The Scions of Shannara

Chapter Nineteen

As Padishar Creel’s makeshift family reached the edge of the park and prepared to step out onto the Tyrsian Way, Damson Rhee turned to the outlaw chief and said, “The sentries who patrol the wall make a change at midnight in front of the Federation Gatehouse. I can arrange for a small disturbance that will distract them long enough for you to slip into the Pit—if you are determined on this. Be certain you go in at the west end.”

Then she reached up and plucked a silver coin from behind Par’s ear and gave it to him. The coin bore her likeness. “For luck, Par Ohmsford,” she said. “You will be needing it if you continue to follow him.”

She gave Padishar a hard look, took the children by the hand, and strode off into the crowds without looking back, her red hair shining. The outlaw chief and the Valeman watched her go.

“Who is she, Padishar?” Par asked when she was no longer in view.

Padishar shrugged. “Whoever she chooses to be. There are as many stories about her origins as there are about my own. Come, now. Time for us to be going as well.”

He took Par back through the city, keeping to the lesser streets and byways. The crowds were still heavy, everyone pushing and shoving, their faces dust-streaked and their tempers short. Twilight had chased the sunlight west, lengthening the shadows into evening, but the heat of midday remained trapped by the city’s walls, rising out of the stone of the streets and buildings to hang in the still summer air. It was like being in a furnace. Par glanced skyward. Already the quarter-moon was visible northward, a sprinkling of stars east. He tried to think about what he had learned of the disappearance of the Sword of Shannara, but found himself thinking instead of Damson Rhee.

Padishar had him safely back down in the basement of the storage house behind the weapons shop before dark, where Coll and Morgan waited impatiently to receive them. Cutting short a flurry of questions, the outlaw chief smiled cheerfully and announced that everything was arranged. At midnight the Valemen, the Highlander, Ciba Blue, and he would make a brief foray into the ravine that fronted what had once been the palace of the city’s rulers. They would descend using a rope ladder. Stasas and Drutt would remain behind. They would haul the ladder up when their companions were safely down and hide until summoned. Any sentries would be dispatched, the ladder would be lowered again, and they would all disappear back the way they had come.

He was succint and matter-of-fact. He made no mention of why they were doing all this and none of his own men bothered to ask. They simply let him finish, then turned immediately back to whatever they had been doing before. Coll and Morgan, on the other hand, could barely contain themselves, and Par was forced to take them aside and tell them in detail everything that had happened. The three of them huddled in one corner of the basement, seated on sacks of scrubbing powder. Oil lamps lit the darkness, and the city above them began to go still.

When Par concluded, Morgan shook his head doubtfully.

“It is hard to believe that an entire city has forgotten there was more than one People’s Park and Bridge of Sendic,” he declared softly.

“Not hard at all when you remember that they have had more than a hundred years to work on it,” Coll disagreed quickly. “Think about it, Morgan. How much more than a park and a bridge has been forgotten in that time? The Federation has saddled the Four Lands with three hundred years of revisionist history.”

“Coll’s right,” Par said. “We lost our only true historian when Allanon passed from the Lands. The Druid Histories were the only written compilations the Races had, and we don’t know what’s become of those. All we have left are the storytellers, with their word-of-mouth recitations, most of them imperfect.”

“Everything about the old world has been called a lie,” Coll said, his dark eyes hard. “We know it to be the truth, but we are virtually alone in that belief. The Federation has changed everything to suit its own purposes. After a hundred years, it is little wonder that no one in Tyrsis remembers that the People’s Park and the Bridge of Sendic are not the same as they once were. The fact of the matter is, who even cares anymore?”

Morgan frowned. “Perhaps so. But something’s still not right about this.” His frown deepened. “It bothers me that the Sword of Shannara, vault and all, has been down in this ravine all these years and no one’s seen it. It bothers me that no one who’s gone down to have a look has come back out again.”

“That troubles me, too,” Coll agreed.

