hope the need didn’t arise.
He was crossing a ridgeline when he saw the shadow shift
in the trees far ahead across a scrub-choked ravine. The
shadow was there and gone again in an instant’s time, and he
had the impression that he had sensed it more than seen it. But
there was no mistaking what it was, and he went into a low
crouch and wormed his way into the deep brush to his right,
angling higher into the rocks. One of them, he concluded—
only one. A solitary hunter. The sweat on his face and neck
left his skin warm and sticky, and the muscles of his back were
knotted so tight they hurt. He felt his wound throb with fresh
pain and wished he had a drink of ale to soothe his parched
throat. He found the way up blocked by a cliff wall, and he
turned back reluctantly. He had the sense of being herded, and
he was beginning to think that eventually he would find walls
everywhere he looked.
He paused at the edge of a low precipice and looked back
into the velvet-cloaked trees. Nothing moved, but something
was there anyway, coming on with steady deliberation. Morgan
considered lying in wait for it. But any sort of struggle would
bring every Shadowen in the forest down on him. Better to go
on; he could always fight later.
The trees ahead were thinning as the rocks broke through in
ragged clusters and the slopes steepened into cliffs. He was as
high as he could go without leaving the cover of the trees and
still there was no pass to take him through the mountains. He
thought he could hear the sound of the nver churning along its
banks somewhere beyond the wall of rock, but it might have
been his imagination. He found a stand of heavy spruce and
took cover, listening to the forest about him. There was move-
ment ahead and below now as well. The Shadowen were all
about him. They must have found his trail. It was still light
The Talismans of Shannara 349
enough to track, and they were coming for him. They might
not catch up to him before it grew too dark to follow his foot-
prints, but he did not think it would matter if they were this
close. They were more at home in the dark than he, and it
would just be a matter of time before they snared him.
For the first time he let himself consider the possibility that
he was not going to escape.
He reached back and drew out his Sword. The obsidian
blade gleamed faintly in the dusky twilight and felt comfort-
able in his hand. He imagined he could feel its magic respond-
ing to him with whispered assurances that it would be there
when he called for it. His talisman against the dark. He low-
ered his head and closed his eyes. All come to this? Another
fight in an endless series of fights to stay alive? He was grow-
ing tired of it all. He couldn’t help thinking it. He was tired,
and he was sick at heart.
Let it go!
He opened his eyes, rose, and glided ahead through the
trees, south again toward the plains that led down to
Southwatch, changing his mind about staying hidden. He felt
better moving, as if movement was more natural, more protec-
tive in some way. He slipped down through the forest, picking
his way cautiously, listening for those who sought to trap him.
Shadows shifted about him, small changes in the light, little
movements that kept his heart pumping. Somewhere in the dis-
tance an owl hooted softly. The forest was a night river in
slow, constant flux that shimmered and spun.
He glanced back repeatedly searching for the solitary hunter
behind him and saw nothing. The Shadowen ahead were
equally invisible, but he thought they might not know his
whereabouts quite so surely as the other. He hoped they could
not communicate by thought, but he would not have bet
against it. There seemed to be few limitations to the magic
they wielded. Ah, but that was wrongheaded thinking, he