Read Online The Last Dark: The climax of the entire Thomas Covenant Chronicles (Last Chronicles of Thomas Cove) by Stephen R. Donaldson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephen R. Donaldson
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Jeremiah’s encounters with Covenant. “They’re bound to be more interesting than ‘Bomba the Jungle Boy.’”
He grinned, apparently remembering the books that she had read to him in another life. “But I don’t want to sleep.” He made a sweeping gesture that included Stave and the Giants. “This is too exciting.”
“And it will still be exciting in the morning,” Linden admonished him gently.
“Well—” He glanced around the floor of the gully. “Maybe if I get comfortable somewhere.”
“You do that.” Inexplicably she wanted to weep again; but she swallowed the impulse. “I really should eat.” With a conscious effort, she turned to the meal that Frostheart Grueburn had left for her on a flat sheet of stone.
Night covered Grueburn’s face, and Rime Coldspray’s. Linden could not see their expressions, but she felt them grinning. As Jeremiah moved away, looking for a clear stretch of sand and dirt, Cabledarm remarked quietly, “Here Linden Giantfriend reveals yet another of her many selves. She is not merely the Sun-Sage, the Chosen, the indomitable seeker and guardian of her son. She is also the mother who provides care.”
Linden might have protested, if she could have done so with the same light-hearted kindliness that filled Cabledarm’s voice. Instead she began eating; and after her first bites of hard cheese and stale bread, she was preoccupied with hunger.
Mahrtiir responded on her behalf. “Are you taken aback, large ones?” he said with a gruff attempt at humor. “If so, I must chastise your lack of discernment. That she is a mother is plain.”
Having spoken, however, he seemed disconcerted by the quiet laughter that greeted his gibe. Instead of laughing himself, he said more stiffly, “Some have journeyed hard and long. Others have walked when they were weary and heart-sore. I have merely ridden and rested. I will stand watch with the Ranyhyn. And perhaps Stave will consent to join me. I have heard young Jeremiah’s tale of great events. I would hear how those events are interpreted by the long memories and acute judgments of the
Haruchai
.”
Stave glanced at Linden, then gave the Manethrall a barely perceptible nod. Together they walked away along the stream until they found an easy ascent out of the erosion-cut. A moment later, they were gone into the night.
Still eating, Linden waited for the questions of the Giants.
But they did not question her. As if by common consent, they made themselves comfortable, some sitting against the walls of the gully, others half reclining beside the stream. Then in muted voices they began to tell old tales, stories which they all obviously knew well. None of their narratives went far: the Swordmainnir interrupted each constantly, sometimes with reminders of other tales, more often with good-natured jests. Nevertheless their interjections and ripostes had a soothing effect on Linden. That such strong warriors could be playful even now evoked an irrational sensation of safety. Indirectly they made light of their many perils and foes; and by doing so, they enabled Linden to relax further.
Surely she could afford to rest while Mahrtiir, Stave, and the Ranyhyn watched over her and Jeremiah, and the Swordmainnir were content to amuse themselves with tales and gibes?
When she had eaten everything that Grueburn had set out for her, she went to the stream for a long drink. Briefly she scanned the watercourse until her health-sense confirmed that Jeremiah was already asleep, sprawled unselfconsciously no more than a dozen steps away. Then she began to search for a place where she, too, could lie down.
The dampness and chill of her clothes were only vaguely unpleasant. She could have warmed them with her Staff, but she disliked the prospect of raising black fire here. It felt like a bad omen. And it might attract hazardous attention.
Recumbent on the sand with only a few rocks to discomfit her, Linden rode the current of low Giantish voices
He grinned, apparently remembering the books that she had read to him in another life. “But I don’t want to sleep.” He made a sweeping gesture that included Stave and the Giants. “This is too exciting.”
“And it will still be exciting in the morning,” Linden admonished him gently.
“Well—” He glanced around the floor of the gully. “Maybe if I get comfortable somewhere.”
“You do that.” Inexplicably she wanted to weep again; but she swallowed the impulse. “I really should eat.” With a conscious effort, she turned to the meal that Frostheart Grueburn had left for her on a flat sheet of stone.
Night covered Grueburn’s face, and Rime Coldspray’s. Linden could not see their expressions, but she felt them grinning. As Jeremiah moved away, looking for a clear stretch of sand and dirt, Cabledarm remarked quietly, “Here Linden Giantfriend reveals yet another of her many selves. She is not merely the Sun-Sage, the Chosen, the indomitable seeker and guardian of her son. She is also the mother who provides care.”
Linden might have protested, if she could have done so with the same light-hearted kindliness that filled Cabledarm’s voice. Instead she began eating; and after her first bites of hard cheese and stale bread, she was preoccupied with hunger.
Mahrtiir responded on her behalf. “Are you taken aback, large ones?” he said with a gruff attempt at humor. “If so, I must chastise your lack of discernment. That she is a mother is plain.”
Having spoken, however, he seemed disconcerted by the quiet laughter that greeted his gibe. Instead of laughing himself, he said more stiffly, “Some have journeyed hard and long. Others have walked when they were weary and heart-sore. I have merely ridden and rested. I will stand watch with the Ranyhyn. And perhaps Stave will consent to join me. I have heard young Jeremiah’s tale of great events. I would hear how those events are interpreted by the long memories and acute judgments of the
Haruchai
.”
Stave glanced at Linden, then gave the Manethrall a barely perceptible nod. Together they walked away along the stream until they found an easy ascent out of the erosion-cut. A moment later, they were gone into the night.
Still eating, Linden waited for the questions of the Giants.
But they did not question her. As if by common consent, they made themselves comfortable, some sitting against the walls of the gully, others half reclining beside the stream. Then in muted voices they began to tell old tales, stories which they all obviously knew well. None of their narratives went far: the Swordmainnir interrupted each constantly, sometimes with reminders of other tales, more often with good-natured jests. Nevertheless their interjections and ripostes had a soothing effect on Linden. That such strong warriors could be playful even now evoked an irrational sensation of safety. Indirectly they made light of their many perils and foes; and by doing so, they enabled Linden to relax further.
Surely she could afford to rest while Mahrtiir, Stave, and the Ranyhyn watched over her and Jeremiah, and the Swordmainnir were content to amuse themselves with tales and gibes?
When she had eaten everything that Grueburn had set out for her, she went to the stream for a long drink. Briefly she scanned the watercourse until her health-sense confirmed that Jeremiah was already asleep, sprawled unselfconsciously no more than a dozen steps away. Then she began to search for a place where she, too, could lie down.
The dampness and chill of her clothes were only vaguely unpleasant. She could have warmed them with her Staff, but she disliked the prospect of raising black fire here. It felt like a bad omen. And it might attract hazardous attention.
Recumbent on the sand with only a few rocks to discomfit her, Linden rode the current of low Giantish voices
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