felt as if he were coming apart at the seams. What would the
sword’s magic do—save him or consume him? Which, this
time?
The sound of the wagon’s approach was quite clear now,
wheels bumping and thudding over the uneven trail, horses
huffing in the silence. He froze in the shadows of his hiding
place, eyes fixed on the curtain of mist. One hand trailed down
the obsidian surface of the Sword of Leah, and he remembered
how the Sword’s magic had come about, how his ancestor
Rone Leah had asked Allanon for magic to protect Brin
Ohmsford, how the Druid had granted his wish by dipping the
Sword’s blade in the waters of the Hadeshom. So much had
come to pass in the wake of that single act. So many lives had
been changed.
He brought both hands to the carved handle and tightened
his grip until his knuckles were white.
The mist broke apart before him, and the black-cloaked rid-
ers appeared, hooded and faceless and somehow much larger
than he had expected. The horses’ breath clouded the air, and
steam rose off their heated flanks. Down into the draw they
came, four leading, followed by the creaking, swaying wagon
The Talismans of Shannara 325
and its drivers, and two trailing. Morgan Leah was calm now,
the anticipation behind him, the event at hand. The wraiths
hunched down atop their mounts and atop the wagon seat, si-
lent and motionless, showing nothing of their faces, nothing of
their thoughts. On each breast, the wolf’s-head insignia
gleamed like white metal. Morgan counted them again, eight in
all But there might be more inside the canvas tent of the
wagon, the flaps to which remained drawn and tied. The
wagon might be filled with them.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Could he do
this? His jaw tightened. He had fought Federation Seekers and
Shadowen from one end of Callahom to the other and sur-
vived. He was no callow, inexperienced youth. He would do
what he must.
The horsemen passed and the wagon thudded by, entering
the narrows of the draw. Morgan rose, silent and fluid, and
brought up the Sword of Leah. Be swift. Be sure. Don’t hesi-
tate.
He left his cover and moved in behind the trailing riders.
The leaders and the wagon had entered the narrows. He caught
the trailing riders at its mouth, brought his blade around in an
arc, the whole of his strength behind it, and cut them apart at
the waist. They toppled from their horses like logs falling,
soundless after a single surprised grunt, dead instantly. Their
blood was greenish and thick on their robes as they tumbled
down, and some of it smeared on Morgan’s hands. The horses
shied, pulling to either side as the Highlander surged past,
springing for the wagon. Ahead, the draw was shadowed and
thick with brush and trees, and the procession did not slow.
Morgan reached the wagon, leaped for the canvas flaps, and
pulled himself aboard. He sliced through the ties and jumped
inside. The faint dawn light revealed a single figure lying mo-
tionless in the bed, hands and feet bound. He went past with-
out slowing, seeing the dark figures seated ahead beginning to
turn. His momentum carried him to the wagon front in a rush,
his body twisting as he brought back his Sword. Somebody
spoke, a cry of warning, and then he was ripping through the
canvas with a fury, shredding it as if it weren’t there, slashing
the Seekers as they tried to free their weapons. They screamed
326 The Talismans of Shanna-a
and toppled from view, and in Morgan’s hands the Sword of
Leah began to glow like fire.
He pushed past the shredded flaps onto the wagon seat
kicking off what remained of one Seeker. He snatched up tli:
reins, howled in fury, and whipped at the team. The horses
screamed and bolted ahead, charging into the lead riders, who
were in the process of turning about to see what was happen
ing. The wagon bore down’on them, still within the narrows
and there was no place for them to go. They tried to turn back