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

Raver had a long head start.
    Brinn watched as though his gaze could penetrate Covenant’s soul. “I ask again. Whose flesh will he assume? Of those that fear the Worm’s coming, which is comparatively near? Which is driven by hungers apt for possession?”
    Covenant flinched at an intuitive leap. “What, the
lurker
?” He stared through a blur of argent and failing consciousness. “You want me to go after
turiya
before he can possess the
lurker
?”
    So far, the monster had kept its word. True to the alliance, Horrim Carabal had sent the Feroce to rescue Covenant and the Humbled from the
skest
. But still—The lurker of the Sarangrave had been a tale of horror for millennia. In some sense, it was the Despiser’s creation. Directly or indirectly, Lord Foul had invoked an immense and sentient atrocity from the poisons leaking out of Mount Thunder.
    Now Brinn wanted Covenant to defend that—that thing—from
turiya
Herem?
    The Guardian replied with a grin as poignant as the deaths of stars. “Name a better purpose, my friend, and I will honor it.”
    Covenant meant to say, No. That’s insane. But then he thought, So what? The Worm was coming. He had killed Joan. Everything was insane. The idea of trying to track down and stop a Raver—in his condition—was probably no crazier than his desire to see Linden again.
    Over the course of his life in the Land, he had caused or allowed terrible bloodshed. The Riders of the Clave whom he had killed personally were minor casualties compared to the uncounted villagers and
Haruchai
that he had forsaken to slaughter while he searched for the One Tree. Saltheart Foamfollower had died helping him. Inadvertently he had killed Elena, his own daughter. Then he had brought about the sacrifice of her spirit to She Who Must Not Be Named.
    But he had never struck a blow against the Despiser’s most fatal servants. And the lurker possessed by a Raver would be an appalling foe. More insidiously dangerous than Roger and a whole host of Cavewights. Conceivably more powerful than
skurj
and Sandgorgons. If that monster challenged Linden, she would have to face it without Covenant or love.
    Thinking about her made his wounds burn. His damaged ribs were acid and remorse in his chest. He wanted—Oh, he
wanted
. Nevertheless he understood Brinn.
    He rubbed at the crust around his eyes, touched the fresh accusation on his forehead. Eventually he managed to mutter, “Damnation, Brinn. I’m going to need a horse.”
    The
ak-Haru
beamed at him like Loric’s gem. “And you will not ride the Ranyhyn. For this also I esteem you, ur-Lord. Yet a steed has been offered to you. You need only speak the beast’s name.”
    Brinn’s voice invoked memories. As if from a great distance, Covenant heard the dying croak of the Ardent’s last gift.
    “Ah.” In spite of his satisfaction, Brinn’s sigh conveyed a tinge of regret. “I see the recall in your gaze. My friend, you are indeed as I have remembered you. I am now content to provide those gifts which lie within my power.”
    His vigor seemed undimmed as he rose to his feet.
    “Remain only a short while,” he urged Covenant. “Your healing will be my second gift. Here is my first.”
    While Covenant watched, stupefied by too many hurts, Brinn raised a hand to his mouth and gave one sharp whistle as clear as a commandment.
    Covenant was losing his grip on consciousness. The only
Haruchai
who had ever called him
friend
had asked too much of him. He was no longer sure of what he saw or heard. The Guardian’s call may have echoed through the maze of the Shattered Hills. The stars appeared to draw closer. They seemed to cry out. Perhaps their wailing was underscored by a clatter of hooves, irregular and indefinite.
    When the Ranyhyn arrived with their star-blazed foreheads shining like the emblems of
Elohim
, Covenant thought that he saw four of them.
    Two must have been Mhornym and Naybahn. They looked worse than Covenant felt. Ripped flesh hung in strips from their sides, exposing the damaged gleam of bones, especially along their ribs and on their knees. Blood oozed everywhere as if they were coated in ruin. They limped on legs that should not have supported them, and their eyes were dull with mute agony.
    But they were still alive. They had heard Brinn’s call. Somehow they had found the resolve to answer.
    Proudly the
ak-Haru
announced, “Here are heroes. They have participated bravely and well in the defense of the Earth. Such