Coil was only minutes ahead of him, thinking that if he was
quick enough, he would surely catch up to him. Sunrise had
broken, the darkness that might have hampered his efforts fad-
ing to scattered shadows and patches of mist that lingered in
the trees. Coil was fleeing in mindless disregard of everything
but the vision shown him by the Sword of Shannara. He was
confused and terrified; his pain had been palpable. In such a
state, how much effort would he make to conceal his flight?
How far could he run before exhaustion overtook him?
The answer was not the one Par had anticipated. Although
he was able to follow his brother’s tracks easily enough, the
trail clear amid a wreckage of brush and grasses, he found
himself unable to gain ground. Despite everything—or perhaps
because of it—Coil seemed to have discovered within himself
unexpected strength. He was running from Par, not just has-
tening away, and he was not pausing to rest. Nor was he run-
ning in a straight line. He was charging all over the place,
starting out in one direction and then within moments revers-
ing himself, not for any discernible reason, but seemingly out
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158 The Talismans of Shannara
of whim. It was as if he had gone mad, as if demons pursued
him, shut inside his head so that he could not determine from
where they came.
And, indeed. Par thought as he followed after, it must seem
so to Coll.
By nightfall, he was exhausted. His face and arms were
streaked with dust and sweat, his hair was matted in clumps,
and his clothes were filthy. Having discarded everything else to
lighten his load and give him more speed, he was carrying
only the Sword of Shannara, a blanket, and a water skin. Nev-
ertheless, he could still barely walk. He wondered how Coil
had managed to stay ahead of him. His fear should have ex-
hausted him hours ago. The Mirrorshroud and its Shadowen
magic must be driving his brother like a whip would an ani-
mal. The thought made Par despair. If Coil did not slow, if he
did not regain even some small measure of his judgment, the
exertion would kill him. Or if the exertion didn’t, then some
mistake brought on by careless disregard for personal safety
would. There were dangers in this country that could kill a
man even when he was employing a healthy measure of cau-
tion and common sense. At the moment, it seemed. Coil
Ohmsford was possessed of neither.
When he stopped finally. Par found himself just west of
where the Mermidon divided, one tributary running east to-
ward the Rabb, the other turning south toward Varfleet and the
Runne. Follow the second branch far enough and you would
reach the Rainbow Lake. You would also reach Southwatch.
That was the direction that Coil had been traveling when it had
grown too dark to follow his trail farther. The more Par con-
sidered the matter, the more it seemed that his brother had
been following that path all along—albeit in a meandering
way. Back to Southwatch and the Shadowen. It made sense, if
the magic of the cloak was subverting Coll.
Par wrapped up in his blanket and propped himself against
the rough surface of an old shagbark hickory to think things
through. The Sword of Shannara lay on the ground next to
him, and his fingers traced the outline of the carved hilt with
its raised hand and burning torch. If the Shadowen magic was
controlling his brother. Coil might not have any idea at all
what he was doing. He might have come looking for Par with-
The Talismans of Shannara 159
out knowing why; he might be fleeing now in the same con-
dition. Except that the Sword had shown Coil the same vision
it had shown Par, so that meant Coil had seen the truth about
himself. Par had felt a bonding in those moments; Coil had
been joined to him long enough for both to see. Had that
changed things in any way? Having seen the truth about him-
self, was he trying to shake free of the Shadowen magic?