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

“Do you possess rope? We would do well to gain the ledge above. Ulman and Ard will aid us. We have no other path.”
    A cudgel caught the side of Stonemage’s leg. She went down. Lunging, Stoutgirth spitted her assailant. Blood gushed from the Cavewight’s mouth, splashed the Anchormaster’s face. But Stoutgirth was not done. In spite of his leanness, he was strong enough to heave the Cavewight into the air on the end of his spear. Furiously he pitched the creature over the edge.
    Stonemage’s pain made Linden flinch. She pulled away from Covenant. “Help them!” she yelled at Canrik. “Stonemage can’t stand!”
    The Master faced her, glaring. “There is no need. The attack fails. A rout begins.”
    Harried by fears like furies, Covenant forced his inward whirl aside. The whole crevice continued turning, but he ignored it. Standing with his legs wide, he looked along the ledge.
    Through a blur of failing sight and vertigo, he saw that Canrik was right. Only seven or eight Cavewights still fought. The other Master, Dast, pursued creatures trying to retreat. Branl spun to help Bluntfist and Coldspray with their opponents. His blade spilled entrails, flung red spray. With every slash, Coldspray drew bright gore. Bluff Stoutgirth threw his spear: a final strike that gouged chips from a plate of armor. Then he stooped to Stonemage, pulled her arm over his shoulder, hauled her upright. Together they staggered toward the rest of the company.
    Blustergale did not wait for instructions. From one of the company’s sacks, he produced a heavy coil of rope. Baf Scatterwit tried to take it from him: his healed shoulder was still weak. He refused her; gave the rope to Wiver Setrock. To console her, he said, “Stand ready. You will have other tasks.”
    She hooted a laugh. “I am ready. Am I not ready always?”
    “Anchormaster!” shouted Setrock. “The Master counsels an ascent! Other Masters wait to assist us.”
    Manic in his mask of blood, Stoutgirth grinned, rolled his eyes. “Sluggard! Why do you delay? If we do not accept aid when it is offered, we are not merely fools. We are witless as well.”
    At once, Setrock moved to the rim of the ledge, peered upward. For a moment, he gauged the distance, hefted his coil of rope. Then he nodded. Crouching to gain force, he threw his coil at the ledge high above the company.
    It disappeared in the darkness for a moment. Then one end of the rope came snaking down.
    Covenant drew a steadier breath, watched his surroundings settle back into their necessary positions.
    Stoutgirth lowered Stonemage to the ledge, settled her leaning against the wall. “Another line,” he commanded Scatterwit cheerfully; too cheerfully. Anguish in his gaze belied his tone. “Rig three cradles. I will not entrust the Timewarden or Linden Giantfriend or Jeremiah Chosen-son to the strength of their arms.”
    He did not add that Cirrus Kindwind had only one hand, or that Blustergale and Furledsail were still recovering, or that Onyx Stonemage was hurt, or that Scatterwit herself had lost a foot.
    Covenant approved. He did not believe that he would be able to hold on when fresh vertigo urged him to fall.
    Questions which must be answered?
    Canrik was glaring at Linden again as if she were a viper. As if he felt betrayed—
    Under the force of his gaze, she seemed to shrink inside her clothes. She had endured too much distrust from the Masters; too many judgments. Her history with them hung on her shoulders like a millstone. But she did not reply to Canrik’s plain ire. Instead she turned to Jeremiah. Like a woman who wished to demonstrate something, she said distinctly, “I need Earthpower, Jeremiah. For Stonemage. Do you mind?”
    Apparently she wanted Canrik to understand that the Staff of Law now belonged to the boy.
    Jeremiah frowned. “She’s hurt.” He looked baffled. “You don’t have to ask. She needs you.”
    He seemed to mean, I don’t know how to help her.
    The idea that the Masters still saw harm in Linden made Covenant want to hit Canrik in the face. Trembling at the intensity of his own wrath, he watched her walk toward Onyx Stonemage.
    The injured Swordmain sat on the far side of the place where a boulder had broken the ledge. She kept her hands clamped around her thigh to block the sensations from her knee, prevent the pain from breaking through her self-command. Linden did not try to cross the gap unaided—and did not wait for help from the Giants. Instead she halted