The Heritage of Shannara (30 page)

She rode out of the camp with Garth trailing. The others watched them go, the curly haired Rover girl and her giant companion in his bright patchwork clothes. Minutes later, they were specks against the western horizon, their horses almost out of sight.

Par kept looking after them even when they had disappeared. Then he glanced east again after Walker Boh. He felt as if parts of himself were being stolen away.

Coll insisted they have something to eat then, all of them, because it had been better than twelve hours since their last meal and there was no point in trying to think something through on an empty stomach. Par was grateful for the respite, unwilling to confront his own decision-making in the face of the disappointment he felt at the departure of Walker and Wren. He ate the broth that Steff prepared along with some hard bread and fruit, drank several cupfuls of ale, and walked down to the spring to wash. When he returned, he agreed to his brother's suggestion that he lie down for a few minutes and after doing so promptly fell asleep.

It was midday when he woke, his head throbbing, his body aching, his throat hot and dry. He had dreamed snatches of things he would have been just as happy not dreaming at all—of Rimmer Dall and his Federation Seekers hunting him through empty, burned-out city buildings; of Dwarves that watched, starving and helpless in the face of an occupation they could do nothing to ease; of Shadowen lying in wait behind every dark corner he passed in his flight; of Allanon's shade calling out in warning with each new hazard, but laughing as well at his plight. His stomach felt unsettled, but he forced the feeling aside. He washed again, drank some more ale, seated himself in the shade of an old poplar tree, and waited for the sickness to pass. It did, rather more quickly than he would have expected, and soon he was working on a second bowl of the broth.

Coll joined him as he ate. “Feeling better? You didn't look well when you first woke up.”

Par finished eating and put the bowl aside. “I wasn't. But I'm all right now.” He smiled to prove it.

Coll eased down next to him against the roughened tree trunk, settling his solid frame in place, staring out from the comfort of the shade into the midday heat. “I've been thinking,” he said, the blocky features crinkling thoughtfully. He seemed reluctant to continue. “I've been thinking about what I would do if you decided to go looking for the Sword.”

Par turned to him at once. “Coll, I haven't even …”

“No, Par. Let me finish.” Coll was insistent. “If there's one thing I've learned about being your brother, it's to try to get the jump on you when it comes to making decisions. Otherwise, you make them first and once they're made, they might as well be cast in stone!”

He glanced over. “You may recall that we've had this discussion before?

I keep telling you I know you better than you know yourself. Remember that time a few years back when you fell into the Rappahalladran and almost drowned while we were off in the Duln hunting that silver fox? There wasn't supposed to be one like it left in the Southland, but that old trapper said he'd seen one and that was enough for you. The Rappahalladran was cresting, it was late spring, and Dad told us not to try a crossing—made us promise not to try. I knew the minute you made that promise that you would break it if you had to. The very minute you made it!”

Par frowned. “Well, I wouldn't say …”

Coll cut him short. “The point is, I can usually tell when you've made up your mind about something. And I think Walker was right. I think you've made up your mind about going after the Sword of Shannara. You have, haven't you?”

Par stared at him, surprised.

“Your eyes say you're going after it, Par,” Coll continued calmly, actually smiling. “Whether it's out there or not, you're going after it. I know you. You're going because you still think you can learn something about your own magic by doing so, because you want to do something fine and noble with it, because you have this little voice inside you whispering that the magic is meant for something. No, no, hold on, now—hear me out.” He held up his hands at Par's attempt to dispute him. “I don't think there is anything wrong with that. I understand it. But I don't know if you do or whether you can admit to it. And you have to be able to admit to it because otherwise you won't ever be at peace with yourself about why you are going. I know I don't have any magic of my own, but the fact is that in some ways I do understand the problem better than you.”

He paused, somber. “You always look for the challenges no one else wants. That's part of what's happening here. You see Walker and Wren walk away from this and right away you want to do just the opposite. That's the way you are. You couldn't give it up now if you had to.”

He cocked his head reflectively. “Believe it or not, I have always admired that in you.”

Then he sighed. “I know there are other considerations as well. There's the matter of the folks, still under confinement back in the Vale, and us with no home, no real place to go, outlaws of a sort. If we abandon this search, this quest Allanon's shade has given us, where do we go? What possible thing can we do that will change matters more thoroughly than finding the Sword of Shannara? I know there's that. And I know …”

Par interrupted. “You said ‘we. ’ ”

Coll stopped. “What?”

Par was studying him critically. “Just then. You said ‘we. ’ Several times. You said, what if ‘we’ abandon this search and where do ‘we’ go?”

Coll shook his head ruefully. “So I did. I start talking about you and almost before I know it I'm talking about me as well. But that's exactly the problem, I guess. We're so close that I sometimes think of us as if we were the same—and we're not. We're very different and no more so than in this
instance. You have the magic and the chance to learn about it and I don't.

You have the quest and I haven't. So what should I do if you go, Par?”

Par waited a moment, then said, “Well?”

“Well. After all is said and done, after all the arguments for and against have been laid on the table, I keep coming back to a couple of things.” He shifted so he was facing Par. “First, I'm your brother and I love you. That means I don't abandon you, even when I'm not sure if I agree with what you're doing. I've told you that before. Second, if you go …” He paused. “You are going, aren't you?”

There was a long moment of silence. Par did not reply.

“Very well. If you go, it will be a dangerous journey, and you will need someone to watch your back. And that's what brothers are supposed to do for each other. That's second.”

He cleared his throat. “Last, I've thought it all out from the point of view of what I would do if I were you, go or not go, measuring what I perceive to be the right and wrong of the matter.” He paused. “If it were up to me, if I were you, I think I'd go.”

