brightness sure and steady, seeming to grow out of the air. It
came forward into the gloom, swaying gently, barely more
than a candle’s flicker through the curtain of the rain. The
movement of the Shadowen froze into stillness. The wind
faded to a dull rush. Par saw the smile on Rimmer Dall’s face
disappear. His cold eyes shifted to where the light approached,
easing out of the murk to reveal the small, slender form that
directed it.
It was a boy carrying a lamp.
The boy came toward Par and Coil without slowing, the
lamp held forth to guide his way, eyes dark and intense, hair
damp against his forehead, features smooth and even and calm.
Par felt the magic of the wishsong begin to fade. He did not
feel threatened by this boy. He did not feel afraid. He glanced
hurriedly at Coil and saw wonder mirrored in his brother’s
dark eyes.
The Talismans of Shannara 181
The boy reached them and stopped. He did not spare even
the slightest glance for the monsters that snarled balefully in
the gloom beyond the fringes of his lamp. His eyes remained
fixed on the brothers.
“You must come with me now, if you are to be made safe,”
he said quietly.
Rimmer Dall rose up like a dark spirit, throwing off the pro-
tection of his robes so that his arms were left free, the one with
the dark glove stretching out as if to tear away the light. “You
don’t belong here!” he hissed in his stark, whispery voice.
“You have no power here!”
The boy turned slightly. “I have power wherever I choose.
I am the bearer of the light of the Word, now and always.”
Rimmer Ball’s eyes were on fire. “Your magic is old and
used up! Get away while you can!”
Par stared from one face to the other. What was going on?
Who was this boy?
“Par!” he heard Coil gasp.
And he saw me boy begin to change suddenly into an old
man, frail and bent with age, the lamp held away from him as
if to hold it closer would bum.
“And your magic,” the old man whispered to Rimmer Dall,
“is stolen, and in the end it will betray you.”
He shifted again toward Par and Coll. “Come away now.
Don’t be frightened. There are small things that I can still do
for you, and this is one.” The seamed face regarded them.
“Not frightened, are you? Of an old man? Of an old friend of
so many of your family? Do you know me? You do, don’t
you? Of course. Of course you do.” One hand reached out and
brushed theirs. It was the feel of old paper or dried leaves.
Something sparked within as he did so. “Speak my name,” he
said.
And abruptly they knew. “You are the King of the Silver
River,” they whispered together, and the lamplight reached out
to gather them in.
Instantly the Shadowen attacked. They came down off the
slope in a black tide, their shrieks and howls shattering the odd
calm that the King of the Silver River had brought with him.
They came in a gnashing of teeth and a tearing of claws, rend-
ing the air and earth in fury. Before them came Rimmer Dall,
182 The Talismans of Shannara
transformed into something indescribable, a shadow so swift
that it cut through the space separating him from the Ohmsfords
in an instant’s time. Iron bands wrapped about Par’s throat and
Coil’s chest, tightening and suffocating. There was a feeling of
being swallowed whole into the blackness it caused, of falling
away into a pit that was too deep to measure. For an instant
they were lost, and then the voice of the King of the Silver
River reached out to gather them in, cradling them like the
hands of a mother holding her child, freeing them from the iron
bands and carrying them up from the darkness.
Rimmer Dall’s voice was the grate of iron on stone, and the
voice of the King of the Silver River disappeared. Again the
blackness closed and the bands took hold. Par struggled des-
perately to get free. He could feel the terrible sway of magics