Shades! His heart was pumping so fast it seemed to jump in-
side his chest. What if … ?
Damson’s hand on his arm startled him. “Come with me.”
They retraced their steps through the pass to a cut in the
rocks where a narrow trail led upward. Slowly, they began to
climb. The trail twisted and wound about, sometimes doubling
back on itself, sometimes angling so steeply that they were
forced to proceed on hands and knees, pulling themselves up-
ward by gripping rocks and bits of scrub. The minutes slipped
by and still they climbed, sweating freely now, breathing
through their mouths, their muscles beginning to ache. Par did
not question where they were going. These mountains had
been the stronghold of the free-born for years. No one knew
them better. Damson would know what she was about.
At last the trail flattened again and angled forward toward
the glow from the watch fires. They were high in the peaks
now, well above the pass. The air blew chilly and sharp here,
and sound was muffled. They went forward in a crouch as the
rocks to either side gave way to a narrow bluff. The wind
whipped against them violently, and the light of the fires
spread against the screen of the night sky like a misted autumn
sunset.
The trail ended at a drop that fell away hundreds of feet
along a cliff face. Below and halfway up lay the north entrance
to the Kennon Pass. It was there that the watch fires burned,
dozens of them, steady and bright within the shelter of the
rocks. Sleeping forms lay all about, wrapped in blankets.
Horses were tethered on a picket line. Sentries patrolled at ev-
ery juncture. The Federation had blocked the pass completely.
Almost afraid of what he would find—or wouldn’t find—
Par lifted his gaze beyond the Federation encampment to the
valley beyond. For a moment he couldn’t see anything, his vi-
sion weakened from’ staring at the fires, the blackness into
which he peered a sweeping curtain that shrouded the whole of
the horizon. He waited for his eyes to adjust, keeping them fo-
cused on the dark. Slowly the valley began to take shape. In
the softer light of moon and stars, the silhouettes of mountains
and forests etched themselves against the skyline; lakes and
rivers glimmered in dull flashes of silver, and the fuzzy deep
66 The Talismans of Shannara
gray of nighttime meadows and grassy hills were a patchwork
against the black.
“Par!” Damson whispered suddenly, and her fingers tight-
ened on his arm. Leaning into him with excitement, her hand
lifted hurriedly to point.
And there was Paranor.
She had seen it first—far out in the valley, washed in moon-
light and centered on a great rise. Par caught his breath and
leaned forward, stretching out as far as he could from the edge
of the drop to make certain that he was not deceived, that he
was not mistaken …
No. There was no mistake. It was indeed the Druid’s Keep,
come back out of time and history, come back from dreams of
what might once have been into the world of men. Par still
couldn’t believe it. No one living had ever seen Paranor. Par
himself had only sung about it, envisioning it from the stories
he had heard, from the tales of generations of Ohmsfords now
long dead. Gone for all those years, gone for so long that it
was only legend to most, and suddenly here it was, returned to
the Four Lands—here, as real as life, walls and ramparts, tow-
ers and parapets, rising up out of the earth phoenixlike amid
the dark girdle of the forests that encircled it protectively be-
low.
Paranor. Somehow Walker Boh had found a way to bring it
back.
Par’s smile stretched ear to ear as he reached for Damson
and hugged her until he feared she would break in two. She
hugged him back as fiercely, laughing softly as she did. Then
they broke apart, stared downward a final time at the dark bulk
of the castle, and wormed their way back along the bluff into
the shelter of the rocks.