Even the Westland has its share of soldiers and administrative
lackeys, though it’s country they mostly ignore. The Rovers
know how to avoid them in any case. If need be, you would be
welcome to join us.”
Par gave her another quick hug. “Best that we see how this
business of the dreams turns out first,” he whispered.
They ate a dinner of fried meats, fresh-baked hard bread,
stewed vegetables, cheese, and nuts, and washed it all down
with ale and water while they watched the sun disappear beneath
the horizon. The food was good, and everyone said so, much
to Steff’s pleasure, for he had prepared the better part of it.
Cogline remained absent, but the others began talking a bit more
freely among themselves, all but Teel, who never seemed to
want to speak. As far as Par knew, he was the only one besides
Steff to whom the Dwarf girl had ever said anything.
When the dinner was complete, Steff and Teel took charge of
cleaning the dishes, and the others drifted away in ones and twos
as the dusk settled slowly into the night. While Coil and Morgan
went down to a spring a quarter-mile off to draw fresh water,
Par found himself ambling back up the trail that led into the
mountains and the Valley of Shale in the company of Wren and
the giant Garth.
“Have you been back there yet?” Wren asked as they walked,
nodding in the direction of the Hadeshom.
Par shook his head. “It’s several hours in and no one’s much
wanted to hurry matters along. Even Walker has refused to go
there before the scheduled time.” He glanced skyward where
clusters of stars dotted the heavens in intricate patterns and a
small, almost invisible crescent moon hung low against the ho-
rizon north. “Tomorrow night,” he said.
Wren didn’t reply. They walked on in silence until they
reached the shelf of rock that Par had occupied earlier that day.
There they stopped, looking back over the country south.
“You’ve had the dreams, too?” Wren asked him then and
went on to describe her own. When he nodded, she said, “What
do you think?”
Par eased himself down on the rock, the other two sitting
with him. “I think that ten generations of Ohmsfords have lived
their lives since the time of Brin and Jair, waiting for this to
happen. I think that the magic of the Elven house of Shannara,
Ohmsford magic now, is something more than we realize. I
think Allanon-or his shade, at least-will tell us what that
something is.” He paused. “I think it may turn out to be some-
thing wondrous-and something terrible.”
He was aware of her staring at him with those intense hazel
eyes, and he shrugged apologetically. “I don’t mean to be
overdramatic. That’s just the sense I have of things.”
She translated his comments automatically for Garth, who
gave no indication of what he thought. “You and Walker have
some use of the magic,” she said quietly. “I have none. What
of that?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure. Morgan’s magic is stronger
than mine these days and he wasn’t called.” He went on to tell
her about their confrontation with the Shadowen and the High-
lander’s discovery of the magic that had lain dormant in the
Sword of Lean. “I find myself wondering why the dreams didn’t
command him to appear instead of me, for all the use the wish-
song has been.”
“But you don’t know for certain how strong your magic is,
Par,” she said quietly. “You should remember from the stories
that none of the Ohmsfords, from Shea on down, fully under-
stood when they began their quests the uses of the Elven magic.
Might it not be the same with you?”
It might, he realized with a shiver. He cocked his head. “Or
you. Wren. What of you?”
“No, no, Par Ohmsford. I am a simple Rover girl with none
of the blood that carries the magic from generation to generation
in me.” She laughed. “I’m afraid I must make do with a bag
filled with make-believe Elfstones!”
He laughed as well, remembering the little leather bag with