The Sword of Shannara

Chapter Thirteen

When Shea finally opened his eyes, it was midafternoon of the following day. He found himself resting comfortably in a long bed, tucked in with clean sheets and blankets, his hunting clothes replaced by a loose white gown tied about his neck. On the bed next to him lay the still–sleeping Flick, his broad face no longer drawn and pale, but alive once more with the color of life and peaceful in slumber. They were in a small, plaster–walled room with a ceiling supported by long wooden beams. Through the windows, the young Valeman could see the trees of the Anar and the shining blueness of the afternoon sky. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious or what had happened during that time to bring him to this unknown place. But he felt certain that the creature of the Wolfsktaag had nearly killed him, and that Flick and he owed their lives to the men of the company. His attention was quickly drawn to the opening door at one end of the small room and the appearance of an anxious Menion Leah.

«Well, old friend, I see that you’ve come back to the world of the living.» The highlander smiled slowly as he came over to the bedside. «You gave us quite a scare there for a while, you know.»

«We made it, didn’t we?» Shea grinned happily at the familiar joking voice.

Menion nodded briefly and turned to the supine figure of Flick, who had stirred slightly beneath the covers and was beginning to awake. The stocky Valeman opened his eyes slowly and looked up hesitantly, seeing the grinning face of the highlander.

«I knew it was too good to be true,” he groaned painfully. «Even dead, I can’t escape him. It’s a curse!»

«Old Flick has fully recovered as well.» Menion laughed shortly. «I hope he appreciates the work it took to carry that cumbersome body of his all this way.»

«The day you do any honest work, I’ll be amazed,” mumbled Flick, trying to clear his sleep–fogged eyes. He looked over at a smiling Shea and grinned back with a short wave of greeting.

«Where are we anyway?» asked Shea curiously, forcing himself to sit up in bed. He was still feeling weak. «How long have I been unconscious?»

Menion sat down on the edge of the bed and repeated the entire tale of their journey after escaping the creature in the valley. He told them of the march to the Pass of Jade and the encounter with the Gnomes there, the plan to get them by, and the results. He faltered a bit retelling of Hendel’s sacrifice to the company. Shocked looks registered on the Valemen’s faces on hearing of the gallant Dwarf’s grisly death at the hands of the enraged Gnomes. Menion quickly continued with the remainder of the story, explaining how they had wandered through the Anar until discovered by Allanon and the strange people called Stors, who had treated their wounds and brought them to this place.

«This land is called Storlock,” he concluded finally. «The people here are Gnomes who have dedicated their lives to healing the sick and injured. It’s really amazing what they can do. They have a salve which, when applied to an open wound, closes it up and heals it over in twelve hours. I saw it work myself on an injury Dayel received.»

Shea shook his head in disbelief and was about to ask for further details when the door again opened to admit Allanon. For the first time he could remember, Shea thought the dark wanderer actually seemed happy, and detected a sincere smile of relief on the grim face. The man walked quickly over to them and nodded in satisfaction.

«I am certainly pleased that you have both recovered from your wounds. I was gravely concerned about you, but it appears the Stors have done their work well. Do you feel recovered enough to get out of bed and walk around a bit, perhaps to have some food?»

Shea looked inquiringly over at Flick, and they both nodded.

«Very well, then, go along with Menion and test your strength,” the historian suggested. «It is important that you feel well enough to travel again soon.»

Without further word, he left by the same door, shutting it softly behind him. They watched him go, wondering how he could continue to be so coldly formal in his attitude toward them. Menion shrugged, advising them that he would find their hunting clothes which had been taken out and cleaned. tie left and quickly returned with their clothing, whereupon the Valemen rose weakly from their beds and dressed while Menion told them a little more about the Stors. He explained that he had mistrusted them at first because they were Gnomes, but his fears had rapidly vanished upon watching them care for the Valemen. The others in the company had slept well into the morning before waking and were scattered now about the village, enjoying their brief respite on the journey to Paranor.

