could the Shadowen know their meeting would trigger the
magic of the Sword of Shannara and reveal the truth about
who Coil was, that Par would be able to see him as anything
but a Shadowen? Coil might have been sent as a lure to draw
Par after—that certainly seemed like Rimmer Dall—but again,
how could the Shadowen know that Par would discover his
brother’s identity?
Unless he wasn’t supposed to find out …
Par stopped abruptly. He was passing beneath a huge old
oak. It was shady there and cool. He could feel a breeze waft
in off the Mermidon. He could hear the sound of the river’s
sluggish flow. He could smell the water and the woods.
… until it was too late.
He felt his throat tighten. What if he had this whole business
backward? What if Coil wasn’t supposed to kill him? What if
he was supposed to kill Coil?
Why?
Because …
He struggled with the answer. It was almost there, just on
The Talismans of Shannara 163
the edge of his reasoning. A whisper of words, straining to be
recognized, to be understood.
He could not quite reach them.
He started off again, frustrated. He was on the right track,
even if he didn’t have all the particulars straight yet. It was
Coil out there, leading him on, fleeing without knowing why,
coming back at night to make certain Par was following. It
was the Sword of Shannara Par carried, and its magic that had
told him the truth. It was the Shadowen who had orchestrated
this whole business, who were playing with them as if they
were children set at a game, made to perform for the enjoy-
ment of others.
It has to do with the magic of the wishsong. Par thought
suddenly. It has to do with that.
It would come to him, he knew. He just needed to keep
thinking about it. He just needed to keep reasoning it through.
He had not found Coil by sunset of the second day, and he
made camp in a rock-sheltered niche that protected his back
while allowing him to see whatever approached from the front.
He did not build a fire. A fire would obscure his night vision
when it grew dark. He ate a little more of his provisions,
wrapped himself in his blanket, and settled back against the
rocks to wait.
The night deepened and the stars came out. Par watched the
shadows define and take shape in the pale light. He listened to
the sluggish flow of the river against the rocks and the cries of
the night birds circling its waters. He breathed the cooling,
damp air, and allowed himself to wonder for the first time in
two days about Damson Rhee. It was strange being without her
after the time they hid together in Tyrsis, the two of them
fighting to stay free. He worried for her, but reassured himself
by deciding that she was probably better off than he was. By
now she would have reached the free-born and be engaged in
an effort to rescue Padishar. By now she was safe.
Or as safe as either of them could be until this business was
finished.
Thoughts of Damson, Padishar, Morgan Leah, Wren, and
Walker Boh crowded into his mind, fragments of his memories
of those who had been lost along the way. It sometimes
seemed to him that he was destined to lose everyone So much
164 The Talismans of Shannara
effort expended and so little gained—the weight of it bore
down on him.
He drew his knees up to his chest protectively, tightening
himself into a ball. The Sword of Shannara pressed against his
back; he had forgotten to unstrap it. The Sword, his charge
from Allanon, his chance for life, his sole hope for someday
getting free of the Shadowen—a. lot had been given up for it.
He wondered anew what purpose the talisman was supposed to
serve. Surely something wondrous, for magic like this was cre-
ated for nothing less. But how was he supposed to discover
that purpose—especially here, lost somewhere in the Runne,
chasing after poor Coil? He should be searching for Walker
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