of the past, the weight of all that had come about since the be-
172 The Talismans of Shannara
ginning of the dreams. Par was assailed by conflicting emo-
tions. What was he supposed to do now? What if Coil was
really gone?
Sunrise was a deep red glow out of the east shadowed by a
gathering of clouds west. The clouds rolled across the hori-
zon, coming into Callahom like a wall. Daylight was pale and
thin, and the air turned dead still. Par rose and started out
again, heading south along the river, still searching for his
brother. He was tired and discouraged, and on the verge of
quitting. He kept wondering what he was doing, chasing after
a ghost, chasing after a Shadowen thing, being led on like a
dumb animal. How did he know it was really Coil? Maybe
Damson had been right. Couldn’t the Shadowen have fooled
him in some way? What if Rimmer Dall had tampered with
the Sword, or changed its magic so that it deceived? Suppose
this was all some sort of elaborate trap. Was there any way to
tell?
He quit thinking altogether after a while because there were
no possibilities left that he hadn’t considered and he was wear-
ing himself out to no good purpose. He simply kept walking,
following the river as it meandered south through the hill
country, scanning the ground mechanically, everything inside
beginning to shut down into a black silence.
To the west, the clouds began to darken as they neared, and
a sudden wind gusted ahead of them in warning. Birds flew
screaming into the mountains east, flashes of white disappear-
ing into the shadows.
Ahead, only miles downriver, Southwatch appeared, its
black obelisk etched against the skyline. Par watched it grow
steadily larger as he approached, a fortress standing firm in the
path of the coming storm. Par’s eyes swept its walls and tow-
ers as he edged closer to stands of trees and rocks to gain
cover. Nothing showed itself. Nothing moved.
Then suddenly, unexpectedly, he came upon Coil’s trail
again. He found it at the river’s edge where his brother had
emerged after having been carried south for what must have
been at least seven or eight miles. He was certain it was Coil,
even before he found a bootprint that confirmed it. The trail set
off west into the hills and the coming storm.
The Talismans of Shannara 173
But the trail was hours old. Coil had come ashore yesterday
and set out at once. Par was at least a day behind.
Nevertheless, he began to track, grateful to have found any
trail at all, relieved to know that his brother was still alive. He
trudged inland from the river, the light failing rapidly now as
the storm neared, the air turning slick and damp, and the
grasses whipping wildly against his legs. Clouds roiled and
tumbled overhead, filling the skies to overflowing. Par glanced
back to where he had last seen Southwatch, but the Shadowen
tower had disappeared into the gloom.
Rain began to fall in scattered drops, cool on his heated
skin, then stinging as the wind gusted sharply and blew them
into his face.
Moments later he crested a rise and saw Coll.
His brother was sprawled motionless on a stretch of dusty
grass, facedown beneath a leafless, storm-ravaged oak that rose
out of the center of a shallow vale. At first glance he appeared
to be dead. Par started forward hurriedly, his heart sinking. No,
was all he could think. No. Then he saw Coil stir, saw his arm
move slightly, rearranging itself. A leg followed, drawing up,
then relaxing again. Coil wasn’t dead; he was simply ex-
hausted. He had finally run himself out
Par came down off the rise into the teeth of a wind that
howled and bucked as it swept out of the enveloping black.
The sound of his approach was lost in its shriek. He bent his
head and pushed forward. Coil had gone still again. He did not
hear Par. Par would reach him before Coil knew he was there.
And then what? he wondered suddenly. What would he do
then?