in.
The dream ended, and Par awoke with a lurch. He was
dizzy, and his breathing was ragged and harsh in the silence
Just a dream, he thought. He put his face in his hands and
waited for the spinning to stop. A nightmare, but so very real’
He swallowed against his lingering fear.
He opened his eyes again and looked about. He was in a
room that was as black as the forest through which he had
fled. The room smelled of must and disuse. Windows on a far
wall opened onto night skies that were clouded and moonless
The air felt hot and sticky, and there was no wind. He was sit-
ting on a bed that was little more than a wooden frame and
pallet, and his clothes were damp and stiff with dried mud.
He remembered then.
The plains, the storm, the battle with Coil, the triggering of
the magic of the Sword of Shannara, the coming of the
Shadowen, the appearance of the King of the Silver River, the
light and then the dark—the images sped past him in an in-
stant’s time.
Where was he?
A light flared suddenly from across the room, a brilliant
firefly that rested at the fingertips of an arm gloved to the el-
bow. The light settled on a lamp, and the lamp brightened,
casting its glow across the shadows.
“Now that you’re awake, perhaps we can talk.”
A black-cloaked form stepped into the light, tall and rangy
and hooded. It moved in silence, with grace and ease. On its
breast gleamed the white insignia of a wolf’s head.
Rimmer Dall.
Par felt himself go cold from head to foot, and it was all he
could do to keep from bolting. He looked about quickly at the
stone walls, at the bars on the windows, at the iron-bound
The Talismans of Shannara 295
wooden door that stood closed at Rimmer Dall’s back. He was
at Southwatch. He looked for the Sword of Shannara. It was
gone. And Coil was missing as well.
“You don’t seem to have slept well.”
Rimmer Dall’s whispery voice floated through the silence.
He pulled back the hood and his rawboned, bearded face was
caught in the light, all angles and planes, a mask devoid of ex-
pression. If he was aware of Par’s distress, he did not show it.
He moved to a chair and seated himself. “Do you want some-
thing to eat? ”
Par shook his head, not yet trusting himself to speak. His
throat felt dry and tight, and his muscles were in knots. Don’t
panic, he told himself. Stay calm. He forced himself to breathe,
slow and deep and regular. He brought his legs around on the
bed and put his feet on the floor, but did not try to rise. Rim-
mer Dall watched him out of depthless eyes, his mouth a nar-
row, tight line, his body motionless. Like a cat waiting. Par
thought.
“Where is Coil? ” he asked, and his voice was steady.
“The King of the Silver River took him.” The whispery
voice was smooth and oddly comforting. “He took the Sword
of Shannara as well.”
“But you managed to keep him from taking me.”
The First Seeker laughed softly. “You did that yourself. I
didn’t have anything to do with it. You used the wishsong, and
the magic worked against you. It forced the King of the Silver
River away from you.” He paused. “The magic grows more
unpredictable, doesn’t it? Remember how I warned you? ”
Par nodded. “I do. I remember everything. But what I re-
member doesn’t matter, because I wouldn’t believe you if you
told me the sun came up in the east. You’ve lied to me from
the beginning. I don’t know why, but you have. And I’m
through listening, so you might as well do whatever you have
in mind and be done with it.”
Rimmer Dall studied him silently. Then he said, ‘Tell me
what I’ve lied to you about.”
Par was furious. He started to speak, but then stopped, sud-
denly aware that he couldn’t remember any specific lies the
big man had told. The lies were there, as clear as the wolf’s