The three left the room shortly thereafter and entered another building that served as a dining hall for the village, where they were given generous portions of hot food to appease their ravenous appetites. Even with their injuries, the Valemen found themselves able to put away several helpings of the nourishing meal. After finishing, Menion led them outside where they encountered a fully recuperated Durin and Dayel, both delighted to see the Valemen back on their feet. At Menion’s suggestion, the five walked to the south end of the village to see the wondrous Blue Pond that the highlander had been told about by the Stors earlier in the day. It took only a few minutes for them to reach the small pond, and they sat at its edge beneath a huge weeping willow and gazed in silence at the placid blue surface. Menion told them that the Stors made many of their salves and balms from the waters of that pond, which were said to have special healing elements that could be found nowhere else in the world. Shea tasted the water and found it different from anything he had ever encountered, but not at all displeasing to drink. The others tried it as well and murmured their approval. The Blue Pond was such a peaceful place that for a moment they all sat back and forgot their hazardous journey, thinking about their homes and the people they had left behind.

«This pond reminds me of Beleal, my home in the Westland.» Durin smiled to himself as he ran a finger through the water, tracing out some image from his mind. «There, you can find the same sort of peace we have here.»

«We’ll be back there before you know it,” Dayel promised, and then added eagerly, almost boyishly, «And I’ll be married to Lynliss and we’ll have many children.»

«Forget it,” declared Menion abruptly. «Stay single and stay happy.»

«You haven’t seen her, Menion,” Dayel continued brightly. «She is like no one you have seen — a gentle, kind girl, as beautiful as this pond is clear.»

Menion shook his head in mock despair and slapped the frail Elf on his shoulder lightly, smiling his understanding of the other’s deep feeling for the Elven girl. No one spoke for a few minutes as they continued to gaze with mixed feelings at the blue waters of the Stor pond. Then Shea turned to them questioningly.

«Do you think we are doing the right thing? I mean going on this trip and all. Does it all seem worth, it to you?»

«That seems funny coming from you, Shea,” remarked Durin thoughtfully. «The way I see it, you have the most to lose by coming along. In fact, you are the whole purpose of this journey. Do you feel it’s worth it?»

Shea considered for a moment while the others looked on silently.

«That’s not really a fair question to ask him,” defended Flick.

«Yes, it is,” Shea cut in soberly. «They are all risking their lives for me, and I’ve been the only one expressing any doubts about what we’re doing. But I can’t answer my own question, even to myself, because I feel I still don’t know exactly what’s happening. I do not think that we have the whole picture before us.»

I know what you mean,“ Menion agreed. ”Allanon hasn’t told us everything about what we’re doing on this trip. There’s more to this business about the Sword of Shannara than we know.“

«Has anybody ever seen the Sword?» Dayel asked suddenly. The others shook their heads negatively. «Maybe there is no Sword.»

«Oh, I think that the Sword exists, all right,” Durin declared quickly. «But once we get it, what do we do with it? What can Shea do against the power of the Warlock Lord, even with the Sword of Shannara?»

«I think we must trust to Allanon to answer that when the time comes,” another voice said.

The new voice came from behind the five, and they turned around sharply, breathing an audible sigh of relief when it was Balinor who, appeared. Even as he watched the Prince of Callahorn stroll over to them, Shea wondered to himself why it was that they all still felt an unspoken fear of Allanon. The borderman smiled a greeting to Shea and Flick and seated himself with the others.

«Well, it appears that our hardships in coming through the Pass of Jade were worth it after all. I’m glad to see that you’re all right.»

«I’m sorry about Hendel.» Shea sounded awkward to himself. «I know he was a close friend.»

«It was a calculated risk that the situation demanded,” replied Balinor softly. «He knew what he was doing and what the chances were. He did it for all of us.»

«What happens next?» asked Flick after a moment.

«We wait for Allanon to decide on our route for the last leg of the journey,” replied Balinor. «Incidentally, I meant what I said about trusting him. He is a great man, a good man, though it may appear otherwise at times. He tells us what he feels we ought to know, but believe me, he does the worrying for us all. Do not be too quick to judge him.»

