the shade of Allanon would be like, he would have imagined
wrong. Coil asked him at one point if he were all right and he
nodded without replying, wondering inwardly if indeed he would
ever be all right again.
Recover the Sword of Shannara, the shade had commanded
him. Sticks and stones, how in the world was he supposed to do
that?
The seeming impossibility of the task was daunting. He had
no idea where to begin. No one, to the best of his knowledge,
had even seen the Sword since the occupation of Tyrsis by the
Federation-well over a hundred years ago. And it might have
disappeared before that. Certainly no one had seen it since. Like
most things connected with the time of the Druids and the magic,
the Sword was part of a legend that was all but forgotten. There
weren’t any Druids, there weren’t any Elves, and there wasn’t
any magic-not anymore, not in the world of men. How often
had he heard that?
His jaw tightened. Just exactly what was he supposed to do?
What were any of them supposed to do? Allanon had given them
nothing to woik with beyond the bare charging of their respec-
tive quests and his assurance that what he asked of them was
both possible and necessary.
He felt a hot streak race through him. There had been no
mention of his own magic, of the uses of me wishsong that he
believed were hidden from him. Nothing had been said about
the ways in which it might be employed. He hadn’t even been
given a chance to ask questions. He didn’t know one thing more
about the magic than he had before.
Par was angry and disappointed and a dozen other things too
confusing to sort out. Recover the Sword of Shannara, indeed!
And then what? What was he supposed to do with it? Challenge
the Shadowen to some sort of combat? Go charging around the
countryside searching them out and destroying them one by one?
His face flushed. Shades! Why should he even think about
doing such a thing?
He caught himself. Well, that was really the crux of things,
wasn’t it? Should he even consider doing what Allanon had
asked-not so much the hunting of toe Shadowen with the Sword
of Shannara, but the hunting of the Sword of Shannara in the
first place?
That was what needed deciding.
He tried pushing the matter from his mind for a moment,
losing himself in the cool of the shadows where the cliffs still
warded the pathway; but, like a frightened child clinging to its
mother, it refused to release its grip. He saw Steff ahead of him
saying something to Teel, then to Morgan and shaking his head
vehemently as he did so. He saw the stiff set of Walker Boh’s
back. He saw Wren striding after her uncle as if she might walk
right over him. All of them were as angry and frustrated as he
was; there was no mistaking the look. They felt cheated by what
they had been told-or not told. They had expected something
more substantial, something definitive, something that would
give them answers to the questions they had brought with them.
Anything besides the impossible charges they had been given!
Yet Allanon had said the charges were not impossible, that
they could be accomplished, and that the three charged had the
skills, the heart, and the right to accomplish them.
Par sighed. Should he believe that?
And again he was back to wondering whether or not he should
even consider doing what he had been asked.
But he was already considering exactly that, wasn’t he? What
else was he doing by debating the matter, if not that?
He passed out of the cliff shadows onto me pebble-strewn
trail leading downward to the campsite. As he did so, he made
a determined effort to put aside his anger and frustration and to
think cleariy. What did he know that he could rety upon? The
dreams had indeed been a summons from Allanon-that much
appeared certain now. The Druid had come to them as he had
come to Ohmsfords in the past, asking their help against dark