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

time, she continued to feel their presence. Then the Ranyhyn outran the range of her health-sense, and she was alone with Stave and Jeremiah once again.

    rom the plain, the riders entered a region of jagged stones piled against each other like the detritus of a mountain broken by earthquake or cataclysm. Some of them resembled the riven limbs and torsos of megalithic titans. Others were towers about to topple, or raw chunks of granite and obsidian the size of Giantships, or splinters as sharp as spears. Among them, the footing was treacherous, and the horses were compelled to pick their way at a gait little quicker than a trot. As if in compensation, however, springs and streams became more plentiful. Most were too thick with minerals and old rot to drink; but a fair number were merely brackish, and a few ran clear, gurgling untainted from some buried source. As before, Linden and her companions had left all of their supplies with the Giants and Mahrtiir; but they found more than enough good water to appease their thirst.
    Pausing at a stream where the Ranyhyn drank as though they did not expect to discover more water for a long time, Linden asked Stave where they were. Sure of himself, he replied that they were approaching a region like an isthmus of the Spoiled Plains between Sarangrave Flat to the north and the Shattered Hills in the southeast. She had guessed as much; but she was relieved to hear that the marge-land was ten leagues wide or more, and that beyond it the Spoiled Plains expanded to fill the Lower Land between the Sarangrave and the Sunbirth Sea. If the horses kept to their present heading, they would have nothing to fear from the lurker.
    “Come on,” Jeremiah muttered. “Come
on
.” Then he sighed. “I’m hungry. I hope we find
aliantha
soon.”
    Sternly Stave remarked, “In the ages of the Lords, there were no
aliantha
on the Lower Land to the south of Lifeswallower. We are fortunate that they have taken root here during more recent millennia, sparse though they may be. But we cannot know how they were spread, or by whom. If we have ridden beyond their extent, we have no redress for their absence.”
    “That’s easy for you to say,” Jeremiah retorted; but he sounded impatient rather than irked. “You’re
Haruchai
. I’m not. If we don’t find treasure-berries, I hope you can think of something else for us to eat.”
    Stave’s only reply was a shrug.
    Soon the Ranyhyn were in motion again; and shortly after midday, they left that wrecked region behind. Now they ran, fleet as coursers, along a comparative flatland that lay at the foot of a long incline like the rim of a tectonic upheaval. There the running was easy, and the strides of the horses overcame distance as though the leagues were trivial.
    Still the stars died overhead. Like Jeremiah, Linden was hungry. But in addition, she was beginning to share his frustration. A part of her did not want to discover malachite. It did not. Her reluctance was a thin whimper in the background of every thought. More would be required of her than she could bear to contemplate. Nevertheless the plight of the stars—and of the
Elohim
—infected her with urgency. The prospect of a lightless sky appalled her. Much as she disliked or even loathed the
Elohim
, their peril seemed more important than her personal fears.
    The grey gloom wore on her like an old sore, immedicable, weeping vital fluids. While Hyn’s muscles flexed under her, and the mare’s sweat soaked into her jeans, irritating her legs, Linden began to wonder whether night would ever come again—and if it did, whether the Ranyhyn would allow themselves and their riders to rest. If Time remained essentially intact, surely some form of circadian cycle continued to rule the world? What would it mean if night did not come?
    Her private dread seemed to grow more petty with every surmounted league, every troubled thought. Now she wondered how anyone could refuse to take the innominate risks that lay ahead of her. How could she? If she ever hoped to hold up her head in front of Jeremiah and Covenant again?
    Gradually the incline swung away, surrendering to erosion. Beyond it, Stave called Linden’s attention to the fact that the Ranyhyn were adjusting their course. “The northeast remains accessible,” he informed her, “yet now our path tends toward the Sarangrave.”
    “Do you know why?” Memories of the marshland’s fetor and the lurker’s malevolence ached in her guts. She