by Terry Brooks
“But for now …?”
—The charges are enough. The charges yield talismans, and the talismans yield magic. Magic combined with knowledge shall see the end of the Shadowen. It was thus when I first spoke to you. It is thus now. If I could, I would give you more, Walker Boh. But I have given you all I can, all that I know. Remember, Dark Uncle. I am gone from your world and placed within another. I am without substance. I am now of other things. I see imperfectly from where I stand. I see only shadows of what would be and must rely on those. Yours is the vision that can be relied upon. Go, Walker. Find the scions of Shannara and discover what they have done. In their stories and in your own you will find what you need. You must believe—
Walker said nothing then, thinking for a moment that he was being asked once again to proceed on faith alone. But, of course, that was what he had been doing ever since the dreams had first appeared to him and he had been persuaded to travel to the Hadeshorn and Allanon. Was it really so difficult to accept that faith must! guide him anew?
He looked at the pale figure before him, all lines about transparency, all memories of life gone before. “I believe,” he said to Allanon’s shade, and meant it.
—Walker Boh—
The shade’s voice was soft and filled with regrets that words could not speak.
—Find the children of Shannara. You have the Druid sight. You have the wisdom they need. Do not fail them—
“No,” Walker said hoarsely. “I will not.”
—Put an end to the Shadowen before they destroy the Four Lands completely. I feel their sickness spreading even here. They steal the earth’s life. Stop them, Walker Boh—
“Yes, Allanon, I will.”
—Bend to me then, Dark Uncle. Bend to me one final time before you go. Sleep carries us towards daybreak, and we must travel different paths. Hear the last of what I would tell you, and let your wisdom and your reason divine what remains concealed from us both. Bend to me, Walker Boh, and listen—
The shade approached, steam upon the waters of the Hadeshorn in human shape, a cloaking of mist and gray light, a wraith formed of sounds come out of terrifying darkness.
Tense and uncertain, Walker Boh waited, eyes lowered to the boiling waters, to the reflection of stars and sky, until both disappeared in the blackness of shadow.
Then he felt the other’s touch against his skin, and he shuddered uncontrollably.
He came awake at sunrise, the light a faint creeping from the hallway beyond his darkened room. He lay without moving for a time, thinking of the dream and what it had shown him. Allanon had sent the dream so that he would have a place to begin his new life. The dream had reinforced his intention to seek out Par and Wren, but it had also given him reason to believe in himself. He could accept who and what he had become if there was at least a chance that he could bring the ravaged lands and their people safely out of the Shadowen thrall.
Find the children of Shannara. Do not fail them.
He rose then from his bed, washed, dressed, and ate breakfast on the castle battlements looking out over the land in the light of the new day. He thought again of Cogline, of all that the old man had taught him. He recited to himself the litany of rules and understandings that his transformation from mortal man to Druid had given him, the whole of the history of the Druids come and gone. He worked his way carefully through the teachings of his magic’s use—some already put to the test, some that remained untried.
Last of all, he recounted the events of the dream and the secrets it had shown him. And there had been secrets—a few, important ones, there at the last, when Allanon had touched him. What he had learned was already beginning to suggest answers to his heretofore-unanswered questions. The whole of the history of the Four Lands since the time of the First Council at Paranor formed a pattern for what was happening now. The events of weeks past gave color and shape to that pattern. But it was the dream and the insights with which it provided him that thrust that pattern into the light where it could be clearly seen.
What was missing still was the reason that Wren had been charged with bringing back the Elves.
What was missing was the reason Par had been sent to find the Sword of Shannara.
Most of all what was missing was the truth behind the secret of the Shadowen power.
He rose finally and went down into the depths of the castle, Rumor trailing silently, a shadow at his back. He would take the moor cat with him, he decided. Cogline had given him the cat, after all; it was his responsibility to see that it was looked after. It could not be left locked up within the Keep, and the closeness they shared might prove useful. He smiled as he examined his thinking. The truth was that Rumor would provide a little of the companionship he would miss without Cogline.
