shudder as if in response to what was happening. The breath-
ing of the thing below quickened.
Suddenly there were flames everywhere. Coil went down,
struck a glancing blow, and the Sword of Shannara fell from
his hand. Without thinking. Par reached down for it and
snatched it up. The Sword did not bum him as it had in the Pit.
Had it all been in his fear of who he might be? He stared at
the Sword in wonder, then turned to help Damson, who was
pulling Coil back to his feet, and shoved the blade into his
brother’s hands once more. Rumor had leaped down the stairs
and into the closest of their attackers. His sleek coat was
singed and smoking, but he ripped into the Shadowen as if the
wounds meant nothing. Walker threw white Druid light from
his hands in a shroud that blanketed everything, shielding
them, thrusting back the Shadowen, clearing the way for their
descent.
Then Par saw Rimmer Dall. The First Seeker was below
them on a catwalk across a chasm that dropped away from a
landing through which the stairway passed. He stood alone, his
hands gripping the railing of the walk, his rawboned face a
mask of rage and disbelief. The gloved hand smoldered as if in
response. He looked at Par and Par at him, and something
passed between them that Par might have described as an un-
derstanding, but seemed to transcend even that.
In the next instant he was gone, and Par was struggling on
through the Shadowen assault. His magic had revived, and he
could feel it building within him. He would use it now, he
thought. He would take his chances because at least he knew
that using it would not make him one of them. The Shadowen
were closing from behind, and Morgan had turned back to face
The Talismans of Shannara 421
them, yelling at the others to go on. The dark-haired girl stood
with him, pressed against his shoulder protectively, the two of
them holding the stairs against the monsters that followed.
Walker reached the landing and looked over its edge. Par
joined him, then jerked hurriedly away again. Something huge
was down there, something that heaved and writhed and pulsed
with light.
A raging black form slammed into Rumor when he passed
down the stairs below the landing, and the moor cat tumbled
from view. Walker and the others raced after him. Par’s magic
flaring to life now, burning through him as he summoned it
forth with a cry. He remembered his fear of what it would do,
but the fear was only a memory now, and he banished it al-
most as quickly as it came. Facing across to the catwalk and
the Shadowen crouched there, he tried to keep their fire from
reaching Damson and Coll. Coil was hurt again, but he stum-
bled on, still holding the Sword of Shannara before him, still
keeping Damson in his shadow.
They heard Rumor shriek, that spitting, furious cry that sig-
naled pain and fear. Then he rose before them in a leap, the
black thing clinging to him. Walker spun and sent the Druid
fire lancing forth, caught the black thing’s midsection, and tore
it from Rumor’s back. The moor cat spun in midair, locked
again with its attacker, and fell from view.
Smoke rose from the walls and floor where the magic
burned, and the air grew thick with ash. The depths of
Southwatch were as black as pitch save for the light given off
by the thing below. Gloom pressed in about the humans, and
the Shadowen darted in and out at them, looking for a place to
attack. Damson was struck and burned and knocked aside so
quickly that Par could not prevent it. She rose and fell back
again. Coil reached down for her without slowing, heaved her
over one shoulder, and hurried on.
Then part of the stairs gave way, and Walker Boh disap-
peared in a tumbUng slide of dust and rock and ash. For an in-
stant Par, Coil, and a semiconscious Damson were alone on the
crumbling stairs, staring down into the void where the light