«You know that he hasn’t told us everything,” Menion stated simply.

«I am certain he has told us only part of the tale.» Balinor nodded. «But he is the only one who realized the threat to the four lands in the first place. We owe him a great deal, and the very least of that is a little trust.»

The others nodded slowly in agreement, more for the reason that they all respected the borderman than because they felt convinced by his reassurances. This was especially true of Menion, who recognized that Balinor was a man of great courage, the kind of man whom Menion looked to as a leader. They spoke no more on the matter, but turned to a further discussion of the Stors, their history as a branch of the Gnome nations and their long, abiding friendship with Allanon. The sun was setting when the tall historian appeared unexpectedly and joined them by the Blue Pond.

«After I am finished with you I want the Valemen back in bed for a few hours’ rest. It probably wouldn’t hurt the rest of you to get some sleep as well. We will leave this place some time around midnight.»

«Isn’t this a little sudden after the wounds Shea and Flick received?» Menion asked cautiously.

«That cannot be helped, highlander.» The grim face seemed black even in the fading sunlight. «We are all running out of time. If word of our mission, or even our presence in this part of the Anar, reaches the Warlock Lord, he will try to move the Sword immediately, and without it this journey is pointless.»

«Flick and I can make it,” Shea declared resolutely.

«What will be the route?» Balinor asked.

«We will cross the Rabb Plains tonight, a march of about four hours. If we are lucky, we will not be caught out in the open, although I am quite sure the Skull Bearers will still be searching for both Shea and myself. We can only hope they haven’t managed to trace us into the Anar. I hadn’t told you before, because you had enough to concern you, but any use of the Elfstones pinpoints our position to Brona and his hunters. The mystical power of the stones can be detected by any creature of the spirit world, warning him that sorcery similar to his own is being used.»

«Then, when we used the Elfstones in the Mist Marsh…» Flick began in horror.

«You told the Skull Bearers exactly where you were,” Allanon finished with that infuriating smile. «If you hadn’t lost yourselves in the mist and the Black Oaks, they might have had you right there.»

Shea felt a sudden chill sweep over him as he recalled how close they had felt to death at the time, little realizing how much danger they were really in from the creatures they feared the most.

«If you knew that use of the stones would attract the spirit creatures, then why didn’t you tell us?» demanded Shea angrily. «Why did you give them to us to use for protection when you knew what would happen?»

«You were cautioned, my young friend,” came the slow, growling response that always indicated Allanon’s temper was shortening. «Without them, you would have been at the mercy of other equally dangerous elements. Besides, they are protection enough in themselves against the winged ones.»

He waved off further questions, indicating that the subject was closed, causing Shea to become even more suspicious and angered. A watchful Durin saw all the signs and placed a restraining hand on the young Valeman’s shoulder, shaking his head in warning.

«If we may return to the matter at hand,” Allanon continued on a more even tone, «let me explain further the chosen route for the next few days without interruption. The journey across the Rabb Plains will put us at the foot of the Dragon’s Teeth at daybreak. Those mountains offer all the protection we need from anyone searching for us. But the real problem is getting over them and down the other side to the forests surrounding Paranor. All the known passes through the Dragon’s Teeth will be closely guarded by the allies of the Warlock Lord, and any attempt to scale those peaks without using one of the passes would get half of us killed. So we’ll go through the mountains by a different route, one that they won’t be guarding.»

«Wait a minute!» exclaimed Balinor in astonishment. «You don’t plan to take us through the Tomb of the Kings!»

«There is no other alternative open to us if we wish to avoid being discovered. We can enter the Hall of Kings at sunrise and be completely through the mountains and outside Paranor by sundown without the guards at the passes being any the wiser.»

«But the stories say no one has ever gotten through those caverns alive!» insisted Durin, coming quickly to Balinor’s aid in discounting the suggested plan. «None of us is afraid of the living, but the spirits of the dead inhabit those caves and only, the dead may pass through unharmed. No living person has ever done it!»

