the wisdom of this course of action, the moment passed, and
the door closed on him once more.
He ate and drank and did not feel better. He sat in the gloom
of his prison and listened to the silence. Now and again he
could hear the cries of herons and cranes from somewhere
without, and there was a low whistling of wind against the cas-
tle stone. He walked to the windows and peered out. He was
facing east into the sun. Below, the Mermidon wound its way
down out of the Runne to the Rainbow Lake, its waters swol-
len from the storm and clogged with debris. The windows
were deep-set and did not allow for more than a glimpse of the
land about, but he could smell the trees and the grasses and he
could hear the river’s flow.
He sat on his bed again afterward, trying to think what to
do. As he did so, he became aware of a thrumming sound from
deep within the castle, an odd vibration that ran through the
stone and the iron like thunder in a storm, low and insistent. It
seemed that it ran in a steady, unbroken wave, but once in a
while he thought he could feel it break and hear something dif-
ferent in its whine. He listened to it carefully, feeling its move-
ment in his body, and he wondered what it was.
The day eased toward noon, and Rimmer Dall returned. So
black that he seemed to absorb the light around him, he slipped
through the door like a shadow and materialized in the chair
once more. He asked Par how he was feeling, how he had
slept, whether the food and drink had been sufficient. He was
300 The Talismans of Shannara
pleasant and calm and anxious to converse, yet distant, too, as
if fearing that any attempt to get close would exacerbate
wounds already opened. He talked again of the Shadowen and
the Federation, of the mistake that Par was making in confus-
ing the two, of the danger in believing that both were enemies.
He spoke again of his mistrust of the Druids, of the ways they
manipulated and deceived, of their obsession with power and
its uses. He reminded Par ‘of the history of his family—how
the Druids had used the Ohmsfords to achieve ends they tx.
lieved necessary and in the process changed forever the live&
of those so employed.
“You would not be suffering the vicissitudes of the
wishsong’s magic if not for what was done to Wil Ohmsforcl
years ago,” he declared, his voice, as always, low and compel-
ling. “You can reason it through as well as I, Par. All that you
have endured these past few weeks was brought about by the
Druids and their magic. Where does the blame for that lie? ”
He talked then of the sickening of the Four Lands and the
steps that needed to be taken to hasten a recovery. It was not
the Shadowen who caused the sickness. It was the neglect of
the Races, of those who had once been so careful to protect
and preserve. Where were the Elves when they were needed?
Gone, because the Federation had driven them away, fright-
ened of their heritage of magic. Where were the Dwarves, al-
ways the best of tenders? In slavery, subdued by the Federation
so that they could pose no threat to the Southland government.
He spoke for some time, and then suddenly he was gone
again, faded back into the stone and silence of the castle. Par
sat where he had been left and did not move, hearing the First
Seeker’s whisper in his mind—the cadence of his voice, the
sound of his words, and the litany of his arguments as they be-
gan and ended and began again. The afternoon passed away,
and the sun faded west. Twilight fell, and dinner arrived. He
accepted what he was offered by the silent bearer and this time
did not think of trying to escape. He ate and drank without
paying attention, staring at the walls of his room, thinking.
Nightfall came, and with it came Rimmer Dall once more.