The Last Dark (84 page)

At first, they failed. The creatures advancing from the cave were not yet afraid. They resisted the impulse to retreat. But loud desperation filled the passage. It flooded through the Cavewights, carried away their fury. They turned to run, leaving their piled dead to guard their backs.

There Covenant flinched to a halt. His eldritch longsword frayed and faded: the
krill
dangled in his numb clasp. Hellfire, he tried to say. Hell and damnation. But he could not catch his breath. There was no air anywhere. There was only blood.

Blood and bodies, some still writhing in their last throes.

If he had been able to speak, he would have asked Branl and the Masters to forgive him. Of the
Haruchai
guarding the rear, only seven remained; and most of them bore wounds. How many of them had already given their lives? Covenant could not bear to guess.

Surely he had the right to defend himself? To fight for the people he loved, and for their world? Surely the Despiser was responsible for all of this blood?

Of course, Covenant told himself. But the fact of his antagonist’s malevolence did not relieve him of culpability. He had done so much of the actual killing—

There was a price for such deeds. He intended to pay it—as soon as he could breathe again. As soon as he found his way to Kiril Threndor.

Without a word, Branl took his arm, urged him into motion. Beyond the
krill
’s reach, the rest of the company had vanished around a bend in the tunnel. But he could still hear fighting. Muffled by distance, blows and yells echoed out of the darkness. Clearly Handir’s comrades and the Swordmainnir were able to beat back the Cavewights blocking their path. But the creatures had not given up. They contested every step.

They were not
Haruchai
. They had no way of knowing what Covenant had done—and could do again.

Pulled into a trot, Covenant ran after his wife and his friends, stumbling on his numb feet like a man who had never drawn a clean breath.

Past the bend, he nearly fell when the
krill
’s light revealed the body of a Swordmain among the strewn corpses of Cavewights.

Cirrus Kindwind sprawled against the wall, propped at an awkward angle by a spear driven through one eye and out of the back of her skull. Her longsword lay a few paces away, as if she had tried to throw it with her last strength. Her features had closed around the spear: they held it in place like an act of defiance.

She had been fighting in darkness. Covenant carried the only light.

Blinded by intolerable tears, he ran again, trusting Branl to guide him.

Abruptly the sounds of fighting ahead ceased.

Quiet as the dark, Branl said, “Other Masters have come to assail the Cavewights. The way has been cleared.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “It will not remain so.”

Covenant tried to clear his vision, but he saw no sign of his companions. He found only bodies and spilled fluids rank as offal.

The tunnel turned again. It rose steeply. At the top of the incline, he had to clamber over terrible mounds of the dead. He feared to look at them; feared to see some of Handir’s people, another Swordmain, the Cords. Linden or Jeremiah. His friends had been fighting an uphill battle when they were rescued.

Beyond heaps of Cavewights, he caught up with the company.

At first, he could not see past Bluff Stoutgirth and his crew. They had spread out in a wider section of the passage: their tall forms blocked his view. But then the sailors stepped aside, and the
krill
’s silver fell on other survivors.

In the vanguard, the Voice of the Masters stood with Canrik and Dast, Vortin and Samil. They had been joined by nine or ten of their kinsmen. A quick glance showed Covenant a multitude of wounds and stains. Nevertheless all of the
Haruchai
bore themselves as if their hurts were superficial; as if they had not lost scores of their people, and had never known sorrow. Closer to Covenant, still heaving to control their breathing, Frostheart Grueburn, Onyx Stonemage, and Halewhole Bluntfist waited with the Ironhand. Gore streaked their cataphracts: their longswords trembled in hands made weak by weariness. But their injuries looked shallow. Only the darkness in their eyes betrayed the loss of Kindwind.

Stoutgirth’s dismay was more overt. His jaws worked as he tried to summon some sound from his throat, some shout or cry which might relieve his pain. Yet he remained mute: a man for whom all laughter had gone out of the world. At his side, Squallish Blustergale wept openly. The other sailors hung their heads in shock and fatigue.

