there to find Coil waiting, there to join them as one. He felt
himself twist through the metal and out again to somewhere
far beyond. The world from which he had been drawn dis-
appeared—the damp and the mud, the dark and the sound.
There was whiteness and there was silence. There was nothing
else.
4 Just Coil and himself. Just the two of them.
Then he was aware of the shimmering black length of the
k Mirrorshroud wrapping about his brother’s head and body,
writhing like a snake. The cloak was alive, working itself this
way and that, twisting violently against the pull of something
invisible, something that was threatening to tear it apart.
Par could hear it hiss.
The Sword of Shannara. The magic of the Sword.
He let his thoughts flow deep into his brother’s mind, down
into the darkness that had settled there and was now fighting
hard to remain. Listen to me, Coll. Listen to the truth. He
forced his brother’s mind to open, casting aside the Shadowen
magic he found waiting there, heedless of his own safety,
oblivious to everything but the need to set his brother free. The
magic of the sword armored and sustained him. Listen to me.
His voice cracked like a whip in his brother’s mind. He assem-
bled his words and gave them shape and form, images that
matched the intensity of the wishsong when it told the tales of
three hundred years gone. The truth of who and what Coil had
become released in a rush that could not be slowed or turned
aside, flooding inward. Coil saw how he had been subverted.
He saw what the cloak had done to him. He saw the way in
which he had been turned against his brother, sent to fulfill
some dark intent of which neither of them was aware. He saw
everything that had been so carefully hidden by the Shadowen
magic.
He saw as well what was needed in order that he should be
free of it.
178 The Talismans of Shannara
The pain of those revelations was intense and penetrating.
Par could feel it reverberate through his brother, the waves
washing back upon himself. His brother’s life was laid bare
before him, a stark and unrelenting series of truths that cut to
the bone. Par fought his panic and the pain and faced them un-
flinching, steady because his brother needed him to be so. He
could hear Coil’s silent scream of anguish at what he was be-
ing shown. He could see that anguish reflected in Coil’s eyes,
deep and harsh. He did not turn away. He did not soften. The
truth was the Sword of Shannara’s white fire, burning and
cleansing, and it was their only hope.
Coil reared back and screamed then, the sound bringing
them out of the white silence and back into the black, howling
fury of the storm, kneeling together in the mud and wet grasses
beneath that ancient oak, beneath the dark, roiling clouds.
There was swirling, misty gloom all about, as if the last of the
daylight had been stripped away. Rain blew into their faces,
blinding them to everything but a shimmer of each other grasp-
ing as one the glittering length of the Sword. Lightning struck,
brilliant and searing, and then thunder sounded in a tremen-
dous blast.
Coil Ohmsford’s hands wrenched free of the Sword, tearing
loose Par’s as well. Coil rose, a stricken look on his face. But
it was his face Par saw, his brother’s face, and nothing of the
Shadowen horror that had sought to claim it. Coil reached back
in a frenzy and tore loose the Mirrorshroud. He ripped it away
and threw it to the earth. The Mirrorshroud landed in a heap
amid the dampness and muck and at once began to steam. ,It
shuddered and twisted, then began to bubble. Green flames
sprang from its shimmering folds, burning wildly. The fire
spread, inexorable, consuming, and in seconds the Mirror-
shroud was turned to ash.
Par came wearily to his feet and faced his brother, seeing in
Coil’s eyes what he had been searching for. Coil had come
back to him. The Sword of Shannara had shown him the truth