Down into the well of the Keep he descended, there to place his hands on the walls of stone, reaching inward to the life that rested there. The magic came to him, obedient to his summons, and he set in place a bar to any but himself so that none could enter until he returned.
Then he closed Paranor’s gates and went out into the world again. He went down from the bluff and into the forests where the heat was screened away and it was shady and cool. Rumor went with him, grateful to be free again of the confining walls, slipping into the shadows to forage and track, returning now and again to Walker’s side to be certain he was still there. They traveled north of the place where Cogline lay, and Walker did not turn aside. He had said goodbye already to the old man; it was best to leave it at that.
The day eased away toward nightfall, the sun’s fiery glare slipping west toward the Dragon’s Teeth, the heat dissipating slowly into the cool of the evening shadows. Walker and the moor cat traveled steadily on. Ahead, the watch fires of the Federation soldiers camped within the Kennon Pass were lit, meals were consumed, and guards sent to their posts.
By midnight Walker and the cat had slipped by them unseen and were on their way south.
XXI
The rains that had inundated the Westland Elves and the pursuing Federation army were still thunderheads on the western horizon the morning the two ragged scrapwomen led their elderly blind father through the gates of Tyrsis with the other tradesmen, merchants, drummers, peddlers, and itinerant hucksters who had come in from the outlying communities to barter their wares. As with most of the others that sought entry, they had spent the night camped before the gates, anxious to enter early so as to secure the best stalls in the open market where the trading and bartering took place. They shuffled along as quickly as they could manage, the women slowed by the old man as he groped his way uncertainly, supported on either side, his feet directed carefully along the dusty way.
Federation guards lined the entries through the outer and inner walls, checking everyone who passed, pulling aside those who seemed suspicious. It was unusual for them to worry about who was entering the city, for the emphasis in the past had been directed toward worrying about who might leave. But Padishar Creel, the leader of the free-born, was to be executed at noon of the following day, and the Federation was concerned that an attempt would be made to rescue him. It was believed that such a rescue would fail, no matter how well conceived, because the city garrison was at full strength, some five thousand men strong, and security measures were extraordinary. Still, nothing was to be left to chance, so the guards at the gates had been given explicit instructions to make certain of everyone.
They chose to pull aside the scrapwomen and the old man. It was a random selection, an approach the guard commander had settled on early, a compromise between stopping everyone, which would take forever, and no one, which would seem a dereliction of his duty. The three were ordered to stand apart from the throng, to occupy a space in the center of the court between the city’s walls, there to wait for questioning. Scattered glances from the crowd were directed their way, furtive and suspicious. Better you than me, they seemed to say. Dust rose with the crowd’s passing, and even now, before the heat of the day had settled in, the air had a hot, sticky feel to i
t.
“Names,” the duty officer said to the scrapwomen and the old man.
“Asra, Wintath, and our father, Criape,” the one with the ragged, tangled reddish hair said. Sores dappled the skin of her face, and she smelled like old rubbish.
The officer glanced at the other woman, who promptly opened her mouth to reveal blackened teeth and a raw, red throat in which the tongue was missing. The officer swallowed.
“She can’t speak,” the first said, grinning.
“What’s your village?”
“Spekese Run,” said the woman. “Know of it?”
The officer shook his head. He studied the piles of rags they carried strapped to their backs. Worthless stuff. He glanced at the old man, whose head was lowered into his cowl. Couldn’t see much of his face. The officer stepped forward and pushed back the cowl. The old man’s head jerked up and his blackened lids snapped back to reveal a thick, milky fluid where his eyes should have been. The officer gagged.
“On with you.” He beckoned, moving quickly away to question the next unfortunate.
