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

his shoulders if he dared. If he could find the courage. “You’re scared, Roger. You’re too scared to think. You aren’t using your brain.
    “You’re physical. Don’t you understand that? You’re mortal. Time is all you’ve got. It’s the only thing that makes life possible. Without it, you’re nothing. You’re just—”
    The floor heaved, shaken by Roger’s impatience or the Worm’s feeding. Cracks groaned in the walls. The stalactites scattered rocklight and silver in pieces sharp as shards. Covenant lost his balance, staggered until Branl caught him.
    “Well, duh,” Roger snorted. “Of course I’m physical. That’s why he needs me. That’s why I can trust him. He needs me to get rid of you.
    “I’ll give you this, Dad. Lord Foul is afraid of you. You’ve surprised him too often when he thought he had you beat. But that won’t happen this time. That’s what
I’m
for. That’s why he made a deal with me. I’m going to make sure you don’t surprise him again.”
    Resisting a rush of frenzy, Covenant shouted, “No! He’s just
using
you. He doesn’t
need
you. He can be as physical as he wants whenever he wants.” Covenant had not forgotten the tangible impact of the Despiser’s contempt when Covenant had faced the Illearth Stone in Foul’s Creche. “But you can’t be as eternal as you want. You’re
dross
to him. You’re more than a hindrance, you’re a prison. He can’t escape the collapse of Time while he’s inside you. If he tries that, he’ll die when you do. He won’t get out unless he leaves you behind.
    “And when he does, you won’t be able to follow him, and you sure as hell won’t be able to accompany him, because you’re just
you
. You aren’t made for eternity. You’re just a frightened man who can’t stand being afraid. Giving yourself to Foul isn’t hope, it’s
panic
.”
    Roger was roaring like his hand, poised to strike; but Covenant did not pause. “You’re going to die like the rest of us,” he insisted. “No deal can save you. Foul can’t make you a god. He knows that as well as I do. If you can convince yourself otherwise, you’ve been serving him longer than you think.”
    “
No
, Dad.” Tremors like hysteria shook Roger’s voice. Pain wrenched at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve got it all wrong. Lord Foul doesn’t lie. He promised I would stop being afraid. He promised what’s happening now is temporary. He promised I would never be in pain again.”
    Sure, Covenant wanted to reply. It’s all true. You
won’t
be afraid. You’ll be dead.
    But a sudden surge of power from the dais closed his throat. Abruptly Roger’s voice changed. “
Enough
.” It became the sound of crushed boulders, falling mountains. It had the depth and resonance of a tectonic upheaval. “That promise I will honor. I will put an end to your fawning. Now you will be silent. I will speak to this doomed wight who deems himself my foe.”
    Involuntarily Roger bit down on his tongue. Blood leaked from his mouth. His eyes bled venom.
    At the same time, behind or within or through Roger, Covenant saw another figure, a towering shape taller than Giants, mightier than the spectres of High Lords. Authority and rocklight limned the form; but within its outlines was nothing but absence, an emptiness like the chasm of the Lost Deep. The figure’s sole feature was its fanged eyes. They resembled Roger’s, yellow and bitter. But the ferocity in them, or the despair, was fiercer than Roger’s denied terror.
    “Ur-Lord,” Branl warned unnecessarily. “Corruption manifests. Yet he also retains possession of your son.”
    “Oh, good,” Covenant snarled at the Despiser. “I’m glad. Now I can talk to you directly.
    “You really ought to be ashamed of yourself. You don’t need surrogates. You should have the decency to let Roger go. Or if you can’t manage decency, you should at least have the dignity. Using him just makes you look craven.”
    Lord Foul expanded. He made himself too big to be confined by Kiril Threndor. Yet his lambent silhouette remained visible, as if he had superimposed himself on the rock.
    “We are well met, Timewarden.” He did not shout, yet every word was a blast of ruin. “In times past, I have named you groveler, anile and foolish, but I now perceive that you have become worthy of me. Your death has been made certain. No exertion is required of me to assure it. Nevertheless I acknowledge that at last you merit extinction at my