The Scions of Shannara

Par had forgotten momentarily his plan to tell Padishar he was fed up with matters. “Then who was it?” he asked eagerly. “Who could it have been?”


Padishar’s smile was forced. “The question plagues me like flies a sweating horse. I don’t know yet. You may rest assured that sooner or later I will. For the moment, it doesn’t matter. We have bigger fish to fry.”

He leaned forward. “I spent the morning with a man I know, a man who has access to what happens within the higher circles of Federation authority in Tyrsis. He is a man I am certain of, one I can trust. Even Damson doesn’t know of him. He told me some interesting things. It seems that you and Damson came to my rescue just in time. Rimmer Dall arrived early the next morning to see personally to my questioning and ultimate disposal.” The outlaw chief’s voice emitted a sigh of satisfaction. “He was very disappointed to find I had left early.”

Padishar shifted his weight and brought his head close to Par’s. “I know you are impatient for something to happen, Par. I can read the signs of it in you as if you were a notice posted on the wall by my bed. But haste results in an early demise in this line of work, so caution is always necessary.” He smiled again. “But you and I, lad—we’re a force to be reckoned with in this business of the Federation and their game-playing. Fate brought you to me, and she has something definite in mind for the two of us, something that will shake the Federation and their Coalition Council and their Seekers and all the rest right to the foundation of their being!”

One hand clenched before Par’s face, and the Valeman flinched back in spite of himself. “So much effort has been put into hiding all traces of the old People’s Park—the Bridge of Sendic destroyed and rebuilt, the old park walled away, guards running all about it like ants at a picnic dinner! Why? Because there’s something down there that they don’t want anyone to know about! I can feel it, lad! I am as convinced of it now as I was when we went in five nights ago!”

“The Sword of Shannara?” Par whispered.

Padishar’s smile was genuine this time. “I’d stake ten years of my life on it! But there’s still only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

He brought his hands up to grip Par’s shoulders. The weathered, sharp-boned face was a mask of cunning and ruthless determination. The man who had led them for the past five days had disappeared; this was the old Padishar Creel speaking.

“The man I spoke to, the one who has ears in the Federation chambers, tells me that Rimmer Dall believes we’ve fled. He thinks us back within the Parma Key. Whatever we came here for we’ve given up on, he’s decided. He lingers in the city only because he has not decided what needs doing next. I suggest we give him some direction, young Par.”

Par’s eyes widened. “What . . .?”

“What he least expects, of course!” Padishar anticipated his question and pounced on it. “The last thing he and his black-cloaked wolves will look for—that’s what!” His eyes narrowed.

“We’ll go back down into the Pit!”

Par quit breathing.

“We’ll go back down before they have a chance to figure out where we are or what we intend, back down into that most carefully guarded hidey-hole, and if the Sword of Shannara is there, why, we’ll snatch it away from under their very noses!”

He brought an astonished Par to his feet with a jerk. “And we’ll do it tonight!”





XXII



It was nearing twilight by the time Walker Boh reached his destination. He had been journeying northward from Hearthstone since midmorning, traveling at a comfortable pace, not hurrying, allowing himself adequate time to think through what he was about to do. The skies had been clear and filled with sunshine when he had set out, but as the day lengthened toward evening clouds began to drift in from the west and the air turned dense and gray. The land through which he traveled was rugged, a series of twisting ridges and drops that broke apart the symmetry of the forests and left the trees leaning and bent like spikes driven randomly into the earth. Deadwood and outcroppings of rock blocked the trail repeatedly and mist hung shroudlike in the trees, trapped there it seemed, unmoving.

Walker stopped. He stared downward between two massive, jagged ridgelines into a narrow valley that cradled a tiny lake. The lake was barely visible, screened away by pine trees and a thick concentration of mist that clung tenaciously above its surface, swirling sluggishly, listlessly, haphazardly in the nearly windless expanse.