sighed and shook his head reluctantly. “No, I have to make my
own decision first. I have to do that before I can know where I
should be.”
She nodded, seeming to understand. She had her things to-
gether, and she walked up to him. “I might think differently if
I had the magic for protection like you and Walker. But I don’t.
I don’t have the wishsong or Cogline’s teachings to rely on. I
have only a bag of painted stones.” She kissed him again. “If
you need me, you can find me in the Tirfing. Be careful. Par.”
She rode out of the camp with Garth trailing. The others
watched them go, the curly haired Rover girl and her giant com-
panion in his bright patchwork clothes. Minutes later, they were
specks against the western horizon, their horses almost out of
sight.
Par kept looking after them even when they had disappeared.
Then he glanced east again after Walker Boh. He felt as if parts
of himself were being stolen away.
Coil insisted they have something to eat then, all of them,
because it had been better than twelve hours since their last meal
and there was no point in trying to think something through on
an empty stomach. Par was grateful for the respite, unwilling to
confront his own decision-making in the face of the disappoint-
ment he felt at the departure of Walker and Wren. He ate the
broth that Steff prepared along with some hard bread and fruit,
drank several cupfuls of ale, and walked down to the spring to
wash. When he returned, he agreed to his brother’s suggestion
that he lie down for a few minutes and after doing so promptly
fell asleep.
It was midday when he woke, his head throbbing, his body
aching, his throat hot and dry. He had dreamed snatches of
things he would have been just as happy not dreaming at all-
ot Rimmer Dall and his Federation Seekers hunting him through
empty, burned-out city buildings; of Dwarves that watched,
starving and helpless in the face of an occupation they could do
nothing to ease; of Shadowen lying in wait behind every dark
corner he passed in his flight; of Allanon’s shade calling out in
warning with each new hazard, but laughing as well at his plight.
His stomach felt unsettled, but he forced the feeling aside. He
washed again, drank some more ale, seated himself in the shade
of an old poplar tree, and waited for the sickness to pass. It did,
rather more quickly than he would have expected, and soon he
was working on a second bowl of the broth.
Coil joined him as he ate. “Feeling better? You didn’t look
well when you first woke up.”
Par finished eating and put the bowl aside. “I wasn’t. But I’m
all right now.” He smiled to prove it.
Coil eased down next to him against the roughened tree trunk,
settling his solid frame in place, staring out from the comfort of
the shade into the midday heat. “I’ve been thinking,” he said,
the blocky features crinkling thoughtfully. He seemed reluctant
to continue. “I’ve been thinking about what I would do if you
decided to go looking for the Sword.”
Par turned to him at once. “Coil, I haven’t even …”
“No, Par. Let me finish.” Coil was insistent. “If there’s one
thing I’ve learned about being your brother, it’s to try to get the
Jump on you when it comes to making decisions. Otherwise,
you make them first and once they’re made, they might as well
be cast in stone!”
He glanced over. “You may recall that we’ve had this discus-
sion before? I keep telling you I know you better than you know
yourself. Remember that time a few years back when you fell
into the Rappahalladran and almost drowned while we were off
in the Duln hunting that silver fox? There wasn’t supposed to be
one like it left in the Southland, but that old trapper said he’d
seen one and that was enough for you. The Rappahalladran was
cresting, it was late spring, and Dad told us not to try a cross-
ing-made us promise not to try. I knew the minute you made