and served it with hot bread and cold ale. They sat out under
the pines at a table and benches and consumed the better pan
of their food and drink, the day finally beginning to cool as
night approached and an evening breeze rustled down out of the
hills. Morgan brought out pears and cheese for dessert, and they
nibbled contentedly as the sky turned red, then deep purple, and
finally darkened and filled with stars.
“I love the Highlands,” Morgan said after they had been
silent for a time. They were seated on the stone steps of the
lodge now. “I could leam to love the city as well I expect, but
not while it belongs to the Federation. I sometimes find myself
wondering what it would have been like to live in the old home,
before they took it from us. That was a long time ago, of course-
six generations ago. No one remembers what it was like any-
more. My father won’t even talk about it. But here-well, this
is still ours, this land. The Federation hasn’t been able to take
that away yet. There’s just too much of it. Maybe that’s why I
love it so much-because it’s the last thing my family has left
from the old days.”
“Besides the sword,” Par reminded.
“Do you still carry that battered old relic?” Coil asked. “I
keep thinking you will discard it in favor of something newer
and better made.”
Morgan glanced over. “Do you remember the stories that
said the Sword of Leah was once magic?”
“Allanon himself was supposed to have made it so,” Par
confirmed.
‘ ‘Yes, in the time of Rone Leah.” Morgan furrowed his brow.
“Sometimes I think it still is magic. Not as it once was, not as
a weapon that could withstand Mord Wraiths and such, but in a
different way. The scabbard has been replaced half-a-dozen times
over the years, the hilt once or twice at least, and both are worn
again. But the blade-ah, that blade! It is still as sharp and true
as ever, almost as if it cannot age. Doesn’t that require magic
of a sort?”
The brothers nodded solemnly. “Magic sometimes changes
in the way it works,” Par said. “It grows and evolves. Perhaps
that has happened with the Sword of Leah.” He was thinking
as he said it how the old man had told him he did not understand
the magic at all and wondering if that were true.
“Well, truth is, no one wants the weapon in any case, not
anymore.” Morgan stretched like a cat and sighed. “No one
wants anything that belongs to the old days, it seems. The re-
minders are too painful, I think. My father didn’t say a word
when I asked for the blade. He just gave it to me.”
Coil reached over and gave the other a friendly shove. ‘ ‘Well,
your father ought to be more careful to whom he hands out his
weapons.”
Morgan managed to look put upon. “Am I the one being
asked to join the Movement?” he demanded. They laughed.
* ‘By the way. You mentioned the stranger gave you a ring. Mind
if I take a look?”
Par reached into his tunic, fished out the ring with the hawk
insigne and passed it over. Morgan took it and examined it
carefully, then shrugged and handed it back. “I don’t recognize
it. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I hear there are
a dozen outlaw bands within the Movement and they all change
their markings regularly to confuse the Federation.”
He took a long drink from his ale glass and leaned back again.
“Sometimes I think I ought to go north and join them-quit
wasting time here playing games with those fools who live in
my house and govern my land and don’t even know the history.”
He shook his head sadly and for a moment looked old.
Then he brightened. “But now about you.” He swung his
legs around and sat forward. “You can’t risk going back until
you’re certain it’s safe. So you’ll stay here for a day or so and
let me go ahead. I’ll make certain the Federation hasn’t gotten