The women and the old man shuffled off obediently, slipping back into the crowd, passing through the cordon of guards that lined the gates of the inner wall, moving on from there into the city. They were well off the Tyrsian Way and into the side streets where there were no Federation guards before Matty Roh spit out the dyed fruit skin pasted to the inside of her mouth and said, “I told you this was too risky!”
“We got through, didn’t we?” Morgan snapped irritably. “Stop complaining and get me where I can wash this stuff out of my eyes!”
“Be silent, the both of you!” Damson Rhee ordered, and hurried them on.
Tempers were short by now. They had fought bitterly about who was to come into the city, a fight precipitated by the news of Padishar Creel’s impending execution. A day and a half was not nearly enough time to effect a rescue, but it was all they had to work with and Morgan had decided that his original plan needed changing. Instead of Matty and Damson going into the city and finding the Mole on their own, he would enter as well. At best they had today and tonight to track down the Mole, bring Chandos and the others of the free-born in through the underground tunnels, devise a rescue plan for Padishar, and set it in motion. Morgan insisted that he needed to get inside the city immediately in order to determine what must be done. He could not afford to wait for nightfall and the Mole to get a look at things. Damson and Matty were equally insistent that any attempt to sneak him past the guards would jeopardize them all. It would be hard enough for just the two of them, but doubly dangerous if they were forced to take him in as well. Why couldn’t he do his thinking where he was? Hadn’t he spent enough time in the city by now to know where everything was?
So it had gone, but in the end Morgan won the argument by pointing out that he couldn’t do any thinking at all until he knew where Padishar was being kept, and he couldn’t know that unless he went into the city. The price for his victory was an implacable demand by both women that he leave his Sword behind. A disguise would possibly work, but not if he carried that weapon. Chances of discovery were simply too great. Despite his protests, neither woman would budge. The Sword of Leah had stayed behind with Chandos.
Damson took them down an alleyway to a side door in an abandoned building, pushed open the door, and guided them inside. The interior was close and airless, and dust hung in the air in visible layers. She closed the door behind them. They moved across the room to a second door and from there into another room, equally stifling. A tiny courtyard opened beyond, and they crossed through the early morning shadows and the faint scent of wildflowers inexplicably growing in one sundrenched corner of the otherwise withered yard to an open-fronted shed filled with old tools and workbenches. Damson left her companions there and went off with a tin bowl. When she returned, the bowl was filled with water, and the three sat down to wash themselves off.
When they were scrubbed clean again, they dug through the bundles of rags and pulled out their good clothes. Stripping off the old, they redressed and sat down on a pair of the workbenches to discuss what would happen next
“I’ll go out first to try to make contact with the Mole,” Damson said, still combing out the knots from her tangled red hair. Carefully she tied it all back and tucked it into a scarf. “There are signs I can leave that he will understand. When that’s done, I’ll come back and we’ll see what we can discover about Padishar. Then I’ll have to put you somewhere while I go wait for the Mole. He might not come if he sees all of us—he doesn’t know either of you and he will be very careful after what’s happened. If he comes, he and I will go after Chandos and the rest, and we will meet up with you again by dawn. If he doesn’t come—”
“Don’t say it,” Morgan cut her short. “Just do the best you can.”
Damson looked at Matty. “How well do you know the city?”
“Well enough to stay out of trouble.”
Damson nodded. “If anything happens to me, you will have to get Morgan out of here.”
“Wait a minute!” Morgan exclaimed. “Fm not going to—”
“You are going to do what you are told. Your plans count for nothing if I fail. If the Federation has the Mole or if they capture me, there isn’t anything more to be done.”
Morgan stared at her, silenced by the anger and determination he found in her green eyes.
Matty took his arm and moved him back a step. “I’ll look after him,” she promised.
Damson nodded, and her face softened a shade. She rose, wrapped her cloak about, gave them a short nod, and disappeared back the way she had come. Morgan stared after her, feeling helpless. She was right. There was nothing he could do if she failed. The success of any plan he devised depended on the girl and the Mole bringing Chandos and the free-born into the city. Without the free-born or the magic of his Sword, he would not be able to help Padishar. Such a slender thread for events to hang upon, he thought grimly.
