the aftermath of the magic’s use. Exposure to the truth had
drained him of illusions and conceits that had sheltered him for
his entire life. He had been stripped of the protective barriers
he had erected for himself against the harshest of his mistakes
and failings. He had been left naked and exposed. He had been
left feeling foolish and ashamed.
And terrified for Par.
For the Sword of Shannara in freeing him had revealed
truths about Par as well. One of them was that Par could not
use the Sword. Another was that he did not realize this. A third
was that the wishsong was the cause of his brother’s problems.
Secrets revealed—he had seen them all. But Par had not.
For reasons still unknown, the wishsong would not let Par
summon the Sword’s magic, would not let him bring the magic
into himself, and would not let him see any truths about him-
self. The wishsong was a wall that kept the Sword’s magic out,
hiding what it would reveal, keeping his brother a prisoner.
Coil didn’t know why that was—only that it was so. The
wishsong was doing something to Par, and Coil was not cer-
tain what it was. He had felt its resistance to the power of the
Sword when he had struggled with his brother for possession
of the blade. He had felt it force the magic away, keeping it in-
side Coil, making certain that the truths revealed were his and
not his brother’s.
Why? he wondered. Why would that be? Why hadn’t
Allanon told them anything about this, or about who could use
the Sword, or about what the Sword was needed to do? What
was the Sword’s purpose? They had been sent to retrieve it and
had done so. Now what were they supposed to do with it?
What was he supposed to do with it?
Sunlight brushed his face, and he closed his eyes and leaned
into it. The warmth was soothing, and he let it envelop him
like a blanket. He was tired and confused, but he was safe as
well and that was more than could be said for Par.
He backed out of the light and opened his eyes anew. The
King of the Silver River had tried to take them both, but the
286 The Talismans of Shannar’
effort had failed. Par had panicked and used the wishsong, ana
his magic had counteracted that of their rescuer. Coil had beep
carried up into the light and safely away, but Par had fallen
back into the darkness and the waiting hands of the Shadowen.
Rimmer Dall had him now.
Coil’s mouth tightened. He had screamed after Par as he had
watched him fall, then felt himself wrapped about and soothed
by the light that bore him away. The King of the Silver River
had spoken to him, words of reassurance and comfort, words
of promise. The old man’s voice had been soft in his ear. He
would be safe, it whispered. He would sleep and momentarily
forget, but when he woke he would remember again. He would
keep as his own the Sword of Shannara, for it was his to
wield. He would carry it in search of his brother, and he would
use it to save him.
Coil nodded at the memory. Use it to save him. Do for Par
what Par had done for him. Seek Par out and by invoking the
magic of the Sword of Shannara force him to confront the
truths that the wishsong was hiding and set him free.
But free from what?
A dark uneasiness stirred inside him as he remembered Par’s
fears about the way the wishsong’s magic was evolving. Rim-
mer Dall had warned both Ohmsfords that Par was a
Shadowen, that the wishsong made him so, and that he was in
danger of being consumed by the magic because he did not un-
derstand how to control it. He had warned that only he could
keep the Valeman from being destroyed. There was no reason
to believe anything the First Seeker said, of course. But what
if he was even a little bit right? That would surely be reason