usual, and he had no desire to discover what the result might
be if they remembered he was there. He had been beaten twice
already since he had been captured—once for trying to escape
and once because one of them got mad about something and
decided to take it out on him. He was bruised and cut and sore
all over, and after being bounced about all day in the back of
the wagon he just wanted to be left alone to sleep.
The problem, of course, was that there was no sleep to be had
under these conditions. His fatigue and pain were not enough to
overcome the noise. He lay listening and wondering what he
could do to help himself. He thought again about escape. They
were traveling slowly with the wagon and mules, but they were
only three or four days out of Dechtera and once there he was
finished. He had heard of me slave mines, worked principally by
Dwarves. Morgan had described the mines after learning of them
from Steff. They were used as a dumping ground for Dwarves
who antagonized the Federation occupiers and most particularly
for those captured in the Resistance. The Dwarves sent to the
mines never returned. No one ever returned. Morgan had heard
rumors of Southlanders being sent to work the mines, but until
now CoU had never believed it could be so.
He stared at the cracked and splintered wallboards. It
seemed he was destined to learn a tot of truths the hard way.
He took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly, wearily.
Time was running out and luck had long since disappeared. He
was in better shape than he had a right to be, his training at
Southwatch with Ulfkingroh having seen him through the
worst. But that was of little consolation now, trussed up the
way he was. He saw no hope of gaining release from his
chains without a key. He had tried to pick the locks, but they
were heavy and strong. He had tried to persuade his captors to
take them off so he could walk around, but they had just
laughed. His plan to rescue Par from Rimmer Dall and the
Shadowen was a dim memory. He was as far from that as he
was from his home in Shady Vale, and he was so far from
there that he sensed he was almost beyond the point of return.
One of the men kicked over a chair, stood up, and walked
from the room. Coil risked a quick look out from his cover-
ings. The Sword of Shannara lay on the table. They were gam-
The Talismans of Shannara 357
bling for it, or for one another’s shares in it The three still at
the table snarled something ugly after the one leaving but did
not look away from each other.
Coil turned back to the wall again and closed his eyes. It
didn’t help that these men had no idea of the Sword’s real
value. It didn’t help that only he could use the magic and that
so much might depend on his doing so. At this point, he
thought in despair, nothing short of a miracle would help.
He knotted his hands together beneath the blanket and de-
scended into a black place.
What am I going to do?
“Is it him? ”
Moonlight reflected off Many Roh’s smooth face, giving it
a ghostly look beneath the short-cropped black hair. Damson
drank from the water skin she offered and glanced back the
way she had come, half thinking she might have been fol-
lowed. But the night was still and the land empty and frozen
beneath the stars.
“Is it? ” Many repeated, anxious, persistent.
Damson nodded. “It has to be. He was huddled in the back
of the room under a blanket and I couldn’t see his face, but it
doesn’t matter. The Sword of Shannara was lying on the table,
and there’s no mistaking it. It’s him, all right. They’ve got him
chained up. They’re slavers. Many. I looked in the wagon on
my way back and it was full of shackles and chains.” She
paused, uneasiness darting across her face. “I don’t know how