He wished again that he could summon for just a moment the
magic, even in its most rudimentary form, so that he could be
reassured that he possessed some measure of power to defend
himself. But use of the magic would alert whatever lived within
the Pit, and he wanted to believe that as yet that had not hap-
pened.
Coil brushed his arm, pointing to where the earth had opened
before them in a wicked-looking crack that disappeared into
blackness. They would have to go around. Par nodded, leading
the way. Coil’s presence was reassuring to him, as if the simple
fact of his being there might somehow deter the evil that threat-
ened. Coil-his large, blocky form like a rock at Par’s back, his
rough face so determined that it seemed his strength of wiil
alone would see them through. Par was glad beyond anything
words could express that his brother had come. It was a selfish
reaction, he knew, but an honest one. Coil’s courage in thi-
business was to a large extent the source of his own.
They skirted the pitfall and worked their way back to the
tumbled remains of the bridge. Everything about them was ur-
changed, silent and unmoving, empty of life.
But then something shimmered darkly in the mists ahead,
squarish shape that lifted out of the rubble.
Par took a deep steadying breath. It was the vault.
They moved toward it hurriedly. Par in the lead. Coil just a
step behind. Stone-block walls came sharply into focus, losing
the surreal haziness in which the mists had cloaked them. Brust
grew up against its sides, vines looped over its sloped roof, and
moss colored its foundation in shadings of rust and dark green.
The vault was larger than Par had imagined, a good fifty feet
across and as much as twenty feet high at its peak. It had the
look and feel of a crypt.
The Valemen reached its nearest wall and edged their way
cautiously around the comer to the front. They found writing
carved there in the pitted stone, an ancient scroll ravaged by
time and weather, many of its words nearly erased. They
stopped, breathless, and read:
Herein lies the heart and soul of the nations.
Their right to be free men,
Their desire to live in peace,
Their courage to seek out truth.
Herein lies the Sword of Shannara.
Just beyond, a massive stone door stood ajar. The brothers
glanced at each other wordlessly, men started forward. When
they reached the door, they peered inside. There was a wall that
formed a corridor leading left; the corridor disappeared into
darkness.
Par frowned. He hadn’t expected the vault to be a complex
structure; he had thought it would be nothing more than a single
chamber with the Sword of Shannara at its center. This sug-
gested something else.
He looked at Coil. His brother was clearly upset, peering
about anxiously, studying first the entry, then the dark tangle of
the forest surrounding them. Coil reached out and pulled on the
door. It moved easily at his touch.
He bent close. “This looks like a trap,” he whispered so
softly that Par could barely hear him.
Par was thinking the same thing. A door to a vault that was
three hundred years old and had been subjected to the climate
of the Pit should not give way so readily. It would be a simple
matter for someone to shut it again once he was inside.
And yet he knew he would go in anyway. He had already
made up his mind to do so. He had come through too much to
turn back now. He raised his eyebrows and gave Coil a ques-
tioning look. What was Coil suggesting, the look asked?
Coil’s mouth tightened, knowing that Par was determined to
continue, that the risks no longer made any difference. It took
a supreme effort for him to speak the words. ‘ ‘All right. You go
after the Sword; I ‘ll stand guard out here.” One big hand grasped
Par’s shoulder. “But hurry!”
Par nodded, smiled triumphantly, and clutched his brother
back.
Then he was through the door, moving swiftly down the pas-