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

reported that Cavewights crowded the tunnel behind them; but the creatures appeared content to follow at a distance. They feared Covenant’s wild blade—or they desired a surer chance to strike.
    Guiding by newly acquired memories, the Voice of the Masters turned left at one branching, passed straight through two intersections, angled sharply to the right at a third. The passage lurched upward in stages like terraces. The cries of the dying trailed like spectres behind the company.
    Thirty or more
Haruchai
had now joined the company. The losses of the Cavewights were far greater. But there were thousands of Cavewights. Tens of thousands. At present, the tunnels themselves were the company’s best defense. Covenant and his companions survived primarily because Handir’s route avoided another open killing field like the cave.
    At Covenant’s side, Linden hurried as if she were hunkering down inside herself, trying to make herself too small for her fears to find her. Nevertheless she remained Linden Avery. With Jeremiah’s consent, she borrowed Earthpower from the Staff at intervals and spread it among the Giants, fed vitality to Covenant’s dwindling reserves. To Bhapa and Pahni, she offered the same gift; but they declined it. They were Ramen. They could have run through these passages indefinitely, fleet as horses in spite of their loathing for enclosed spaces.
    To the Masters, she gave nothing. She knew better.
    Along the way, Jeremiah made his own use of Staff-fire. Instead of extending flames outward, however, he appeared to draw them into himself. They ran up his arms as if he intended to broil his own skin, excoriate himself. Then they faded into his chest. And as he absorbed the Staff’s magicks, his eyes darkened until they seemed to refuse light. They glittered at Covenant’s silver like chunks of obsidian.
    Covenant had no idea what the boy was trying to accomplish, but he did not question it. He had provoked this reaction. Now he had to trust it.
    The gem’s shining restricted his view ahead, but he thought that he saw—
    Abruptly he lowered the dagger, shaded it with his free hand. “Branl?” He was breathing too hard to articulate a question. “Branl?”
    “Indeed, ur-Lord,” the Humbled replied as though he understood.
    There: in the distance above Covenant, beyond the dark shapes of the Swordmainnir hastening upward temporarily unopposed: a faint glow. Reddish, but not crimson; warmer and more yellow than the laval eyes of the Cavewights. It seemed to flicker as Giants interrupted it, but Covenant could guess what it was.
    Then Linden grabbed his arm, breathed his name; and he was sure.
    Rocklight. The company was approaching one of the lit regions of the Wightwarrens.
    The glow grew stronger. Summoned by Handir, Masters from the rear ran past Covenant and Linden, Jeremiah and the Cords. Fresh rage and iron rang along the passage. Hard impacts. A rabid stutter of screams, howls, frenzy.
    “We will ward you,” Stave said suddenly, “but you must also defend yourselves. A multitude awaits us.” He touched Jeremiah’s shoulder. “Do you hear, Chosen-son? You must turn your thoughts to our peril. It may be that our lives will require your aid.”
    “What do you want from me?” Jeremiah panted. “More killing? That’s not what Law is for. I can’t forget the Worm. I’m not strong enough.”
    Linden regarded him with desperation in her eyes.
    “Then don’t worry about it,” said Covenant between sickened breaths. “You’re getting ready for a different kind of fight.” As was Linden. “Leave this one to the rest of us.”
    To Giants and
Haruchai
. And to Covenant himself, who had already shed enough blood to drown him.
    He gave himself no other choice. In a former life, he had turned his back on power. Now he demanded it of himself.
    Rocklight washed over him. Rime Coldspray and her comrades passed an opening, spread out to both sides. Blows and shouts pounded down the tunnel, but the sounds were strangely muffled. A gulf seemed to swallow their force.
    Straining for air, Covenant went a step or two ahead of Linden and Jeremiah; ahead of Stave. The
krill
he held at his side so that it would not blind him. With Branl, Bhapa, and Pahni, he drove his weakness out of the tunnel onto a ledge as wide as an avenue.
    There he found himself facing a rocklit chasm.
    It was not a fault or flaw in the gutrock, although it resembled a crevice: long and high, but not wide, little more