me stone, easing their way toward the faint light that shone
above. A grate came into view, bars of iron that cast a web of
shadows down the steps and onto their bodies. There was si-
lence above, an empty, hollow nothingness.
On reaching the grate, the Mole paused to listen, his head
cocked in the manner of an animal at hunt—or at risk—then
reached up and with surprising strength lifted the grate away
almost soundlessly. Stepping from the well, he carried the grate
overhead as the other two climbed swiftly free, then set it care-
fully back in place.
They stood in a cellar that was one in a series of intercon-
nected rooms, all in a line that ran away to either side as far
as the eye could see. Stores were stacked everywhere, crates of
weapons, tools, clothes, and sundry goods, all carefully labeled
and piled back against the thick stone walls on wooden pallets.
Barrels were housed in an adjoining chamber, and barely vis-
ible through the gloom the rusting frames of old beds formed
a maze of metal bones. High on the walls, just below the cellar
ceiling and just above the ground without, a row of narrow,
barred windows let in thin streamers of dusk’s fading light.
The Mole took them ahead through the maze of cellar
rooms, past the stacks of stores, and around the tangle of crates
to where a second set of stairs climbed to a heavy wooden
door. They went up the stairs cautiously, and Par felt the hairs
on the back of his neck prickle with the possibility that unseen
The Talismans of Shannara 43
eyes watched their every move. He peered left and right, over-
head and all about, but saw nothing.
At the door they stopped again while the Mole used a small
metal implement to spring the lock. In seconds they were
through, moving swiftly into the hallway beyond. They were
inside the citadel’s inner wall now, the second line of defense
to the city and the location of the barracks that housed most of
the Federation garrison. The corridor was straight and narrow,
and riddled with doors and windows that might give them
away to anyone. But no one appeared in the moments it took
them to reach the entry the Mole sought, and they were
through another door almost before Par had time to take a
steadying breath.
Now they stood in a shadowed alcove that looked out across
the courtyard that lay between the inner and outer walls of the
city. Federation soldiers stood watch at gates and on ramparts,
dim shapes in the growing dark. Lights flickered from the win-
dows of the sleeping quarters and guardhouses and off the bat-
tlements and gates. Booted feet scraped in the stillness. Voices
rose in low murmurs. Somewhere, a whetstone was sharpening
metal. Par felt his stomach tighten. The sounds of activity were
all about.
They clung to the shadows of the alcove for long minutes,
listening and watching, waiting before trying to go on. Par
could hear Padishar’s breathing as the big man hunched next to
him against the wall. His own breathing punctuated the rapid
beating of his heart. Stirrings of the wishsong’s magic rose out
of the depths of his chest, down deep where emotions have
their beginnings, and he fought to keep it under control. He
found himself thinking again about what would happen when
he tried to use the magic. It was there, and he would use it—of
that he was certain. But whether it would obey him was an-
other matter entirely, and it occurred to him suddenly that if it
should indeed overwhelm him and cause him to become the
thing that Rimmer Dall had warned he must be, what was to
prevent him from turning on his friends?
Damson, he decided. Damson and what she meant to him
would keep the magic in hand.
Then the Mole was moving again, sliding away from the
darkened entry along the roughened stone of the great wall.
44 The Talismans of Shannara
Padishar followed instantly, and Par found himself hurrying to
keep up almost before he knew what he was doing. They