and bows. They did not join the Federation forces as she had
first thought they might, but instead attacked the Southlanders
with unmatched fury and determination, driving into them like
a rock into damp earth. The cries they gave were audible even
where she stood. “Free-bom! Free-born!” They rolled across
the madness like a fresh wind across a swamp. Then over the
slopes of the valley where the Elves had stood and died and
been driven backward came wave upon wave of massive
armored bodies that seemed chiseled from stone. Rock Trolls,
bearing eight-foot spears, maces, axes, and great iron-bound
shields, marched in cadence out of the gloom and down into
the ranks of the Federation.
Joined together as one, free-bom and Rock Troll swept into
the Southland army. For several minutes the Federation sol-
diers held their ground, still vastly outnumbering their attack-
ers. But this fresh onslaught was too much for men who had
been fighting since sunrise. The Southland soldiers fell back
slowly at first, then more quickly, and finally turned and ran.
The whole of the Valley of Rhenn emptied of Southland troops
as the Federation attack fell apart. Elves joined in the pursuit,
and the combined armies of free-bom. Trolls, and Elves drove
the Federation juggernaut back into the mist and gloom south,
leaving in their wake fresh carnage and destruction, soaking
the ground anew in blood.
Wren turned to find Faun. She heard Triss calling to her as
he scrambled up the slope from behind, heard as well the
sounds of the Home Guard who accompanied him. She did not
respond. She jammed the Elfstones into her tunic pocket as if
they were riddled with plague and left them there, her hands
still tingling with the magic’s fire, her mind still loud with a
strange buzzing. Faun lay crumpled amidst the piles of ashes,
unmoving. There was blood all over. Wren knelt beside the
Tree Squeak and lifted the shattered form in her hands.
She was still cradling the tiny creature when Triss and the
Home Guard finally reached her. She did not look up. In a way
she could not explain, she felt as if she were cradling the
whole of the Elven nation.
XXXIV
The assault on Southwatch began with less than an hour
remaining before dawn.
The approach was uneventful. Clouds continued to
blanket the sky, shutting out the light of moon and stars, wrap-
ping the earth below in a soft, thick blanket of gloom. Beneath
the clouds, mist rose off the ground into the air and clung to
trees and brush and grasses like wood smoke. The night was
sdll and deep, empty of sound and movement, and nothing
stirred on the parched and barren land thai surrounded the keep.
Walker Boh led the way, easing them down out of the high
country and onto the flats, taking them through the mist and
shadows, using his Druid magic to cloak them in silence. They
passed as phantoms through the black, as invisible as thought
and as smooth as flowing water. The Shadowen were not abroad
this night, or at least not where the five humans and the moor
cat walked, and the land belonged only to them. Walker was
thinking of his plan. He was thinking that they would never
have enough time to reach Par, free him of his bonds, and de-
scend into the cellar. The Sword of Shannara would be needed
to break the wishsong’s strange hold on him, and the Shadowen
would be all over them the moment the Sword was used. What
they needed was to bring Par out of his prison and down to the
cellar before using the Sword. He was thinking of a way they
might do that.
Coil Ohmsford was thinking, too. He was thinking that per-
haps he was wrong in his belief that the Sword of Shannara
could help his brother. It might be that the truth he sought to
reveal would not free Par but drive him mad. For if the truth
400
The Talismans of Shannara 401
was that Par was a Shadowen, then it was of precious little
use. Perhaps Allanon had intended the Sword for another pur-