after her. Par followed. They emerged from the alleyway into
the street beyond and turned toward the Tyrsian Way. Soldiers
appeared before them, just a handful, searching the night.
Padishar flew at them in fury, broadsword swinging with a
glint of wicked silver light. Damson took Par left past the
fighters. More soldiers appeared, and suddenly they were ev-
erywhere, surging from the dark in knots, milling about wildly.
The Talismans of Shannara 13
The moon had gone behind a cloud bank, and the streetlamps
were unlit. It was so dark that it was impossible to tell friend
from foe. Damson and Par struggled through the melee, twist-
ing free of hands that sought to grab them, shoving away from
bodies that blocked their path. They heard Padishar’s battle
cry, then a furious clash of blades.
Ahead, the night erupted suddenly in a brilliant orange flash
as something exploded at the center of the Way.
“The Mole!” Damson hissed.
They charged toward the light, a pillar of fire that flared into
the darkness with a whoosh. Bodies rushed past, going in every
direction. Par was spun about, and suddenly he was separated
from Damson. He turned back to find her and went down in
a tangle of arms and legs as a fleeing soldier collided with
him. The Valeman struggled up, calling her name frantically.
The Sword of Shannara reflected the orange fire as he turned
first one way and then the other, crying out.
Then Padishar had him, appearing out of nowhere to lift him
off his feet, sling him over one shoulder, and break for the
safety of the darkened buildings. Swords cut at them, but
Padishar was quick and strong, and no one was his match this
night. The leader of the free-bom launched himself through the
last of the milling Federation soldiers and onto the walkway
that ran the length of the buildings on the far side of the Way.
Down the walk he charged, leaping bins and kegs, kicking
aside benches, darting past the supporting posts of overhangs
and the debris of the workday.
The leatherworks sat silent and empty-seeming ahead.
Padishar reached it on a dead run and went through the door
as if it weren’t there, blunt shoulder lowering to hammer the
portal completely off its hinges.
Inside, he swung Par down and wheeled about in fury.
There was no sign of Damson.
“Damson!” he howled.
Federation soldiers were closing on the leatherworks from
every direction.
Padishar’s face was streaked red and black with blood and
dust. “Mole!” he cried out in desperation.
A furry face poked out of the shadows at the rear of the fac-
14 The Talismans of Shannara
tory. “Over here,” the Mole’s calm voice advised. “Quickly,
please.”
Par hesitated, still looking for Damson, but Padishar
snatched hold of his tunic and dragged him away. “No time,
lad!”
The Mole’s bright eyes gleamed as they reached him, and
the inquisitive face lifted expectantly. “Lovely Damson … ?”
he began, but Padishar quickly shook his head. The Mole
blinked, then swung away wordlessly. He took them through a
door leading to a series of storage rooms, then down a stairway
to a cellar. Along a wall that seemed sealed at every juncture,
he found a panel that released at a touch, and without a back-
ward glance he took them through.
They found themselves on a landing joined to a stairway
that ran down the city’s sewers. The Mole was home again. He
trundled down into the dank, cool catacombs, the light barely
sufficient to enable Padishar and Par to follow. At the bottom
of the stairs he passed a sooty blackened torch to the outlaw
leader, who knelt wordlessly to light it.
“We should have gone back for her!” Par hissed at Padishar
in fury.
The other’s battle-scarred face rose from the shadows, look-
ing as if it were chiseled from stone. The look he gave Par was
terrifying. “Be silent, Valeman, before I forget who you are.”
He sparked a flint and produced a small flame at the pitch-
coated torch head, and the three started down into the sewer
tunnels. The Mole scurried steadily ahead through the smoky