He reached back over his shoulder deliberately and pulled
out the Sword of Shannara. Somehow he would find a way to
call forth the talisman’s magic once more, to hold his brother
fast while it worked its way through him, forcing him to see
the truth, shredding the Shadowen cloak, freeing him for good.
At least, that’s what he hoped would happen. He breathed in
the smell and taste of the storm. Well, he would have his
chance. Coil would not be as strong now as he was before.
And Par would not be the one caught off guard.
As he closed on Coil, coming underneath the ruined oak’s
skeletal limbs, thunder—the storm’s first—rumbled out of the
174 The Talismans of Shannara
black. Coil started at the sound, rolled onto his back, and
stared upward at his brother ten feet away.
Par stopped, uncertain. Coil looked at him from within the
shadows of the Mirrorshroud’s velvet-black hood, his eyes
blank and uncomprehending. A hand lifted weakly to pull the
cloak closer about his hunched body. He whimpered and drew
his knees up.
Par held his breath and started forward again, a step, an-
other, the wind thrusting at him, billowing his clothes out from
his body, whipping his hair from side to side. He kept the
Sword of Shannara as still as he could against his body, unable
to hide it now, hoping to keep it from becoming Coil’s point
of focus.
A jagged streak of lightning darted across the sky followed
by a deafening peal of thunder that reverberated from horizon
to horizon.
Coil came to his knees, eyes wide and frightened. For a sec-
ond his hands relaxed their grip on the cloak, letting it fall
away, and his face gained back a measure of its old look. Coil
Ohmsford was there again in that moment’s time, staring out at
his brother as if he had never gone away. There was recogni-
tion in his face, a stunned, grateful relief that smoothed away
pain and despair. Par felt a surge of hope. He wanted to call
out to his brother, to assure him everything would be all right,
to tell him he was safe now.
But in the next instant Coil was gone. His face disappeared
back into the Shadowen thing that the Mirrorshroud had made,
and a twisted, cunning visage took its place. Teeth bared, and
his brother went into a crouch, snarling.
He’s going to flee again! Par thought in anguish.
But instead Coil rushed him, bounding to his feet and clos-
ing the distance between them almost before Par could bring
up the Sword of Shannara in defense. Coil’s hands closed over
Par’s, grappling with the handle of the talisman, twisting at it
to wrest it free. Par hung on, lurching forward and back as he
fought with his brother for control of the blade. Rain poured
down on them, a torrent of such ferocity that Par was left al-
most blinded. Coil was right up against him, pressed so close
he could feel his brother’s heartbeat. Their hands were locked
The Talismans of Shannara 175
above their heads as they wrenched at the Sword, swinging it
this way and that, the metal glistening wetly.
Lightning struck north, a flash of intense light followed by
a huge clap of thunder. The ground shook.
Par tried to summon the magic of the Sword but couldn’t. It
had come easily enough before—why wouldn’t it come now?
He tried to fight past his brother’s madness, past the fury of his
attack. He tried to block out his fear that nothing would help,
that the power was somehow lost again. Across the slick,
wind-swept grasses the Ohmsford brothers struggled, fighting
for possession of the Sword of Shannara, grunts and shouts
lost in the sound of the storm. Over and over Par sought un-
successfully to summon the magic. Despair washed through
him. He was losing this battle, too. Coil was bigger than he
was, and his size and weight were wearing Par down. Worse,
his brother seemed to be growing stronger as his own strength
failed. Coil was all over him, kicking and clawing, fighting as
if he had gone completely mad.