was a litany that filled his mind with visions of power that
nothing could withstand.
For a long time he stood at the window and allowed himself
to dream of the future.
Then abruptly he wheeled away and went down into the
tower’s depths to feed.
II
The cellar beneath the gristmill was thick with shadows,
the faint streamers of light let through by gaps in the
floorboards disappearing rapidly into twilight. Chased
from his safe hole through the empty catacombs, pinned finally
against the blocked trapdoor through which he had thought to
escape. Par Ohmsford crouched like an animal brought to bay,
the Sword of Shannara clutched protectively before him as the
intruder who had harried him to this end stopped abruptly and
reached up to lower the cowl that hid his face.
“Lad,” a familiar voice whispered. “It’s me.”
The cloak’s hood was down about the other’s shoulders,
and a dark head was laid bare. But still the shadows were too
great …
The figure stepped forward tentatively, the hand with the
long knife lowering. “Par? ”
The intruder’s features were caught suddenly in a hazy wash
of gray light, and Par exhaled sharply.
“Padishar!” he exclaimed in relief. “Is it really you? ”
The long knife disappeared back beneath the cloak, and the
other’s laugh was low and unexpected. “In the flesh. Shades,
I thought I’d never find you! I’ve been searching for days, the
whole of Tyrsis end to end, every last hideaway, every burrow,
and each time only Federation and Shadowen Seekers wait-
ing!”
He came forward to the bottom of the stairs, smiling
broadly, arms outstretched. “Come here, lad. Let me see you.”
Par lowered the Sword of Shannara and came down the
8 The Talismans of Shannara
steps in weary gratitude. “I thought you were … I was
afraid …”
And then Padishar had his arms about him, embracing him,
clapping him on the back, and then lifting him off the floor as
if he were sackcloth.
“Par Ohmsford!” he greeted, setting the Valeman down fi-
nally, hands gripping his shoulders as he held him at arm’s
length to study him. The familiar smile was bright and care-
less. He laughed again. “You look a wreck!”
Par grimaced. “You don’t look so well-kept yourself.” There
were scars from battle wounds on the big man’s face and neck,
new since they had parted. Par shook his head, overwhelmed.
“I guess I knew you had escaped the Pit, but it’s good seeing
you here to prove it.”
“Hah, there’s been a lot happen since then, Valeman, I can
tell you that!” Padishar’s lank hair was tousled, and the skin
about his eyes was dark from lack of sleep. He glanced
about. “You’re alone? I didn’t expect that. Where’s your
brother? Where’s Damson? ”
Par’s smile faded. “Coil …” he began and couldn’t finish.
“Padishar, I can’t…” His hands tightened about the Sword of
Shannara, as if by doing so he might retrieve the lifeline for
which he suddenly found need. “Damson went out this mom-
ing. She hasn’t come back.”
Padishar’s eyes narrowed. “Out? Out where, lad? ”
“Searching for a way to escape the city. Or in the absence
of that, another hiding place. The Federation have found us ev-
erywhere. But you know. You’ve seen them yourself. Padishar,
how long have you been looking for us? How did you manage
to find this place? ”
The big hands fell away. “Luck, mostly. I tried all the places
I thought you might be, the newer ones, the ones Damson had
laid out for us during the previous year. This is an old one, five
years gone since it was prepared and not used in the last three.
I only remembered it after I’d given up on everything else.”
He started suddenly. “Lad!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting
on the Sword in Par’s hands. “Is that it? The Sword of
Shannara? Have you found it, then? How did you get it out of
the Pit? Where … ?”
But suddenly there was a scuffling of boots on wooden steps
The Talismans of Shannara 9
from the darkness behind, a clanking of weapons, and a raising
of voices. Padishar whirled. The sounds were unmistakable.