“But if the Sword isn’t down in the Pit as well, why are the
Shadowen there?” Par asked at once. “Surely not to protect an
empty vault! No, the Sword is still there, just as it has been for
three hundred years. That’s why Allanon sent me after it-he
knew it was there, waiting to be found.”
“He could have saved us a lot of time and trouble by telling
us as much,” said Coil pointedly.
Par shook his head. “No, Coll. That isn’t the way he would
do it. Think about the history of the Sword. Bremen gave it to
Jerle Shannara some thousand years ago to destroy the Warlock
Lord and the Elf King couldn’t master it because he wasn’t
prepared to accept what it demanded of him. When Allanon
chose Shea Ohmsford to finish me job five hundred years later,
he decided that the Valeman must first prove himself. If he was
not strong enough to wield it, if he did not want it badly enough,
if he were not willing to give enough of himself to the task that
finding it entailed, then the power of the Sword would prove too
much for him as well. And he knew if that happened, the War-
lock Lord would escape again.”
“And he believes it will be the same now with you,” Damson
finished. She was looking at Par as if she were seeing him for
the first time. “If you are not strong enough, if you are not
willing to give enough, the Sword of Shannara will be useless
to you. The Shadowen will prevail.”
Par’s answering nod was barely discernible.
“But why would the Shadowen-or the Federation, for that
matter-leave the Sword in the Pit all these years?” Coil de-
manded, irritated that they were even talking about the matter
after what had happened to them last night. “Why not simply
remove it-or better yet, why not destroy it?”
Par’s face was intense. “I don’t think either the Federation or
the Shadowen can destroy it-not a talisman of such power. I
doubt that the Shadowen can even touch it. The Warlock Lord
couldn’t. What I can’t figure out is why the Federation hasn’t
taken it out and hidden it.”
He clasped his hands tightly before him. “In any case, it
doesn’t matter. The fact remains the Sword is still there, still in
its vault.” He paused, eyes level. “Waiting for us.”
Coil gaped at him, realizing for the first time what he was
suggesting. For a moment, he couldn’t speak at all. “You can’t
be serious. Par,” he managed finally, the disbelief in his voice
undisguised. “After what happened last night? After seeing …”
He forced himself to stop, then snapped, “You wouldn’t
last two minutes.”
“Yes, I would,” Par replied. His eyes were bright with de-
termination. “I know I would. Allanon told me as much.”
Coil was aghast. “Allanon! What are you talking about?”
“He said we had the skills needed to accomplish what was
asked-Walker, Wren, and myself. Remember? In my case, I
think he was talking about the wishsong. I think he meant that
the magic of the wishsong would protect me.”
“Well, it’s done a rather poor job of it up to now!” Coil
snapped, lashing out furiously.
“I didn’t understand what it could do then. I think I do now.”
“You think? You think? Shades, Par!”
Par remained calm. “What else are we to do? Run back to
the Jut? Run home? Spend the rest of our days sneaking about?”
Par’s hands were shaking. “Coil, I haven’t any choice. I have
to try.”
Coil’s strong face closed in upon itself in dismay, his mouth
tightening against whatever outburst threatened to break free.
He wheeled on Damson, but the girt had her eyes locked on Par
and would not look away.
The Valeman turned back, gritting his teeth. “So you would
go back down into the Pit on the strength of an unproven and
untested belief. You would risk your life on the chance that the
wishsong-a magic that has failed to protect you three times
already against the Shadowen-will somehow protect you now.
And all because of what you perceive as your newfound insight