Par glanced briefly at the outlaws, who were paying no attention to them. “None of us thought for a minute that it wouldn’t be dangerous trying to recover the Sword,” he whispered, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Surely you didn’t expect to just walk up and take it? Of course no one’s seen it! It wouldn’t be missing if they had, would it? And you can bet that the Federation has made certain no one who got down into the Pit got back out again! That’s the reason for the guards and the Gatehouse! Besides, the fact that the Federation has gone to so much trouble to hide the old bridge and park suggests to me that the Sword is down there!”

Coll looked at his brother steadily. “It also suggests that that’s where it’s meant to stay.”

The conversation broke off and the three of them drifted away to separate corners of the basement. Evening passed quickly into nightfall and the heat of the day finally faded. The little company ate an uneventful dinner amid long stretches of silence. Only Padishar had much of anything to say, ebullient as always, tossing off stories and jokes as if this night were the same as any other, seemingly heedless of the fact that his audience remained unresponsive. Par was too excited to eat or talk and spent the time wondering if Padishar were as unaffected as he appeared. Nothing seemed to alter the mood of the outlaw chief. Padishar Creel was either very brave or very foolish, and it bothered the Valeman that he wasn’t sure which it was.

Dinner ended and they sat around talking in hushed voices and staring at the walls. Padishar came over to Par at one point and crouched down beside him. “Are you anxious to be about our business, lad?” he asked softly.

No one else was close enough to hear. Par nodded.

“Ah, well, it won’t be long now.” The outlaw patted his knee. The hard eyes held his own. “Just remember what we’re about. A quick look and out again. If the Sword is there for the taking, fine. If not, no delays.” His smile was wolfish. “Caution in all things.” He slipped away, leaving Par to stare after him.

The minutes lengthened with the wearing slowness of shadows at midday. Par and Coll sat side by side without speaking. Par could almost hear his brother’s thoughts in the silence. The oil lamps flickered and spat. A giant swamp fly buzzed about the ceiling until Ciba Blue killed it. The basement room began to smell close.

Then finally Padishar stood up and said it was time. They came to their feet eagerly, anticipation flickering in their eyes. Weapons were strapped down and cloaks pulled close. They went up the basement stairs through the trapdoor and out into the night.

The city streets were empty and still. Voices drifted out of ale houses and sleeping rooms, punctuated by raucous laughter and occasional shouts. The lamps were mostly broken or unlit on the back streets that Padishar took them down, and there was only moonlight to guide them through the shadows. They did not move furtively, only cautiously, not wishing to draw attention to themselves. They ducked back into alleyways several times to avoid knots of swaying, singing revellers who were making their way homeward. Drunks and beggars who saw them pass barely glanced up from the doorways and alcoves in which they lay. They saw no Federation soldiers. The Federation left the back streets and the poor of Tyrsis to manage for themselves.

When they reached the People’s Park and the Bridge of Sendic, Padishar sent them across the broad expanse of the Tyrsian Way in twos and threes into the shadows of the park, dispatching them in different directions to regroup later, carefully watching the well-lighted Way for any approach of the Federation patrols he knew would be found there. Only one patrol passed, and it saw nothing of the company. A watch was posted before the Gatehouse at the center of the wall which warded the Pit, but the soldiers had lamplight reflecting all about them and could not see outside its glow to the figures lost in the dark beyond. Padishar took the company swiftly through the deserted park west to where the ravine approached its juncture with the cliffs. There, he settled them in to wait.

Par crouched motionlessly in the dark and listened to the sound of his heart pumping in his ears. The silence about him was filled with the hum of insects. Locusts buzzed in raucous cadence in the black. The seven men were concealed in a mass of thicket, invisible to anyone without. But anyone beyond their concealment was invisible to them as well. Par was uneasy with their placement and wondered at its choice. He glanced at Padishar Creel, but the outlaw chief was busy overseeing the untangling of the rope ladder that would lower them into the ravine...

Par hesitated. The Pit. Lower them into the Pit. He forced himself to say the word.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He wondered if Damson Rhee was anywhere close.

