friend! What lies!”
The Talismans of Shannara 21
Or worse, the truth. Par thought, but didn’t say it. Par feared
that his affinity with the First Seeker, whatever its nature, let
Rimmer Dall glean the secrets he would otherwise keep
hidden—even those he was not immediately privy to, those
kept by his friends and companions.
It was a wild thought. Too wild to be believed. But then
much of what he had encountered these past few weeks was of
the same sort, wasn’t it?
Better to believe that it was all Teel, he told himself.
“Anyway,” Padishar was saying, “I’ve set guards to watch the
Reach ever since we settled there, because Hirehone knew of it
as well, and that means the Shadowen may know too. But so far
all’s been quiet. A week hence we keep the meeting with the
Trolls, and if they agree to join we have an army to be reckoned
with, the beginning of a true resistance, the core of a fire that
will bum right through the Federation and set us free at last.”
“At the Jannisson still? ” Par asked, thinking of other things.
“We leave as soon as I return with you. And Damson,” he
added quickly, firmly. “A week is time enough to do it all.” He
didn’t sound entirely sure.
“But Morgan’s not come back yet? ” Par pressed.
Padishar shook his head slowly. “Don’t worry about your
friend, lad. He’s tough as leather and swift as light. And deter-
mined. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he’ll be fine.
We’ll see him one day soon.”
Oddly enough. Par was inclined to agree. If ever there was
someone who could find a way out of any mess, it was Mor-
gan Leah. He pictured his friend’s clever eyes, his ready smile,
the hint of mischief in his voice, and found that he missed him
very much. Another of his journey’s casualties, lost somewhere
along the way, stripped from him like excess baggage. Except
the analogy was wrong—his friends and his brother had given
their lives to keep him ‘safe. All of them, at one time or an-
other. And what had he given them in return? What had he
done to justify such sacrifice?
What good had he accomplished?
His eyes fell once more upon the Sword of Shannara, trac-
ing the lines of the upraised hand with its burning torch. Truth.
The Sword of Shannara was a talisman for truth. And the truth
22 The Talismans of Shannara
he most needed to discover just now was whether this blade
for which so much had been given up was real.
How could he do that?
Across from him Padishar stretched and yawned. “Time to
get some rest. Par Ohmsford,” he advised, rising. “We need
our strength for what lies ahead.”
He moved to the couch on which the stuffed animals were
seated, gathered them up perfunctorily, and plopped them
down on a nearby chair. Turning back to the couch, he settled
himself comfortably on the worn leather cushions, boots hang-
ing off one end, head cradled in the crook of one arm. In mo-
ments he was snoring.
Par stayed awake for a time watching him, letting the dark
thoughts settle in his mind, keeping his resolve from scattering
like leaves in a wind storm. He was afraid, but the fear was
nothing new. It was the eroding of hope that unsettled him
most, the crumbling of his certainty that whatever happened he
would find a way to deal with it. He was beginning to wonder
if that was so anymore.
He rose finally and went to the chair where Padishar had
dumped the stuffed animals. Carefully he gathered them up—
Chalt, Lida, Westra, Everlind and the others—and carried them
to where the Sword of Shannara leaned up against the bureau.
One by one, he arranged them about the Sword, placing them
at watch—as if by doing so they might aid him in keeping the
demons from his sleep.
When he was finished, he walked to the back of the Mole’s
lair, found some discarded cushions and old blankets, made
himself a pallet in a comer dominated by a collection of old