just looked desperate.
But he was committed to it now. Chandos would have al-
ready begun preparations for the journey back to Tyrsis. There
was nothing to be gained by second-guessing.
He stretched and headed for the little stream that ran down
out of the rocks behind him some distance back in the trees.
The cold water would help to unclog his brain, chase the sleep
from his eyes. He had talked with Damson Rhee until well af-
ter midnight. He had told her everything about Quickening and
the journey north to Eldwist. She had listened without saying
much, and somehow it had brought them closer together. He
found himself liking her more, found himself trusting her. The
suspicions that had been there earlier had faded. He began to
understand why Par Ohmsford and Padishar Creel had gone
back for her after the Federation had taken her prisoner. He
thought that he would have done the same.
Nevertheless, there was something she wasn’t telling him
about her relationship with the Valeman and the leader of the
free-bom. It was neither a deception nor a lie; it was simply an
omission. She had been quick enough to acknowledge that she
was in love with Par, but there was something else, something
that predated her feelings for the Valeman, that formed the
backbone for everything that had led to her own involvement
in trying to recover the Sword of Shannara from the Pit. Mor-
gan wasn’t sure what it was, but it was there in the fabric of
her tale, in the way she spoke of the two men, in the strength
of her conviction that she must help them. Once or twice Mor-
gan had almost been able to put his finger on what it was that
she was keeping to herself, but each time the truth skittered
just out of reach.
In any case, he felt better for having told someone about
Quickening, for having given some release to the feelings he
had kept bottled up inside since his return. He’d slept well af-
ter that, a dreamless rest cradled in the crook of that old tree,
able to let go a little of the pain that had dogged him for so
many weeks.
He heard the sound of the stream ahead, a small rippling
The Talismans of Shannara 121
against the silence. He crossed a clearing, pushed through a
screen of brush, and found himself staring at Matty Roh.
She sat across from him at the edge of the stream, her pants
rolled up and her bare feet dangling in the water. The moment
he appeared she jerked away, reaching for her boots. Her feet
came out of the water in a flash of white skin, disappearing
into the shadow of her body almost immediately. But for just
an instant he had a clear view of them, hideously scarred, the
toes missing or so badly deformed that they were almost un-
recognizable. Her black hair shivered in the light with the ur-
gency of her movements as she turned her face away from
him.
“Don’t look at me,” she whispered harshly.
Embarrassed, he turned away at once. “I’m sorry,” he apol-
ogized. “I didn’t know you were here.”
He hesitated, then started away, following the stream toward
the rocks, the picture of her feet uncomfortably clear in his
mind.
“You don’t have to leave,” she called after him, and he
stopped. “I … I just need a minute.”
He waited, looking out into the trees, hearing voices now
from just beyond where he stood, a snatch of laughter here, a
quick murmur there.
“All right,” she said, and he turned back again. She was
standing by the stream with her pants rolled down and her
boots on. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that.”
He shrugged and walked over to her. “Well, I didn’t mean
to surprise you. I’m still a little bit asleep, I guess.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” She looked embarrassed as well.
He knelt by the stream and splashed water on his face and
hands, used soap to wash himself, and rubbed himself dry
again on a soft cloth. He could have used a bath, but didn’t