Padishar had the casualties buried at the far end of the bluff and
the injured moved into the largest cave, which was converted
into a temporary hospital. There were medicines and some few
men with experience in treating battle wounds to administer
them, but the outlaws did not have the services of a genuine
Healer. The cries of the injured and dying lingered in the early
morning stillness.
The Creeper was dragged to the edge of the bluff and thrown
over. It was a difficult, exhausting task, but Padishar would not
tolerate the creature’s presence on the bluff a second longer than
was necessary. Ropes and pulleys were used, one end of the
lines fastened to the monster’s dead bulk, the other end passed
through the hands of dozens of men who pulled and strained as
the Creeper was hauled inch by inch through the wreckage of the
camp. It took the outlaws all morning. Morgan worked with
them, not speaking to anyone, trying hard to remain inconspic-
uous, still struggling to understand what had happened to him.
He figured it out finally. He was still immersed in the effort
to drag the Creeper to the bluff edge, his body aching and weary,
but his mind grown unexpectedly sharp. It was the Sword of
Leah that was responsible, he realized-or more accurately, the
magic it contained, or had once contained. It was the loss of the
magic that had crippled him and had caused him to be so inde-
cisive, so frightened. When he had discovered the magic of the
Sword, he had thought himself inivincible. The feeling of power
was like nothing he had ever experienced or would have believed
possible. With that sort of power at his command, he could do
anything. He could still remember what it had felt like to stand
virtually alone against the Shadowen in the Pit. Wondrous. Ex-
hilarating.
But draining, as well. Each time he invoked the power, it
seemed to take something away from him.
When he had broken the Sword of Leah and lost all use of
the magic, he had begun to understand just how much it was
that had been taken from him. He sensed the change in himself
almost immediately. Padishar had insisted he was mistaken, had
told him he would forget his loss, that he would heal, and that
time would see him back to the way he had been. He knew now
that it wasn’t so. He would never heal-not completely. Having
once used the magic, he was changed irrevocably. He couldn’t
give it up; he wasn’t the same man without it. Though he had
possessed it only briefly, the effect of having had it for even that
long was permanent. He hungered to have it back again. He
needed to have it back. He was lost without it; he was confused
and afraid. That was the reason he had failed to act during the
battle with the Creeper. It was not that he lacked a sense of what
he should do or how he should do it. It was that he no longer
could invoke the magic to aid him.
Admitting this cost him something he couldn’t begin to de-
fine. He continued to work, a machine without feelings, numbed
by the idea that loss of the magic could paralyze him so. He hid
himself m his thoughts, in the rain and the gray, hoping that no
one-especially Padishar Creel-had noticed his failure, ago-
nizing over what he would do if it happened again.
After a time, he found himself thinking about Par. He had
never considered before what it must be like for the Valeman to
have to continually struggle with his own magic. Forced to con-
front what the magic of the Sword of Leah meant to him, Mor-
gan thought he understood how difficult it must be for Par. How
had his friend learned to live with the uncertainty of the wish-
song’s power? What did he feel when it failed him, as it had so
many times on their journey to find Allanon? How had he man-
aged to accept his weakness? It gave Morgan a measure of re-
newed strength to know that the Valeman had somehow found