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

fight for the people he loved, and for their world? Surely the Despiser was responsible for all of this blood?
    Of course, Covenant told himself. But the fact of his antagonist’s malevolence did not relieve him of culpability. He had done so much of the actual killing—
    There was a price for such deeds. He intended to pay it—as soon as he could breathe again. As soon as he found his way to Kiril Threndor.
    Without a word, Branl took his arm, urged him into motion. Beyond the
krill
’s reach, the rest of the company had vanished around a bend in the tunnel. But he could still hear fighting. Muffled by distance, blows and yells echoed out of the darkness. Clearly Handir’s comrades and the Swordmainnir were able to beat back the Cavewights blocking their path. But the creatures had not given up. They contested every step.
    They were not
Haruchai
. They had no way of knowing what Covenant had done—and could do again.
    Pulled into a trot, Covenant ran after his wife and his friends, stumbling on his numb feet like a man who had never drawn a clean breath.
    Past the bend, he nearly fell when the
krill
’s light revealed the body of a Swordmain among the strewn corpses of Cavewights.
    Cirrus Kindwind sprawled against the wall, propped at an awkward angle by a spear driven through one eye and out of the back of her skull. Her longsword lay a few paces away, as if she had tried to throw it with her last strength. Her features had closed around the spear: they held it in place like an act of defiance.
    She had been fighting in darkness. Covenant carried the only light.
    Blinded by intolerable tears, he ran again, trusting Branl to guide him.
    Abruptly the sounds of fighting ahead ceased.
    Quiet as the dark, Branl said, “Other Masters have come to assail the Cavewights. The way has been cleared.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “It will not remain so.”
    Covenant tried to clear his vision, but he saw no sign of his companions. He found only bodies and spilled fluids rank as offal.
    The tunnel turned again. It rose steeply. At the top of the incline, he had to clamber over terrible mounds of the dead. He feared to look at them; feared to see some of Handir’s people, another Swordmain, the Cords. Linden or Jeremiah. His friends had been fighting an uphill battle when they were rescued.
    Beyond heaps of Cavewights, he caught up with the company.
    At first, he could not see past Bluff Stoutgirth and his crew. They had spread out in a wider section of the passage: their tall forms blocked his view. But then the sailors stepped aside, and the
krill
’s silver fell on other survivors.
    In the vanguard, the Voice of the Masters stood with Canrik and Dast, Vortin and Samil. They had been joined by nine or ten of their kinsmen. A quick glance showed Covenant a multitude of wounds and stains. Nevertheless all of the
Haruchai
bore themselves as if their hurts were superficial; as if they had not lost scores of their people, and had never known sorrow. Closer to Covenant, still heaving to control their breathing, Frostheart Grueburn, Onyx Stonemage, and Halewhole Bluntfist waited with the Ironhand. Gore streaked their cataphracts: their longswords trembled in hands made weak by weariness. But their injuries looked shallow. Only the darkness in their eyes betrayed the loss of Kindwind.
    Stoutgirth’s dismay was more overt. His jaws worked as he tried to summon some sound from his throat, some shout or cry which might relieve his pain. Yet he remained mute: a man for whom all laughter had gone out of the world. At his side, Squallish Blustergale wept openly. The other sailors hung their heads in shock and fatigue.
    Bhapa and Pahni stood apart from the rest of the company as if they had no place in it. They had not fought. Nor had they known any of the fallen except Cirrus Kindwind. And they were Ramen, lost without open skies to unfetter their spirits.
    Among the Giants, Covenant found Linden and Jeremiah with Stave.
    The boy was conscious now; on his feet. He had reclaimed the Staff of Law. Holding it upright, he scowled at his hands as they moved over the shaft, tracing the runes as if he were searching the written wood for the answers to questions which he did not know how to ask. He did not glance up when Covenant arrived. His concentration excluded everyone.
    But Linden’s gaze leapt at once to her husband. Her mouth shaped his name.
    The sight of her made Covenant feel like weeping again. He recognized the