feet away, he stopped. Rumor’s growl had died to heavy breath-
ing. The man’s arm reached up and drew back the hood.
“Tell me what you see,” Walker Boh said.
Cogline stared. It was Walker, and yet it was not. His fea-
tures were the same, but he was bigger somehow, and even with
his white skin he seemed as black as wet ashes, the cast of him
so dark it seemed any light that approached was being absorbed.
His body, even beneath the robes, gave the impression of being
armored. His left arm was still missing. His right hand held the
Black Elfstone.
“Tell me,” Walker asked him again.
Cogline stared into his eyes. They were flat and hard and
depthless, and he felt as if they were looking right through him.
“I see Allanon,” the old man answered softly.
A shudder passed through Walker Bob and was gone. “He
is part of me now, Cogline. That was what he left to guard the
Keep when he sent it from the Four Lands; that was what was
waiting for me in the mist. They were all there, all of the Dru-
ids-Galaphile, Bremen, Allanon, all of them. That was how
they passed on their knowledge, one to the next-a kind of
joining of spirit with flesh. Bremen carried it all when he became
the last of the Druids. He passed it on to Allanon, who passed
in turn to me.”
His eyes were bright; there were fires there that Cogline
could not define. “To me!” Walker Bob cried out suddenly.
“Their teachings, their lore, their history, their madness-all that
I have mistrusted and avoided for so long! He gave it all to me!”
He was trembling, and Cogline was suddenly afraid. This
man he had known so well, his student, at times his friend, was
someone else now, a man made over as surely as day changed
to night.
Walker’s hand tightened about the Black Elfstone as he lifted
it before him. “It is done, old man, and it can’t be undone.
Allanon has his Druid and his Keep back in the world of men.
He has his charge to me fulfilled. And he has placed his soul
within me!” The hand lowered like a weight pressing down
against the earth. “He thinks to make the Druids over through
me. Brin Ohmsford’s legacy. He gives me his power, his lore,
his understanding, his history. He even gives me his face. You
look at me, and you see him.”
A distant look came into the dark eyes. “But I have my own
strength, a strength I gained by surviving the rite of passage he
set for me, the horror of seeing what becoming a Druid means.
I have not been made over completely, even in this.”
He stared hard at Cogline, then stepped forward and placed
his arm about the thin shoulders. “You and I, Cogline,” he whis-
pered. “The past and the future, we are all that remain of the
Druids. It will be interesting to see if we can make a difference.”
He turned the old man slowly about, and together they be-
gan to walk back along the corridor. Rumor stared after them
momentarily, sniffed at the floor where Walker Bob’s feet had
trod as if trying it identify his scent, then padded watchfully
after.
HERE ENDS BOOK THREE of The Heritage of Shannara. Book Four,
The Talismans of Shannara, will conclude the series as Walker,
Wren, Par, Coil, and their friends engage in a final struggle
against Rimmer Dali and the Shadowen.