Heritage of Shannara 1 – The Scions of Shannara by Brooks, Terry

to say I am. More important, I am free-bom and I do not

accept Federation rule. No right-thinking man does.” He

bent close. “You don’t accept it yourself now, do you? Admit

it.”

“Hardly,” Coil answered defensively. “But I question

whether the outlaws are any better.”

‘ ‘Harsh words, lad!” the other exclaimed. ‘ ‘A good thing for

you I do not take ofiense easily.” He grinned roguishly.

“What is it you want?” Par interrupted quickly, his mind

clear again. He had been thinking of Rimmer Dall. He knew

the man’s reputation and he was frightened of the prospect

of being hunted by him. “You want us to join you, is that

it?”

The stranger nodded. “You would find it worth your time, I

think.”

But Par shook his head. It was one thing to accept the strang-

er’s help in fleeing the Seekers. It was another to join the Move-

ment. The matter needed a great deal more thought. “I think

we had better decline for now,” he said evenly. “That is, if

we’re being given a choice.”

“Of course you are being given a choice!” The stranger

seemed offended.

“Then we have to say no. But we thank you for the offer and

especially for your help back there.”

The stranger studied him a moment, solemn again. “You are

quite welcome, believe me. I wish only the best for you. Par

Ohmsford. Here, take this.” He removed from one hand a ring

that was cast in silver and bore the insigne of a hawk. “My

friends know me by this. If you need a favor-or if you change

your mind-take this to Kiltan Forge at Reaver’s End at the north

edge of the city and ask for the Archer. Can you remember

that?”

Par hesitated, then took the ring, nodding. “Butwhy. . . ?”

“Because there is much between us, lad,” the other said

softly, anticipating his question. One hand reached out to rest

on his shoulder. The eyes took in Coil as well. “There is

history that binds us, a bond of such strength that it requires

I be there for you if I can. More, it requires that we stand

together against what is threatening this land. Remember that,

too. One day, we will do so, I think-if we all manage to

stay alive until then.”

He grinned at the brothers and they stared back silently. The

stranger’s hand dropped away. “Time to go now. Quickly, too.

The street runs east to the river. You can go where you wish

from there. But watch yourselves. Keep your backs well guarded.

This matter isn’t finished.”

‘ ‘I know,” Par said and extended his hand. ‘ ‘Are you certain

you will not tell us your name?”

The stranger hesitated. “Another day,” he said.

He gripped Par’s hand tightly, then Coil’s, then whistled his

companions to him. He waved once, then melted into the shad-

ows and was gone.

Par stared down momentarily at the ring, then glanced

questioningly at Coll. Somewhere close at hand, the sound of

shouting started up.

“I think the questions will have to wait,” said Coil.

Par jammed the ring into his pocket. Wordlessly, they dis-

appeared into the night.

It was nearing midnight by the time Par and Coil reached

the waterfront section of Varfleet, and it was there that they

first realized how ill-prepared they were to make their es-

cape from Rimmer Dall and his Federation Seekers. Neither

had expected that flight would prove necessary, so neither had

brought anything that a lengthy journey might require. They had

no food, no blankets, no weapons save for the standard long

knives all Valemen wore, no camping gear or foul-weather

equipment, and worst of all, no money. The ale house keeper

hadn’t paid them in a month. What money they had managed to

save from the month before had been lost in the fire along with

everything else they owned. They had only the clothes on their

backs and a growing fear that perhaps they should have stuck

with the nameless stranger a bit longer.

The waterfront was a ramshackle mass of boathouses, piers,

mending shops, and storage sheds. Lights burned along its

length, and dockworkers and fishermen drank and joked in the

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