again, tried to spring out of the way, lunged and twisted in the
narrowing gap like contortionists, black robes flying. But the
wagon hammered into them, taking two down instantly, crush-
ing one Seeker beneath the wheels, slamming me other back
into the trees. The wagon lurched and bucked, and the horses
shied at the contact. Morgan rose in the seat as he swept past
the two riders who remained, the Sword of Leah lifting to
block the blows directed at him.
Thundering out of the draw and onto the flats beyond, he
yanked on the reins and brought the team about, nearly over-
turning the wagon in the effort. The wheels skidded on the
damp grass, and Morgan dropped his Sword into the boot to
free both hands to control the team. Behind, the remaining two
riders came at him, dark shapes materializing out of the mist.
One of the two riders who had fallen appeared as well, now
afoot. Morgan whipped the team toward them, building speed
Sweat ran down his face, and his vision blurred. He reached
back into the boot for the Sword of Leah and brought it up, the
magic racing down its length like fire. The mounted Seekers
reached him first, splitting to either side, blades drawn. He
pushed himself as far to the right as he could, concentrating on
the horseman closest, hammering past the other’s defenses and
crushing his skull. He felt a red-hot searing in his shoulder as
the other Seeker leaped from his horse onto the wagon seat
and struck him a slashing, off-balance blow. He reeled away,
nearly falling off, kicking out with his boot to knock the other
back. The wagon swung wide and this time did not correct. It
snapped loose from its traces and tongue and went over, throw-
ing the combatants to the earth. Morgan landed hard, a red
mist sweeping across his vision, pain lancing through his body,
but came back to his feet instantly.
The Talismans of Shannara 327
The Seeker who had wounded him was waiting, and the one
afoot was coming up fast. Both were reverting to Shadowen,
lifting from their black-robed bodies in a mist of darkness,
eyes red and chilling. They had seen the fire race the length of
his sword and knew Morgan possessed the magic. Shedding
their Seeker disguise, they were calling up magic of their own.
Crimson fire launched from their weapons at Morgan, but he
Mocked it, rushing them with single-minded determination, no
longer thinking, acting now out of need. He slammed into the
first and bowled him over. The Sword of Leah swept down,
shattering the other’s weapon, and the fire burned from throat
to stomach, through one side and out the other. The Shadowen
screamed, shuddered, and went still.
Morgan went after the other without slowing, consumed by
the magic’s elixir, driven by forces he no longer controlled.
The Shadowen hesitated, seeing his face, realizing belatedly
that he was overmatched. He threw up the fire, and it splin-
tered apart on Morgan’s blade. Then Morgan was on top of
him, striking once, twice, three times, the magic racing up and
down the talisman, a sudden white heat. The Shadowen
shrieked, tearing to get free, and then the fire exploded through
him in a brilliant flash of light, and he was gone.
Morgan whirled about, searching the gloom—left, right, be-
hind, in front again. The land was still and empty. East, the sun
crested the horizon in a burst of silver gold, light streaming
through the trees to penetrate the shadows and mist. The draw
was a dark tunnel in which nothing moved. The Shadowen lay
lifeless about him. A single horse remained, a dark blur some
fifty feet off, reins trailing as it shook its head and stamped the
earth, uncertain of what to do. Morgan looked at it, steadied
his sweating hands, and slowly straightened. The magic of the
Sword faded, and the blade turned depthless black again.
Close at hand, a thrush called once. Morgan Leah listened
without moving, and his breath whistled harshly in his ears.
The Shadowen at Southwatch will have heard. They will come
for you. Move!
He sheathed the Sword of Leah and hurried over to the col-
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