between them, jerking back and forth like a deadly pendulum
as they struggled. Par became tangled in the folds of the
strange, glimmering cloak, and the feel of it against his skin
was repulsive, like the touch of something living. Thrashing
wildly, he flung the trailing cloth away. He kicked out, and the
Shadowen grunted as Par’s knee jammed into its body. But it
would not let go, hands clasped about the blade in a death grip.
Par was furious. The Shadowen seemed to have no purpose
other than to hang onto the Sword. Its eyes were fixed on the
blade. Its face was slack and empty. Par’s hands shifted to
grasp what remained of the handle, coming tight against those
of his adversary, feeling the rough, sweating skin. Their fingers
intertwined as each sought to break the other’s grip, their bod-
ies thrashing and twisting …
Par gasped. A tingling sensation entered his fingers and
spread into his hands and arms. He jerked backward in
surprise—felt the Shadowen jerk as well. A flush of warmth
surged through him, an odd pulse of heat that was centered in
the palms of his hands.
His eyes snapped down.
The blade of the Sword of Shannara had begun to give off
a faint blue glow.
Par’s eyes widened. What was happening? Shades! Was it
the magic? The magic of the Sword of—
The talisman flared sharply, and the blue light turned to
white fire that blazed as bright as the midday sun. In its terri-
fying glow, he saw the face of the Shadowen change, the
slackness disappearing as the features tightened in shock. Par
wrenched wildly at the blade, but the Shadowen hung on.
From what seemed like a long way off, he heard Damson
call his name once.
Then the Sword’s light was surging through him, the white
fire flaring like blood down the limbs of his body, cool but in-
sistent as it took possession. It surrounded him and then drew
him away, outward from himself into the blade and then into
the body of the Shadowen. He fought to resist the abduction,
but found himself powerless. He entered the dark-cloaked fig-
ure, feeling the other shudder at the intrusion. Par tried to cry
The Talismans of Shannara 73
out and could not. He tried to break free and failed. Down into
the Shadowen he went, raging and despairing all at once. The
Shadowen was all around him, was there before him, eyes
and mouth wide with disbelief, features contorted into
something ..
Someone …
Coil! Oh, it was Coil!
He might have whispered the words. He might have
shrieked them aloud. He could not tell. There, in the dark cen-
ter of his adversary’s soul, the lies fell away before the power
of the Sword of Shannara and became the truth. This was no
Shadowen he fought, no dark demon with his brother’s face,
but his brother in fact. Coil, come back from the dead. come
back to life, as real as the talisman they both clasped. Par saw
the other shudder with some recognition of his own, realizing
in the next instant that it was a recognition of what he had be-
come. He saw his brother’s tears, heard his wail of despair, and
saw him convulse as if stricken with poison. His brother’s
mind shut down, too devastated by the revelation of what he
had become to witness anything more. But Par saw the rest of
it, all that his brother could not. He saw the truth of the cloak
that wrapped Coil, a thing called the Mirrorshroud, Shadowen-
made, stolen by his brother so that he could escape his impris-
onment at Southwatch. He saw Rimmer Dall smile darkly,
looming above them both from within a vortex of images. But
most terrible of all, he saw the madness that engulfed his
brother, that drove him in search of Par, in search of the per-
ceived cause of his pain, determined to put an end to both …
Then Coil thrashed uncontrollably and tore free, his hands
releasing their grip on the Sword of Shannara. The images
ceased instantly, the white fire dying. Par tumbled backward,
his head striking the base of a tree with stunning force.