Grueburn, Latebirth, and Halewhole Bluntfist, she came to stand in front of Linden. The others positioned themselves to defend Jeremiah. He was trying to shout, but his voice broke into whimpers. Stave waited at Linden’s side as if he were resting. In no apparent hurry, Branl returned along the valley bottom toward Covenant.
    Ragged with strain, Covenant continued yelling at the Sarangrave.
    “Linden Giantfriend.” The Ironhand sounded almost nonchalant. The prospect of an impossible battle seemed to focus her combative nature. “The
skurj
we must entrust to you. If by kind fortune they approach singly, you may perhaps prevail. The Sandgorgons are mighty in all sooth, yet they wield only strength and ferocity. And we also are mighty. We are armed and armored. We will hope to stand against them. If they do not mass for a combined assault”—she shrugged to loosen her shoulders—“we will teach them to esteem us.”
    The pounding of Linden’s pulse in her ears measured out Coldspray’s words—
entrust to you.
After that, she recognized only one in three. Still she knew what was required of her.
    Jeremiah had his defenders. Armed with a sword forged to fight Sandgorgons, Branl would guard Covenant. And Covenant was not helpless. If any residue of his victory over Nom lingered in the minds of the monsters, or in
samadhi
’s, they might flinch from attacking him. That left the
skurj
.
    Linden believed that she could stop them—
    —if they came no more than one or two at a time.
    Fierce and ruddy, a maw full of fangs burst from the granite high in the cliff. With grim satisfaction, Linden saw that the monster was directly above the Defiles Course. The riverbed held much less than its former torrents; but the remaining gush was still
water
: polluted beyond estimation, yes, and stinking to the stars, but water nonetheless. Her fate was written in it.
    Swinging her Staff like the handle of a flail, and hissing the Seven Words past her teeth, she sent barbed fire at the
skurj
.
    The leading Sandgorgon was already nearing the valley. The others did not gain ground, but they followed swiftly.
    Thinking
Melenkurion
and
minas
and
khabaal
, Linden found that the monster in the cliff had emerged near the limit of her range. She could not hit it hard enough to slay it. But she was fighting now: instinct and desperation guided her. She did not need to kill the monster directly. She could use the river. All she had to do was make the damn thing fall.
    Deliberately she harried the creature. She whipped fire at its jaws, made wounds in its gullet. Then she caused one of his fangs to rupture.
    Roaring in distress, the
skurj
thrashed against the rims of its egress. The stone around it cracked and crumbled.
    It was not a thinking creature. It did not observe and take care: it only hunted and fed—and reacted to pain. After a moment, its own writhing broke loose a section of the cliff.
    Amid shards of gutrock as loud as thunder, the monster plunged down the face of the precipice.
    When the
skurj
hit the Defiles Course, steam erupted from the impact. Fouled water sprayed upward, filled the valley bottom with a rain of poison and acid. But Linden had anticipated that. As the monster fell, she raised a curtain of black flame between her companions and the river. Earthpower burned ruin out of the air. Then, as the corrosive deluge subsided, she turned her fire against the
skurj
again, burning to trap the monster in the river.
    Inflicted hurts blocked the monster’s escape. It shrieked like shattering as it swallowed spray and splashes, gulped down death. Then it collapsed, steaming furiously; stretched out its length in the current. A moment later, it was dead, and the Defiles Course flowed over it.
    Linden wanted a shout of celebration. She looked around for it. But sudden plague-spots dotted the far side of the valley; and more appeared on the near side, within a stone’s throw of the company; and the first Sandgorgon raced off the mountainside onto lower ground, charging toward Branl and