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

she had not allowed herself to express. She was a rightful white gold wielder: for hours now, she could have struck her own blows. Yet she had contained herself, passive as dust amid the winds of battle. Somehow she had withheld—
    But I’m done fighting.
    In spite of endless provocations, she had kept faith with her decision. The cost of so much restraint must have been severe. Now she seemed ready to explode.
    Nevertheless her voice stayed clenched as she asked the Ironhand, “What about the others? We left them to die.”
    Her bitterness resembled the edges of Longwrath’s sword.
    Coldspray shook her head. “They will not perish while they are able to fight and flee.” She spoke as if she sought to reassure herself. “Having lost us, they will retreat for their lives. My commands were plain. And Halewhole Bluntfist and Onyx Stonemage are Swordmainnir. They comprehend that they must not sacrifice the Anchormaster’s crew and the Masters of the Land—and assuredly not the Ramen Cords—to no purpose. Rather they will seek an egress from the habitation.”
    Then her tone frayed. It seemed to tear. “Now we have played our part. Ask no more of us. We can go no farther.”
    Once before, Covenant had seen despair in the eyes of a Giant, when Saltheart Foamfollower had tasted the ecstasy of killing Cavewights—and had found that he wanted to kill more. That despair had kept Foamfollower alive when all of his people were murdered. Coldspray’s surrender, and Grueburn’s, made Covenant want to weep.
    He drew a shuddering breath. Well, then, he told himself. This is as good a place as any.
    Hell and blood.
    To the Ironhand, he said, “Don’t worry about it. You’ve brought us far enough. Nobody could have done more.”
    Then, wincing inwardly, he told Linden, “If you’re going to do it, now’s the time. You won’t get another chance.”
    On the walls, silver made dark streaks like the ichor of mountains.
    Alarm flared across her face as she turned to him; but she did not protest. Instead she tightened her grip on herself, increased the pressure until it threatened to break her. “Already?” she asked without hope or humor. “Are you sure? I still want to live.”
    Her gaze said, I still want to live with you.
    “Kiril Threndor isn’t far.” Covenant choked for a moment. He had to swallow a rush of grief. “You can’t go there with me. Neither can Jeremiah. This is it.”
    As if he were asking for forgiveness, he added, “I’ll take Branl. Jeremiah will have Stave and Canrik and Samil.”
    She looked away. Her eyes avoided Coldspray and Grueburn as if she felt shamed by the prices which they had paid for her. Instead she regarded her son again.
    To no one in particular, she said, “All right. I chose this. Some of those poor Masters might still be alive if I had made a different choice.” She seemed to choke momentarily. “Or Baf Scatterwit. Cirrus Kindwind. God, I loved her—
    “Losing them will be wasted if I change my mind now.”
    Covenant’s vision blurred. He squeezed his eyes shut to clear them. Taunting her, Lord Foul had called Linden his
daughter
. He was wrong.
    From the floor, Jeremiah asked suddenly, “What’re you talking about?”
    Linden did not let herself look away. “Jeremiah, honey—” Her voice was breaking. “I have to go.”
    In one motion, Jeremiah surged to his feet, lifted his gaze into the light of the
krill
. His eyes were as black as the Staff. Even the whites had become midnight.
    “Go where?”
    “I can’t put it off any longer.” She sounded tight enough to snap. “I need to face the only thing that scares me worse than losing you. You and Thomas.”
    His face twisted. Protests clawed at his features. “But you’ll come back,” he said as if that were not a question. “That’s what you do. You come back.”
    She flinched—but she did not falter. “I don’t think so, honey. Not this time.”
    Jeremiah stared horror at her. “You’re going to leave me? You’re going to let Lord Foul have me?”
    “No, Jeremiah.” Her tone sharpened. “I’m not going to
let
him anything. But I can’t fight him for you. Even if I took back the Staff and stood right in front of you, I couldn’t help you.” More gently, she said, “I wish that I could spare you, but I can’t. If you don’t want him to take you, you have to stop him yourself.
    “I know it’s hard—”
    Her son cut her off. Vicious as a denunciation, he sneered, “‘I know