No one did. The men ate their meal in silence, listening to
the children as they chattered on and acted as if what was hap-
pening was perfectly normal. Damson Rhee looked after them,
laughing right along with them, her smile warm and infectious.
She was pretty to begin with, but when she smiled, Par found
her beautiful. When they were finished eating, she did me corn
trick with each child, (hen sent them off to play.
“Let’s take a walk,” Padishar suggested, rising.
The three of them strolled through the shade trees, moving
without seeming purpose toward the wall that blocked away the
ravine. Damson clung lovingly to Par’s waist. He found he didn’t
mind. “Things have changed somewhat in Tyrsis since the old
days,” the outlaw chief said to Par as they walked. “When the
Buckhannah line died out, the monarchy came to an end. Tyrsis,
Varfleet, and Kem ruled Callahom by forming the Council of
the Cities. When the Federation made Callahorn a protectorate,
the Council was disbanded. The palace had served as an assem-
bly for the Council. Now the Federation uses it-except that no
one knows exactly what they use it for.”
They reached the wall and stopped. The wall was built of
stone block to a height of about three feet. Spikes were embed-
ded in its top. “Have a look,” the outlaw chief invited.
Par did. The ravine beyond dropped away sharply into a mass
of trees and scrub that had grown so thick it seemed to be chok-
ing on itself. Mist curled through the wilderness with an insis-
tence that was unsettling, clinging to even the uppermost reaches
of the trees. The ravine stretched away for perhaps a mile to
either side and a quarter of that distance to where the palace
stood, its doors and windows shuttered and dark, its gates
barred. The stone of the palace was scarred and dirty, and the
whole of it had the look of something that had not seen use for
decades. A narrow catwalk ran from the buildings in the fore-
ground to its sagging gates.
He looked back at Padishar. The outlaw chief was facing
toward the city. “This wall forms the dividing line between past
and present,” he said quietly. “The ground we stand upon is
called the People’s Park. But the true People’s Park, the one
from the time of our ancestors-” He paused and turned back
to the ravine. “-is down there.” He took a moment to let that
sink in. “Look. Below the Federation Gatehouse that wards the
catwalk.” Par followed his gaze and caught sight of a scattering
of huge stone blocks barely poking up out of the forest.’ “That,”
the outlaw chief continued somberly, “is what remains of the
real Bridge of Sendic. It was badly cracked, I am told, during
the assault on Tyrsis by the Warlock Lord during the time of
Panamon Creel. Some years later, it collapsed altogether. This
other bridge,” he waved indifferently, “is merely for show.”
He glanced sideways at Par. “Now do you see?”
Par did. His mind was working rapidly now, fitting the pieces
into place. “And the Sword of Shannara?” He caught a glimpse
of Damson Rhee’s startled look out of the comer of his eye.
“Down there somewhere, unless I miss my guess,” Padishar
replied smoothly. “Right where it’s always been. You have
something to say. Damson?”
The red-haired girl took Par’s arm and steered him away from
the wall. “This is what you have come for, Padishar?” She
sounded angry.
“Forbear, lovely Damson. Don’t let’s be judgmental.”
The girl’s grip tightened on Par’s arm. “This is dangerous
business, Padishar. I have sent men into the Pit before, as you
well know, and not one of them has returned.”
Padishar smiled indulgently. “The Pit-that’s what Tyrsians
call the ravine these days. Pitting, I suppose.”
“You take too many risks!” the girl pressed.
“Damson is my eyes and ears and strong right arm inside
Tyrsis,” the other continued smoothly. He smiled at her. “Tell
the Valeman what you know of the Sword, Damson.”
She gave him a dangerous look, then swung her face away.
“The collapse of the Bridge of Sendic occurred at the same time