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

Then they, too, unclasped their cataphracts. When they had shrugged the shaped stone off their shoulders, they slumped to the ground.
    Before seating herself, Frostheart Grueburn handed a waterskin to Linden, and another to Mahrtiir. Stave she did not neglect in spite of his ability to convey the impression that he had no physical needs. Then she joined her comrades, leaving only Rime Coldspray upright.
    Jeremiah was too excited to sit. With his thirst satisfied, he began to pace as if he were already measuring out the dimensions of his construct. And Stave remained on his feet. But Linden sank gratefully to rest against a rough curve of rock. Fumbling, she untied the neck of her waterskin, lifted it to her mouth. For a long moment, she let the simple bliss of untainted water pour down her throat.
    As she drank, fresh beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and were cooled by ragged winds. Tears stung her eyes; but on this occasion, she was glad to be a woman who could weep. Briefly she paused to let her flesh absorb the blessing which the Giants had brought. Then she swallowed more water.
    Mahrtiir studied her closely. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he seated himself cross-legged near Latebirth: a position that allowed him to face Linden directly.
    While she could, Linden unfurled her power and spread it around the company as Mahrtiir had requested, sharing her only resource. But she did not heed the reactions of the Giants. Whatever she did for them would not be enough.
    Grateful for any relief, Coldspray removed her own armor, placed it near her feet so that her stone glaive was within easy reach. Rolling her shoulders and neck, she loosened her sore muscles. Then she folded her arms across her chest and waited for Linden’s tale.
    Before long, Jeremiah’s impatience overcame him. “Mom,” he prompted. “You said we have a lot to talk about. And I want to get started. The sooner we can build my door, the more
Elohim
we can save.”
    Linden sighed; set her half-empty waterskin beside her. “I know. This isn’t easy to talk about. We could discuss it for a long time. But I’m going to keep it short. If you want to argue, you’ll just be wasting effort. I’ve already made up my mind.”
    Eventually she would have to call upon the strength of the Staff for herself. But not yet. Later she would need all of the energy that she could impose on herself.
    Around the arc, her friends and her son waited, watching her as though they heard omens in her tone; tocsins of dismay.
    “Going to the Sarangrave wasn’t our idea,” she began. Wind twisted around her. She smelled dust from the wilderland of craters; dust and old death from the wound that she had torn in the cliff. In the sun’s absence, the air had acquired a chill edge. “The Ranyhyn made that decision.”
    In a few words, she described what had happened just before dawn. She recited the message that the Feroce had delivered. Even more tersely, she outlined the memories which the lurker’s worshippers had invoked. While her companions considered her tidings, she drew her conclusions.
    “So now I think that the Ranyhyn got what they wanted. Somehow they gave the lurker a reason to form an alliance with Covenant. An alliance with us.”
No harm will come to you
—“What that means, I don’t know—except that Covenant is alive. And he wanted me to remember
forbidding
. He wanted to remind me that it’s necessary.
    “I’ve thought about it, and as far as I’m concerned, we can only get what we need from wood. I don’t mean the Staff of Law. I mean the forests. From the One Forest. From a time when the Forestals knew how to
forbid
Ravers.”
    She felt Mahrtiir’s reverent awe at the motives which she ascribed to the Ranyhyn. In the eyes of the Giants, she saw speculations and chagrin. Stave’s mien revealed nothing; but Jeremiah stared at her as though he did not know whether to feel amazed or appalled.
    The wind was growing stronger. Unexpected gusts brought tears to Linden’s eyes again. She let them fall, careless of the streaks of dust with which they marked her cheeks.
    Resisting an impulse to hurry, she drank again. Then she continued.
    “We need power.” Her tone was steady. Fatigue had the effect of calm. “You all know that. We aren’t enough. I’m not a rightful white gold wielder, and Kevin’s Dirt limits what I can do with Earthpower. If we have to fight off Roger and Kastenessen and God knows who else—if we want to