at a moment’s passing.
He could not help himself. He smiled back at her, trying to
share a secret that only she knew.
Damson was kneeling before the Mole. “Won’t you come
with us this time? ” she was asking him. The Mole was shak-
ing his head. “It grows more dangerous for you every time you
go back.”
The Mole considered. “I am not afraid for myself, lovely
Damson. I am afraid only for you.”
“The monsters, the Shadowen, are in the city,” she reminded
him gently.
He gave her a small shrug and a serious look. “The mon-
sters are everywhere.”
Damson sighed, nodded, reached out carefully, put her arms
around the little fellow, and hugged him. “Goodbye, Mole.
Thank you for everything. Thank you for Padishar. I owe you
so much.”
The Mole blinked. His bright eyes glistened.
She released him and rose. “I will come back for you when
I can,” she said. “I promise.”
“When you find the Valeman? ” The Mole suddenly looked
embarrassed.
“Yes, when I find Par Ohmsford. We will both come back.”
The Mole brushed at his face. “I will wait for you, lovely
Damson. I will always wait for you.”
Then he turned and disappeared back into the rocks, melting
away like one of night’s shadows. Morgan stood with Matty
Roh and stared after him, not quite believing he was really
The Talismans of Shannara 265
gone. The night was still and cool, empty of sound and filled
with memories that jumbled together like words spoken too
fast, and it seemed as if everything was a dream that could end
in the blink of a waking eye.
Damson turned to look at him. “I’m going after Par,” she
announced quiedy. “Chandos has taken Padishar and the others
back to Firerim Reach where they will rest a day or two before
making their journey north to meet with the Trolls. I have done
what I can for him, Morgan. He doesn’t need me for anything
more. But Par Ohmsford does, and I intend to keep my prom-
ise to him.”
Morgan nodded. “I understand. I’m going with you.”
Matty Roh looked inexplicably defiant. “Well, I’m going,
too,” she declared. She searched first one face and then the
other for an objection, found none, and then asked in a more
reasonable tone, “Who is Par Ohmsford? ”
Morgan almost laughed. He had forgotten that Many knew
only a little of what was going on. There was no reason, he
guessed, that she shouldn’t know it all. She had earned the
right by coming with them into Tyrsis after Padishar Creel.
‘Tell her on the way,” Damson interjected suddenly, and
gave an uneasy glance over her shoulder. “We’re too exposed,
standing about out here. Don’t forget they’re still hunting for
us.”
Within moments they were moving east away from the bluff
and toward the Mermidon. An hour’s walk would bring them
to the shelter of the forests and a few hours’ sleep. It was the
best that they could hope for this night.
As they traveled, Morgan told again the story of Par
Ohmsford and the dreams of Allanon. The three figures re-
ceded slowly into the distance, midnight came and went, and
the new day began.
XXIII
They spent what remained of the night in an arbor of
white oaks bordering the Mermidon a few miles below
the Kennon Pass. It was cool and shady where they
slept, protected from the late summer heat that gathered early
on the open grasslands, and they did not wake until well after
sunrise. They washed and ate from the supplies that Damson
carried, listening to the steady flow of the river and an effer-
vescent birdsong. Morgan rubbed sleep from his eyes and tried
to remember everything that had happened the previous day,
but it was already growing vague in his mind, a memory that
seemed to have been stored away a long time ago. That
Padishar Creel was safe again, however distant the event, was
all that mattered, he told himself wearily, and he let the matter
slide into the distance of yesterday.
He pulled on his boots as he munched on bread and cheese