The Sword of Shannara

Chapter Eight

Flick Ohmsford sat quietly on a long stone bench in one of the upper levels of the lavishly beautiful Meade Gardens in the Dwarf community known as Culhaven. He had a perfect view of the amazing gardens stretching down the rocky hillside in systematic levels that tapered off about the edges in carefully laid pieces of cut stone, reminiscent of a long waterfall flowing down a gentle slope. The creation of the gardens on this once barren hillside was a truly marvelous accomplishment. Special soils had been hauled from more fertile regions to be placed on the garden site, enabling thousands of beautiful flowers and plants to flourish year round in the mild climate of the lower Anar. The color was indescribable. To compare the myriad hues of the flowers to the colors of the rainbow would have been a great injustice. Flick attempted briefly to count the various shades, a task he soon found to be impossible. He gave up quickly and turned his attention to the large clearing at the foot of the gardens where members of the Dwarf community were passing on their way to or from whatever work they were engaged in. They were a curious people, it seemed to Flick, so dedicated to hard work and a well–guarded order of life. Everything they did was always carefully, planned in advance, meticulously thought out to a point where even the cautious Flick was nettled by the time spent in preparation. But the people were friendly and eager to be of service, a kindness not lost on either of the visiting Valemen, who felt more than a bit out of place in this strange land.

They had been in Culhaven for two days now, and still they had not been able to learn what had happened to them, why they were there, or how long their stay would be. Balinor had told them nothing, advising them that he knew very little himself and that all would be revealed in due time, a comment Flick found to be not only melodramatic but aggravating. There was no sign of Allanon, no word of his whereabouts. Worst of all, there was no news of the absent Menion, and the brothers had been forbidden to leave the safety of the Dwarf village for any reason. Flick glanced to the floor of the gardens again to see if his personal bodyguard was still there, and quickly spied him off to one side, his tireless gaze fixed on the Valeman. Shea had been infuriated by this treatment, but Balinor was quick to point out that someone should be with them at all times in case of an attempt on their lives by one of the roving Northland creatures. Flick had acquiesced readily, remembering all too well the close calls he had already had with the Skull Bearers. He put aside his idle thoughts at the approach of Shea on the winding garden path.

«Anything?» Flick asked anxiously as the other reached his side and sat down quietly next to him.

«Not one word,” came the short reply.

Shea felt vaguely exhausted all over again, even though he had had two days to recover from the strange odyssey that had brought them from their home in Shady Vale to the Forests of Anar. Their treatment had been decent if sometimes a bit overdone, and the people seemed genuinely concerned for their welfare. But there had been no word given out as to what was to happen next. Everyone, including Balinor, seemed to be waiting for something, perhaps the arrival of the long–absent Allanon. Balinor had been unable to explain to them how they had reached the Anar. Responding to a mysterious flashing light, he had found them lying on a low riverbank just outside of Culhaven two days ago, and had brought them to the village. He knew nothing of the old man nor of how they had traveled that long distance upstream. When Shea mentioned the legends concerning a King of the Silver River, Balinor shrugged and nonchalantly agreed that anything was possible.

«No news of Menion…?» Flick asked hesitantly.

«Only that the Dwarfs are still out looking for him, and it may take some time,” Shea answered quietly. «I don’t know what to do next.»

Flick inwardly conceded that this last admission had proved to be the story of the entire outing. He glanced downward to the foot of the Meade Gardens where a small cluster of heavily armed Dwarfs were congregating around the commanding figure of Balinor, who had suddenly appeared from the woods beyond. Even from their vantage point atop the gardens, the Valemen could tell that he still wore the chain mail beneath the long hunting cloak they had come to recognize so well. He spoke earnestly with the Dwarfs for a few minutes, his face lined in thought. Shea and Flick knew very little about the Prince of Callahorn, but the people of Culhaven seemed to have the highest regard for him. Menion, too, had spoken well of Balinor. His homeland was the northernmost kingdom of the sprawling Southland. Commonly referred to as the borderlands, it served as a buffer zone fronting the southern boundaries of the Northland. The citizens of Callahorn were predominantly Men, but unlike the majority of the people of their race, they mingled freely with the other races and did not pursue a policy of isolationism. The highly regarded Border Legion was quartered in that distant country, a professional army commanded by Ruhl Buckhannah, King of Callahorn and the father of Balinor. Historically, the entire Southland had relied on Callahorn and the Legion to blunt the initial thrust of an invading army, giving the rest of the land a chance to prepare for battle. In the five hundred years since its formation, the Border Legion had never been defeated.