Balinor nodded his head slowly in agreement, while the others looked on anxiously. Menion and the Valemen had never even heard of the place of which the others seemed so deathly afraid. Allanon was actually grinning strangely at Durin’s last comment, his eyes dark beneath the heavy brows, his white teeth showing in menacing fashion.

«You are not entirely correct, Durin,” he replied after a minute. «I have been through the Hall of Kings, and I tell you that it can be done. It is not a journey to be made without risk. The caverns are indeed inhabited by the spirits of the dead, and it is on this that Brona relies to prevent the entry of humans. But my power should be sufficient to protect us.»

Menion Leah had no idea what it was about the caverns that could cause even a man like Balinor to have second thoughts, but whatever it was, he felt there was a good reason to fear it. Moreover he was through questioning what he had called old wives’ tales and foolish legends, since the encounters in the Mist Marsh and the Wolfsktaag. What really concerned him now was what sort of powers the man who proposed to lead them through the caves, of the Dragon’s Teeth might possess that could protect them from spirits.

«The entire journey has been a calculated risk.» Allanon was speaking once again. «We all knew what the dangers were before we began it. Are you ready to turn back at this point, or do we see the matter through to the end?»

«We will follow you,” Balinor declared after only a moment’s hesitation. «You knew we would. The risk is worth it if we can lay our hands on the Sword.»

Allanon smiled slightly, his deep–set eyes traveling over the faces of the others, meeting each gaze piercingly, coming to rest at last on Shea. The Valeman stared back unfalteringly, though his heart felt twinges of fear and uncertainty as those eyes bored into his innermost thoughts, seemingly aware of every secret doubt the Valeman had tried to conceal.

«Very well.» Allanon nodded darkly. «Go now and rest.»

He turned abruptly and walked back toward the Stor village. Balinor hastened after the departing figure, apparently wishing to ask something further. The others watched both until they were out of sight. Then, for the first time, Shea realized it was almost dark, the sun sinking slowly beneath the horizon and the twilight a soft white light in the deepening purple sky. For a moment no one moved, and then silently they climbed to their feet and retired to the peaceful village to sleep until the appointed hour of midnight.

It seemed to Shea that he had just fallen asleep when he felt the rough grip of a strong hand shaking him awake. A moment later, the sharp glare of a burning torch flickered through the darkened room, causing him to squint protectively while his sleep–filled eyes adjusted to this new light. Through a mist of sleep, he saw the determined face of Menion Leah, the anxious eyes telling him that the hour had come for them to depart. He rose unsteadily in the cold night air and, after a moment’s hesitation, hastened to dress. Flick was already awake and half dressed, the stolid face a welcome sight in the eerie silence of midnight. Shea felt strong once again, strong enough to make the long march across the Rabb Plains to the Dragon’s Teeth and beyond if necessary — anything to reach the end of the journey.

Minutes later, the three companions were making their way through the sleeping Stor village to meet the other members of the company. The darkened houses were black, squarish bulks in the dim light of a night sky which was moonless and screened by a heavy blanket of clouds that moved sluggishly toward some undetermined destination. It was a good night to travel in the open, and Shea felt reassured by the idea that any searching emissaries of the Warlock Lord would have a very difficult time spotting them. As they walked, he found that he could barely detect the tread of their light hunting boots on the damp earth. Everything seemed to be working in their favor.

When they reached the western boundary of Storlock, they found the others waiting, except for Allanon. Durin and Dayel appeared like empty forms in the blackness, their slight figures only shadows as they paced wordlessly, listening to the sounds of the night. Passing close to them at one point, Shea was struck by the distinctive Elven features, the strange pointed ears and. the pencil–thin eyebrows arching upward onto the forehead. He wondered if other humans looked at him the way he now looked at the Elven brothers. Were they truly different creatures? He wondered again about the history behind the Elf people, the history that Allanon had referred to once as remarkable, but had never described further. Their history was his own, he knew now what he had always suspected. It was something he wanted to know more about, perhaps if only better to understand his own heritage and the tale of the Sword of Shannara.

