Talismans of Shannara
Talismans of Shannara
Terry Brooks
I
Busk settled down about the Four Lands, a slow graying
of light, a gradual lengthening of shadows. The swelter
of the late summer’s day began to fade as the sun’s red
fireball sank into the west and the hot, stale air cooled. The
hush that comes with day’s end stilled the earth, and leaves
and grass shivered with expectation at the coming of night.
At the mouth of the Mermidon where it emptied into the
Rainbow Lake, Southwatch rose blackly, impenetrable and
voiceless. The wind brushed the waters of the lake and river,
yet did not approach the obelisk, as if anxious to hurry on to
some place mere inviting. The air shimmered about the dark
tower, heat radiating from its stone in waves, forming spectral
images that darted and flew. A solitary hunter at the water’s
edge glanced up apprehensively as he passed and continued
swiftly on.
Within, the Shadowen went about their tasks in ghostly si-
lence, cowled and faceless and filled with purpose.
Rimmer Dall stood at a window looking out on the darken-
ing countryside, watching the color fade from the earth as the
night crept stealthily out of the east to gather in its own.
The night, our mother, our comfort.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, rigid
within his dark robes, cowl pulled back from his rawboned,
red-bearded face. He looked hard and empty of feeling, and
had he cared he would have been pleased. But it had been a
long time since his appearance had mattered to the First
Seeker—a long time since he had bothered even to wonder.
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2 The Talismans of Shannara
His outside was of no consequence; he could be anything he
chose. What burned within mattered. That gave him life.
His eyes glittered as he looked beyond what he was seeing
to what one day would be.
To what was promised.
He shifted slightly, alone with his thoughts in the tower’s si-
lence. The others did not exist for him, wraiths without sub-
stance. Below, deep within the bowels of the tower, he could
hear the sounds of the magic at work, the deep hum of its
breathing, the rumble of its heart. He listened for it without
thinking now, a habit that brought reassurance to his troubled
mind. The power was theirs, brought from the ether into sub-
stance, given shape and form, lent purpose. It was the gift of
the Shadowen, and it belonged to them alone.
Druids and others notwithstanding.
He tried a faint smile, but his mouth refused to put up with
it and it disappeared in the tight line of his lips. His gloved left
hand squirmed within the clasp of the bare fingers of his right.
Power for power, strength for strength. On his breast, the silver
wolf’s-head insignia glittered.
Thrum, thrum, came the sound of the magic working down
below.
Rimmer Dall turned back into the grayness of the room—a
room that until recently had held Coil Ohmsford prisoner. Now
the Valeman was gone—escaped, he believed; but let go in fact
and made prisoner another way. Gone to find his brother. Par.
The one with the real magic.
The one who would be his.
The First Seeker moved away from the window and seated
himself at the bare wooden table, the weight of his big frame
causing the spindly chair to creak. His hands folded on the ta-
ble before him and his craggy face lowered.
All the Ohmsfords were back in the Pour Lands, all the sci-
ons of Shannara, returned from their quests. Walker Boh had
come back from Eldwist despite Pe Ell, the Black Elfstone re-
gained, its magic fathomed, Paranor brought back into the
world of men, and Walker himself become the first of the new
Druids. Wren Elessedil had come back from Morrowindl with
Arborlon and the Elves, the magic of the Elfstones discovered
The Talismans of Shannara 3
anew, her own identity and heritage revealed. Two out of three
of Allanon’s charges fulfilled. Two out of three steps taken.
Par’s was to be the last, of course. Find the Sword of
Shannara. Find the Sword and it will reveal the truth.