He stared at Coil, into his stricken face and sunken eyes. No,
Coil was there for something else. He looked as if he wished
to approach, as if he wanted to speak, as if he was seeking
something from Par. And maybe he is. Par thought suddenly.
The Sword of Shannara had given Coil his first glimpse of
truth since he had donned the Mirrorshroud. Perhaps he
wanted more.
The Talismans of Shannara 161
He lifted slowly and started to hold out his hand.
Instantly Coil was gone, leaping from the rock into the shad-
ows beyond and bounding away into the trees.
“Coil!” Par screamed after him. The echo faded and died.
The sound of Coil’s running disappeared into silence, lost as
the distance between them widened anew.
Par foraged for berries and roots, convinced as he ate a mea-
ger breakfast that if he didn’t find real food by nightfall he
would be in serious trouble. He ate quickly, thinking of Coil all
the while. There had been such terror in his brother’s eyes—
and such fury. At Par, at himself, at the truth? There was no
way to know. But Coil was aware of him still, was actively
seeking him out, and there was still a chance to catch up with
him.
What would he do, though, when he did? Par hadn’t thought
that far ahead. Use the Sword of Shannara again, he answered
himself, almost without thinking. The Sword was Coil’s best
hope for getting free of the Mirrorshroud. If Coil could be
made to see the nature of the magic that possessed him, per-
haps a way could be found to throw the cloak and its magic
off. Perhaps Par could manage to tear it off him if nothing else.
But the Sword was the key. Coil hadn’t recognized anything
until the Sword’s magic engaged him, but the truth had shown
in his eyes then. Par would use the talisman again, he told
himself. And this time he wouldn’t stop until Coil was free.
He picked up his blanket and set out again. The day was
sultry and still, the heat growing quickly to a sticky swelter
that left Par’s clothing damp with sweat. He picked up Coil’s
trail and followed it to the Mermidon and across, heading
north, then back again south. This time his brother continued
in a direct line for several hours, traveling the east bank into
the Runne Mountains. He passed Varfleet across the river, see-
ing trawlers and ferries maneuvering sluggishly on the broad
expanse, thinking that it would be good to have a boat, think-
ing a second later that a boat was useless while he was track-
ing prints on dry land. He remembered when Coil and he had
fled Varfleet weeks earlier and come south down the
Mermidon, the beginning of everything. He remembered how
close they had been then, despite their arguments over the di-
162 The Talismans of Shannara
rection of their lives and the purpose of Par’s magic. It all
seemed to have happened a very long time ago.
Toward midaftemoon he came upon a small landing with a
fishing dock and trading post several miles downriver of
Varfleet. The post was ramshackle and cluttered, its tenants a
taciturn, recalcitrant bunch with scarred, callused working
hands and sun-browned faces. He was able to trade his ring for
fishing line and hooks, flint, b’read, cheese, and smoked fish.
He carried everything just beyond sight of the landing, plopped
down, and ate half of the foodstuffs without stopping for
breath. When he was finished, he resumed his trek south, feel-
ing decidely better about himself. The line and hooks would
allow him to fish, and the flint would give him a fire. He was
beginning to realize that catching up to Coil would take a lot
longer than he had expected.
He found himself thinking again about why Coil had come
in search of him—or more accurately, why he had been sent.
If it wasn’t to kill him or to steal the Sword, that didn’t leave
much. Perhaps Coil’s coming was intended to provoke some
sort of response from him. Damson’s warning whispered once
again—the chase was probably a Shadowen trap. But how