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

obvious difficulty, with which he fought to speak hinted that his exultation was marred.
    “The killing of your mate I acknowledge. There you surpassed my expectations. But her death bore the stench of mercy. That reek will not arise from the fate of Clyme
Haruchai
, Master and Humbled. His execution at your hands will be purest murder.” Clyme gnashed his teeth as if he were rending flesh. “You lack the
belief
necessary to the task.”
    Covenant thought that he heard Branl say, “Trust in us, ur-Lord.” An echo of earlier promises. But he could not drag his attention away from
turiya
’s scorn and Clyme’s surrender. And the turmoil of the pool was loud. It masked every voice except the Raver’s. Horrim Carabal’s hurt and trepidation seemed to make no sound. Even the Feroce appeared to have fallen silent.
    “Nonetheless,”
turiya
gasped savagely, “I desire you to surpass yourself yet again. I crave the pleasure of your efforts to extinguish me. Should you discover within yourself the valor which you lack, you will learn its futility. Blithely I will disencumber myself of this mad
Haruchai
. While you expend your despair upon your companion’s husk, I will possess myself of other lives”—he gestured around him—“which attend upon us in abundance. And if you seek me among these timorous wights, I will renew my mastery of their High God.
    “Your death is thereby made certain. If I do not compel the lurker to slay you, the Sarangrave itself will do so. Already your passing has been too long delayed.”
    Clyme’s grin stretched. He seemed to be screaming. Then he bit down on his lips until his teeth drew blood. The muscles at the corners of his jaw knotted like fists. For a moment, he squeezed the reflections out of his eyes. Anguish and resistance twisted across his visage like noisome creatures crawling under his skin. Blisters burst. They leaked dire fluids. His arms flailed.
    When he opened his eyes again, the light in them had changed. They caught the
krill
’s radiance rather than the shining of the waters.
    “This Raver lies.” Clyme’s voice was torment—but it was
Clyme’s
. “He does not hold me. I hold him. I contain him as Grimmand Honninscrave once contained his brother. His mockery and struggles I disdain. He cannot flee. I will hold him while his ruin is achieved.”
    Again the Master’s eyes were forced shut. In spite of
turiya
’s opposition, however, he reopened them almost immediately. Ignoring the involuntary contortions which complicated his mien, he made his purpose clear.
    “But his end must come swiftly. Though I am
Haruchai
withal, and potent in my fashion, his malice undermines me.
    “I will hold him.” He looked, not at Covenant, but at Branl. “The
krill
must accomplish his death.”
    And Branl did not hesitate. His people did not forgive. Because they did not mourn, they did not know mercy. Nor did they count the cost.
    One swimming stroke took him close enough. Without a heartbeat’s pause, he plunged the dagger into Clyme’s chest.
    Turiya
’s shriek exceeded hearing. It scaled higher as though it had the power to make the whole of the Sarangrave tremble. The sound ripped along Covenant’s nerves until they seemed to bleed.
    Clyme’s features looked like they were being torn apart. Still he retained the iron intransigence of the
Haruchai
. At the end of his life, he lifted his head to Covenant. While blood gushed from his mouth, he pronounced distinctly, “Thus I answer the objurgations of the
ak-Haru
.”
    Branl disagreed—or his approval was so great that he could not contain it. Clyme’s affirmation unleashed a kind of madness. Violence which had simmered beneath the impassivity of the
Haruchai
for millennia exploded in the last of the Humbled.
    Gripping Clyme’s shoulder with one hand, Branl cut open the whole of Clyme’s torso in a single slash. When the
krill
found the friable barrier of bone between Clyme’s hips, Branl dragged the blade in a circle through the Master’s abdomen, disemboweling him. Then Covenant’s companion drew back the dagger and began to hack— 
    Covenant tried to look away. In that attempt also, he failed.
    Flesh was soft to the
krill
’s keenness. Bone meant nothing. In a convulsion of movements so swift that no part of Clyme had time to sink, Branl severed his comrade piece from piece until only gobbets and shards remained. Then finally they drifted away like stains upon the water; and the pool fed on them