pose, he worried—one he had not yet recognized. Perhaps
Par’s condition was not something that the Sword could help.
A step behind and to one side, Morgan Leah was thinking
that even with all the talismans they carried and magics they
wielded, their chances of succeeding in this venture were slim.
The odds had been great at Tyrsis when they had gone after
Padishar Creel, but they were far greater here. They would not
all survive this, he was thinking. He did not like the thought,
but it was inescapable, a small whisper at the back of his mind.
He wondered if it was possible that after surviving so much—
the Pit, the Jut, Eldwist, and all the monsters that had inhabited
each—he might end up dying here. It seemed ridiculous
somehow. This was the end of their quest, the conclusion of a
journey mat had stripped them of everything but their determi-
nation to go on. That it should end with them dying was
wrong. But he knew as well that it was possible.
Damson Rhee was thinking of her father and Par and won-
dering if she had traded one for the other in making her deci-
sion to let Par go on alone in search of Coil when his brother
had unexpectedly reappeared among the living. She wondered
if the cost of her choice would be both their lives, and she de-
cided that if her dying was the price exacted for her choice,
she would pay it only after seeing the Valeman one more time.
At her side Matty Roh was wondering how strong the magic
was that the Druid had given her, if it was enough to withstand
the black things they would face, if it would enable her to kill
them. She believed it was. She wore about her an air of invin-
cibility. She was where she was meant to be. Her life had been
leading to this time and place and a resolution of many things.
She looked forward to seeing what it would bring.
Ranging off in the dark, a lean black shadow padding
through the damp predawn grasses. Rumor thought nothing,
untroubled by human fears and rationalizations, driven by in-
stincts and excited by the knowledge that they were at hunt.
They passed through the gloom and came in sight of the dark
tower, not pausing to consider, not even to look, but pressing on
quickly so mat it might be reached before fears and doubts
froze them out. Southwatch rose out of the mist, faint and hazy,
402 The Talismans of Shannara
a dark wall against the clouds, looking as if it were something
born of the night and in danger of passing back into it with the
coming of dawn. It loomed immutable and fixed, the blackest
dream that sleep had ever conjured, a thing of such evil that
even the closeness of it was enough to poison the soul. They
could feel its darkness as they approached, the measure of its
purpose, the extent of its power. They could feel it breathing
and watching and listening. They could sense its life.
Walker took them to its walls, to where the obsidian surface
rose smooth and black out of the earth, and he placed his
hands against the stone. It pulsed like a living thing, warm and
damp and stretching upward as if seeking release. But how
could this be so? The Dark Uncle pondered the nature of the
tower again, then pressed on along its walls, anxious to find a
way in. He reached out tendrils of his magic to seek the tow-
er’s dark inhabitants, but they were all busy within and not
aware yet of his presence. He drew back quickly, not wanting
to alert them, cautious as he continued on.
They came to an entry formed by an arched niche that shel-
tered a broad wedge of stone that was a door. Walker studied
the entry, feeling along its borders and searching its seams. It
could be breached, he decided, the locks released and the por-
tal opened. But would the breach give them away too quickly?
He looked back at the others, the two women, the Highlander,