A patrol of four Federation soldiers materialized out of the dark almost directly in front of them, walking the perimeter of the wall. Though the sound of their boots warned of their coming, it was chilling when they appeared, nevertheless. Par and the others flattened themselves in the scratchy tangle of their concealment. The soldiers paused, spoke quietly among themselves for a moment, then turned back the way they had come, and were gone.

Par exhaled slowly. He risked a quick glance over at the dark bowl of the ravine. It was a soundless, depthless well of ink.

Padishar and the other outlaws were lowering the rope ladder down now, fixing it in place, preparing for the descent. Par came to his feet, eager to relieve muscles that were beginning to cramp, anxious to be done with this whole business. He should have felt confident. He did not. He was growing steadily more uneasy and he couldn’t say why. Something was rugging at him frantically, warning him, some sixth sense that he couldn’t identify.

He thought he heard something—not ahead in the ravine, but behind in the park. He started to turn, his sharp Elf eyes searching.

Then abruptly there was a flurry of shouts from the direction of the Gatehouse, and cries of alarm pierced the night.

“Now!” Padishar Creel urged, and they bolted their cover for the wall.

The ladder was already knotted in place, tied down to a pair of the wall spikes. Ciba Blue went over first, the cobalt birthmark on his cheek a dark, hollow place in the moonlight. He tested the ladder first with his weight, then disappeared from view.

“Remember, listen for my signal,” Padishar was saying hurriedly to Strasas and Drutt, his voice a rough whisper above the distant shouts.

He was turning to start Par down the ladder after Ciba Blue when a swarm of Federation soldiers appeared out of the dark behind them, armed with spears and crossbows, silent figures that seemed to come from nowhere. Everyone froze. Par felt his stomach lurch with shock. He found himself thinking, “I should have known, I should have sensed them,” and thinking in the next breath that indeed he had.

“Lay down your weapons,” a voice commanded.

For just an instant, Par was afraid that Padishar Creel would choose to fight rather than surrender. The outlaw chief’s eyes darted left and right, his tall form rigid. But the odds were overwhelming. His face relaxed, he gave a barely perceptible smile, and dropped his sword and long knife in front of him wordlessly. The others of the little company did the same, and the Federation soldiers closed about. Weapons were scooped up and arms bound behind backs.

“There’s another of them down in the Pit,” a soldier advised the leader of their captors, a smallish man with short-cropped hair and commander’s bars on his dark tunic.

The commander glanced over. “Cut the ropes, let him drop.”

The rope ladder was cut through in a moment. It fell soundlessly into the black. Par waited for a cry, but there was none. Perhaps Ciba Blue had already completed his descent. He glanced at Coll, who just shook his head helplessly.

The Federation commander stepped up to Padishar. “You should know, Padishar Creel,” he said quietly, his tone measured, “that you were betrayed by one of your own.”

He waited momentarily for a response, but there was none. Padishar’s face was expressionless. Only his eyes revealed the rage that he was somehow managing to contain.

Then the silence was shattered by a terrifying scream that rose out of the depths of the Pit. It lifted into the night like a stricken bird, hovering against the cliff rock until at last, mercifully, it dropped away.

The scream had been Ciba Blue’s, Par thought in horror.

The Federation commander gave the ravine a perfunctory glance and ordered his prisoners led away.

They were taken through the park along the ravine wall toward the Gatehouse, kept in single file and apart from each other by the soldiers guarding them. Par trudged along with the others in stunned silence, the sound of Ciba Blue’s scream still echoing in his mind. What had happened to the outlaw down there alone in the Pit? He swallowed against the sick feeling in his stomach and forced himself to think of something else. Betrayed, the Federation commander had said. But by whom? None of them there, obviously—so someone who wasn’t. One of Padishar’s own...

He tripped over a tree root, righted himself and stumbled on. His mind whirled with a scattering of thoughts. They were being taken to the Federation prisons, he concluded. Once there, the grand adventure was over. There would be no more searching for the missing Sword of Shannara. There would be no further consideration of the charge given him by Allanon. No one ever came out of the Federation prisons.

