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

never wanted to approach the Flat again.
    “I do not.
Haruchai
cannot commune with Ranyhyn as the Ramen do. However, I surmise that the horses require fodder. Among the wetlands on the verges of Sarangrave Flat, they may find grasses to sustain them.”
    “Can’t the lurker reach them if they do that?”
    “Indeed,” Stave acknowledged. “Yet sustenance they must have, and there is none in this region. Nearer to the coastline, the devastation of Corruption’s wars and workings eases. There forage may be found. But the distance is too great, even for the endurance of the Ranyhyn. If they would continue to run as they do, they must dare their ancient foe.”
    Oh, good, Linden muttered to herself. Perfect. Just what we need. Another fight with that monster. But she could feel a new trembling in Hyn’s muscles, hear hints of frenzy in Hyn’s respiration. Stave was probably right.
    “Then we’ll have to protect them.” She meant herself. Her companions could not oppose the lurker—and the monster craved her Staff.
    “Maybe we’ll find
aliantha
,” called Jeremiah. “If the ground grows other plants, it can grow treasure-berries.”
    “Maybe,” Linden conceded. To Stave, she added, “If I get in trouble,” if the Feroce cast their glamour over her mind again, “take the Staff. I don’t care if you have to hit me to get it. Just don’t let that monster have it.”
    “I hear you, Chosen.” The former Master sounded as passionless as marble.
    She trusted him. Nevertheless he eased none of her trepidations.

    till Khelen, Hynyn, and Hyn ran, defying their tangible exhaustion: the froth on their nostrils, the sweat on their coats, the ominous rattle in their mighty chests. At intervals, Linden refreshed them with brief blooms of Earthpower. But she did not use magic to extend her percipience. She did not want to know how near the Sarangrave might be.
    Heading more north than east, the riders rushed down into a wide lowland like an ancient caldera. There the Ranyhyn found a few patches of scrannel grass, only a few mouthfuls apiece, hardly enough to blunt the keenest edges of their need. Then they resumed their stubborn race against the reaving of stars. Laboring painfully, they pounded up the slight slope at the far rim of the lowland; and still they ran.
    In this direction, they would certainly encounter the Sarangrave. Linden tried to tell herself that they might find what they sought at any time; that their ordeal might end beyond the next rise, or somewhere in the next shallow vale. But she did not believe it.
    Again and again, she came back to
trust
. She had given the Ranyhyn the only gift that was hers to grant; but neither she nor they could afford to rely upon it. She would have to simply trust that they could accomplish what they had asked of themselves.
    A long time later, when her bestowed Earthpower had drained out of the horses entirely, the twilight began to thicken, become more viscid. A tumid dark crept out of the east to mask the contours of the landscape, deepen the bitter doom of the heavens. For a while, the dull light faded by minor increments, barely detectible: then it was gone altogether. Linden could not imagine how the Ranyhyn knew where to set their hooves. Nevertheless they did not falter. Perhaps they saw or felt the stars as clearly as she did. Perhaps they could hear the undefended lights pleading for redemption.
    Absorbed by worries, she was slow to notice that she could smell water. It was dank and stagnant enough to be Sarangrave Flat, pervasive enough, fraught with implications of rot and dire corpses—but it was water nonetheless. And where there was water, there might be provender for the Ranyhyn.
    As if to answer her, Khelen whickered weakly; and Stave said, “The Sarangrave is nigh, Chosen. It is shallow in this region. A fool who did not fear bogs and quags might wade for a league without encountering deeper streams. Yet I do not doubt that we are now within the ambit of the lurker’s awareness.”
    He paused to let Linden respond. When she found nothing to say, he asked, “Will you now surrender the Staff? I cannot wield it. Yet its absence from your hands may serve to ward you.”
    “Not yet.” She was shivering at the cooler air as though she shared the extremity of the horses. Her memories of the Feroce and the lurker were too recent. And yet the Ranyhyn appeared to be on the verge of stumbling to their knees. They had to have food and rest. “Not