Stephen Donaldson: The Wounded Land

Yes, Covenant breathed. And an alternative to wild magic. That's what I thought. But by accepting the krill, Sunder and Hollian had made it once more into a tool of hope. “I don't want any more weapons,” he murmured to Linden. “I'm already too dangerous.”

She held his gaze. The sudden clarity of her expression told him that, of all the things he had ever said to her, this, at least, was one she could comprehend.

Then a shout echoed up the face of Coercri. “Giantfriend!” It was Pitchwife's voice. “Come! Starfare's Gem approaches!”

The echoes went on in Covenant's mind after the shout had faded. Giantfriend. He was who he was, a man half crippled by loneliness and responsibility and regret. But he had finally earned the title the First had given him.

The dromond came drifting slowly, neatly, toward the piers. Its rigging was full of Giants furling the sails.

Carefully, like a man who did not want to die, Covenant got to his feet. With Linden, Brinn, and Cail, he left the cliff.

They went down to meet the ship.