He had to escape.

The thought came instinctively, clearing his mind as nothing else could. He had to escape. If he didn’t, they would all be locked away and forgotten. Only Damson Rhee knew where they were, and it had occurred suddenly to Par that Damson Rhee had been in the best position to betray them.

It was an unpleasant possibility. It was also unavoidable.

His breathing slowed. This was the best opportunity to break free that he would get. Once within the prisons, it would be much more difficult to manage. Perhaps Padishar would come up with a plan by then, but Par didn’t care to chance it. Uncharitably, perhaps, he was thinking that Padishar was the one who had gotten them into this mess.

He watched the lights of the Gatehouse flicker ahead through the trees of the park. He only had a few minutes more. He thought he could manage it, but he would have to go alone. He would have to leave Coll and Morgan. There wasn’t any choice.

Voices sounded from ahead, other soldiers waiting for their return. The line began to string out and some of the guards were straying a bit. Par took a deep breath. He waited until they were passing along a cluster of scrub birch, then used the wishsong. He sang softly, his voice blending into “the sounds of the night, a whisper of breeze, a bird’s gentle call, a cricket’s brief chirp He let the wish song’s magic reach out and fill the minds of the guards immediately next to him, distracting them, turning their eyes away from him, letting them forget that he was there...

And then he simply stepped into the birch and shadows and disappeared.

The line of prisoners passed on without him. No one had noticed that he was gone. If Coll or Morgan or any of the others had seen anything, they were keeping still about it. The Federation soldiers and their prisoners continued moving toward the lights ahead, leaving him alone.

When they were gone, he moved soundlessly off into the night.

He managed to free himself almost immediately of the ropes that held his hands. He found a spike with a jagged edge on the ravine wall a hundred yards from where he had slipped away and, boosting himself up on the wall, sawed through the ropes in only minutes. No alarm had gone up yet from the watch; apparently, he hadn’t been missed. Maybe they hadn’t bothered to count the original number of their prisoners, he reasoned. After all, it had been dark, and the capture had taken place in a matter of seconds.

At any rate, he was free. So what was he going to do now?

He worked his way back through the park toward the Tyrsian Way, keeping to the shadows, stopping every few seconds to listen for the sounds of the pursuit that never came. He was sweating freely, his tunic sticking to his back, his face streaked with dust. He was exhilarated by his escape and devastated by the realization that he didn’t know how to take advantage of it. There was no help for him in Tyrsis and no help for him without. He didn’t know whom to contact within the city; there was no one he could afford to trust. And he had no idea how to get back into the Parma Key. Steff would help if he knew his companions were in trouble. But how would the Dwarf find out before it was too late to matter?

The lights of the Way came into view through the trees. Par stumbled to the edge of the park, close to its western boundaries, and collapsed in despair against the trunk of an old maple. He had to do something; he couldn’t just wander about. He brushed at his face with his sleeve and let his head sink back against the rough bark. He was suddenly sick and it took every ounce of willpower he could muster to prevent himself from retching.

He had to get back to Coll and Morgan. He had to find a way to free them.

Use the wishsong, he thought.

But how?

A Federation patrol came down the Way, boots clumping in the stillness. Par shrank back into the shadows and waited until they were out of sight. Then he moved from his cover along the edge of the park toward a fountain bordering the walk. Once there, he leaned over and hurriedly splashed water on his hands and face. The water ran along his skin like liquid silver.

He paused, letting his head sink against his chest. He was suddenly very tired.

The arm that yanked him around was strong and unyielding, snapping his head back violently. He found himself face to face with Damson Rhee.

“What happened?” she demanded, her voice low.

Frantically, Par reached for his long knife. But his weapons were gone, taken by the Federation. He shoved at the girl, trying to rip free of her grip, but she sidestepped the blow without effort and kicked him so hard in the stomach that he doubled over.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” she whispered angrily.

Without waiting for an answer, she hauled him back into the concealing shadows of the park and threw him to the ground. “If you try something like that again with me, I will break both your arms!” she snapped.