He leaned back against the poplar trunk and waited. Par took a deep breath. “To be honest, Coll, I think that's just about the last thing I ever expected to hear from you.”

Coll smiled. “That's probably why I said it. I don't like to be predictable.”

“So you would go, would you? If you were me?” Par studied his brother silently for a moment, letting the possibility play itself out in his mind. “I don't know if I believe you.”

Coll let the smile broaden. “Of course you do.”

They were still staring at each other as Morgan wandered up and sat down across from them, faintly puzzled as he saw the same look registered on both faces. Steff and Teel came over as well. All three glanced at one another. “What's going on?” Morgan asked finally.

Par stared at him momentarily without seeing him. He saw instead the land beyond, the hills dotted with sparse groves, running south out of the barren stretches of the Dragon's Teeth, fading into a heat that made the earth shimmer. Dust blew in small eddies where sudden breezes scooped at the roadway leading down. It was still beneath the tree, and Par was thinking about the past, remembering the times that Coll and he had shared. The memories were an intimacy that comforted him; they were sharp and clear, most of them, and they made him ache in a sweet, welcome way.

“Well?” Morgan persisted.

Par blinked. “Coll tells me he thinks I ought to do what the shade said. He thinks I ought to try to find the Sword of Shannara.” He paused. “What do you think, Morgan?”

Morgan didn't hesitate. “I think I'm going with you. It gets tiresome spending all of my time tweaking the noses of those Federation dunderheads who try to govern Leah. There's better uses for a man like me.” He lunged to his feet. “Besides, I have a blade that needs testing against things of dark magic!” He reached back in a mock feint for his sword. “And as all
here can bear witness, there's no better way to do so than to keep company with Par Ohmsford!”

Par shook his head despairingly. “Morgan, you shouldn't joke …”

“Joke! But that's just the point! All I've been doing for months now is playing jokes! And what good has it done?” Morgan's lean features were hard. “Here is a chance for me to do something that has real purpose, something far more important than causing Leah's enemies to suffer meaningless irritations and indignities. Come, now! You have to see it as I do, Par. You cannot dispute what I say.” His eyes shifted abruptly. “Steff, how about you? What do you intend? And Teel?”

Steff laughed, his rough features wrinkling. “Well now, Teel and I share pretty much the same point of view on the matter. We have already reached our decision. We came with you in the first place because we were hoping to get our hands on something, magic or whatever, that could help our people break free of the Federation. We haven't found that something yet, but we might be getting closer. What the shade said about the Shadowen spreading the dark magic, living inside men and women and children to do so, might explain a good part of the madness that consumes the Lands. It might even have something to do with why the Federation seems so bent on breaking the backs of the Dwarves! You've seen it for yourself—that's surely what the Federation is about. There's dark magic at work there. Dwarves can sense it better than most because the deeper stretches of the Eastland have always provided a hiding place for it. The only difference in this instance is that, instead of hiding, it's out in the open like a crazed animal, threatening us all. So maybe finding the Sword of Shannara as the shade says will be a step toward penning that animal up again!”

“There, now!” Morgan cried triumphantly. “What better company for you, Par Ohmsford, than that?”

Par shook his head in bewilderment. “None, Morgan, but …”

“Then say you'll do it! Forget Walker and Wren and their excuses! This has meaning! Think of what we might be able to accomplish!” He gave his friend a plaintive look. “Confound it, Par, how can we lose by trying when by trying we have everything to gain?”

Steff reached over and poked him. “Don't push so hard, Highlander. Give the Valeman room to breathe!”

Par stared at them each in turn, at the bluff-faced Steff, the enigmatic Teel, the fervently eager Morgan Leah, and finally Coll. He remembered suddenly that his brother had never finished revealing his own decision. He had only said that if he were Par, he would go.

“Coll …” he began.

But Coll seemed to read his thoughts. “If you're going, I'm going.” His brother's features might have been carved from stone. “From here to wherever this all ends.”

There was a long moment of silence as they faced each other, and the anticipation mirrored in their eyes was a whisper that rustled the leaves of their thoughts as if it were the wind.

Par Ohmsford took a deep breath. “Then I guess the matter's settled,” he said. “Now where do we start?”

A
s usual, Morgan Leah had a plan. “If we expect to have any luck at all locating the Sword, we're going to need help. The five of us are simply too few. After all these years, finding the Sword of Shannara is likely to be like finding the proverbial needle in the haystack—and we don't begin to know enough about the haystack. Steff, you and Teel may be familiar with the Eastland, but Calla-horn and the Borderlands are foreign ground. It's the same with the Vale-men and myself—we simply don't know enough about the country. And let's not forget that the Federation will be prowling about every place we're likely to go. Dwarves and fugitives from the law aren't welcome in the Southland, the last I heard. We'll have to be on the lookout for Shadowen as well. Truth is, they seem drawn to the magic like wolves to the scent of blood, and we can't assume we've seen the last of them. It will be all we can to do watch our backs, let alone figure out what's happened to the Sword. We can't do it alone. We need someone to help us, someone who has a working knowledge of the Four Lands, someone who can supply us with men and weapons.”

He shifted his gaze from the others to Par and smiled that familiar smile that was filled with secretive amusement. “We need your friend from the Movement.”

Par groaned. He was none too keen to reassociate with the outlaws; it seemed an open invitation to trouble. But Steff and Teel and even Coll liked the idea, and after arguing about it for a time he was forced to admit that the Highlander's proposal made sense. The outlaws possessed the resources they lacked and were familiar with the Borderlands and the free territories surrounding them. They would know where to look and what pitfalls to avoid while doing so. Moreover, Par's rescuer seemed a man you could depend upon.