suited him; none seemed right. He reached the end of the draw
and started back, then stopped.
He stood at the entrance to the narrowest part of the draw.
Here, he told himself. This is where it would begin, after the
wagon was within the draw, after the lead horsemen were
trapped in front and could not get back to help those behind.
That would give him precious moments to dispatch at least
two riders and perhaps those who drove the wagon as well,
reaching whoever or whatever lay within. If he found nothing,
he could be gone again swiftly …
The Talismans of Shannara 323
Yet he knew even as he thought it that he could not, for the
others would track him. No, he would have to stand and fight,
whatever he found within the wagon. He would have to kill
them or be killed. There would be no running, no escape.
He felt as if the pounding in his chest would explode his
heart within him, and there was a hollow place in his stomach
that lurched and heaved. He was dizzy with the thought of
what he was planning, terrified and excited both at once, un-
able to contain any of the dozen emotions that ripped through
him.
But still the voice whispered. This is what you have been
waiting/or. This.
The sound of the Shadowen approach grew louder. East, the
light remained faint and distant. Here, the haze hung thick and
unmoving in the draw. He would have cover enough, he de-
cided. He moved back into the trees, unsheathed the Sword of
Leah, and crouched down.
Please, be right. Please, don’t be wrong. Let it be Par in
that wagon. Let this be for something good.
The words repeated themselves, a litany in his mind, mixing
with the whisper that held him bound to his course of action,
to the certainty that it was nght. He could not explain the feel-
ing, could not justify it beyond the belief that sometimes you
did not question, you simply accepted. He was torn by the
troth he sensed in it and the possibility of its fraud. Reason ad-
vised caution, but passion insisted on blind commitment. The
feelings warred within him as he waited, pulling and twisting
into knots.
Abruptly he sprang up again and sped back through the trees
and up the hill behind, keeping to the deepest shadows as he
went, breathing through his mouth to take in quick gulps of air.
At the summit he crept to where he could see west, his body
heated and tensed. The riders and their wagon appeared out of
a curtain of white frost, slow and steady in their coming,
strung out along the divide. They showed no hesitation or con-
cern; they did not glance about or ride alert. Too close to home
to worry, Morgan thought. He wished he could tell what was
in the wagon. He peered down at it as if by doing so he might
penetrate the canvas that wrapped its bed, but nothing revealed
324 The Talismans of Shannon
itself. He felt a fire bum inside, the struggle between doubt and
certainty continuing.
He slid back into the shadows and hunched down there,
sweating. What was he to do? It was his last chance to change
his mind, to reconsider the wisdom of his decision. How true
was the voice that whispered to him? What were the chances
that it deceived?
Then he was up and moving, slipping down again through
the shadows to the narrows, all his thinking behind him, his
course of action fixed. Do something. Do something. The whis-
per became a shout. He embraced it, wrapping it about him
like armor.
He reached his concealment and dropped to his knees. Both
hands gripped the pommel of his Sword, the talisman he had
forsworn so often and must now rely upon once again. Hov>
quickly and easily he had come back to it, he thought in won-
der. Sweat ran down his brow, tickling him, and he wiped it
away. The cool dawn air did not seem to soothe his body’s
heat, and he gulped air in deep breaths to slow his heart. He