He looked over to the tall, broad figure of Balinor standing like a statue to one side, his face featureless in the dark. Balinor was unquestionably the most reassuring thing about the whole expedition. There was something very durable about the borderman, a quality of indestructibility that lent itself freely to all of the members of the company and gave them courage. Even Allanon did not inspire them in quite this way, although Shea felt. that he was easily the more powerful of the two. Perhaps Allanon, in his seemingly infinite awareness of all matters, knew what Balinor did for other men and had brought him along for precisely that reason.

«Quite so, Shea.» The soft voice was so close to his ear that the Valeman leaped violently in surprise as the black–cloaked wanderer strolled past him and motioned the others to his side. «The journey must be made while we have the cover of the night. Stay together and keep your eyes on the men ahead. There will be no talking.»

Without further greeting, the dark giant led them into the Anar Forests along a narrow trail that ran directly west out of Storlock. Shea fell into step behind Menion, his heart still in his throat from the fright he had received, his mind racing madly back over the past encounters with the strange man, wondering if what, he had suspected all along were true after all. In any event, he would keep his thoughts to himself any time Allanon was close, however difficult that task might prove to be.

The company reached the western edges of the Anar Forests and the beginning of the Rabb Plains sooner than Shea had expected. Despite the blackness of the night sky, the Valemen could sense the presence of the Dragon’s Teeth looming in the distance; without speaking, they looked at one another briefly, then turned back to peer anxiously into he darkness. Allanon led them across the empty plainland without pausing and without slackening the pace. The Plains were completely flat, totally free of natural obstructions and visibly lifeless. The only things growing were small scrub trees and bits of scattered brush that were bare and skeletonlike in appearance. The floor of the plain was hard–packed earth, so dry in parts that it split apart in long, jagged crevices. Nothing moved about the travelers as they marched in silence, their eyes and ears alert to anything out of the ordinary. At one point, when they were almost three hours into the Rabb Plains, Dayel brought them up with a quick gesture, indicating that he had heard something behind them, far back in the blackness. They crouched soundless and immobile for several long minutes, but nothing happened. At last Allanon shrugged and motioned them back into line, and they resumed their march.

They reached the Dragon’s Teeth just before daybreak, the night sky still black and clouded as they halted at the foot of the forbidding mountains that spread upward across their path like monstrous spikes on an iron gate. Both Shea and Flick felt strong, even after the long march, and quickly indicated to the others that they were ready to continue without a rest. Allanon seemed eager to move on immediately, almost as if he were determined to keep an appointment. He took them straight into the treacherous–looking mountains along a pebble–strewn trail that wound gently upward into what appeared to be a pocket in the face of the cliffs. Flick found himself looking up at the peaks on either side of the trail as he walked, craning his stout neck at right angles to catch occasional glimpses of the jagged tips. The Dragon’s Teeth seemed an appropriate name.

The mountains on either side began to fold about them as they worked their way toward the cliff pocket. Beyond that shallow pass, they could glimpse other mountains, higher than these and clearly insurmountable by anything that could not fly. Shea paused momentarily at one point, picked up a piece of the loose rock from beneath his feet, and examined it curiously as he resumed walking. To his surprise, it was smooth on its fiat surfaces, almost glassy in appearance, and its color was a deep, mirroring black that reminded the Valeman of the coal he had seen burned as fuel in some of the Southland communities. Yet this appeared to be more durable than coal, as if it had been pressured and polished to reach its present state. He handed. it to Flick, who glanced at it, shrugged disinterestedly and tossed it aside.

The trail began to twist through huge clusters of fallen boulders, causing the travelers momentarily to lose all sight of the surrounding mountains. They wound about in the tangle of rock for a long time, still climbing toward the pocket, their dark leader apparently oblivious to the fact that no one had any idea where they were going. Finally they reached a clearing in the rocks where they could see enough of the high cliffs about them to tell that they were at the opening to the pocket and evidently close to the summit of the trail, which would then either have to turn downward or level off into the mountains. It was here that Balinor broke the silence with a low whistle, bringing the company to a halt. He spoke momentarily with burin, who had fallen back with the borderman at the foot of the mountains, then quickly turned to Allanon and the others with a startle look on his face.

