of the circumstances that had brought him here-of his flight
from the Federation, of his dreams, his meeting with the old
man, and his search for Walker Boh. He had come a long way
because of those circumstances and he still wasn’t anywhere.
He felt a pang of disappointment that he hadn’t accomplished
more, that he hadn’t learned anything useful. He thought again
of his conversation with Walker. Walker had told him the wish-
song’s magic was not a gift, despite his insistence that it was,
and that there wasn’t anything worthwhile to discover about its
use. He shook his head. Well, perhaps there wasn’t. Perhaps he
had just been kidding himself all along.
But something about it had frightened that Shadowen. Some-
thing.
Yet only that child, not any of the others that he had encoun-
tered.
What had been different?
There was movement again at the edge of the mists, and a
figure detached itself and moved toward him. It was the second
Shadowen, the great, shambling creature they had encountered
at the edge of the Anar. It slouched toward him, grunting, car-
rying a monstrous club. For a moment, he forgot what he was
facing. He panicked, remembering that the wishsong had been
ineffective against this Shadowen, that he had been helpless. He
started to back away, then caught himself, thrust away his con-
fusion and shook clear his mind. Impulsively, he used the wish-
song, its magic creating an identical image of the creature facing
him, an image that he used to cloak himself. Shadowen faced
Shadowen. Then the Werebeast shimmered and faded back into
the mist.
Par went still and let the image concealing him dissolve. He
sat down again. How long could he keep this up?
He wondered if Coil was all right. He saw his brother stretched
upon the earth bleeding and he remembered how helpless he
had felt at that moment. He thought about how much he de-
pended on his brother.
Coil.
His mind wandered, shifted. There was a use for his magic,
he told himself sternly. It was not as Walker had said. There
was a purpose in his having it; it was indeed a gift. He would
find the answers at the Hadeshom. He would find them when he
spoke to Allanon. He must simply get free of this moor and . . .
A gathering of shadowy forms emerged from the mists before
him, dark and forbidding bits of ethereal motion in the night.
The Werebeasts had decided to wait no longer. He jerked to his
feet, facing them. They eased gradually closer, first one, then
another, none with any discernible shape, all shifting and
changing as rapidly as the mists.
Then he saw Coil, pulled from the darkness behind the shad-
ows, gripped in substanceless hands, his face ashen and blood-
ied. Parwentcold. Help me, he heard his brother call out, though
the sound of the voice was only in his mind. Help me. Par.
Par screamed something with the magic of the wishsong, but
it dissipated into the dank air of Olden Moor in a scattering of
broken sounds. Par shook as if chilled. Shades! That really was
Coil! His brother struggled, fighting to break free, calling out
repeatedly. Par, Par!
He went to his brother’s aid almost without thinking. He at-
tacked the Werebeasts with a fury that was entirely unexpected.
He cried out, the wishsong’s magic thrusting at the creatures,
hammering them back. He reached Coil and seized him, pulling
him free. Hands groped for him, touching. He felt pain, freezing
and burning both at once. Coil gripped him, and the pain inten-
sified. Poison flooded into him, bitter and harsh. His strength
almost gave out, but he managed to keep his feet, haulmg his
brother clear of the shadows, pulling him onto the rise.
Below, the shadows clustered and shifted watchfully. Par
howled down at them, knowing he was infected, feeling the
poison work its way through his body. Coil stood next to him,
not speaking. Par’s thoughts scattered, and his sense of what he
was about drifted away.
The Werebeasts began to close.
Then there was fresh movement on the rocks to his right, and