close. They reached the far side of the yard, still following the
noises and flashes within, and pushed through into a hall.
Before them, a stairway climbed into the dark tower, wind-
ing upward into a blackness now stabbed with the bright flare
of magic’s white fire. Par was coming down. They stood fro-
zen as he neared, unsure what they would find, uncertain
what to do. They knew they had to reach him somehow, had
408 The Talismans of Shannara
to bring him back to himself, but they also knew—even Matty
Roh, for whom the magic was something of an enigma—that
this would not be easy, that what was happening to Par
Ohmsford was harsh and terrifying and formidable. They
spread out on Walker’s silent command. Morgan drew free
the Sword of Leah and Coil the Sword of Shannara, their tal-
ismans against the dark things, and when Matty saw this she
freed her slender fighting sword as well. Walker moved a step
in front of them, thinking that this was his doing, that it was
up to him to find a way to break through the armor that the
magic of the wishsong had thrown up around Par, that it was
his responsibility to help Par discover the truth about himself.
And suddenly the Valeman came into view, gliding
smoothly down the stairs, a phantom ablaze with the magic’s
light, the power sparking at the ends of his fingers, across his
face, in the depth of his eyes. He saw them and yet did not
see them. He came on without slowing and without speaking
Above, there was chaos, but it had not yet begun to descend
in pursuit. Par came on, still floating, still ephemeral, moving
directly toward Walker and showing no signs of slowing.
“Par Ohmsford!” Walker Boh called out.
The Valeman came on.
“Par, draw back the magic!”
Par hesitated, seeing Walker for the first time or perhaps
simply recognizing him, and slowed.
“Par. Close the magic away. We don’t have—”
Par sent a ribbon of fire whipping at Walker that threatened
to strangle him. Walker’s own magic rose in defense, brush-
ing the ribbon back, twisting it to smoke. Par stopped com-
pletely, and the two stood facing each other in the gloom.
“Par, it’s me!” Coil called out from one side.
His brother turned toward him, but there was no hint of rec-
ognition in his eyes. The magic of the wishsong hissed and sang
in the air about him, snapping like a cloak caught in a wind.
Morgan called out as well, pleading for him to listen, but Par
didn’t even look at the Highlander. He was deep in the magic’s
thrall now, so caught up in it that nothing else mattered and
even the voices of his friends were unrecognizable. He turned
from one to the other as they called to him, but the sound of
their voices only served to cause the magic to draw tighter.
The Talismans of Shannara 409
We can’t bring him back. Walker was thinking in despair. He
won’t respond to any of us. Already he could sense the pursuit
beginning again, could feel the Shadowen drawing near down
the connecting halls. Once Rimmer Dall reached them …
And then suddenly Damson Rhee was moving forward,
brushing past Walker before he could think to object, mounting
the stairs and closing on Par. Par saw her coming and squared
himself away to face her, the magic flaring wickedly at his fin-
gertips. Damson approached without weapons or magic to aid
her, arms lowered, hands spread open, head lifted. Walker
thought momentarily to rush forward and yank her back again,
but it was already too late.
“Par,” she whispered as she came up to him, stopping when
she was no more than a yard away. She was on a lower step
and looking up, her red hair twisted back from her face, her
eyes filling with tears. “I thought I would never see you
again.”
Par Ohmsford stared.
“I am frightened I will lose you again. Par. To the magic. To
your fear that it will betray you as it did when you believed
Coil killed. Don’t leave me. Par.”