Bhapa and Pahni stood apart from the rest of the company as if they had no place in it. They had not fought. Nor had they known any of the fallen except Cirrus Kindwind. And they were Ramen, lost without open skies to unfetter their spirits.

Among the Giants, Covenant found Linden and Jeremiah with Stave.

The boy was conscious now; on his feet. He had reclaimed the Staff of Law. Holding it upright, he scowled at his hands as they moved over the shaft, tracing the runes as if he were searching the written wood for the answers to questions which he did not know how to ask. He did not glance up when Covenant arrived. His concentration excluded everyone.

But Linden’s gaze leapt at once to her husband. Her mouth shaped his name.

The sight of her made Covenant feel like weeping again. He recognized the complex consternation in her eyes: fear for her son and her friends, and more particularly for him, combined with a flagrant dread which had not yet become resolve. And something else, a kind of horror—

Until he saw her expression, he did not realize that he was drenched in blood.

He went to her at once. But he did not touch her; foul her. He did not dare. His hands made truncated gestures, then fell back to his sides. The
krill
in his grasp cast cavorting shadows that seemed to mock the faces around him.

Linden’s mouth repeated his name. Thomas. And again, Thomas.

Handir moved among the Giants toward him. “Ur-Lord,” said the Voice of the Masters, “we must not delay. Two paths to Kiril Threndor are now known.” He must have acquired them from the minds of the newcomers. “One is the more direct. It is also the more perilous. If we must, we will attempt it. We await only your word.”

Jeremiah stamped the Staff on the stone. His voice cracked. “We don’t have time. Don’t you understand? The whole
mountain
is coming down.” He did not look up from his hands. “The Worm doesn’t even feel it.”

Covenant groaned.
Melenkurion
Skyweir was falling like Kevin’s Watch. Hellfire—

Linden studied her son. Her face twisted. Then an obstacle within her seemed to break; or perhaps she pushed it aside. She went to Covenant, threw her arms around his neck, pressed all of herself against his soaked T-shirt and jeans as if she ached to embrace his sins, his accused soul.

“Thomas,” she breathed in his ear. “Oh, Thomas.”

“Ur-Lord,” Handir repeated more loudly.

Covenant dropped the
krill
so that he could wrap his remaining strength around his wife. What else could he do? He had no words for his distress; no language that might soothe his clawed heart. He was going to lose her. The Worm was making his choices for him.

“Are you sure about this?” Linden asked in an aching whisper. “I mean about Kiril Threndor?” She may have meant, About everything? “Are you sure that Lord Foul is there?”

Are you sure that you want to face him?

“Of course he is.” Covenant clung to her acceptance. “Or he will be when I get there. Where else would he be? Sure, he wants us all dead.” All except Jeremiah. The Despiser had probably laid a
geas
on the Cavewights so that Jeremiah would be spared. “But if that doesn’t work, he wants me to find him. He wants the pleasure of finishing me.”

So softly that Covenant barely heard her, Linden murmured, “Then help me. I can’t do this.”

He wanted to tell her, You can. You’re the only one who can. But he did not. She had heard his professions of faith often enough.

“Ur-Lord!” insisted Handir; but Covenant was not listening. He was already covered in blood. It was too late to count the cost. Maybe someday he would be forgiven.

He released Linden. When she loosened her arms, he stepped away from her to confront Jeremiah. Deliberately he placed himself in front of the boy, braced his empty fists on his hips.

“Can you hear me?” he demanded. “I need you. You have to hear me. I need your help.”

Linden might rally if he could show her that her son was not as lost as he looked.

Jeremiah did not glance up from the Staff. Shadows seemed to redefine his face. In a caustic tone, as if he were speaking for the
croyel
, he snarled, “Then you might as well give up. I can’t even
see
you. I can’t see anything. The Worm is under that mountain. That’s all there is.”

