A shabby, slat-board porch with a low-hanging roof
stretched away to either side. The street was deserted.
The Talismans of Shannara 11
“Damson, what kept you? ” Par hissed at her as they ran.
“That trapdoor …”
“My fault, Valeman,” she snapped angrily. “I blocked the
door with some machinery to hide it. I thought it would be
safer for you. I was wrong. But I didn’t bring the soldiers.
They must have found the place on their own. Or followed
Padishar.” The big man started to speak, but she cut him short.
“Quick, now. They’re coming.”
And from out of the shadows in front and behind them, the
dark forms of Federation soldiers poured into the street. Dam-
son spun about, cut back toward the far row of buildings, and
took them down an alleyway so tight it was a close squeeze
just to pass through. Howls of rage chased after them.
“We have to get back to the Tyrsian Way!” she gasped
breathlessly.
They burst through an entry to a market, skidding on food
leavings, grappling with bins. A pair of high doors barred then-
way. Damson struggled futilely to free the latched crossbar,
and finally Padishar shattered it completely with a powerful
kick.
Soldiers met them as they burst free, swords drawn.
Padishar swept into them and sent them flying. Two went
down and did not move. The rest scattered.
Sudden movement to Par’s left caused him to turn. A Seeker
rose up out of the night, wolf’s head gleaming on his dark
cloak. Par sent the wishsong’s magic into it in the form of a
monstrous serpent, and the Seeker tumbled back, shrieking.
Down the street they ran, cutting crosswise to a second
street and then a third. Par’s stamina was being tested now, his
breathing so ragged it threatened to choke him, his throat dry
with dust and fear. He was still weak from his battle in the Pit,
not yet fully recovered from the damage caused by the magic’s
use. He clutched the Sword of Shannara to his breast protec-
tively, the weight of it growing with every step.
They rounded a comer and paused in the lee of a stable
entry, listening to the tumult about them grow.
“They couldn’t have followed me!” Padishar declared sud-
denly, spitting blood through cracked lips.
Damson shook her head. “I don’t understand it, Padishar.
12 The Talismans of Shannara
They’ve known all the safe holes, been there at each, waiting.
Even this one,”
The outlaw chief’s eyes gleamed suddenly with recognition.
“I should have seen it earlier. It was that Shadowen, the one
who killed Hirehone, the one that pretended to be the Dwarf!”
Par’s head jerked up. “Somehow he discovered our safe holes
and gave them all away, just as he did the Jut!”
“Wait! What Dwarf?” Par demanded in confusion.
But Damson was moving again, drawing the other two after,
charging down a walkway and through a square connecting
half-a-dozen cross streets. They pushed wearily on through the
heat and gloom, moving closer to the Tyrsian Way, to the city’s
main street. Par’s mind whirled with questions as he staggered
determinedly on. A Dwarf gave them away? Steff or Teel—or
someone else? He tried to spit the dryness from his throat.
What had happened at the Jut? And where, he wondered sud-
denly, was Morgan Leah?
A line of soldiers appeared suddenly to block the way
ahead. Damson quickly pushed Padishar and Par into the
building shadows. Crowded against the darkened wall, she
pulled their heads close.
“I found the Mole,” she whispered hurriedly, glancing right
and left as new shouts rose. “He waits at the leatherworks on
Tyrsian Way to take us down into the tunnels and out of the
city.”
“He escaped!” breathed Par.
“I told you he was resourceful.” Damson coughed and
smiled. “But we have to reach him if he’s to do us any good—
across the Tyrsian Way and down a short distance from those
soldiers. If we get separated, don’t stop. Keep going.”
Then before anyone could object, she was off again, darting
from their cover into an alleyway between shuttered stores.
Padishar managed a quick, angry objection, and then charged