But Par would not give up. He clung desperately to the
Sword, determined not to lose it. He let his brother shove him
back, muscle him about, thrust him this way and that, hoping
the efforts would tire Coil, slow him down, weaken him
enough that Par could find a way to knock him unconscious.
If he could manage that, he might have a chance.
Lightning flashed again, quick and startling. In its momen-
tary glare Par caught a glimpse of shadowy forms gathering on
the rise above the vale, dozens of them, twisted and gnarled
and stooped, the gleam of their eyes like blood.
Then they were gone again, swallowed in the black storm
night. Distracted, Par blinked away the rain that ran into his
eyes, trying to peer past Coil’s struggling form. What had he
just seen out there? Again the lightning flashed, just as Coil
thrust out wildly and toppled him to the sodden grass. He saw
nothing this time, fighting to keep the breath in his lungs as he
struck the ground. Coil threw himself on Par, howling. But Par
let his brother’s momentum work against him, tumbling the
other over his head and twisting himself free.
He came to his feet, dazed and searching. The gloom was so
thick he could barely see the ravaged oak. The rise was invis-
ible.
176 The Talismans of Shannara
Coil came at him again, but mis time Par was ready. Break-
ing through the other’s guard, he struck Coil sharply on the
head with the hilt of the Sword. Coil dropped to his knees,
stunned. He groped at the air in front of him, as if grasping for
something that only he could see. A trickle of red ran down his
face from where the blow had broken the skin, blood diffusing
and turning pink as it mingled with the rain. His features began
to change, losing their Shadowen cast, turning human again.
Par started to strike, trembling in despair and exhaustion, then
stopped as he saw the other’s eyes fix on him in wonder.
It was his brother looking at him. It was Coll.
He dropped to his knees in the slick grass and mud, facing
Coll. His brother’s lips were moving, the words he was speak-
ing lost in the howl of the wind and rain. He was shivering
with cold and something more. He began shaking his head
slowly beneath the glistening cover of the Mirrorshroud, twist-
ing within the dark folds as if it were the hardest thing he had
ever had to do. Coll. Par mouthed his name. Coil’s hands came
up to grasp the folds of the Shadowen cloak, shook violently,
and then dropped away. Coll.
Desperate to help his brother before the chance was gone,
Par impulsively jammed the Sword of Shannara into the earth
before him and reached past it to take hold of Coil’s hands.
Coil did not resist, his eyes empty and dull. Par guided Coil’s
hands to the pommel of the Sword and fastened the chill, shak-
ing fingers in place, holding them there with his own. Please,
Coll. Please stay with me. Coil was staring at him, seeing him
now and at the same time seeing right through him. The Sword
of Shannara bound them, held them fast, fingers intertwined,
pressed against the raised torch carved into the handle and
against each other.
Par saw the distorted reflection of his face in the rain-
streaked surface of the blade. “Coil!” he screamed.
His brother’s eyes snapped up. Please let the magic come,
Par begged. Please!
Coil’s eyes were fixed on him, searching for more.
“Coil, listen to me! It’s Par! It’s your brother!”
Coil bunked. There was a hint of recognition. There was a
glint of light. Beneath his own hands. Par could feel Coil’s
tighten on the Sword’s hilt.
The Talismans of Shannara
Coil!
177
Light flared down the length of the Sword’s smooth blade,
quick and blinding, a white fury that engulfed everything in a
moment’s time. Fire followed, cool and brilliant as it burned
‘ outward from the Sword and into Par’s body. He felt it extend
and weave, drawing him out of himself and into the talisman,