have finished him, and there had been none. The Four Horse-
men were deadly not only to their enemies, but to one another.
Flawed imitations of the legends, their magics were anathema.
He had counted on that. He had depended on it like he had de-
pended on the midday light and heat weakening these things
born of darkness. He had been right.
There was a desperate thrashing from where War lay writh-
ing within its armor, fighting the sickness that raged through it.
Famine and Pestilence were unmoving heaps. Their serpents
lay still beside them, greenish ichor seeping from their bodies
into the ground. The hazy air was clearing, dust and grit set-
tling to the earth. Patches of sky and mountain and forest were
coming back into view.
Walker stepped away from the wall. One left. Where was—
The weighted black cord whistled out of the haze with a
hawk’s shriek, slamming into Walker and whipping about him
as he sagged from the blow. Tangled, he dropped to his knees,
then fell onto his back. Instantly Death appeared, riding out of
the sunlight’s glare, the great scythe lifted. Walker gulped air
into his stinging lungs. How could it have found him? How
could it have seen where he was? The Horseman was bearing
down on him, its serpent’s claws scrabbling viciously on the
rocky earth. Walker lunged back to his knees, fighting to get
free. It must have come up more cautiously than the others. It
must have seen him bum War’s serpent, traced the fire to its
source, and guessed where he was hiding.
Walker dropped the spell of invisibility, useless to him now
that he had been discovered, and summoned the Druid fire in
a blinding whirlwind that cut Death’s cord to nbbons. Just as
the Horseman reached him. Walker struggled to his feet, threw
up a protective shield, and deflected the scythe as it swept
down. Even so, the force of the blow knocked him sprawling.
He lurched to his feet again as the Shadowen wheeled back.
Walker braced. There was no one left to fight this battle for
him; he had taken the image trick as far as it would go. This
rime he must stand alone.
He summoned the fire again. Death against Fate. Walker
crouched.
The Horseman swept past a second time, and Walker sent
the fire burning into it. Death reeled away, the scythe’s blade
The Talismans of Shannara 223
deflected just enough that it missed. But the air turned chilly
at its passing, and Walker felt a wave of nausea rush through
him.
Back around swung the Shadowen, and Walker counterat-
tacked at once, the Druid fire lancing from his extended hand.
Up came the scythe, catching the fire and shattering it. Death
urged the serpent forward, sending it at Walker once more.
Again and again Walker struck out, but the fire would not pen-
etrate the Horseman’s defenses. Death was almost on top of
him now, the serpent hissing balefully through the dust and
heat, the scythe glinting. Walker realized suddenly that Death
had changed the form of its attack and meant simply to ride
him down. Instantly he shifted the focus of the Druid fire,
striking the serpent’s legs, cutting them out from underneath,
striking next the writhing body until everything was a mass of
smoking flesh.
The serpent shuddered, twisted aside, lost its balance, and
went tumbling forward. Walker threw himself out of the way
as the monstrous beast slid past, engulfed in flames, screaming
in fury. The tail thrashed wildly, catching Walker across the
chest and slamming him down against the earth. Dust rose in
clouds to mingle with the smoke from the serpent’s charred
body, and everything disappeared in a blinding haze.
Battered and bloodied, his robes torn. Walker forced himself
to his feet. To one side the serpent lay dying, its breathing an
uneven rasp in the sudden silence. Walker peered about,
searching the haze.
Then Death appeared behind him, scythe swinging wickedly
for his head. Walker threw up the Druid fire and blocked the
strike, then straightened to meet Death’s rush. His good hand
locked on the handle of the scythe, and his body pressed up