Par closed his eyes tightly against the strain of his weari-
ness. He needed to sleep but was unwilling to do so until he
had figured out what was happening. Damson had warned him
that the pursuit was probably some sort of trap. Coil did not
just happen on them. He had been sent by the Shadowen.
Why? To hurt him or to kill him? Par wasn’t sure. How had
Coil managed to find him? How long had he been searching?
The questions buzzed through his mind like angry hornets, in-
trusive and demanding, stingers poised. Think! Perhaps the
magic of the cloak had let Coil find him—had driven Coil to
find him. The magic had infected his brother, had turned him
into the Shadowen thing, all the while Coil believing it was
helping him escape his captors, fooled into donning it so that
it could begin its work, tricked …
Par took a deep breath. He could barely breathe at all, pic-
turing Coil as one of them, one of the things in the Pit, the
things that were living even when they were already dead.
He drank some water because water was all he had. How
long had it been since he had eaten? he wondered. Tomorrow
he would have to forage or hunt. He needed to regain his
strength. No food and little rest would eventually catch up to
him. He could not afford to be foolish if he was to be of any
use to his brother.
He forced his thoughts back to Coil, wrapping the blanket
closer in the gathering night. It was cool in the trees by the
river, the summer heat banished to other realms. If Coil had
not come to kill him, why had he come? Not for any good rea-
son surely. Coil was not Coil now.
Par blinked. To steal the Sword of Shannara perhaps?
The idea was intriguing, but it made no sense. Why would
Rimmer Dall hand the Sword over to Par only to dispatch Coil
later to steal it back? Unless Coil was someone else’s tool. But
that made even less sense. There was only one enemy here, de-
160 The Talismans of Shannara
spite all of the First Seeker’s protestations. Rimmer Dall had
gone to a great deal of trouble to make Par think he had killed
his brother. The Shadowen had sent Coil for a reason, but it
was not to steal back the Sword of Shannara.
Par let himself consider for a moment how odd it was that
the Sword had finally revealed itself to him. He had tried ev-
erything to trigger the magic, and until then nothing had
worked. He had always believed that it really was the talisman,
that it was not a fake, even though Rimmer Dall had given it
to him willingly. He had sensed its power, even when it did
not respond to him. But the doubts had persisted, and more
than once he had despaired. Now suddenly, unexpectedly, the
magic had been brought to life, all because of his struggle with
Coll.
And Par didn’t have a clue as to why.
He slid down the tree trunk until he was resting on his back,
staring up through the leafy boughs of the hickory at the clear,
starlit sky. He just needed to get comfortable, he told him-
self. Just needed to ease a little of the aching of his body. He
could think better if he did that. He knew he could.
He fell asleep telling himself so.
When he woke it was dawn, and Coil was staring down at
him. His brother was crouched atop a mound of rocks not
twenty feet off, twisted and hunched like a scavenger. He was
wrapped in the Mirrorshroud, the folds glimmering wickedly in
the faint silver light as if dew were woven through the fabric.
Coil’s face was haggard and drawn, and his eyes, always so
calm and steady, were darting about with fear and loathing.
Par was so startled that he couldn’t bring himself to move.
It had never occurred to him that his brother might circle
back—would even have the presence of mind to do so. Why
had he come? To attack him anew, to try to kill him perhaps?