basement, and the heat of me day quickly left them. They rested
for a time, eating and talking idly among themselves, waiting
for whatever was to come next. Only the outlaw chief seemed
to know and, as usual, he wasn’t saying. Instead, he went to
sleep.
It was several hours before he awoke. He stood up, stretched,
took time to wash his face, and walked over to Par. “We’re
going out,” he said. He turned to the others. “Everyone else
stay put until we get back. We won’t be long and we won’t be
doing anything dangerous.”
Both Coil and Morgan started to protest, then thought better
of it. Par followed Padishar up the basement stairs, and the
trapdoor closed behind them. Padishar took a moment at me
outer door, then beckoned Par after him, and they stepped out
into the street.
The street was still crowded, filled with tradesmen and arti-
sans, buyers, and beggars. The outlaw chief took Par south to-
ward the cliffs, striding rapidly as the shadows of late afternoon
began to spread across the city. They did not return along any
of the avenues that had brought them in, but followed a different
series of small, rutted backstreets. The faces they passed were
masks of studied disinterest, but the eyes were feral. Padishar
ignored mem, and Par kept himself close to the big man. Bodies
pressed up against him, but he carried nothing of value, so he
worried less than he might have otherwise.
As they approached the cliffs, they turned onto the Tyrsian
Way. Ahead, the Bridge of Sendic lifted over the People’s Park,
a carefully trimmed stretch of lawn with broad-leaf trees mat
spread away toward a low wall and a cluster of buildings where
the bridge ended. Beyond, a forest grew out of a wide ravine,
and beyond that the spires and walls of what had once been the
palace of the rulers of Tyrsis rose up against the fading light.
Par studied the park, the bridge, and the palace as they ap-
proached. Something about their configuration did not seem
quite right. Wasn’t the Bridge of Sendic supposed to have ended
at the gates of the palace?
Padishar dropped back momentarily. “So, lad. Hard to be-
lieve that the Sword of Shannara could be hidden anywhere so
open,eh?”
Par nodded, frowning. “Where is it?”
“Patience now. You’ll have your answer soon enough.” He
put one arm about the Valeman and bent close. “Whatever hap-
pens next, do not act surprised.”
Par nodded. The outlaw chief slowed, moved over to a flower
cart and stopped. He studied the flowers, apparently trying to
select a batch. He had done so when Par felt an arm go about
his waist and turned to find the red-haired girl who practiced
sleight of hand pressing up against him.
“Hello, Elf-boy,” she whispered, her cool fingers brushing
at his ear as she kissed him on the cheek.
Then two small children were beside them, a girl and a boy,
the first reaching up to grasp Padishar’s rough hand, the second
reaching up to grasp Par’s. Padishar smiled, lifted the little girl
so that she squealed, kissed her, and gave half of the flowers to
her and half to the boy. Whistling, he started the five of them
moving into the park. Par had recovered sufficiently to notice
that the red-haired gid was carrying a basket covered with a
bright cloth. When they were close to the wall that separated
the park from the ravine, Padishar chose a maple tree for them
to sit under, the red-haired girl spread the cloth, and all of them
began unpacking the basket which contained cold chicken, eggs,
hard bread and jam, cakes, and tea.
Padishar glanced over at Par as they worked. “Par Ohmsford,
meet Damson Rhee, your betrothed for purposes of this little
outing.”
Damson Rhee’s green eyes laughed. “Love is fleeting. Par
Ohmsford. Let’s make the most of it.” She fed him an egg.
“You are my son,” Padishar added. “These other two chil-
dren are your siblings, though their names escape me at the
moment. Damson, remind me later. We’re just a typical family,
out for a late afternoon picnic, should anyone ask.”