Par pulled himself up to a sitting position, still looking for a way to escape. But she shoved him back against the ground and crouched close. “Why don’t we try again, my beloved Elf-boy? Where are the others? What has happened to them?”

Par swallowed against his rage. “The Federation has them! They were waiting for us, Damson! As if you didn’t know!”

The anger in her eyes was replaced by surprise. “What do you mean, as if I didn’t know?”

“They were waiting for us. We never got past the wall. We were betrayed! The Federation commander told us so! He said it was one of our own—an outlaw, Damson!” Par was shaking.

Damson Rhee’s gaze was steady. “And you have decided that it was me, have you, Par Ohmsford?”

Par forced himself up on his elbows. “Who better than you? You were the only one who knew what we were about—the only one not taken! No one else knew! If not you, then who could it possibly have been?”

There was a long silence as they stared at each other in the dark. The sound of voices nearby grew slowly distinct. Someone was approaching.

Damson Rhee suddenly bent close. “I don’t know. But it wasn’t me! Now lie still until they pass!”

She pushed him into a gathering of bushes, then backed in herself and lay down beside him. Par could feel the warmth of her body. He could smell the sweet scent of her. He closed his eyes and waited. A pair of Federation soldiers worked their way out of the park, paused momentarily, then started back again and were gone.

Damson Rhee put her lips close against Par’s ear. “Do they know you are missing yet?”

Par hesitated. “I can’t be certain,” he whispered back.

She took his chin with her smooth hand and turned his face until it was level with her own. “I didn’t betray you. It may seem as if I must have, but I didn’t. If I intended to betray you to the Federation, Par, I would have simply turned you over to that pair of soldiers and been done with it.”

The green eyes glittered faintly with moonlight that had penetrated the branches of their concealment. Par stared at those eyes and found no hint of deception mirrored there. Still, he hesitated.

“You have to decide here and now whether you believe me,” she said quietly.

He shook his head warily. “It isn’t that easy!”

“It has to be! Look at me, Par. I have betrayed no one—not you or Padishar or the others, not now, not ever! Why would I do something like that? I hate the Federation as much as anyone!” She paused, exasperated. “I told you that this was a dangerous undertaking. I warned you that the Pit was a black hole that swallowed men whole. Padishar was the one who insisted you go!”

“That doesn’t make him responsible for what happened.”

“Nor me! What about the distraction I promised? Did it come about as I said it would?”

Par nodded.

“You see! I fulfilled my part of the bargain! Why would I bother if I intended your betrayal?”

Par said nothing.

Damson’s nostrils flared. “You will admit to nothing, will you?” She shook back her auburn hair in a flash of color. “Will you at least tell me what happened?”

Par took a deep breath. Briefly, he related the events that surrounded their capture, including the frightening disappearance of the outlaw Ciba Blue. He kept deliberately vague the circumstances of his own escape. The magic was his business. Its secret belonged to him.

But Damson was not about to be put off. “So the fact of the matter is, you might as easily be the betrayer as I,” she said. “How else is it that you managed to escape when the others could not?”

Par flushed, resentful of the accusation, irritated by her persistence. “Why would I do such a thing to my friends?”

“My own argument exactly,” she replied.

They studied each other wordlessly, each measuring the strength of the other. Damson was right, Par knew. There was as much reason to believe that he had been the betrayer as she. But that didn’t change the fact that he knew he wasn’t while he didn’t know the same of her.

“Decide, Par,” she urged quietly. “Do you believe me or not?”

Her features were smooth and guileless in the scattering of light, her skin dappled with shadows from the tiny leaves of the bushes. He found himself drawn to her in a way he had not believed possible. There was something special about this girl, something that made him push aside his misgivings and cast out his doubts. The green eyes held him, insinuating and persuasive. He saw only truth in them.

“Okay, I believe you,” he said finally.

“Then tell me how it is that you escaped when the others did not,” she demanded. “No, don’t argue the matter. I must have proof of your own innocence if we are to be of any use to each other or to our friends.”

