The Scions of Shannara

Par spent a restless night, plagued by dreams and anxieties that fragmented his sleep and left him bleary-eyed with the coming of dawn. He rose with Coll and Morgan to find Padishar Creel and his companions already awake and in the midst of their breakfast. The outlaw chief had shed his scarlet clothing in favor of the less conspicuous green and brown woodsmen’s garb worn by his men. The Valemen and the Highlander hurried to dress and eat, shivering a bit from the night’s lingering chill. Steff and Teel joined them, wordless shadows hunkered down next to the cooking fire. When the meal was consumed, the seven strapped on their backpacks and walked to the edge of the bluff. The sun was creeping into view above the eastern horizon, its early light a mix of gold and silver against the fading dark. Steff muttered for them to take care and, with Teel in tow, disappeared back into the dark. Morgan was rubbing his hands briskly and breathing the air as if he might never have another chance. They boarded the first lift and began their descent, passing wordlessly to the second and third, the winches creaking eerily in the silence as they were lowered. When they reached the floor of the Parma Key, they struck out into the misty forests, Padishar Creel leading with Blue, the Valemen and the Highlander in the middle, and the remaining two outlaws, Stasas and Drutt, trailing. Within seconds, the rock wall of the Jut had disappeared from view.

They traveled south for the better part of the day, turning west around midafternoon when they encountered the Mermidon. They followed the river until sunset, staying on its north shore, and camped that night just below the south end of the Kennon Pass in the shadow of the Dragons Teeth. They found a cove sheltered by cypress where a stream fed down out of the rocks and provided them with drinking water. They built a fire, ate their dinner, and sat back to watch the stars come out.

After a time, Stasas and Drutt went off to take the first watch, one upstream, one down. Ciba Blue rolled into his blankets and was asleep in moments, his youthful face looking even younger in sleep. Padishar Creel sat with the Valemen and the Highlander, poking at the fire with a stick while he sipped at a flask of ale.

Par had been puzzling over their eventual destination all day, and now he said abruptly to the outlaw chief, “We’re going to Tyrsis, aren’t we?”

Padishar glanced over in surprise, then nodded. “No reason you shouldn’t know now.”

“But why look for the Sword of Shannara in Tyrsis? It disappeared from there over a hundred years ago when the Federation annexed Callahorn. Why would it be back there now?”

The other smiled secretively. “Perhaps because it never left.”

Par and his companions stared at the outlaw chief in astonishment.

“You see, the fact that the Sword of Shannara disappeared doesn’t necessarily mean that it went anywhere. Sometimes a thing can disappear and still be in plain sight. It can disappear simply because it doesn’t look like what it used to. We see it, but we don’t recognize it.”

“What are you saying?” Par asked slowly.

Padishar Creel’s smile broadened perceptibly. “I am saying that the Sword of Shannara may very well be exactly where it was three hundred years ago.”

“Locked away in a vault in the middle of the People’s Park in Tyrsis all these years and no one’s figured it out?” Morgan Leah was aghast. “How can that possibly be?”

Padishar sipped speculatively at his flask and said, “We’ll be there by tomorrow. Why don’t we wait and see?”

Par Ohmsford was tired from the day’s march and last night’s lack of sleep, but he was awake a long time, nevertheless, after the others were already snoring. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Padishar Creel had said. More than three hundred years ago, after Shea Ohmsford had used it to destroy the Warlock Lord, the Sword of Shannara had been embedded in a block of red marble and entombed in a vault in the People’s Park in the Southland city of Tyrsis. There it had remained until the coming of the Federation into Callahorn. It was common knowledge that it had disappeared after that. If it hadn’t, why did so many people believe it had? If it was right where it had been three hundred years ago, how come no one recognized it now?

He considered. It was true that much of what had happened during the time of Allanon had lost credibility; many of the tales had taken on the trappings of legend and folklore. By the time the Sword of Shannara disappeared, perhaps no one believed in it anymore. Perhaps no one even understood what it could do. But they at least knew it was there! It was a national monument, for goodness sake! So how could they say it was gone if it wasn’t? It didn’t make sense!

Yet Padishar Creel seemed so positive.