its foolish, blind decrees and its crushing rule! It is the Shad-
owen who have a chance to set things right!
“As for Allanon, he is first and always a Druid with a Druid’s
mind and ways. What he seeks is known only to him and likely
to remain that way. But you are well advised to be cautious of
accepting too readily what he tells you.”
He spoke with such conviction that for the first time Par
Ohmsford began to doubt. What if indeed the shade of Allanon
had lied? Wasn’t it true that the Druids had always played games
with those from whom they wanted something? Walker had
warned him that this was so, that it was a mistake to accept what
Allanon was telling them. Something in what Rimmer Dall was
saying seemed to whisper that it was true in this instance as
well. It was possible, he thought in despair, that he had been
misled completely.
The tall, cloaked form before him straightened. “You belong
with us. Par Ohmsford,” he said quietly.
Par shook his head quickly. “No.”
“You are one of us, Valeman. You can deny it as long and as
loudly as you like, but the fact remains. We are the same, you
and I-possessors of the magic, successors to the Druids, keep-
ers of the trust.” He paused, considering. “You still fear me,
don’t you? A Shadowen. Even the name frightens you. It is the
unavoidable result of having accepted as truth the lies you have
been told. You think of me as an enemy rather than as kindred.”
Par said nothing.
“Let us see who lies and who tells the truth. There.” He
pointed suddenly to the Sword.’ ‘Remove it from its stone, Vale-
man. It belongs to you; it is your bloodright as heir to the Elven
house of Shannara. Pick it up. Touch me with it. If I am the
black creature you have been warned against, then the Sword
will destroy me. If I am an evil that hides within a lie, the Sword
will reveal it. Take it in your hands, then. Use it.”
Par remained motionless for a long moment, then bounded
up the steps to the block of red marble, seized the Sword of
Shannara in both hands, and pulled it forth. It slid free unhin-
dered, gleaming and smooth. He turned quickly and faced Rim-
mer Dall.
“Come close. Par,” the other whispered. “Touch me.”
Memories whirled madly in Par’s mind, bits and pieces of the
songs he had sung, of the stories he had told. What he held now
was the Sword of Shannara, the Elven talisman of truth against
which no lie could stand.
He came down off the steps, the carved hilt with its burning
torch pressed into his palm, the blade held cautiously before
him. Rimmer Dall stood waiting. When Par was within striking
distance, he stretched out the blade of the talisman and laid it
firmly against the other’s body.
Nothing happened.
Keeping his eyes riveted on the other, he held the blade steady
and wUled that the truth be revealed. StiU nothing happened.
Par waited for as long as he could stand it, then lowered the
blade in despair and stepped away.
“Now you know. There is no lie about me,” Rimmer Dall
said. “The lie is in what you have been told.”
Par found that he was shaking. “But why would Allanon lie?
What purpose could that possibly serve?”
“Think for a moment on what you have been asked to do.”
The big man was relaxed, his voice calm and reassuring. “You
have been asked to bring back the Druids, to restore to them
their talismans, to seek our destruction. The Druids want to
regain what was lost to them, the power of life and magic. Is
that any different. Par, than what the Warlock Lord sought to
do ten centuries ago?”
“But you hunted us!”
“To talk to you, to explain.”
“You imprisoned my parents!”
“I kept them safe from harm. The Federation knew of you
and would have used them to find you, if I hadn’t gone to them
first.”
Par caught his breath, his arguments momentarily exhausted.