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

battles are not won at a single stroke. They must be fought incrementally, by one selfless act of valor following another in its necessary sequence. Now Naybahn and Mhornym have completed their task. Their part is done. Though my strength wanes, I will preserve them. Then I will release them. While the Earth endures, no further service will be asked of them.”
    Then he turned to the other horses, a palomino stallion and a black. “And here are Rallyn and Hooryl. They have come to bear the Humbled on a quest which will require much of them, and of their riders. That they do so fearfully is no fault in them. They are Ranyhyn. Fear will not hinder their service.”
    Briefly Covenant looked at Clyme and Branl. The sight of them made him wince. His senses were too blunt to discern anything except rigid indignation.
    But Brinn ignored the Masters. Facing Covenant again, he said as if he were bidding farewell, “Now, Unbeliever, Illender, Prover of Life, you must speak the name. Only its name will summon the steed and obtain its compliance.”
    The stars were too close. Covenant had never seen them look so near. Yet their proximity only accentuated the voids between them, the immeasurable gulfs of their isolation. Vaguely he wondered whether the
Elohim
felt the same loneliness. Perhaps that explained their prideful self-absorption, their insistence that they were complete in themselves,
equal to all things
. Perhaps their surquedry was nothing more than compensation for prolonged sterility and sorrow.
    But then the lamentation overhead and Brinn’s kindness compelled him. Swallowing the taste of blood and woe, he did as the Guardian of the dying One Tree asked or commanded.
    “Mishio Massima.”
    Brinn’s smile was a confluence of hope and regret as he stepped past the
krill
to touch Covenant’s blamed forehead lightly with one finger.
    At the same time, he urged quietly, “Recall that the
krill
is capable of much. With use, it has become more than it was.”
    His touch seemed to light a star in Covenant’s brain. Suddenly the dusk in all direction became a swirl of lights: the same swirl which had filled the Isle’s cavern long ago when Covenant had tried to claim a branch of the One Tree. If Linden had not stopped him then, he might have brought about the world’s end without realizing what he did.
    He needed to make things right with her. He needed to tell her that he loved her—and that he had killed Joan.
    Brinn had spoken of a service—a boon—but he had not revealed what it might be.
    Then the stars took Covenant, and he went to sleep as if he were falling into the heavens.

4.
    “Try to Believe”

    Soreness and jostling finally roused Covenant. He had no idea where he was; but for a while, he did not care. If the flexing sensations of movement had not insisted on his attention, he would have tried to go back to sleep.
    His whole body ached as though he had suffered a beating. A dull throb in his forehead matched the rhythm that carried him. But when he braced himself to draw a deeper breath, he found that the piercing hurt of broken ribs was gone. Bruises like groans had replaced the effects of sharp rocks and rending coral. His weakness felt more like convalescence than blood-loss.
    A week, he thought to the cadence of hooves, the flow of stubborn muscles. Just let me rest for a week. Then I’ll open my eyes. I promise.
    He did not have a week. He doubted that he could afford hours.
    Vaguely he deduced that he was mounted. But not bareback: not on a Ranyhyn. The saddle under him reminded him of the Harrow’s fallen destrier. And he was not held upright. No, he was sprawled resting along a long neck. The saddle horn dug into his abdomen. His legs dangled free of stirrups. The jolts were the beat of a hard canter.
    He remembered Mishio Massima, the Ardent’s mangy, shovel-headed horse. Clyme and Branl must have boosted him onto the steed while he slept. And they must have secured his arms—perhaps with the reins—so that he would not fall.
    Mishio Massima’s jarring gait punished his recent wounds. Nonetheless he was grateful. At Brinn’s insistence, no doubt, the Humbled had honored Covenant’s promise to the Ranyhyn.
    For a time, he was content to rest as he was in spite of the prod of the saddle horn. The mystery of Brinn’s aid remained with him; the miracle of Brinn’s friendship. Covenant was less alone in the world than he had believed himself to be. Less alone than he felt with the