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

than a stone’s throw from wall to wall. Rather it had been fashioned, dug out over centuries or millennia. The ruddy light everywhere testified to the effort and theurgy which had formed the space. Overhead, and to left and right, it stretched beyond the reach of Covenant’s dimmed sight. But when he moved closer to the rim of the ledge, he could see the bottom of the excavation: a crude trough crowded with debris, as full of refuse as a midden.
    In spite of Stave’s warning, he stopped and stared, momentarily unable to do anything except look. For a few heartbeats, he forgot fighting; forgot his peril entirely. He needed time to comprehend what he saw.
    A ledge opposite him resembled the one where he stood. It was the lowest of five, six, no seven levels like communal passages, each carved into the wall two or three Giant-heights above the next. And at the back of each horizontal cut, each shaped road, were openings like doorways. They measured out the chasm in both directions at intervals of perhaps twenty paces. Stone doors closed some of them. Others stood open, revealing lit chambers.
    Habitations. Covenant could hardly think. He struggled for air as if he were inhaling dismay. Dwellings. Homes.
    Homes implied families. Families implied children.
    There were hundreds of doorways near enough for his failing vision; and the chasm was long. If the wall where the company had emerged mirrored the one across from it, the space held thousands.
    Thousands of homes. The Cavewightish version of a city.
    Ah, hell. Covenant had brought bloodshed to a place where the creatures were vulnerable, where their mates and children could be killed. A place which they would defend for reasons better than obedience to the Despiser.
    Everywhere he looked, he saw Cavewights mustering. On every level, armed bands gathered and ran, converging—
    Any uncontrolled wild magic here would incinerate children.
    —on bridges that spanned the chasm.
    Hellfire! There were dozens of the damn things, wrought granite roads as wide as the ledges. A few stretched straight across, level to level; but most of them arced, connecting the walls at differing heights. On Covenant’s left, the nearest bridge reached to the third level opposite it: another farther away on his right extended to the fourth. An elaborate and apparently random network of spans crisscrossed the space, giving every ledge access—direct or indirect—to every other.
    And on every bridge, Cavewights raced across the air, rushing to give battle.
    —exposed to assault on all sides.
Bloody damnation!
    Covenant wheeled on Branl. “We have to get out of here! These are their homes! We can’t start killing their
children
!”
    The Humbled shrugged. “We do what we must. Foes now throng the passage at our backs. We have sacrificed the choice of retreat.
    “Our path lies there.” He pointed to the nearest bridge. “From the third level opposite, we must cross to the fifth above us. At that height, a passage leads toward Kiril Threndor. Its constriction will defend us once again.”
    “Then
run
!” Covenant yelled. “Before they can stop us!”
    He could not unleash wild magic here. Even to save the Earth, he could not.
    “Thomas!” Linden clutched his arm, tugged at him. “Look!”
    For an instant, his mind reeled. Then he dragged his attention away from possibilities which horrified him.
    On both sides, his companions were already fighting.
    To the left, the Ironhand and Frostheart Grueburn slashed like furies through the press of Cavewights. Among them, Handir and half a dozen Masters dodged and struck. Onyx Stonemage and Halewhole Bluntfist had gone to the right. With more
Haruchai
, they held their ground against three times as many creatures. The cacophony of battle was terrible. It seemed more terrible because it dissipated in the high chasm as if it were meaningless.
    The Giants of Dire’s Vessel had arrived behind Covenant. The last six or seven Masters prepared to block the tunnel, protect the rear of the company.
    Now Covenant spotted more Masters on the levels above him: groups of four widely scattered. They were too few to save his companions; too far away.
    “
Coldspray!
” he cried as if he were falling.
    The Ironhand and Handir exchanged shouts. Coldspray bellowed commands at Bluff Stoutgirth. The Anchormaster answered with curses. His glare held madness.
    Clutching their unfamiliar weapons, the sailors charged to the right. With strength and mass, if not