the Kennon Pass, certain that once free of the Shadowen he
could slip past the Federation soldiers easily. When he reached
the concealed opening, he paused to listen. There was no
sound above him. There was no movement. Still, he felt un-
easy, as if sensing that despite appearances all was not well.
He went out from the tunnel into the black of the forest, ris-
The Talismans of Shannara 109
ing from the earth like a shadow within a covering of brush
and rocks. Through gaps in the canopy of limbs overhead he
could see the stars and a hint of the waning moon. It was silent
within the trees, as if nothing lived there. He searched for a
hint of the presence of the gray wolves and did not find it. He
listened for the small sounds of insects and birds, and they
were missing. He sniffed the air and smelled an odd mustiness.
He breathed deeply and stepped out into the open.
He heard, rather than saw, the sweep of the scythe arcing to-
ward him, and flung himself aside just before it struck. Death
grunted with the effort of the swing, a cloaked black shape to
one side. Walker rolled to his feet, seeing another shape mate-
rialize to his right. War, all in armor, blade edges and spikes
glinting wickedly, hurled a mace that thudded into the tree next
to him and caused the trunk to split apart. Walker whirled
away, careening wildly past the skeletal arms of Famine, white
bones reaching, clutching. They were all there, all of them, he
realized in despair. Somehow they had found him out.
He darted away, hearing the buzz and hiss of Pestilence,
feeling dry heat and smelling sickness close beside. He leaped
a small ravine, his fear giving him unexpected strength, a fiery
determination building within him. The Horsemen came after,
dismounted now in their effort to trap him, bits of night broken
free like the edges of a shattered blade. He heard their move-
ment as he might the rustle of leaves in a slight wind, small
whispers. There was nothing else—no footsteps, no breathing,
no scrape of weapons or bone.
Walker raced through the trees, no longer sure in which di-
rection he was running, seeking only to elude his pursuers. He
was suddenly lost in the darkness of the forest corridors, flee-
ing to no purpose but to escape, any advantage of surprise lost.
The Shadowen came on, a swift and certain pursuit He was
aware of their movements out of the comer of his eye. They
had him flushed now, and they were hunting him as dogs
would a fox.
No!
He whirled then and brought his magic to bear, throwing up
a wall of fire between himself and his pursuers, sending the
flames back into their faces like white-hot spikes. War and
Pestilence shrank away, slowed, but Famine and Death came
110 The Talismans of Shannara
on, unaffected. Of course. Walker thought as he ran anew.
Famine and Death. Fire would not harm them.
He crossed a stream and swerved right toward the rise of
Paranor, towers and walls sharp-edged against the night. He
had been running that way without knowing it, and now saw
it as his only chance of escape. If he could gain the castle be-
fore they caught him …
Cogline! Was the old man watching?
Something rose out of the night before him, serpentine and
slick with moisture. Claws reached for him and teeth gleamed.
It was one of the Shadowen mounts, set there to cut him off.
He slipped beneath its grasp, a bit of night that could not be
held, the magic making him as swift and ephemeral as the
wind. The serpent thing hissed and slashed wildly, sending
gouts of earth flying. Walker Boh was behind it by then, racing
away with the quickness of thought. Ahead the castle of the
Druids loomed—his sanctuary, his haven from these things—
A black motion to his left sent him skidding away as Fam-
ine lashed out with a sword carved of bone, a dull white
gleaming that tore at the edges of his clothing. Walker lost his