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

mice. One that didn’t go anywhere. But the
Elohim
are bigger.” He must have meant in personality and puissance. “And the door has to take them someplace safe.
    “No,” he asserted. “We need to get into that cliff.”
    “Then this is labor for Giants.” Smoothly Stave slid down from Hynyn’s back. “While we await them, however, I will commence. Inform me when I have climbed to the place where you wish me to begin. I will discover what the strength of the
Haruchai
can accomplish against such stone.”
    In response, Jeremiah laughed: delight, not derision. Flourishing his arms, he cast arcs of yellow flame across the gloom. “I knew I could count on you. While you’re doing that, I’ll look at a few boulders. Maybe some of them have enough malachite. I’ll need as much as I can find.”
    Stave nodded. Instead of approaching the ridge, however, he faced Linden. “Chosen, you also must dismount. The Ranyhyn require rest. Indeed, they must depart in search of water and forage. And I will be unable to ward your son while I ascend the rock. That task falls to you.” After a brief hesitation, he added, “I do not dream that our foes have forgotten their craving for your son’s gifts.”
    Roger had an uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere. Distance was no obstacle to Kastenessen. And Lord Foul’s powers—even those of the Ravers—were beyond estimation.
    Falls, Linden echoed; but she was not listening to Stave. Her mind followed other paths. The Masters called
caesures
Falls. She could not conceive of any other way to keep her promises. But there were many kinds of falling. She could too easily imagine Stave crawling spider-like up the cliff—until some hand- or toe-hold failed.
    What choice did he have? What choice did anyone have? Jeremiah needed malachite.
    She shook her head, resisted an impulse to slap herself. She could not afford to sit on Hyn’s back feeling stupid and defeated. Her son needed more than malachite. The whole Earth needed more.
    When your deeds have come to doom
—
    She had to think.
    Staring vacantly at the ridge, she told herself that the question was one of power. Surely it was a question of power? Even if Stave lived, what could he hope to achieve? And when the Giants came—if they came—they would be in as much danger as he, with as little chance of success.
    Therefore—
    Well, obviously, the cliff would have to be broken open from a safe distance. What else? And that was a task for theurgy. Even if the stonewise Giants could devise an alternative, they were only eight—and they were already weary. The work would take time. Not hours: days.
    Power was the only answer.
    But what could she do? Fire she understood: black flame and burning. Yet merely scorching the face of the cliff would be a waste of effort. Heat alone would have no effect. In the Lost Deep as well as under
Melenkurion
Skyweir, she had shattered stone; shaped it instinctively. If she could summon that form of strength or desperation again, she might be able to tear apart the ridgefront. But the malachite would be torn apart as well. Tons of mineral-seamed rock blasted to gravel would not serve Jeremiah’s purposes.
    Doubtless the Staff of Law had other uses—many of them—but she was not lorewise enough to know what they were, or how they were done. And anything that she attempted with Covenant’s ring would be worse. Wild magic resisted control. In that respect, it resembled the
caesures
it created.
    How could she open that ridge without risking lives?
    “Chosen,” said Stave more sharply. “We cannot delay.”
    But then another possibility occurred to her. She had been given hints enough—
    Men commonly find their fates graven within the rock, but yours is written in water.
    The lady’s fate is writ in water.
    “Wait.” Scrambling to catch up her ideas, she slipped down from Hyn’s back. “Before you do anything rash. Do you know if there are any streams on the far side of this ridge? Any water at all?”
    “Mom,” Jeremiah protested. “We don’t need water. We need to get started.”
    She and Stave ignored him. The
Haruchai
met her gaze squarely. “No, Chosen. This region is unknown to me. The Masters have found no cause to scout it. And I have discerned neither streams nor springs.” After a flicker of thought, he said, “Yet the Ranyhyn may discover what you desire. Doubtless their path lies toward water.”
    “Mom,” Jeremiah objected again. “What’s so important about