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

if Lord Foul or
moksha
Jehannum turned the monsters aside.
    Abruptly Cabledarm went down. She did not rise again. Stormpast Galesend fell with a fountain of blood where her arm had been. One of the
skurj
pounced on her before Linden could intervene.
    Instantly Stave dove into the struggle, claimed Cabledarm’s sword. He joined Onyx Stonemage before she was overwhelmed.
    Strands of fog tumbled among the combatants, obscured details until crimson and obsidian fires burned holes in the streamers. Through the confusion, Linden saw too many Giants: half a dozen more than there should have been. Giddy with exhaustion and flame, she tried to count. Three Swordmainnir still fought. Coldspray and Kindwind made five. How could there be more?
    “Welcome!” the Ironhand shouted with a tantara in her voice. “Well come in all sooth!” Then she yelled, “Assume my task, and Kindwind’s, that we may give battle!”
    The others—the
others
?—were not Swordmainnir. Most of them were men. They wore canvas breeches and shirts rather than armor. And they carried no swords. Two had spears. Another appeared to drive an entire spar between the jaws of a
skurj
. Linden saw a collection of billhooks with whetted edges, belaying-pins longer than one of her arms, knouts studded with sharp stones, immense cleavers.
    Such weapons should have been useless here; yet they wrought confusion among the nearest monsters. Billhooks tore open the hinges of jaws, left maws unable to close. Belaying-pins smashed teeth. Knouts distracted creatures while spears stabbed. Cleavers shed blood wherever they could. In spite of their bulk, the Giants moved with the agility of sailors trained to weather hurricanes.
    They were a paltry force against the onslaught of
skurj
. Still they fought as if they were singing; as if they were glad to spend their lives in a hopeless cause.
    The man who had fed his spar to a monster broke free of the battle, came toward Linden and Coldspray. “Ironhand,” he panted, grinning. Reflections of Earthpower and lava in his eyes resembled the exultation of hysteria or madness. “I hear and obey. Stone and Sea! We are lost.”
    Rime Coldspray did not pause to acknowledge him. Roaring a Giantish battle-cry, she took her stone glaive into the heart of the turmoil.
    To Linden, the man remarked, “My name is unwieldy in such straits. For ease of use in peril, I am called Hurl.”
    She hardly heard him.
    A woman with the charred remains of a knout in one hand followed Hurl; hastened past Linden. As soon as the woman neared Jeremiah, Cirrus Kindwind ran to join the Ironhand. Swinging her longsword one-handed, Kindwind dealt furious cuts at every
skurj
within reach. But she did not pursue her attack on any single creature. Her tactic was speed. Apparently her only objective was to cause pain; to weaken her foes with wounds.
    Stave also relied on swiftness. Still he fought with the precision of a surgeon. He seemed inhumanly adept at slicing open the hearts of monsters. Somehow he avoided every slash of fangs, every scalding splash of blood, every brimstone touch.
    It was all futile. One of the newly arrived Giants died directly below Linden. She could not save him. She had forgotten the Sandgorgons; forgotten Covenant and Branl. She had nothing left except a kind of autonomic ferocity. She had fought her way beyond the precipice of her strength and power. Now she could only flail and fall.
    Yet the surprise of more Giants appeared to affect the
skurj
. It altered the focus of their rampage; or they received new commands from the evil which had replaced Kastenessen as their master. Their dim minds—or
moksha
Raver’s—recognized that Linden and the Giants were trivial: puny opponents easily eaten later. A greater enemy awaited their fangs, an antagonist whose power might provide a richer feast. Wild magic might slaughter every one of the monsters; or it might exalt them, if they were able to feed on it.
    In a staggered cadence, as if some
skurj
were more reluctant than others, they turned toward the lower end of the valley.
    There near the Sarangrave and the Defiles Course, Covenant fought for time. He needed a respite, just a few moments for his only answer. His last gamble. He had to be able to stand back and
concentrate
—And even then, he might be too late.
    But he could not take the chance while Sandgorgons forced him to struggle for every moment of life.
    He saw Giants now. They seemed to come from nowhere, as if they