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

Jeremiah expanded his efforts. Grueburn seemed to bite off great chunks of air, swallow them gratefully. A fierce grin bared her teeth. Still coughing, Baf Scatterwit started to laugh. One at a time, sailors and Swordmainnir joined her.
    “Well done, Chosen-son!” called the Ironhand. “Well done in all sooth! It may be that our cause is doomed. It may be that we will soon perish. Yet miracles abound, and Jeremiah Chosen-son stands high among them.”
    Gradually Linden’s companions stood straighter. They began to move again.
    The Feroce had not paused. They may not have noticed the company’s difficulties. Or they may not have cared. They had their own fears. Perhaps a stone’s throw ahead of the Ironhand and Covenant, the troubled green passed from sight beyond a corner. Streaks of argent lit the rubble piled along the river as if the stones had tumbled there from Gravin Threndor’s dreams.
    As her respiration eased, Linden thought that she heard thunder.
    No, not thunder. By degrees, the sound clarified itself. It was too wet, too complex, too constant to be atmospheric. It cast spray into the ambit of the
krill
’s illumination. The company was approaching a waterfall.
    Where the spray brushed her cheeks, it stung.
    She could not gauge the height of the plunge by the timbre of its muffled roar; but she heard neither warnings nor chagrin from the Giants. The Ironhand did not hesitate as she bore Covenant out of sight, leaving Branl behind to light the way.
    In moments, a few sailors and Onyx Stonemage scrambled to Branl’s position, followed by Squallish Blustergale and more of the Anchormaster’s crew. As Grueburn neared the turn, Linden became more confident that the water did not plummet from a great height. Still her anxiety did not relent until Grueburn carried her past the corner. Then she was able to see that the waterfall was no taller than one Giant standing on the shoulders of another.
    She could not have climbed it. Perhaps Grueburn could not. But here the river’s diminishment was obvious. A comparatively narrow gush of water pounded into the deep center of the channel. Beside the river on both sides, eons of a far heavier flow had left more gradual slopes. Broken rocks cloaked in mosses like shredded skin mounted upward in possible increments.
    A short way up the rise, Coldspray and Covenant waited for Branl and light. Above them, the Feroce scrambled for the rim as if they were in no danger of slipping. Their emerald glow wavered and gibbered on the walls as they scuttled out of sight. Then their fires faded as if the crevice had opened to accommodate a cavern.
    Linden looked back at Jeremiah. The radiance of Loric’s gem revealed black tendrils of power like vines curling away from the Staff, making the air precious. As the boy worked, however, a scowl of strain clenched his features, and the wood trembled in his grasp. He was still trying too hard.
    “Are you all right, honey?” Linden asked over the shout of the water. “Do you need rest? We should be able to survive for a few minutes.”
    “Don’t bother me.” He sounded distant, wrapped in concentration. She barely heard him. “I’m fine.”
    “The Feroce act like they’re in a hurry,” Covenant offered, “but I can ask them to wait”—he glanced at the waterfall—“once we catch up with them.”
    When Jeremiah nodded, Rime Coldspray continued upward. Behind her, Bluff Stoutgirth gestured his crew forward. Moving as surely as the Giants, Branl passed Grueburn and Linden to rejoin the head of the line.
    Accompanied by argent, the Ironhand took Covenant past the lip of the fall, out of the harsh spray. At the rim, Branl waited again. Still in single file, Giants made the ascent. Ahead of Grueburn and Linden, Scatterwit limped over the treachery of the stones. She was obviously in pain, yet she chuckled in short bursts as if her damaged kneecap amused her.
    Then Grueburn crested the waterfall; and Linden stared in surprise. Ahead of her,
krill
-light played across the black surface of a lake.
    It may have been vast. The height of the cavern seemed to imply that it was; and the darkness beyond the
krill
’s reach concealed the boundaries of the water. Liquid obsidian curved away to Linden’s left, following the cavern wall out of sight. But ahead and to the right, the lake appeared to have no end—or her senses were confused by intimations of power.
    It was eerily motionless, as still as stone. Water dripped from