that he might already be dead. She believes him stronger than
that. And so do I, I guess.
“I promise,” he whispered.
She leaned close and kissed him on the mouth, hard. “I love
you, too. Par Ohmsford,” she said. “I’ll love you to the end.”
It took them the remainder of the night to navigate the maze
of tunnels that lay beneath Tyrsis, the ancient passageways that
had served long ago as bolt holes for the city’s defenders and
now served as their escape. The tunnels crisscrossed over and
back again, sometimes broad and high enough for wagons to
pass through, sometimes barely large enough for the Mote and
his charges. At places the rock was dry and dusty and smelled
of old earth and disuse; at times it was damp and chill and
stank of sewage. Rats squealed at their coming and disap-
peared into the walls. Insects skittered away like dry leaves
blown across stone. The sound of their boots and their breath-
ing echoed hollowly down the passageways, and it seemed that
they could not possibly go undetected. But the Mole chose
their path carefully, frequently taking them away from the most
direct route, choosing on the basis of things that he alone
sensed and knew. He did not speak to them; he guided them
ahead through his silent netherworld like the specter at haunt
he had become. Now and again he would pause to look back
at them or to study something he found on the tunnel floors or
to consider the gloom that pressed in about them, distracted
and distant in his musings. Par and Damson would stop with
58 The Talismans of Shannara
him, waiting, watching, and wondering what he was thinking.
They never asked. Par wanted to, but if Damson thought it
wise to keep silent he was persuaded to do so as well.
At last they reached a place where the darkness ahead was
broken by a hazy silver glow. They stumbled toward it through
a curtain of old webbing and dust, scrambling up a rocky slide
that narrowed as it went until they were bent double. Bushes
blocked the way forward, so thick that the Mole was forced to
cut a path for them using a long knife he had somehow man-
aged to conceal within his fur. Pushing aside the severed
branches, the three crawled through the last of the concealing
foliage and emerged into the light.
They came to their feet then and looked about. The moun-
tains sheltering the bluff on which Tyrsis was settled rose be-
hind them, a jagged black wall against the light of the dawn
breaking east, the shadow of its peaks stretching away north
and west across the plains like a dark stain until it disappeared
into the trees of the forests beyond. The air was warm and
smelled of grasses dried by the summer sun. Birdsong rose
from the concealment of the trees, and dragonflies darted over
small pools of weed-grown water formed by streams that ran
down out of the rocks behind them.
Par looked over at Damson and smiled. “We’re out,” he said
softly, and she smiled back.
He turned to the Mole, who blinked uncertainly in the unfa-
miliar light. Impulsively, he reached down. “Thank you,
Mole,” he said. “Thank you for everything.”
The Mole’s face furrowed, and the blinking grew more
rapid. A hand came up tentatively, touched Par’s, and with-
drew. “You are welcome,” was the soft reply.
Damson came over, knelt before the Mole, and put her arms
about him. “Good-bye for now,” she whispered. “Go some-
where safe. Mole. Stay well away from the black things. Keep
hidden until we return.”
The Mole’s arms lifted and his wrinkled hands stroked the
girl’s slim shoulders. “Always, lovely Damson. Always, for
you.”
She released him then, and the Mole’s fingers brushed her
face gently. Par thought he saw tears at the comers of the little
The Talismans of Shannara 59
fellow’s bright eyes. Then the Mole turned from them and dis-
appeared back into the gloom.
They stared after him for a moment, then looked at each
other.
“Which way? ” Par asked.
She laughed. “That’s right. You don’t know where Firerim