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

her comrades. Nonetheless it was clear that the Swordmainnir were suffering. Linden heard an ominous wheeze in Latebirth’s respiration, and in Cirrus Kindwind’s, and occasionally in Stormpast Galesend’s. The others heaved for breath against the weight of their armor and weapons. Their faces were grey with exertion.
    At a time that should have been mid-morning, Manethrall Mahrtiir brought Narunal to Hyn’s side. “Ringthane,” he called over the clatter of hooves, “we must consider what we do. If we do not soon gain our aim, the Giants will be too weary to aid your son. That they have come so far at such a pace bespeaks both great strength and great valor. Yet they are mortal withal. Ere long, even they must falter.”
    “What do you suggest?” Linden could sustain the Swordmainnir with Earthpower for a while. But repeated infusions of imposed energy would exact a price. The women might well be left utterly prostrate when her assistance finally lost its efficacy. Earthpower and Law were only Earthpower and Law: they could not counteract the organic need for food and water and rest indefinitely. And Linden was reluctant for other reasons as well. Speed might be Jeremiah’s only defense. “Of course they need rest. We all do. But the Worm is coming. You said it yourself. We have to hurry.”
    Mahrtiir faced her with disgust in his mien, but it was not directed at her. “For that reason, Ringthane, I deem that we must part again. While you accompany your son with Stave, I will remain to guide the Giants at a slower pace. Their aid may be much delayed, but they will rejoin you
capable
of aid.”
    As if he expected Linden to demur, he added harshly, “I serve no other purpose in this company. But I am able to ride brave Narunal, and to obey him—aye, and also to comprehend his wishes. Therefore I await your consent.”
    Linden saw that Jeremiah was listening; felt protests rise in him. She phrased her reply for his sake as much as for Mahrtiir’s.
    “That makes sense. Exhaustion won’t help any of us.” She forced a wry smile. “And if anyone can convince Coldspray to be reasonable, you can. Maybe Stave and I can help Jeremiah make a start without you.”
    Jeremiah brandished a fist in approval.
    But Mahrtiir hesitated. “Then I crave a boon of you, Ringthane,” he said after a moment. “Restore my discernment to its fullest, that my use to the Swordmainnir may be prolonged. It will not endure. Of that I am aware. But I yearn to postpone the return of complete futility.”
    In spite of herself, Linden was loath to comply. She did not want to raise black fire in a lightless world. The prospect felt like a violation. Yet she could not refuse the Manethrall. Had her fears been his, he would have faced them at once, eager for struggle and combat.
    Adjusting her grip on the Staff of Law, she reached for Earthpower.
    As she had expected or dreaded, her flames were barely visible. Their force was palpable enough, and to an extent comforting. But they were the hue of Jeremiah’s fouled pajamas, the color of deepest night, and they seemed to thicken the gloom around them.
    Nevertheless her magic was an expression of Law. Its inherent beneficence had not been altered. She had turned the wood to ebony in battle under
Melenkurion
Skyweir. In the graveyard of Jeremiah’s mind, she had become a form of blackness herself. If her power disturbed her now, it did so because it told the truth about her.
    As if she were abasing herself, she covered first Mahrtiir and then herself in cleansing theurgy. And when her senses had recovered their acuity, she extended fire to the Giants, gifting them with all of the vitality that she could provide.
    Then Linden quenched her Staff. Slumping on Hyn’s back, she told Mahrtiir weakly, “Be safe. Catch up with us when you can. We’ll need you.”
    Clarion as a whinny, the Manethrall replied, “Fear nothing, Ringthane. We will come.” Then he drew Narunal back from Linden’s side so that he could speak to Rime Coldspray.
    Hyn, Hynyn, and Khelen seemed to understand what had been decided without any word from Linden or Mahrtiir—or indeed from Stave. Running like water on a smooth slope, they extended their strides into a full gallop. In the lead, Jeremiah yelled his excitement at the heavens. Then he settled himself along Khelen’s neck as if he sought to increase the young stallion’s speed.
    In moments, the Giants were no longer visible behind Linden. For a short