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

tunnel. At once, the Ironhand, Onyx Stonemage, and two sailors hastened upward. As soon as they were clear, Grueburn started to ascend like a leap of fire. Through tainted torrents, Linden watched Bluntfist and Furledsail support Kindwind.
    Somehow Jeremiah continued to pour out Earthpower while water hammered down on him.
    The lake still rose. It was no more than an arm span away from the rest of the Giants. Only Branl stood between them and the fatal surface.
    Resting his flamberge on his shoulder, the Humbled crouched at the water’s edge and prodded the tip of the
krill
into a stone. There he waited, studying the lake as if he were daring it to touch High Lord Loric’s blade.
    A moment later, Grueburn carried Linden up into the tunnel into the deeper darkness of the river’s passage. At first, she saw nothing. Granite and black water filled her senses. But then Covenant’s ring began to emit a soft glow. Strain knotted his forehead, bared his teeth, as he strove to elicit wild magic without losing control. Gradually his conflicted, tenuous light revealed the surroundings.
    Beyond its wide mouth above the cavern, the tunnel resembled a chute or flume angling sharply downward from somewhere far above. The diminished river filled its bottom, tumbling loudly over planes like shelves, gouged flaws, indurated obstructions. Covenant’s silver bled along the splashing and spray. The Ironhand, Stave, and a few Giants had waded upward, forcing their way against the downrush to make room for their comrades.
    There were no protrusions or stable boulders where Stave and the sailors could have secured their ropes. Instead Keenreef, Hurl, and two comrades anchored the lines by sitting in the river and bracing their feet in cracks and potholes. By plain strength, they supported the Giants ascending through the waterfall.
    Earlier Stave must have done the same—
    Grueburn and Kindwind led Bluntfist and Furledsail upward. The river fumed against their knees, boiled to carry them away. But they were Giants: they kept their feet. All of the Swordmainnir were in the tunnel. More sailors swarmed up the ropes. By Linden’s count, only Scatterwit, Squallish Blustergale, and Branl remained in immediate danger.
    The river here was as corrupt as it had been around the lake. It reeked of the bane’s exudations.
    As Grueburn joined the Ironhand, Covenant gave Linden a look like a glare of fever. By its very nature, wild magic resisted restraint. It became more dangerous with repeated use. But Linden could not help him. There was too much Earthpower in the air. The chute constricted it. Reminders of She Who Must Not Be Named assailed her. Her wedding band no longer answered his.
    “It’s getting harder,” Jeremiah groaned. He kept his eyes squeezed shut. “The Worm—I can see
Melenkurion
Skyweir.”
    Grueburn and Kindwind stood in the river shoulder to shoulder. Aching to relieve Jeremiah and Covenant—to relieve herself—Linden put her hand on the Staff again, added her determination to her son’s.
    “How far?” she asked him. “How far away is it?”
    “I don’t know.” Jeremiah was near his limits. “Close enough.” Then he added, “But the Worm is in a river. It isn’t moving as fast.”
    Linden closed her eyes as well; listened to the tumid clamor of water. The Worm must have passed the boundary of the Last Hills. It was crossing the wilderland which had once been Garroting Deep. And along the way, it was appeasing its hunger by drinking from the Black River, which took its name from its burden of diluted EarthBlood.
    Yet the Worm had traversed most of the Land with appalling speed. How much time remained before it forced its way into the depths of the Skyweir? A day? Less?
    A moment later, Covenant’s wild magic faded. When Linden opened her eyes, she saw silver streaming from the
krill
in Branl’s grasp. It shone on the water frothing down the contorted length of the channel. At the same time, she heard shouts.
    Hurl called, “They are safe!” And the Anchormaster crowed, “Stone and Sea! We are Giants in all sooth! And the
Haruchai
are Giants also, in their fashion. We live!”
    “The lake rises still,” continued Hurl. “Indeed, it swells more swiftly. Yet Scatterwit has suffered no further harm. And Blustergale has lost no more than two toes and a portion of a third. Had we been but a heartbeat sooner—”
    Blustergale interrupted him, roaring in feigned indignation. “There is no pain! None, I