from the throng, to occupy a space in the center of the court
between the city’s walls, there to wait for questioning. Scat-
tered glances from the crowd were directed their way, furtive
and suspicious. Better you than me, they seemed to say. Dust
rose with the crowd’s passing, and even now, before the heat
of the day had settled in, the air had a hot, sticky feel to it.
“Names,” the duty officer said to the scrapwomen and the
old man.
“Asra, Wintath, and our father, Criape,” the one with the
ragged, tangled reddish hair said. Sores dappled the skin of her
face, and she smelled like old rubbish.
The officer glanced at the other woman, who promptly
opened her mouth to reveal blackened teeth and a raw, red
throat in which the tongue was missing. The officer swal-
lowed.
“She can’t speak,” the first said, grinning.
“What’s your village? ”
“Spekese Run,” said the woman. “Know of it? ”
The officer shook his head. He studied the piles of rags they
carried strapped to their backs. Worthless stuff. He glanced at
the old man, whose head was lowered into his cowl. Couldn’t
see much of his face. The officer stepped forward and pushed
back the cowl. The old man’s head jerked up and his black-
ened lids snapped back to reveal a thick, milky fluid where his
eyes should have been. The officer gagged.
“On with you.” He beckoned, moving quickly away to ques-
tion the next unfortunate.
The women and the old man shuffled off obediently, slip-
ping back into the crowd, passing through the cordon of guards
that lined the gates of the inner wall, moving on from there
into the city. They were well off the Tyrsian Way and into the
side streets where there were no Federation guards before
Many Roh spit out the dyed fruit skin pasted to the inside of
her mouth and said, “I told you this was too risky!”
“We got through, didn’t we?” Morgan snapped irritably.
240 The Talismans of Shannara
“Stop complaining and get me where I can wash this stuff out
of my eyes!”
“Be silent, the both of you!” Damson Rhee ordered, and
hurried them on.
Tempers were short by now. They had fought bitterly about
who was to come into the city, a fight precipitated by the news
of Padishar Creel’s impending execution. A day and a half was
not nearly enough time to effect a rescue, but it was all they
had to work with and Morgan had decided that his original
plan needed changing. Instead of Matty and Damson going
into the city and finding the Mole on their own, he would enter
as well. At best they had today and tonight to track down the
Mole, bring Chandos and the others of the free-born in through
the underground tunnels, devise a rescue plan for Padishar, and
set it in motion. Morgan insisted that he needed to get inside
the city immediately in order to determine what must be done.
He could not afford to wait for nightfall and the Mole to get
a look at things. Damson and Matty were equally insistent that
any attempt to sneak him past the guards would jeopardize
them all. It would be hard enough for just the two of them, but
doubly dangerous if they were forced to take him in as well.
Why couldn’t he do his thinking where he was? Hadn’t he
spent enough time in the city by now to know where every-
thing was?
So it had gone, but in the end Morgan won the argument by
pointing out that he couldn’t do any thinking at all until he
knew where Padishar was being kept, and he couldn’t know
that unless he went into the city. The price for his victory was
an implacable demand by both women that he leave his Sword
behind. A disguise would possibly work, but not if he carried
that weapon. Chances of discovery were simply too great. De-
spite his protests, neither woman would budge. The Sword of
Leah had stayed behind with Chandos.
Damson took them down an alleyway to a side door in an
abandoned building, pushed open the door, and guided them