«Durin is certain he heard someone following us on the trail up!» he informed them tensely. «There’s no question about it this time — someone is back there.»

Allanon glanced up hurriedly at the night sky. His dark brow furrowed in concern, the lean face revealing that he was deeply worried by this report. He looked at Durin uncertainly.

«I’m sure there is someone back there,” Durin affirmed.

«I cannot stop here to deal with this myself. I have to be in the valley ahead before the break of day,” Allanon declared abruptly. «Whatever is back there must be delayed until I have finished — it is essential!» Shea had never heard the man sound so determined about anything, and he caught the looks of consternation on both Flick’s and Menion’s faces as they glanced quickly at one another. Whatever it was Allanon had to do in the valley, it was critical to him that he not be interrupted until he had finished.

«I’ll stay behind,” Balinor volunteered, drawing his great sword. «Wait for me in the valley.»

«Not alone, you won’t,” Menion spoke up quickly. «I’m staying, too, just in case.»

Balinor smiled briefly and nodded his approval to the highlander. Allanon looked at him for a moment as if to object, then nodded curtly and motioned the others to follow him. The Elven brothers hastened up the trail behind the tall leader, but Shea and Flick hung back uncertainly, until Menion motioned for them to get going. Shea waved briefly, reluctant to desert his friend, but realizing that he would be of little help in staying. He glanced back only once and saw the two men positioning themselves among the rocks on either side of the narrow trail, their swords gleaming dully in the faint starlight, their dark hunting cloaks blending with the shadows of the rocks.

Allanon led the remaining four members of the company ahead through the jumbled mass of boulders where the cliff face split apart, climbing steadily upward toward what appeared to be the rim of the mysterious valley. It was only a few short minutes before they stood quietly at its edge, gazing wonderingly at what lay before them. The valley was a barbaric wilderness of crushed rock and boulders strewn about the sides and floor, black and glistening like the rock Shea had examined on the trail, the place was completely covered with them. Nothing else was visible except for a small lake with murky waters that glistened a dull greenish–black and moved in small sluggish swirls as if possessing a life of its own. Shea was immediately struck with the strange movement of the water. There was no wind which might cause the slow rippling. He looked at the silent Allanon and was shocked to see a strange glow radiating from his dark, forbidding face. The tall wanderer seemed momentarily lost in his thoughts as he gazed downward at the lake, and the Valeman could sense a peculiar wistfulness about the man’s unbroken study of the slowly churning waters.

«This is the Valley of Shale, the doorstep to the Hall of Kings and the home of the spirits of the ages.» The deep voice rolled suddenly out of the depths of the great chest. «The lake is the Hadeshorn — its waters are death to mortals. Walk with me to the floor of the valley, and then I must go on alone.»

Without waiting for a response, he started slowly down the slope of the valley, stepping surefootedly through the loose rock, his gaze fixed on the lake, beyond. The others followed in mystified silence, sensing that this was going to be an important moment for them all, that here more than anywhere else in all the lands, Allanon was king. Without being able to explain why, Shea knew that the historian, the wanderer, the philosopher, and the mystic, the man who had brought them through countless dangers on a wild gamble that only he fully understood, the mysterious man they knew as Allanon, had at last come home. Moments later, when they stood together on the floor of the Valley of Shale, he turned to them again.

«You will wait for me here. No matter what happens next, you will not follow me. You will not move from this spot until I have finished. Where I go, there is only death.»

