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

so that his ring touched Loric’s gem. Then he uttered a shout of wild magic that halted the leading Sandgorgons as if he had
forbidden
them. A dozen paces away, they paused to study him.
    Once long ago he had fought Nom to a standstill. He had not tried to kill the creature; but he had defeated it, forced it to submit—and to listen. He could do more. Yet his power then had not harmed Nom. It did not harm the Sandgorgons now. Their hides had some virtue against wild magic. They could withstand much of his ire. Against so many of them, he would have to unleash far more wrath, more than he could hope to control—
    He might shatter the cliff above the Defiles Course, sealing his only way into the mountain.
    With argent bright in his eyes and silver burning on his scarred forehead as if his mind had become white fire, he ordered the monsters away. In Nom’s name, and in his own, he commanded them to depart with their lives.
    They did not acknowledge his authority. They were done with old respect and gratitude. Perhaps they now considered such emotions to be subservience. Instead they heeded
samadhi
—or
moksha
Raver speaking to them through
samadhi
’s remnants.
    While more monsters sped down the valley, those watching Covenant and Branl changed their tactics. Rather than obeying their instincts, trying to batter or crush any obstacle, they showed that they could think.
    First one of them crouched: then four more: then a score. One by one, they began hammering the ground with their forearms.
    One was strong enough to cause vibrations that Covenant felt in spite of his numbness. Five made the earth under him shake, dislodged small stones, raised spouts from the dirt. A score—
    He staggered as if he had been taken by vertigo. Flailing to stay on his feet, he had to yank his left hand away from the
krill
. For one heartbeat, two, three, Branl seemed untroubled, as immovable as the roots of a mountain. Then he was compelled to shift his feet, correcting his stance against the tremors.
    As more Sandgorgons arrived, they seemed to understand what the nearer creatures were doing. Without hesitation, they grasped their advantage. Hurtling forward, they struck like albino lightning at Covenant and Branl.
    Oh, they could
think
—
    Yet they remained bestial.
Samadhi
’s mind was not natural to them, and it endured only in scraps of malevolence. Focusing on their foes, the Sandgorgons did not see a tentacle as thick as an ironwood unfurl itself from the Defiles Course; or they did not regard their peril.
    In spite of his uncertain footing and Covenant’s imbalance, Branl wrenched his companion out of the way as the tentacle swept like a scythe at the charging creatures.
    The Sandgorgons were mighty. The lurker was mightier. It roared as if the tumult of fog had been given voice. With one heavy arm, Horrim Carabal blocked the charge. Swift as a spasm, the tentacle coiled around several of the monsters. Then it heaved them into the air.
    Howling and savage, the lurker snatched those Sandgorgons to the river and slammed them down; held them under the fouled water.
    At the same time, a second tentacle stretched upward. Guided by the invocations of the Feroce, or by its own instincts, the lurker’s arm crashed like a felled tree onto the crouching Sandgorgons.
    That blow scattered the monsters. It stopped the tremors.
    In an instant, Branl recovered. He righted Covenant. Then he rushed into the confusion of the Sandgorgons, delivering cuts like a whirlwind of blades. Some of the creatures lost arms, or forearms. One lost a leg. Two fell dead before the others rallied against the sorcery of Lostson Longwrath’s flamberge.
    Covenant heard Linden’s call then, but he had no chance to answer it. A screech from the lurker warned him. Turning, he saw the torn stump of the lurker’s first tentacle writhe above the water, lashing the air with gore. He saw Sandgorgons spring, unharmed, out of the Defiles Course.
    Ah, hell.
    “
Don’t stop!
” he yelled at the Feroce. “I know he’s hurt! Hurt is better than
dead
!”
    Summoning himself, he wrapped both hands around the
krill
once more. Then he moved toward the river. With every step, he mustered more of his power. In his grasp, the dagger seemed to grow longer, brighter, keener. The physical blade remained unchanged, but his wild magic became a longsword implied by Loric’s theurgy.
    He remembered the Seven Words. They were of no use to him. They bespoke Earthpower and Law.