had such an obsession was now beyond dispute. Too much
time and effort had been expended to think otherwise. First
there had been his elaborate hoax to make Par think Coil was
dead. Then Coil had been allowed to come back to life, sub-
verted by the Mirrorshroud, and sent to find Par. And there
was the whole business of giving the Sword of Shannara to Par
when Par couldn’t use it. What was it all about? Why was his
brother so important to Rimmer Dall? If he had been an obsta-
cle in the First Seeker’s path, he would have been killed long
ago. Instead Dall seemed content with elaborate gamesplay-
ing—with the search for the Sword of Shannara, with orches-
trating Coil’s death and subversion, and with suggesting
repeatedly the possibility that Par was the very thing he sought
to destroy. What was Rimmer Dall trying to do?
Somehow, Coil knew, it was tied to the charge that Allanon
had given his brother to bring back the Sword of Shannara.
Perhaps the Sword was meant to reveal the truth behind all the
deceptions. Perhaps it was meant for something else. Whatever
The Talismans of Shannara 289
the case, there were schemes and maneuverings at work here
that neither he nor Par yet understood, and somehow they must
unravel them.
He rested at midday, drinking water from a stream and wish-
ing he had something to eat. He was nearing the Silver River
and would soon turn north toward the Rabb. He had grown
strong at Southwatch training with Ulfkingroh, but his subver-
sion by the Mirrorshroud had weakened him considerably. His
hunger worked through him, and he finally gave in to it. Using
the Sword, he fashioned a spear from a willow stick and went
fishing. Walking through the shallows of the lake to a quiet
cove, he stood knee-deep in the clear waters until a fish passed
and stabbed at it. It took him a dozen tries, but finally he had
his catch. He carried it ashore, then remembered he had no
way to cook it. He could not eat it raw—not after his days in
the thrall of the Mirrorshroud. He searched his clothing for
fire-making materials, but found only the strange disk he had
stolen from Par stuffed down into one pocket. Angry and frus-
trated, he threw the fish back into the lake and began walking
once more.
The afternoon dragged by. Coil rested more frequently now,
light-headed in the swelter, his concentration wavering. Sleep
would help, but he had determined to go on until nightfall. He
saw Par appear now and again in the shimmer of heat that rose
off the saw grass, heard him speaking and saw him move.
Memories came and went, mixing with the images and evapo-
rating when he tried to venture too close. He needed a better
plan, he told himself. It was not enough simply to return to
Southwatch. He would never be able to rescue Par on his own.
He needed help. What, he wondered, had happened to Morgan
Leah and the others? What had become of Walker Boh and
Wren? Where was Damson? Was she searching for Par, too?
Padishar Creel would help if Coil could find him. But Padishar
could be anywhere.
He walked into the early twilight and saw the Silver River
appear ahead, a bright thread weaving inland. He skirted a
mire formed by the poisoning of a shallow inlet, tepid waters
green and murky, vegetation gray with sickness, the stench of
its dying heavy on the air. Breathing through his mouth, he
forced his way past, anxious to get on.
290 The Talismans of Shannara
As he came out from a stand of pine he saw a wagon and
stopped.
Five men seated about a cooking fire looked up. Hard-faced
and rough, they stared at him without moving. There was meat
cooking on a spit and broth in a pot. The smells reached out
to Coil enticingly. A team of mules unhitched from the wagon
grazed on a tether. Bedrolls lay scattered on the ground in
preparation for sleep. The men were in the process of passing
an aleskin back and forth.