their purpose or fathom their intent. They might be carrying
Par Ohmsford within the wagon. They might not. It didn’t mat-
ter. Something inside him whispered that he must not let them
pass. It spoke in a voice so clear and certain that he could not
ignore it.
This is what you have been waiting for. Do something.
It had been five days since Damson Rhee and Many Roh
had departed in search of Par, following the brightening Skree
in hopes that it would lead them to the Valeman. The storm
had swept away all trace of what had gone before, so the Skree
was all they had to help them track. Morgan had remained at
Southwatch to wait for their return. But they were not yet
back, and there was no indication that they would be coming
anytime soon. It had been left to Morgan to determine if Par
was a prisoner of the Shadowen, a task that seemed virtually
impossible in the absence of an opportunity to enter and have
a look around.
But now …
He took a deep breath. Now, it might be different.
But he would have to decide quickly what he was going to
do. He would have to act at once.
He was already tracing the wagon’s route as it wound ahead
through the misted hills. He could intercept it if he chose. He
could reach it before it arrived at Southwatch, cut across its
320 The Talismans of Shannara
path while it was still several miles away. With his eyes he fol-
lowed the rutted track it must stay on to reach the citadel, a
path that other wagons had worn before. He was close enough,
he decided. He could stop it.
If he chose.
One man against eight—and those eight Seekers, and prob-
ably Shadowen as well. His jaw tightened, and he smiled sar-
donically. He had better be sure.
East, the first faint tinges of silvery light began to peek out
from behind the forested honzon, sending gleaming spider-
webs across the flat, dark surface of the Rainbow Lake. The si-
lence deepened, a hush of expectation, waiting, waiting.
Standing motionless on the bluff, staring out across the hills
at the wagon and the horsemen, Morgan found himself looking
beyond the here and now into the past, seeing himself again in
Leah, in the Highlands in which his family had lived for cen-
turies, picturing what his life had been like such a short time
ago. He remembered how he had described it to Matty—
standing in place. He had spent his time nipping at the heels
of the Federation officials quartered in what had once been his
family home, content with creating annoying distractions, satis-
fied with causing mischief and discontent. He had come a long
way from that, gone north to the Hadeshom and the shade of
Allanon, gone beyond to Tyrsis and the Pit, to the Dragon’s
Teeth and the Jut, to Padishar Creel and the free-bom, gone
farther still to Eldwist and the Stone King, to the Black
Elfstone and the Maw Grint. He had fought the Shadowen and
their minions and survived what no one should have. He had
taken himself out of one life and emerged changed forever in
another. He would never be the same again—but then he
would never want to be. A lifetime had passed since his depar-
ture from the Highlands, and his experiences had strengthened
him in ways that once he could only have imagined.
His vision cleared, the past fading back into memory, the
present a steady and certain conviction of what was needed.
He stared out at the wagon and the horsemen and listened to
the whisper in his mind. He knew what he must do.
He moved quickly then, the decision made. He left every-
thing behind but the Sword of Leah. Stripped of his pack and
great cloak, the Sword strapped securely across his back, he
The Talismans of Shannara 321
slipped down through the trees on the bluff’s north slope,
keeping his goal in sight as he went. He reached the hills be-
low and raced through them, pointing north to the narrows
through which the wagon and horsemen must pass to reach