beaten down in every way possible, the strength drained from
him, the last of his hope shredded like paper under a knife.
He found candles set about and lit them off the torch before
extinguishing it. Then he moved to the basin and began to
wash, slowly, ritualistically, cleansing himself of grime and
sweat as if by doing so he was erasing all the bad things that
had befallen him in his search for the Sword of Shannara.
The Sword was still strapped to his back. He stopped halfway
through his bathing and removed it, setting it against an old bu-
reau with a cracked mirror. He stared at it as he might an en-
emy. The Sword of Shannara—or was it? He still didn’t know.
His charge from Allanon had been to find the Sword, and
though once he had believed he had done so, now he was faced
with the possibility that he had failed. His charge had been all
but forgotten in the aftermath of Coil’s death and the struggle to
27
18 The Talismans of Shannara
stay alive in the catacombs of Tyrsis. He wondered how many
of Allanon’s charges had been forgotten or ignored. He won-
dered if Walker or Wren had changed their minds.
He finished washing, dried himself, and turned to find
Padishar seated at a three-legged table whose missing limb had
been replaced by an upended crate. The leader of the free-bom
was eating bread and cheese and washing it down with ale. He
beckoned Par to a place that had been set for him, to a waiting
plate of food, and the Valeman walked over wordlessly, sat
down, and began to eat.
He was hungrier than he had thought he would be and con-
sumed the meal in minutes. All about him, the candles sput-
tered and flared in the near darkness like fireflies on a
moonless night. The silence was broken by the distant sound
of water dripping.
“How long have you known the Mole? ” he asked Padishar,
not liking the empty feeling the quiet fostered within him.
Padishar pursed his lips. His face was scratched and cut so
badly that he looked like a badly formed puzzle. “About a year.
Damson took me to meet him one day in the park after nightfall.
I don’t know how she met him.” He glanced over at the stuffed
animals. “Peculiar fellow, but taken with her, sure enough.”
Par nodded wordlessly.
Padishar leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak. ‘Tell
me about the Sword, lad,” he urged, moving the ale cup in front
of him, twisting it between his fingers. “Is it the real thing? ”
Par smiled in spite of himself. “Good question, Padishar. I
wish I knew.”
Then he told the leader of me free-bom what had befallen him
since they had struggled together to escape the Pit—how Dam-
son had found the Ohmsford brothers in the People’s Park, how
they had met the Mole, how they had determined to go back
down into the Pit a final time to gain possession of the Sword,
how he had encountered Rimmer Dall within the vault and been
handed what was said to be the ancient talisman with no struggle
at all, how Coil had been lost, and finally how Damson and he
had been running and hiding throughout Tyrsis ever since.
What Par didn’t tell Padishar was how Rimmer Dall had
warned him that, like the First Seeker, Par, too, was a
Shadowen. Because if it was the truth …
The Talismans of Shannara
“I carry it, Padishar,” he finished, dismissing the prospect,
gesturing instead toward the dusty blade where it leaned against
the bureau, “because I keep thinking that sooner or later I’ll be
able to figure out whether or not it is real.”
Padishar frowned darkly. “There’s a trick being played here
somewhere. Rimmer Dall’s no friend to anyone. Either the
blade is a fake or he has good reason to believe that you can’t
make use of it.”
If I’m a Shadowen …
Par swallowed against his fear. “I know. And so far I can’t.
I keep testing it, trying to invoke its magic, but nothing hap-