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

near the breach and bowed her head, concentrating her senses on Stonemage’s injured leg. As if of its own accord, fire unfurled from the Staff of Law, an ebon tracery stark in the
krill
’s shining. It spun whorls like intaglio as it reached toward Stonemage.
    Beyond them, Rime Coldspray kicked a Cavewight off the ledge: apparently the last of the creatures. Breathing hard, she and Halewhole Bluntfist studied the distance for a moment, where Dast harried the remnants of the attack. Then they raised their swords to salute Branl.
    He replied with a
Haruchai
bow. His expression acknowledged neither pride nor satisfaction. If he had gleaned anything from Dast’s thoughts, he did not reveal it.
    Briefly Covenant faced Canrik. He wanted to demand, How dare you? How
dare
you? After everything she’s been through while you were sitting on your damn hands? But he restrained himself. There was too much here that he did not understand. Too much that the Master did not.
    Deliberately he shifted his attention to Jeremiah. Harsh as a rasp, he asked, “Where is the Worm now?”
    Like Linden, he intended a demonstration.
    Jeremiah winced. He studied his hands twisting on the Staff. “It’s still in the river.” His voice shook with bitterness. “Still above ground. But it’s getting close. I can’t see
Melenkurion
Skyweir anymore. There’s just a huge cliff with a crack where the river comes out.”
    Over his shoulder, Covenant looked at Canrik again. Did you hear that, you self-righteous bastard? You think you’ve got questions? You have no idea.
    Everything that Linden had done for her son’s sake since Covenant’s return to life was justified.
    Then he told Jeremiah unsteadily, “Don’t worry about it.” The boy was ignorant of Linden’s fraught history with Canrik’s people. When would she have explained it? Why would she? Galt had saved Jeremiah’s life. “I know what’s happening to you is cruel. I can only imagine how much it hurts. But you’ll get your chance to do something about it. And the Masters will help us.”
    At least until their questions were answered.
    As if in response, Canrik said, “The Masters have been given lies. Stave conceals his thoughts. Branl of the Humbled must reveal truth.”
    The openness of Branl’s mind did not trouble Covenant. Of course Branl would tell the truth. He had promised to instruct his people. Covenant trusted that he would tell the whole truth.
    But lies? Who had lied to the
Haruchai
? Who had taken that risk? And how had the discernment of the Masters been foiled?
    Stave regarded Canrik with a flatness that seemed to imply disapproval; but he did not reproach the Master.
    Around Covenant, the Giants hurried through their preparations to leave the ledge. A sailor called Spume Frothbreeze braced his feet on the wall. With a second coil of rope over his shoulder, he pulled himself upward hand over hand. Scatterwit’s line had been knotted around his waist so that he could drag it behind him.
    To Covenant’s blurred sight, the height of the next ledge seemed unattainable. If Ard and Ulman were there, he could not distinguish them. Within moments, Frothbreeze faded into obscurity.
    But the Giants did not hesitate. At once, a woman followed with the company’s last rope: Far Horizoneyes. Like Frothbreeze, she climbed with the ease of long experience.
    Keenreef and Setrock took the remaining supplies, hastened upward. Covenant scowled at the cradles knotted into Scatterwit’s line: three of them tied in sequence so that he, Linden, and Jeremiah could sit in them and simply hold on while Giants and
Haruchai
raised them. He did not want to do this. He would lose his balance again. And all three of them would be vulnerable. If the Cavewights renewed their attack, threw more spears—
    “
No
.” The Ironhand’s voice snatched him out of his fretting. Although she spoke quietly, her vehemence shocked him.
    Turning, he saw Bluff Stoutgirth rise to his feet with Hurl’s body across his shoulders.
    “No,” repeated Coldspray, furious or grieving. “Anchormaster, no.”
    “One I lost to the
skurj
,” Stoutgirth replied like a lament. “For him, I have been granted a
caamora
. But three were slain here, and two fell beyond the reach of sorrow.” He bared his teeth through his veil of blood. “All were in my command, and their guerdon was death. I will not forsake Hurl to the feeding of rats.”
    “You
will
,” countered the Ironhand. “I do not gainsay