Free The Last Dark by Stephen R. Donaldson

with her against the united rejection of the Masters.
    Stave appeared to raise an eyebrow. “Where is the harm? Have I not made my allegiance plain? And did we not escape both the Lost Deep and the bane, though
skest
and the
skurj
also assailed us? Chosen, I do not fear to name uncertainty an abyss.”
    Linden could have retorted, Sure, we escaped. After that bane nearly killed us. After we lost the Harrow, and the Ardent damned himself, and Covenant’s hands were almost destroyed. After the Dead sacrificed Elena before I could ask her to forgive me. Don’t you understand how
deep
those wounds are? But she kept her bitterness to herself. All of her protests came to the same thing.
    She had no hope for Covenant.
    Instead of responding, she left Stave and went to the stream. There she dropped her Staff, knelt, and plunged her face into the water, pulling her fingers through her hair while the cold stung her nerves.
    Covenant had asked or ordered her not to touch him. He had spoken as if he believed that she feared his leprosy—or he feared it for her.
    The Giants and now Mahrtiir conveyed the impression that they were waiting for her. When she glanced at the northwestern sky, she saw Kevin’s Dirt glowering closer, riding the wind of Kastenessen’s agony and virulence. In another hour at most, it would spread far enough to cover the company. Yet it remained hidden from mundane sight. It did not dull the stars. Indeed, it appeared to sharpen their brilliance and loss.
    Linden wiped water from her face, dragged her tangled hair back behind her ears, and rose to her feet. When she had retrieved her Staff, she moved to greet Jeremiah.
    “Mom.” She could not read his face except with her health-sense, but he sounded implausibly cheerful. “Did you get some sleep? I sure did.” He stretched his arms, rolled his head to loosen his neck. “Now I feel like I can conquer the world.”
    As if he were performing a parlor trick, he snapped his fingers, and a quick spark appeared in the air above his hand; a brief instant of flame. In itself, it was a small thing, almost trivial. But it implied—
    He was already learning new uses for Anele’s gift of Earthpower. Perhaps he was
becoming
Earthpower.
    His momentary display caught the attention of the Giants; but he ignored them to concentrate on Linden. “What are we waiting for?” he asked in a tone of rising excitement. “We should go.”
    Infelice had given him an idea—
    His manner troubled Linden. Instinctively she wanted to probe him again. She hungered to learn who he was in his new life. But she did not know what might happen if she interrupted his mood; his sense of purpose; his defenses. He might need such things more than he needed her understanding or sympathy.
    Stave still stood nearby, a silent reminder of stoicism and rectitude. But he was more than that: he was also a reminder of trust. In the Hall of Gifts, she had confessed,
Roger said that Lord Foul has owned my son for a long time
. And Stave had replied,
I know naught of these matters
.
I do not know your son
.
Nor do I know all that he has suffered
.
But it is not so among the children of the
Haruchai.
They are born to strength, and it is their birthright to remain who they are
.
    Are you certain that the same may not be said of your son?
    If Linden asked him now, Stave might remark that Jeremiah had already proven himself in Muirwin Delenoth. The former Master might suggest that it would be better for her as well as for Jeremiah if she allowed him to discover his own path.
    She was not ready for that. But the World’s End would not wait for her to find enough courage. And when the Worm came, Jeremiah would share the Earth’s fate no matter how hard she tried to save him.
    She was responsible for the Worm’s awakening. Now she needed to find better answers than the ones that had guided her here.
    Sighing, Linden followed Jeremiah toward the Giants and the Manethrall. Sunrise would lift the darkness from