Par’s resolve to keep to himself the secret of the wishsong slipped slowly away. Again, she was right. She was asking only what he would have asked in her place. “I used magic,” he told her.

She inched closer, as if to judge better the truth of what he was saying. “Magic? What sort?”

He hesitated yet.

“Sleight of hand? Cloud spells?” she pressed. “Some sort of vanishing act?”

“Yes,” he replied. She was waiting. “I have the ability to make myself invisible when I wish.”

There was a long silence. He read the curiosity in her eyes. “You command real magic, don’t you?” she said finally. “Not the pretend kind that I use, where coins appear and disappear and fire dances on the air. You have the sort that is forbidden. That is why Padishar is so interested in you.” She paused. “Who are you, Par Ohmsford? Tell me.”

It was still within the park now; the voices of the watch passed from hearing, the night gone deep and silent once more. There might have been no one else in all the world but the two of them. Par weighed the advisability of his reply. He was stepping on stones that floated in quicksand.

“You can see who I am for yourself,” he said finally, hedging. “I am part Elf and that part of me carries the magic of my forebears. I have their magic to command—or some small part of it, at least.”

She looked at him for a long time then, thinking. At last she seemed to have made up her mind. She crawled from the concealment of the bushes, pulling him out with her. They stood together in the shadows, brushing themselves off, breathing deeply the cool night air. The park was deserted.

She came up to him and stood close. T was born in Tyrsis, the child of a forger of weapons and his wife. I had one brother and one sister, both older. When I was eight, the Federation discovered my father was supplying arms to the Movement. Someone—a friend, an acquaintance, I never knew who—betrayed him. Seekers came to our house in the middle of the night, fired it and burned it to the ground. My family was locked inside and burned with it. I escaped only because I was visiting my aunt. Within a year she was dead as well, and I was forced to live in the streets. That is where I grew up. My family was all gone. I had no friends. A street magician took me as his apprentice and taught me my trade. That has been my life.“ She paused. “You deserve to know why it is that I would never betray anyone to the Federation.”

She reached up with her hand and her fingers brushed his cheek for just a moment. Then her hand trailed down to his arm and fastened there

“Par, we must do whatever it is we are going to do tonight or it will be too late. The Federation knows who they have. Padishar Creel. They will send for Rimmer Dall and his Seekers to question Padishar. Once that happens, rescue will be pointless.” She paused, making certain that he took her meaning. “We have to help them now.”

Par went cold at the thought of Coll and Morgan in the hands of Rimmer Dall—let alone Padishar. What would the First Seeker do to the leader of the Movement?

“Tonight,” she continued, her voice soft, but insistent. “While they are not expecting it. They will still have Padishar and the others in the cells at the Gatehouse. They won’t have moved them yet. They will be tired, sleepy with the coming of morning. We won’t get a better chance.“

He stared at her incredulously. “You and I?”

“If you agree to come with me.”

“But what can the two of us do?”

She pulled him close. Her red hair shimmered darkly in the moonlight. “Tell me about your magic. What can you do with it, Par Ohmsford?”

There was no hesitation now. “Make myself invisible,” he said. “Make myself appear to be different than I am. Make others think they are seeing things that aren’t there.” He was growing excited. “Just about anything that I want if it’s not for too long and not too extended. It’s just illusion, you understand.”

She walked away from him, paced into the trees close by and stopped. She stood there in the shadows, lost in thought. Par waited where he was, feeling the cool night air brush his skin in a sudden breath of wind, listening to the silence that spread across the city like the waters of an ocean across its floor. He could almost swim through that silence, drifting away to better times and places. There was fear in him that he could not suppress—fear at the thought of returning for his friends, fear at the thought of failing in the attempt. But to attempt nothing at all was unthinkable.

Still, what could they do—just this slip of a girl and himself?

As if reading his mind she came back to him then, green eyes intense, seized his arms tightly and whispered, “I think I know a way, Par.”

He smiled in spite of himself.

“Tell me about it,” he said.