stretched, and moved about uneaslly. Eyes grew heavy and
senses duUed.
Far east, the first twinges of the coming dawn appeared against
the dark line of the horizon.
He’s not coming. Par thought dismally.
And as if in answer the waters of the Hadeshom heaved up-
ward, and the valley shuddered as if something beneath it had
come awake. Rock shifted and grated with the movement, and
the members of the little company went into a protective crouch.
The lake began to boil, the waters to thrash, and spray shot
skyward with a sharp hiss. Voices cried out, inhuman and filled
with longing. They rose out of the earth, straining against bonds
that were invisible to the nine gathered in the valley, but which
they could all too readily imagine. Walker’s arms flung wide
against the sound, scattering bits of silver dust that flared in a
protective curtain. The others cupped their ears protectively, but
nothing could shut the sound away.
Then the earth began to rumble, thunder that rolled out of its
depth and eclipsed even the cries. Cogline’s stick-thin arm lifted,
pointing rigidly to the lake. The Hadeshom exploded into a
whirlpool, waters churning madly, and from out of the depths
rose . . .
“Allanon!” Par cried out excitedly against the fury of sounds.
It was the Druid. They knew him instantly, all of them. They
remembered him from the tales of three centuries gone; they
recognized him in their heart of hearts, mat secret innermost
whisper of certainty. He rose into me night air, light flaring
about him, released somehow from the waters of me Hadeshora.
He lifted free of the lake to stand upon its surface, a shade from
some netherworld, cast in transparent gray, shimmering faintly
against the dark. He was cloaked and cowled from head to foot,
a tall and powerful image of the man that once was, his long,
sharp-featured, bearded face turned toward them, his penetrat-
ing eyes sweeping clear their defenses, laying bare their lives for
examination and judgment.
Par Ohmsford shivered.
The churning of the waters subsided, the rumbling ceased,
the wails died into a hush that hung suspended across the ex-
panse of the valley. The shade moved toward them, seemingly
without haste, as if to discredit Cogline’s word that it could stay
only briefly in the world of men. Its eyes never left their own.
Par had never been so frightened. He wanted to run. He wanted
to flee for his life, but he stood rooted to the spot on which he
stood, unable to move.
The shade came to the water’s edge and stopped. From some-
where deep within their minds, the members of the little com-
pany heard it speak.
-I am Allanon that was-
A murmur of voices filled the air, voices of things no longer
living, echoing the shade’s words.
-I have called you to me in your dreams-Par, Wren, and
Walker. Children of Shannara, you have been summoned to me.
The wheel of time comes around again-for rebirthing of the
magic, for honoring the trust that was given you, for beginning
and ending many things-
The voice, deep and sonorous within them, grew rough with
feelings that scraped the bone.
-The Shadowen come. They come with a promise of de-
struction, sweeping over the Pour Lands with the certainty of
day after night-
There was a pause as the shade’s lean hands wove a vision of
his words through the fabric of the night air, a tapestry that hung
momentarily in brilliant colors against the misted black. The
dreams he had sent them came alive, sketches of nightmarish
madness. Then they faded and were gone. The voice whispered
soundlessly.
-It shall be so, if you do not heed-
Par felt the words reverberate through his body like a rumble
from the earth. He wanted to look at the others, wanted to see
what was on their faces, but the voice of the shade held him
spellbound.
Not so Walker Boh. His uncle’s voice was as chilling as the
shade’s. “Tell us what you would, Allanon! Be done with it!”
Allanon’s flat gaze shifted to the dark figure and settled on
him. Walker Boh staggered back a step in spite of himself. The