the ping and crash and thud of their impact. He was isolated, an
island within the heart of a battle that had somehow caught him
up, lost in a sea of indecision and doubt. He had to do some-
thing-but the direction he should take refused to reveal itself.
He had wanted so badly to be a part of the fight against the
Federation, to come north to join the outlaws, to undertake the
search for the Sword of Shannara, to see the Shadowen de-
stroyed. Such aspirations he had harbored when he had set
out-such bold plans! He was to be shed of his claustrophobic
existence in the Highlands, his meaningless tweaking of the
noses of the bureaucrats the Federation had sent to govern, fin-
ished at last with conducting meaningless experiments in aggra-
vation against men who could change nothing, even if they
wished to do so. He was to do something grand, something
wonderful. . .
Something that would make a difference.
Well, now he had his chance. He could make the difference
no one else could. And there he sat, paralyzed.
Afternoon drifted into evening, the siege continued unabated,
and Morgan’s dilemma remained unresolved. He left the grove
once to check on Steff and Teel-or more accurately, perhaps,
to spy on them, to see if they might give anything away. But the
Dwarves seemed no different from before. Steff was still weak
and able to converse for only a few minutes before dropping off
to sleep; Teel was taciturn, guarded. He studied them both as
surreptitiously as he could, working at seeing something that
would give mm a clue as to whether his suspicions had any basis
in fact-any possibility of truth at all-and he left as empty-
handed as he had come.
It was almost dark when Padishar Creel found him. He was
lost in thought, still trying to puzzle through what course of
action he should take, and he didn’t hear the big man approach.
It wasn’t until Padishar spoke that he realized anyone was there.
“Keeping to yourself quite a bv aren’t you?”
Morgan jumped. “What? Oh, Padishar. Sorry.”
The big man sat down across from him. His face was tired
and streaked with dust and sweat. If he noticed Morgan’s un-
easiness, he didn’t let on. He stretched his legs and leaned back,
supporting himself on his elbows, wincing from the pain of his
wounds. “This has been a foul day, Highlander,” he said. It
came out in a long sigh of aggravation. “Twenty-two men dead
now, another two likely to be gone by morning, and here we
cower like foxes brought to bay.”
Morgan nodded without responding. He was trying desper-
ately to decide what he should say.
“Truth is. I don’t much care for the way this is turning out.”
The hard face was impossible to read. “The Federation will lay
siege to this place until we’ve all forgotten why it was that we
came here in the first place, and that doesn’t do much to advance
my plans or the hopes of the free-born. Bottled up like we are,
we’re not much use to anyone. There’s other havens, and there’ll
be other times to square matters with those cowards who would
send things conceived of dark magic to do their work rather than
face us themselves.” He paused. “So I’ve decided that it’s time
to think about getting out.”
Morgan sat forward now. “Escape?”
“Out that back door we talked about. I thought you should
know. I’ll be needing your help.”
Morgan stared. “My help?”
Padishar straightened slowly to a sitting position. “I want
someone to carry a message to Tyrsis-to Damson and the Vale-
men. They need to know what’s happened. I’d go myself, but I
have to stay to see the men safely out. So I thought you might
be interested.”
Morgan agreed at once. “I am. I’ll do it.”
The other’s hand lifted in warning. “Not so fast. We won’t
be leaving the Jut right away, probably not for another three
days or so. The injured shouldn’t be moved just yet. But I’ll
want you to leave sooner. Tomorrow, in fact. Damson’s a smart
girl with a good head on her shoulders, but she’s wilful. I’ve
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