They stood rooted in place as he moved away from them across the rocky floor toward the mysterious lake. They watched his tall, black form walk steadily ahead without variation in either speed or direction, the great cloak billowing slightly. Shea shot a quick glance at Flick, whose tense face revealed his fear of what would happen next. For a split second Shea considered getting out of there, but realized immediately what a foolhardy decision that would be. Instinctively he clutched his tunic, feeling the reassuring bulk of the small pouch that contained the Elfstones. Their presence made him feel safer, even though he doubted that they would be of much use against anything that Allanon could not handle. He glanced anxiously at the others as they watched the diminishing figure, then turning back, saw that Allanon had reached the edge of the Hadeshorn, where he was apparently awaiting something. A deathly silence seemed to grip the entire valley. The four waited, their eyes locked on the dark figure who stood motionless at the water’s edge.

Slowly, the tall wanderer raised his black–caped arms to the, sky and the amazed men saw the lake begin to stir rapidly and then churn in deep dissatisfaction. The valley shuddered heavily, as if some form of hidden, sleeping life had been awakened. The terrified mortals looked about in disbelief, fearing they were about to be swallowed by the rock–strewn maw of some nightmare disguised as the valley. Allanon stood firm at the shoreline as the water began to boil fiercely at its center, a spray mist rising toward the darkened heavens with a sharp hiss of relief at its newfound freedom from the depths. From out of the night air came the sound of low moaning, the cries of imprisoned souls, their sleep disturbed by the man at the edge of the Hadeshorn. The voices, less than human and chill with death, cut through the raw edge of sanity of the four who shivered and watched at the valley’s edge, straining their frightened minds and twisting with unmerciful cruelty until it seemed the little courage that remained must surely be wrested from them, leaving them stripped completely of all defenses. Unable to move, to speak, even to think, they stood frozen in terror as the sounds of the spirit world reached up to them and passed through their minds, warning of the things that lay beyond this life and their understanding .

In the midst of the chilling cries, with a low rumble that sounded from the heart of the earth, the Hadeshorn opened at its center in the manner of a thrashing whirlpool and from out of its murky waters rose the shroud of an old man, bowed with age. The figure rose to full height and appeared to stand on the waters themselves, the tall, thin body a transparent gray of ghostlike hue that shimmered like the lake beneath it. Flick turned completely white. The appearance of this final horror only confirmed his belief that their last moments on earth were at hand. Allanon stood motionless at the edge of the lake, his lean arms lowered now, the black cloak wrapped closely about his statuesque figure, his face turned toward the shade which stood before him. They appeared to be conversing, but the four onlookers could hear nothing beyond the continual, maddening sound of the inhuman cries that rose piercingly out of the night each time the figure from the Hadeshorn gestured. The conversation, whatever its nature, lasted no more than a few brief minutes, ending when the wraith turned toward them suddenly, raised its tattered skeletal arm, and pointed. Shea felt a chill slice through his unprotected body that seemed to cut to the bones, and he knew that for a brief second he had been touched by death. Then the shade turned away and, with a final gesture of farewell to Allanon, sank slowly back into the dark waters of the Hadeshorn and was gone. As he disappeared from view, the waters again churned sluggishly, and the moans and cries reached a new pitch before dying out in a low wail of anguish. Then the lake was smooth and calm and the men were alone.

As sunrise broke on the eastern horizon, the tall, black figure on the lake’s edge seemed to sway slightly and then crumple to the ground. For a second the four men watching hesitated, then dashed across the valley floor toward their fallen leader, slipping and stumbling on the loose rock. They reached him in a matter of seconds and bent cautiously over him, uncertain what they should do. Finally, Durin reached down and shook the still form gingerly, calling his name. Shea rubbed the great hands, finding the skin ice–cold to his touch and alarmingly pale. But their fears were relieved when after a few minutes Allanon stirred slightly and the deep–set eyes opened once more. He stared at them for a few seconds, and then sat up slowly as they crouched anxiously next to him.

«The strain must have been too great,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead. «Blacked out after I lost contact. I’ll be fine in a moment.»

«Who was that creature?» Flick asked quickly, afraid that it might reappear at any moment.

Allanon seemed to reflect on his question, staring into space as his dark face twisted in anguish and then relaxed softly.

