Because I chose to distance myself from you, they did. You
risked a fair amount in coming to find me in the first place; the
least I could have done was to make certain that once you reached
me, you would be safe. I failed to do that.”
“I don’t blame you for what happened,” Par said quickly.
“But I do.” Walker rose, as restless as a cat, stalking to the
windows and peering out into the rain. “I live apart because I
choose to. Other men in other times made me decide that it was
best. But I forget sometimes that there is a difference between
disassociating and hiding. There are limits to the distances we
can place between ourselves and others-because the dictates of
our world don’t allow for absolutes.” He looked back, his skin
pale against the grayness of the day. “I was hiding myself when
you came to find me. That was why you went unprotected.”
Par did not fully understand what Walker was trying to say,
but he chose not to interrupt, anxious to hear more. Walker
turned from the window after a moment and came back. “I
haven’t been to see you since you were brought here,” he said,
coming to a stop at Par’s bedside. “Did you know that?”
Par nodded, again keeping silent. “It wasn’t that I was ig-
noring you. But I knew you were safe, that you would be well,
and I wanted time to think. I went out into the woodlands by
myself. I returned for the first time this morning. The Stors told
me that you were awake, that the poison was dispelled, and I
decided to come to see you.”
He broke off, his gaze shifting. When he spoke again, he
chose his words carefully. “I have been thinking about the
dreams.”
There was another brief silence. Par shifted uncomfortably
in the bed, already beginning to feel tired. His strength would
be awhile returning. Walker seemed to recognize the problem
and said, “I won’t be staying much longer.”
He sat down again slowly. “I anticipated that you might come
to me after the dreams began. You were always impulsive. I
thought about the possibility, about what I would say to you.”
He paused. “We are close in ways you do not entirely under-
stand, Par. We share the legacy of the magic; but more than
that, we share a preordained future that may preclude our right
to any meaningful form of self-determination.” He paused
again, smiling faintly. “What I mean, Par, is that we are the
children of Brin and Jair Ohmsfoid, heirs to the magic of the
Elven house of Shannara, keepers of a trust. Remember now?
It was Allanon who gave us that trust, who said to Brin when
he lay dying that the Ohmsfbrds would safeguard the magic for
generations to come until it was again needed.”
Par nodded slowly, beginning to understand now. “You be-
lieve we might be the ones for whom the trust was intended.”
“I believe it-and I am frightened by the possibility as I have
never been frightened of anything in my life!” Walker’s voice
wasalowhiss. “I am terrified of it! I want no part of the Druids
and their mysteries! I want nothing to do with the Elven magic,
with its demands and its treacheries! I wish only to be left alone,
to live out my life in a way I believe useful and fulfilling-and
that is all I wish!”
Par let his eyes drop protectively against die fury of the other
man’s words. Then he smiled sadly. “Sometimes the choice
isn’t ours. Walker.”
Walker Boh’s reply was unexpected. “That was what I de-
cided.” His lean face was hard as Par looked up again. “While
I waited for you to wake, while I kept myself apart from the
others, out there in the forests beyond Storlock, that was what I
decided.” He shook his head. “Events and circumstances
sometimes conspire against us; if we insist on inflexibility for
the purpose of maintaining our beliefs, we end up compromis-
ing ourselves nevertheless. We salvage one set of principles only
to forsake another. My staying hidden within the Wilderun al-