pens.” He paused. “Only once, when I was in the Pit, after
Coil … I picked up the Sword from where I had dropped it,
and the touch of it burned me like live coals. Just for a min-
ute.” He was thinking it through again, remembering. “The
wishsong’s magic was still live. I was still holding that fire
sword. Then the magic disappeared, and the Sword of
Shannara became cool to the touch again.”
The big man nodded. “That’s it, then, lad. Something about
the wishsong’s magic interferes with use of the Sword of
Shannara. It makes some sense, doesn’t it? Why not a clash of
magics? If it’s so, Rimmer Dall could give you the Sword and
never have to worry one whit.”
Par shook his head. “But how would he know it would
work that way? ” He was thinking now that it was more likely
the First Seeker knew the Sword was useless to a Shadowen.
“And what about Allanon? Wouldn’t he know as well? Why
would he send me in search of the Sword if I can’t use it? ”
Padishar had no answers to any of these questions, of
course, so for a moment the two simply stared at each other.
Then the big man said, “I’m sorry about your brother.”
Par looked away momentarily, then back again. “It was
Damson who kept me from …” He caught his breath sharply.
“Who helped me get past the pain when I thought it was too
much to bear.” He smiled faintly, sadly at the other. “I love
her, Padishar. We have to get her back.”
Padishar nodded. “If she’s lost, lad. We don’t know anything
for sure.” His voice sounded uncertain, and his eyes were wor-
ried and distant.
20 The Talismans of Shannara
“Losing Coil is as much as I can stand.” Par would not let
his gaze drop.
“I know. We’ll see her safely back, I promise.”
Padishar reached for the ale jug, poured a healthy measure
into his own cup, and, as an afterthought, added a small amount
to Par’s. He drank deeply and set the cup down carefully. Par
saw that he had said as much as he wanted to on the matter.
“Tell me of Morgan,” Par asked quietly.
“Ah, the Highlander.” Padishar brightened immediately.
“Saved my life in the Pit after you and your brother escaped.
Saved it again—along with everyone else’s—at the Jut. Bad
business, that.”
And he proceeded to relate what had happened—how the
Sword of Leah had been shattered in their escape from the Pit
and its Shadowen, how the Federation had tracked them to the
Jut and laid siege, how the Creepers had come, how Morgan
had divined that Teel was a Shadowen, how the Highlander,
Steff, and he had tracked Teel deep into the caves behind the
Jut where Morgan had faced Teel alone and found just enough
of his broken Sword’s magic to destroy her, how the free-born
had slipped away from the Federation trap, and how Morgan
had left them then to go back to Culhaven and the Dwarves so
that he might keep his promise to the dying Steff.
“I gave him my promise that I would go in search of you,”
Padishar concluded. “But I was forced to lie quiet at Firerim
Reach first while my broken arm mended. Six weeks. Still ten-
der, though I don’t show it. We were supposed to meet Axhind
and his Rock Trolls at the Jannisson two weeks past, but I got
word to them to make it eight.” He sighed. “So much time lost
and so little of it to lose. It’s one step forward and two back.
Anyway, I finally healed enough to keep my end of the bargain
and come find you.” He laughed wryly. “It wasn’t easy. Every-
where I looked the Federation was waiting.”
“Teel, then, you think? ” Par asked.
The other nodded. “Had to be, lad. Killed Hirehone after
stealing his identity and his secrets. Hirehone was trusted; he
knew the safe holes. Teel—the Shadowen—must have gotten
that information from him, drained it from his mind.” He spat.
“Black things! And Rimmer Dall would pretend to be your