|Chapter 12: Those Who Part|
Linden looked at Covenant. He was an upright self-contradiction, at once fearful and intrepid. He held his head high as if he knew that he was worthy of the Giants and Haruchai, the Graveler and the eh-Brand; and sunlight reflecting from the washed stone lit his clean face, so that he looked like the pure bone of the Earth. And yet his shoulders were rigid, knotted in the act of strangling his own weakness, his desire to be spared. Too much depended on him, and he had no health-sense for guidance.
Frail, invincible, and human, he met the First's gaze, looked past her to Cail and Durris and the injured Haruchai. Then he answered.
"When I was in Andelain, I met some of my old friends--the people who had faith in me, took care of me, loved me long before I could do any of those things for myself. Mhoram remnided me of a few lessons I should've already learned. Foamfollower gave me Vain. Bannor promised his people would serve me. And Elena," Elena his daughter, who had loved him in the same unbalanced way that she had hated Lord Foul, "told me what I'd have to do in the end. She said, 'When the time is upon you, and you must confront the Despiser, he is to be found in Mount Thunder--in Kiril Threndor, where he has taken up his abode.'" He swallowed thickly. "That's where I'm going. One way or another, I'm going to put an end to it."
Though he spoke quietly, his words seemed to ring and echo in the high hall.
The First gave a nod of grim, eager approval.