“Care for something to eat?” Matty Roh asked cheerfully, her dark eyes questioning, and offered him an apple.
They waited within the shade of the storage shed, secluded and alone in the little, closed-about courtyard until almost midday. The air grew steamy and thick with heat, and the sun burned a slow trail across the stones and withered grass, climbing the north wall east to west like the spread of spilled paint. Morgan dozed for a time, weary from the long march in and the uncertain night sleeping before the gates in his uncomfortable disguise. He found himself thinking of Par and Coll and the days before the Shadowen and Allanon, of the times they had spent hunting and fishing in the Highlands, of his own boyhood, of the long slow days when life had seemed an exciting game. He thought of Steff and Granny Elise and Auntie Jilt. He thought of Quickening. They were memories of a past that lost a little of its color with the passing of every day. They all seemed to have disappeared from his life a very long time ago.
The sun was directly overhead when Damson Rhee finally returned. She was flushed with the heat and covered with dust, but there was excitement in her eyes.
“They have Padishar within the same watchtower where they held me,” she announced, dropping down on one of the benches and peeling off her cloak. She took a long drink from the cup of water Matty Roh offered her. “It seems to be common knowledge. They plan to take him to the main gates at noon tomorrow and hang him in view of the city.”
“How is he?” Morgan asked quickly. “Did anyone say?”
She shook her head, swallowing. “No one has seen him. But talk among the soldiers is that he’ll walk to his end.”
She glanced at Matty Roh. The other woman frowned. “Common knowledge, is it?” She gave Damson a thoughtful look. “I don’t much trust common knowledge. Common knowledge often ends up meaning ‘false rumor’ in my experience.”
Damson hesitated. “Everyone seemed so sure.” She cut herself short. “But I guess we have to make certain, don’t we?”
Matty Roh leaned forward, elbows on knee
s, chin in hands, her boyish face intense. “You’ve told me how they used you to trap Padishar.” Morgan stared. This was the first he’d heard of that. How much more had Damson told her that he didn’t know? “It worked once, so chances are pretty good they’ll try it again. But they’ll change the rules. They’ll make sure no one gets away this time. Instead of using live bait, maybe they’ll use … common knowledge.”
Morgan nodded. He should have thought of that “A decoy. They expect a rescue attempt, so they misdirect it They keep Padishar somewhere else.”
Matty nodded solemnly. “I would guess.”
Damson came back to her feet. “I’ve left signs for the Mole that he can’t miss. If he’s coming, he’ll come tonight. I’ve got until then to go back out and try to find where Padishar really is.”
“I’m coming as well.” Morgan rose and reached for his cloak.
“No.” Matty Roh’s voice was sudden and firm. She stood up and came between them. “Neither of you is going.” She reached for her cloak. “I am.” She looked at Morgan. “You might be recognized, now that you’ve shed your disguise, and you can’t go where you might learn anything in any case. You are better off staying here.” She turned to Damson. “And you can’t afford to risk yourself further. After all, they know who you are, too. It was chancy enough going out this morning. Whatever happens, you have to stay safe until you can meet the Mole and bring the others in. You can’t do that if you’re discovered and find yourself in Padishar Creel’s company. Besides, I’m better at this sort of thing than you are. I know how to listen, how to find things out. Discovering secrets is what I do.”
They stared at her without speaking for a moment When Morgan started to object, Damson silenced him with a look. “She’s right. Padishar would agree.”
Again Morgan tried to speak, but Damson overrode him, saying, “We’ll wait here for you, Matty. Be careful.”
Matty nodded and slung her cloak over her shoulder. Her slim face was tight and smooth across the set of her jaw. “Don’t wait if I’m not back by dark.” She gave Morgan a quick, ironic smile. “Keep me safe in your thoughts, Highlander.”