anything now. Too much had happened for him to be sure. He
knew he was being eaten up by magic, but he did not know
whose it was. He had determined that he would stall until he
could find out, but he had made no progress. He was as im-
prisoned as the creatures in the Pit, and though Rimmer Dall
had offered him help repeatedly, he could not accept that the
First Seeker’s help was what he needed.
Demons wheeled before his eyes, sharp-eyed monsters that
teased and laughed and danced away. They followed him ev-
erywhere. They lived within him like parasites. The magic
fostered them. The magic gave them life.
Down in the depths of Southwatch, the thrumming contin-
ued, steady and inexorable.
The Talismans of Shannara
383
He wheeled away from the window and the big man’s
touch. He wanted to bury his face in his hands. He wanted to
cry or scream. But he had resolved to show nothing and he
was determined to keep that promise. So much had happened
to him, he thought. So much that he wished had not. Some of
it was beginning to fade, dim memories lost in a haze of con-
fusion. Some of it lingered like the acrid taste of metal on his
tongue. It felt as if everything inside was roiling about like
windswept clouds, shaping and reshaping and never showing
anything for more than an instant.
“You must allow me to help you,” Rimmer Dall whispered,
and there was an urgency to his voice that Par could not ig-
nore. “Don’t let this happen. Par. Give yourself a chance.
Please. You must. You have gone on as long as you can alone.
The magic is too great a burden. You cannot continue to carry
it by yourself.”
The big hands settled on his shoulders once more, holding
him firm, filling him with strength.
And Par felt all his resolve crumble in that instant, cracking
and falling away like shards of shattered glass. He was so
tired. He wanted someone to help. Anyone. He could not go
on. The demons whispered insidiously. Their eyes gleamed
with anticipation. He brushed at them futilely, and they only
laughed. He gritted his teeth at them in fury. He felt the magic
build within him and with an effort he forced it back.
“Let me help you. Par,” Rimmer Dall pleaded, holding him.
“It won’t take a moment for me to do so. Remember? Let me
come into you just long enough to see where the magic threat-
ens. Let me help you find the protection you need.”
Enough of Allanon. Enough of the Druids and their warn-
ings. Enough of everything. Where are those who said they
would help me now that I need them? All gone, all lost. Even
Coll. I am so tired.
“If you wish,” Rimmer Dall whispered, “you can come into
me first. It is not difficult. You can lift out of yourself quite
easily if you try. I can show you how. Par. Just look at me.
Turn around and look at me.”
The Sword of Shannara lost. Wren and Walker and Morgan
disappeared. Where is Damson? Why am I always alone?
There were tears in his eyes, blinding him.
384
The Talismans of Shannara
“Look at me. Par.”
He turned slowly and started to look up.
But in that instant a shadow passed between them, swift as
light, come and gone in the blink of an eye, and in its wake
Par Ohmsford thrust out violently.
No!
Fire exploded between them, generated by the friction of
their contact, sparking and flying out into the shadows. Rim-
mer Dall wheeled away, the features of his rawboned face
knotted in rage. His black robes billowed out and his gloved
hand lifted in a blaze of red fury. Par, still unsure about what
had happened, gasped and fell back, throwing up his own pro-
tection, feeling the blue fire of the wishsong’s magic rise to
shield him. In an instant, he was sheathed in light, and now it
was Rimmer Dall’s turn to draw back.
They faced each other in the gloom, the fires of their magics
gathered at the tips of their fingers, eyes mirroring anger and