Thinking, Forgive me, Covenant barked, “
Jeremiah!
Snap out of it! You think this is bad? It’s going to get worse. Have you forgotten? Foul wants to
use
you. He’s going to do you more damage than you can imagine.”

The boy flinched as if Covenant had struck him. Darkness writhed across his visage.

“Thomas!” Linden objected.

Covenant ignored her.

“Right now, he’s just softening you up. Soon he’ll get serious. He’ll try to tear you apart, turn you inside out, hurt you so much you’ll be
eager
to do what he wants. If you don’t help me, he wins.”

Linden tried to come between Covenant and Jeremiah. Stave held her back. The spurned
Haruchai
seemed to understand—

Jeremiah looked like he wanted to weep. In a different voice, abused and abject, he whimpered, “I can’t—”

As if he had lost patience, Covenant retorted, “You
can
. You have that right. You were
born
with it. All you have to do is choose,”
must
or
cannot
. He pushed his fingers through his hair, tried to harden his heart. Deliberately harsh, he rasped, “Otherwise you might as well go back into hiding. You’ll be useless.”

Slowly Jeremiah’s silted gaze settled into focus on Covenant. He seemed to return from some other dimension of reality; some private hell. When it came, his answer was distinct.

“I don’t want to go back there.”

Covenant felt like cheering. Grimly he stifled the impulse. “Then trust yourself. Trust the Staff. There’s a way to fight back. You just have to find it.

“And remember I need you. You might do something better than surprising the Despiser. You might surprise yourself.”

“Ur-Lord,” Handir demanded, peremptory as a cudgel. “Do you not hear me? Every delay is fatal. You must select a path.”

Still Covenant ignored the Voice of the Masters. He had to face Linden.

She was glaring at him, furious and bitter. Her hands clenched as if she wanted to hit him. He had hurt her son.

Before she could speak, he said harshly, “Maybe I’m wrong.” With the fingers of his halfhand, he massaged the scar on his forehead. “Maybe I’m not. Look at him. What do you see?”

For a moment longer, her indignation raked Covenant; but she could not refuse him.

When she focused her senses on Jeremiah, her eyes went wide. Realizations scudded across the background of her gaze. In a startled tone, she breathed, “You brought him back.”

Covenant nodded. He felt suddenly drained, weak in every limb, as if he had passed a test which might have broken him.

To Handir, he said in a wan voice, “The direct road. Jeremiah is right. We don’t have time for anything else.”

He knew what
direct
meant. It would require more killing.

Rime Coldspray stood over the old
Haruchai
. “If the path is perilous,” she asked, “what form do its hazards take?”

Handir frowned up at her. “For a portion of its length, Ironhand, we will be exposed to assault on all sides.”

She snarled a curse. Then she gave Covenant a look full of reflected argent. “Aye, Timewarden. If we must kill and die, then let us do so swiftly and be done.”

At once, she turned to the sailors. Sure of herself now, she told them to help the Masters guard the rear of the company.

Branl had retrieved the
krill
. As he restored it to Covenant, he said, “Be wary, ur-Lord. Your son has not yet opposed us.
Moksha
Raver remains. And we do not doubt that Corruption has other servants.”

With a mental command, Handir sent the newly arrived Masters to support the sailors. Joined by Canrik and Dast, Samil and Vortin, he started along the passage. The Swordmainnir followed at his back. Gesturing for the Cords, Covenant accompanied Branl. Stave urged Linden and Jeremiah forward.

Through the thick midnight of the Wightwarrens, Covenant bore the only light. He tried to hold it steady, but his arm wavered like his thoughts. Be wary. Roger and Cavewights and
moksha
Jehannum. Cirrus Kindwind. Baf Scatterwit. Scores of slain
Haruchai
. And for what? Not for him. Not even for Linden. Lord Foul was not afraid of them. He believed that he had already triumphed. Nothing that they did could stop the Worm.

No, it was all for Jeremiah: all the threats and bloodshed, all the striving and woe. So that the Despiser would be able to take him.

Covenant could only pray that Jeremiah would eventually find a way to resist.