could possibly be, and he could not stand the thought of losing
her. He would give anything to see her safe again. He would
give everything. If it meant risking the fury of a magic that
could change him irrevocably, that could even destroy him,
then so be it. If Rimmer Dall was right about who and what
he was, then there was nothing he could do to save himself in
any case. He would not shy from the dangers of the magic
where Damson’s safety was at stake. He would do what he
must.
So they had set out, each determined that Damson was
worth losing everything, knowing the risk was such that every-
thing could well be lost. Now the sewers stretched away in
narrow, winding tunnels before them, the darkness closing fast
about the litde Ught that remained. Soon they would be forced
to use torchlight to see, and that would be especially dangerous
as they neared the city’s walls. For there the dark things would
The Talismans of Shannara 41
likely be at watch below ground as well as above, and torch-
light would be seen coming from a long way off.
They hurried on, the Mole’s sharp eyes and steady senses
choosing their way unerringly, sorting out which paths were
safe, avoiding the ones that might impede them. As they went,
they could hear the sounds of the city above drifting down in
trickles and snatches, bits and pieces of a life as disconnected
from their own as the living from the dead. Par’s thoughts
drifted. It felt somehow as if they were entombed within the
stone of the bluff on which Tyrsis had been built, specters at
haunt just out of sight of the people they had once been. It
seemed to the Valeman, on reflection, that he was indeed more
ghost than human, that in his flight from the Shadowen and the
other dangers encountered on this journey he had become
transformed in a way that he did not entirely understand and as
a result had been stripped of substance and left ethereal. He
moved now in a shadow existence, increasingly bereft of
friends and family, left trapped in a tangle of magics that were
causing him to disintegrate. There should have been a way to
save himself, he knew, but somehow he could not seem to dis-
cover what it was.
They reached a broad confluence of pipes and slowed be-
hind the Mole’s cautious signal. Huddled close at the bottom of
a well from which a stone stairway climbed, they held their
last council.
“The stairway leads to a cellar within the inner wall,” whis-
pered the Mole. His nose was damp and gleaming. “From
there we must climb to a hall, follow it to an entryway that
leads outside again, cross to another door, enter, and follow a
second hall to a hidden passageway that will take us up
through the watchtower to where Damson waits.”
He looked frorr; Padishar to Par and back again, intent.
The big man nodded. “Federation guards? ”
The Mole blinked. “Everywhere.”
“Shadowen? ”
“In the tower, somewhere.”
Padishar gave Par a wry smile. “Somewhere. Very incisive.”
He hunched his big shoulders. “All right. Remember what I
said, the both of you. Remember what you are to do—and not
42 The Talismans of Shannara
to do.” He glanced at Par. “If I fall, you go on—if you can. If
not, get to Pirerim Reach and find help there. Promise me.”
Par nodded, thinking as he did that the promise was a lie,
that he would never turn back, not until Damson was safe, no
matter what.
Padishar reached back over his shoulder and tightened the
straps that secured the broadsword to his back, then checked
the long knives and short sword strapped about his waist. The
handle of yet another long knife protruded from one boot. All
were carefully sheathed and wrapped in cloth to keep the metal
from rattling or reflecting light. Par wore only the Sword of
Shannara. The Mole carried no weapons at all.
Padishar looked up again. “All right, then. Let’s go in.”
In single file they climbed the stairs, crouching low against