The Scions of Shannara

Par and Coll looked at each other.

“If the Federation wanted you badly enough to send Rimmer Dall all the way to Varfleet,” Morgan continued, his eyes coming up suddenly to meet their own, “then don’t you think it likely they might send him to Shady Vale as well?”

There was a long silence before Par finally said, “I admit, I hadn’t thought of that.”

Morgan stroked over to the edge of the springs, heaved himself out, and began wiping the water from his body. “Well, thinking has never been your strong point, my boy. Good thing you’ve got me for a friend. Let’s walk back up to the lodge and I’ll fix you something to eat—something besides fish for a change—and we’ll talk about it.”

They dried, washed out their clothes and returned to the lodge where Morgan set about preparing dinner. He cooked a wonderful stew filled with meat, carrots, potatoes, onions, and broth, and served it with hot bread and cold ale. They sat out under the pines at a table and benches and consumed the better part of their food and drink, the day finally beginning to cool as night approached and an evening breeze rustled down out of the hills. Morgan brought out pears and cheese for dessert, and they nibbled contentedly as the sky turned red, then deep purple, and finally darkened and filled with stars.

“I love the Highlands,” Morgan said after they had been silent for a time. They were seated on the stone steps of the lodge now. “I could learn to love the city as well I expect, but not while it belongs to the Federation. I sometimes find myself wondering what it would have been like to live in the old home, before they took it from us. That was a long time ago, of course—six generations ago. No one remembers what it was like anymore. My father won’t even talk about it. But here—well, this is still ours, this land. The Federation hasn’t been able to take that away yet. There’s just too much of it. Maybe that’s why I love it so much—because it’s the last thing my family has left from the old days.”

“Besides the sword,” Par reminded.

“Do you still carry that battered old relic?” Coll asked. “I keep thinking you will discard it in favor of something newer and better made.”

Morgan glanced over. “Do you remember the stories that said the Sword of Leah was once magic?”

“Allanon himself was supposed to have made it so,” Par confirmed.

“Yes, in the time of Rone Leah.” Morgan furrowed his brow. “Sometimes I think it still is magic. Not as it once was, not as a weapon that could withstand Mord Wraiths and such, but in a different way. The scabbard has been replaced half-a-dozen times over the years, the hilt once or twice at least, and both are worn again. But the blade—ah, that blade! It is still as sharp and true as ever, almost as if it cannot age. Doesn’t that require magic of a sort?”

The brothers nodded solemnly. “Magic sometimes changes in the way it works,” Par said. “It grows and evolves. Perhaps that has happened with the Sword of Leah.” He was thinking as he said it how the old man had told him he did not understand the magic at all and wondering if that were true.

“Well, truth is, no one wants the weapon in any case, not anymore.” Morgan stretched like a cat and sighed. “No one wants anything that belongs to the old days, it seems. The reminders are too painful, I think. My father didn’t say a word when I asked for the blade. He just gave it to me.”

Coll reached over and gave the other a friendly shove. “Well, your father ought to be more careful to whom he hands out his weapons.”

Morgan managed to look put upon. “Am I the one being asked to join the Movement?” he demanded. They laughed. “By the way. You mentioned the stranger gave you a ring. Mind if I take a look?”

Par reached into his tunic, fished out the ring with the hawk insigne and passed it over. Morgan took it and examined it carefully, then shrugged and handed it back. “I don’t recognize it. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. I hear there are a dozen outlaw bands within the Movement and they all change their markings regularly to confuse the Federation.”

He took a long drink from his ale glass and leaned back again. “Sometimes I think I ought to go north and join them—quit wasting time here playing games with those fools who live in my house and govern my land and don’t even know the history.” He shook his head sadly and for a moment looked old.

Then he brightened. “But now about you.” He swung his legs around and sat forward. “You can’t risk going back until you’re certain it’s safe. So you’ll stay here for a day or so and let me go ahead. I’ll make certain the Federation hasn’t gotten there before you. Fair enough?”