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

have wed well, Timewarden,” he said as if his characteristic stoicism had become a form of jesting. “I will strive to ensure her return.”
    Covenant nodded. What could he have said? There were no words in all the world for his gratitude.
    When Linden released the former Master, he returned Loric’s dagger to the Unbeliever.
    Covenant took it; gripped it. His throat was as tight as his grasp on the
krill
. He had to force himself to ask Linden, “Are you ready?”
    The corner of her mouth twisted: a failed smile that nearly broke his heart. “I’m never ready. I’ve given up waiting for it.”
    He rubbed his scar roughly, tried to compose himself. “Then remember I love you. I
love
you.
    “And don’t worry about Jeremiah. You did your part. I refuse to believe anything you did for him is wasted. The rest is up to us.”
    Her mouth said, “I’ll try.” Her eyes said, Thomas of my heart.
    The Giants offered her no farewell. Frostheart Grueburn set her teeth on her lower lip: a woman stifling protests. Tears streamed openly down her cheeks. Rime Coldspray hung her head as if she could not bear her weariness—or her dismay.
    Jeremiah did not look at any of them.
    Together Linden and Stave moved to a clear space a few steps from the walls and the Swordmainnir. There they waited like contradictions or counterweights. His poised relaxation balanced her trembling tension. After a moment’s consideration, he tossed Cabledarm’s sword to Canrik. No weapon would serve him now.
    Grim as a deliverer of damnation, Covenant stood beyond Linden’s reach. He could not afford to hesitate now. He had no time; and his resolve might fail at any delay. He knew where she was going. He was more afraid for her than he was for himself.
    As if he had begun preparing for this days ago, he gave fresh wild magic to the dagger’s gem and thrust the blade into the stone between his boots. When the hard surface caught silver, he dragged the
krill
to the side, cutting granite like damp clay. Step by step, he sliced a circle around Linden and Stave.
    Along the line of his cut, his power shone as if rock were the fuel for which it yearned.
    He did not need a large circle to enclose his wife and the former Master. In spite of his awkwardness and grieving, he returned to his starting point quickly. Then he forced himself upright. Wild magic reached for the ceiling. Through its brightness, he met Linden’s gaze.
    For his sake, she kissed a promise onto her wedding band, held it up with her hand clenched.
    Weeping like Grueburn, Covenant slapped his ring against the
krill
’s gem.
    The world will not see her like again.
    Care for her, beloved, so that in the end she may heal us all.
    Too late, Jeremiah cried out, “Mom!” Linden and Stave were gone.
    Covenant turned away as if he were falling.
    Elena, he thought obliquely, I’m so sorry. I’m doing what I can. Somebody else has to care for you.

    till he had no time. He could not afford his own weakness, or the wailing of his wrenched heart. He had to keep moving. He would find some form of peace soon enough.
    Ah, God.
    Jeremiah was standing now, showing Covenant a face fretted with ruin. “I keep doing that,” he said in such misery that Covenant wanted to turn away. “It’s like I don’t even remember her until it’s too late.” His head hung as if he were talking to the floor. “By the time I understand what she’s doing, she’s already gone. I don’t even say goodbye.”
    I’m never ready.
    Covenant knew the feeling.
    He allowed himself to postpone speaking to Linden’s son for a moment. While he tried to gather up the shreds of his courage, he asked Branl, “How much farther?”
    The Humbled glanced at the tunnel ahead. “Kiril Threndor is near, ur-Lord.” Then he frowned. Tension in the lines of his face betrayed anxieties which his tone concealed. “Yet my heart misgives me. I cannot credit that Corruption has no other defenses close about him.” Briefly he appeared to consult with Samil and Canrik. “Also, ur-Lord, I do not discern Corruption’s presence. His malice is particular. It cannot be mistaken. That some great evil awaits us is plain. Yet it is not Corruption. He is absent”—Branl cocked an eyebrow at a sudden thought—“or veiled by glamour.”
    Covenant swore privately, but he could not pretend that he was surprised. Lord Foul knew that he was coming—and the Despiser was cunning.
    Rubbing numbly at the scar on his forehead—the mark