«A lost soul, a being forgotten by this world and its people,” he declared sadly. «He has doomed himself to an existence of half–life that may not end for all eternity.»

«I don’t understand,” Shea said.

«It’s not important right now.» Allanon brushed the question aside abruptly. «That sad figure to whom I just spoke is the Shade of Bremen, the Druid who once fought against the Warlock Lord. I spoke to him of the Sword of Shannara, of our trip to Paranor, and of the, destiny of this company. I could learn little from him, an indication that our fortunes are not to be decided in the very near future, but that the fate of us all will be decided in days still far away — that is, all but one.»

«What do you mean?» Shea demanded hesitantly.

Allanon climbed wearily to his feet, gazed about the valley silently as if to assure himself that the encounter with the ghost of Bremen was ended, and then turned back to the anxious faces waiting on him.

«There is no easy way to say this, but you’ve come this far, almost to the end of the quest. You have earned the right to know. The Shade of Bremen made two prophesies on the destiny of this company when I called him up from the limbo world to which he is confined. He promised that within two dawns we would behold the Sword of Shannara. But he also foresaw that one member of our company would not reach the far side of the Dragon’s Teeth. Yet he will be the first to lay hands upon the sacred blade.»

«I still don’t understand,” Shea admitted after a moment’s thought. «We’ve already lost Hendel. He must have been speaking of him in some way.»

«No, you are wrong, my young friend.» Allanon sighed softly. «Upon making the last part of the prophesy, the shade pointed to the four of you standing at the edge of the valley. One of you will not reach Paranor!»

Menion Leah crouched silently in the cover of the boulders along the path leading upward to the Valley of Shale, waiting expectantly for the mysterious being who had been trailing them into the Dragon’s Teeth. Across from him, hidden in the blackness of the shadows, was the Prince of Callahorn, his great sword balanced blade downward in the rocks, one big hand resting lightly on the pommel. Menion gripped his own weapon and peered into the darkness. Nothing was moving. He could see for only about fifteen yards before an abrupt twist in the trail concealed the remainder of the pathway behind a cluster of massive boulders. They had been waiting for at least half an hour and still nothing had appeared, despite Durin’s assurance that something was following. Menion wondered for a moment if perhaps the creature who had been trailing them was one of the emissaries of the Warlock Lord. A Skull Bearer could take to the air and get behind them to reach the others. The idea startled him, and he was about to signal Balinor when a sudden noise on the trail below caught his attention. He immediately flattened himself against the rocks.

The sound of someone picking his way up the twisting pathway, threading slowly among the great boulders in the dim light of the approaching dawn, was clearly audible. Whoever or whatever it was, he apparently did not suspect they were hidden above, or worse, did not care, because he was making no effort to mask his approach. Scant seconds later, a dim form appeared on the pathway just below their hiding place. Menion risked a quick glance and for one brief second the squat shape and shuffling gait of the figure approaching reminded him of Hendel. He gripped the sword of Leah in anticipation and waited. The plan of attack was simple. He would leap in front of the intruder, barring his path forward. In the same moment, Balinor would cut off his retreat.

With a lightning–quick spring, the highlander shot out of the rocks to stand face to face with the mysterious intruder, his sword held poised as he gave a sharp command to halt. The figure before him went into a low crouch and one powerful arm came up slightly to reveal a huge, iron–headed mace, glinting dully. One second later, as the eyes of the combatants came to rest on one another, the arms dropped in shocked recognition, and a cry of surprise burst from the lips of the Prince of Leah.

«Hendel!»

Balinor came out of the shadows to the rear of the newcomer in time to see an elated Menion leap into the air with a wild shout and charge down to embrace the smaller, stockier figure with unrestrained joy. The Prince of Callahorn sheathed the great sword in relief, smiling and shaking his head in wonder at the sight of the ecstatic highlander and the struggling, muttering Dwarf they had presumed dead. For the first time since they had escaped through the Pass of Jade from the Wolfsktaag, he felt that success was within their grasp and that the company would surely stand together at Paranor before the Sword of Shannara.