The Talismans of Shannara 215
Once there had been hundreds, but they had all died save one
when the Warlock Lord had trapped them there a thousand
years ago. Bremen alone had survived to carry on, a solitary
bearer of hope for the Races and wielder of the Druid magic.
Then Bremen had passed away, and Allanon had come. Now
Allanon was gone, and there was only Walker Boh.
The empty sleeve of his missing arm was drawn back and
pinned against his body. He reached across to test the fitting,
to touch experimentally his shoulder and the scarred flesh that
ended only inches below. He could barely remember any more
what it had been like to have two arms. It seemed odd to him
that it should be so difficult. But much had happened to him
in the weeks since his encounter with the Asphinx, and it
might be argued that he could not be expected to remember
anything of his old life, so completely had he changed. Even
the anger and mistrust he had felt for the Druids had dissi-
pated, useless now to one who had become their successor.
The Druids he had despised belonged to the past. Gone, too,
was the fury he had borne for the Grimpond, relegated to that
same past. The Grimpond had tried its best to destroy him and
failed. It would not have another chance. The Grimpond was
a shadow in a shadowland. It could never come out, and
Walker would never go back to see it. The past had carried
away Pe Ell and the Stone King as well. Walker had found the
strength to survive all of the enemies that had been set against
him, and now they were memories that barely mattered in the
scheme of his life’s present demands.
Walker breathed the air, closed his eyes, and drifted away
into a place deep inside him. War was passing now, all sharp
edges and spikes, glinting armored plates and black breathing
holes. Walker ignored the Shadowen. Settling into the silence
and the calm that lay within, he played out once more what
was to happen. Step by step, he went over the plan he had
formed while he lay healing, taking himself through the events
he would precipitate and the consequences he would control.
There would be nothing left to chance this time. There would
be no testing, no halfway measures, no quarter given. He
would succeed, or he would …
He almost smiled.
Or he would not.
216 The Talismans of Shannara
He opened his eyes and glanced skyward. The midday was
past now, edging on toward afternoon. But the light was not
yet at its brightest and the heat not yet at its greatest, and so
he would wait a little longer still. Light and heat would serve
him better than it would the Shadowen, and that was why he
was out there at midday. Before, he had thought to slip away
in darkness. But darkness, was the ally of the Horsemen, for
they were creatures bom of it and took their strength there-
from. Walker, with his Druid magic, would find his strength in
brightness.
It was to be a testing of strengths, after all, that would de-
termine who lived and died this day.
Strengths of all kinds.
He remembered his last conversation with Cogline. It was
nearing dawn and he was preparing to go out. There was
movement on the steps leading down through the gate towers
to the entry court where he was positioned, and Cogline ap-
peared. His stick-thin body slipped from the stairwall shadows
in a soft flutter of robes and labored breathing. The seamed,
whiskered face glanced at Walker briefly from beneath the
edges of his frayed cowl, then looked away again. He ap-
proached and stopped, turning toward the door that led out.
“Are you ready? ” he asked.
Walker nodded. They had discussed it all—or as much of it
as Walker was willing to discuss. There was nothing more to
say.
The old man’s hands rested on the stone bulwarks that
shielded and supported the iron-bound entry, so thin that they
seemed almost transparent. “Let me come with you,” he said