shadows were feeding on them.
-Watch-
The vision shifted. He saw himself then, a skeletal, ragged
beggar facing a cauldron of strange white fire that bubbled and
swirled and whispered his name. Vapors lifted from the caul-
dron and snaked their way down to where he stood, wrapping
about him, caressing him as if he were their child. Shadows
flitted all about, passing by at first, then entering him as if he
were a hollow casing in which they might play as they chose.
He could feel their touch; he wanted to scream.
-Watch-
The vision shifted once more. There was a huge forest and
in the middle of the forest a great mountain. Atop the mountain
sat a castle, old and weathered, towers and parapets rising up
against the dark of the land. Paranor, he thought! It was Paranor
come again! He felt something bright and hopeful well up within
him, and he wanted to shout his elation. But the vapors were
already coiling about the castle. The shadows were already flit-
ting close. The ancient fortress began to crack and crumble,
stone and mortar giving way as if caught in a vise. The earth
shuddered and screams lifted from the humans become animals.
Fire erupted out of the earth, splitting apart the mountain on
which Paranor sat and then the castle itself. Wailing filled the
air, the sound of one bereft of the only hope that had remained
to him. The old man recognized the wailing as his own.
Then the images were gone. He stood again before the Hades-
hom, in the shadow of the Dragon’s Teeth, alone with the shade
of Allanon. In spite of his resolve, he was shaking.
The shade pointed at him.
-It will be as I have shown you if the dreams are ignored. It
will be so if you fail to act. You must help. Go to them-the
boy, the girl, and the Dark Uncle. Tell them the dreams are real.
Tell them to come to me here on the first night of the new moon
when the present cycle is complete. I will speak with them then-
The old man frowned and muttered and worried his lower
lip. His fingers once more drew tight the drawstrings to the
pouch, and he shoved it back into his belt. “I will do so because
there is no one else!” he said finally, spitting out the words in
distaste. “But do not expect. . . !”
-Only go to them. Nothing more is required. Nothing more
will be asked. Go-
The shade of Allanon shimmered brightly and disappeared.
The light faded, and the valley was empty again. The old man
stood looking out over the still waters of the lake for a moment,
then turned away.
The fire he had left behind still burned on his return, but it
was small now and frail-looking against the night. The old man
stared absently at the flames, then hunkered down before them.
He stirred at the ashes already forming and listened to the si-
lence of his thoughts.
The boy, the girl, and the Dark Uncle-he knew them. They
were the Shannara children, the ones who could save them all,
the ones who could bring back the magic. He shook his grizzled
head. How was he to convince them? If they would not heed
Allanon, what chance that they would heed him?
He saw again in his mind the frightening visions. He had best
find a way to make them listen, he thought. Because, as he was
fond of reminding himself, he knew something of visions, and
there was a truth to these that even one such as he, one who had
foresworn the Druids and their magic, could recognize.
If the Shannara children failed to listen, these visions would
come to pass.
II
Par Ohmsford stood in the rear doorway of the Blue
Whisker Ale House and stared down the darkened tun-
nel of the narrow street that ran between the adjoining
buildings into the glimmer of Varfleet’s lights. The Blue Whisker
was a ramshackle, sprawling old building with weathered board
walls and a wood shingle roof and looked for all the world as if