Balinor had begun a slow assent to the stone bench where the Valemen sat patiently waiting. He smiled a greeting as he carne up to them, aware of the discomfort they felt in not knowing what was to happen to them and of the anxiety they were experiencing for the safety of their missing friend. He sat down next to them and was silent for a few minutes before speaking.

«I know how difficult this must be for you,” he began patiently. «I have every available Dwarf warrior out looking for your lost friend. If anyone can find him in this region, they will — and they won’t give up, I promise you.»

The brothers nodded their understanding of Balinor’s efforts to help them in any way possible.

«This is a very dangerous time for these people, though I suppose Allanon did not speak of it. They are facing the threat of an invasion through the upper Anar by Gnomes. There have already been skirmishes all along the border and signs of a huge army massing somewhere above the Streleheim Plains. You may have guessed that all of this is tied in with the Warlock Lord.»

«Does this mean that the Southland is in danger, too?» asked an anxious Flick.

«Undoubtedly:” Balinor nodded. «That’s one reason why I’m here — to arrange a coordinated defensive strategy with the Dwarf nation in case of an all–out assault.»

«But where is Allanon then?» asked Shea quickly. «Is he going to get here soon enough to help us? What has the Sword of Shannara got to do with all this?» Balinor looked at the puzzled faces and shook his head slowly.

«I must honestly confess that I cannot give you the answers to any of those questions. Allanon is a very mysterious figure, but a wise man who has been a dependable ally whenever we have needed him in the past. When I saw him last, several weeks before I spoke to you in Shady Vale, we set a date to meet in the Anar. He is already three days overdue.»

He paused in quiet speculation, looking down at the gardens and beyond to the great trees of the Anar Forests, listening to the sounds of the woods and the low voices of the Dwarfs moving about in the clearing below. Then abruptly a shout went up from a cluster of Dwarfs at the foot of the gardens, joined almost immediately by the shouts and cries of others mingled in with a huge clamor swelling from the woods beyond the village of Culhaven. The men on the stone bench rose uncertainly, looking quickly about for some sign of danger. Balinor’s strong hand came to rest on the pommel of his broadsword, strapped tightly at his side beneath the hunting cloak. A moment later one of the Dwarfs below came rushing up the path, shouting wildly as he ran.

«They found him, they found him!» he yelled excitedly, almost stumbling in his haste to reach them.

Shea and Flick exchanged startled looks. The runner came to a breathless stop before them, and Balinor gripped his shoulder excitedly.

«Have they found Menion Leah?» he demanded quickly.

The Dwarf nodded happily, his short, stocky frame heaving with the exertion of the dash to reach them with the good news. Without a word, Balinor bounded down the path toward the shouting, Shea and Flick behind him. They reached the clearing below in a matter of seconds and ran along the main path through the woods leading to the village of Culhaven several hundred yards beyond. Ahead of them they could hear the excited shouting of the Dwarf population congratulating whomever it was who had found the lost highlander. They reached the village and, pushing through the throngs of Dwarfs blocking the way, made straight for the center of all the excitement. A ring of guards parted to let them into a small courtyard formed by buildings on the right and left and a high stone wall in the rear. On a long wooden table lay the motionless body of Menion Leah, his face pale and seemingly lifeless. A team of Dwarf doctors bent dutifully over the inert form, apparently treating him for some injury. Shea gave a sharp cry and tried to rush forward, but Balinor’s strong arm held him back as the warrior called out to one of the nearby Dwarfs.

«Pahn, what’s happened here?»

The solid–looking Dwarf, dressed in armor and apparently one of the returning search party, hastened to their side.

«He’ll be all right after he’s treated. He was found entangled in one of the Sirens out in the middle of the Battlemound lowlands below the Silver River. Our search party didn’t find him. It was Hendel, returning from the cities south of Anar.»

Balinor nodded and looked about for some sign of the rescuer.

«He left for the assembly hall to make his report,” the Dwarf responded to the unasked question.

Motioning the two Valemen to follow him, Balinor made his way out of the courtyard through the crowd and across the main street to the large assembly hall. Inside were the offices of the governing officials of the village and the assembly room, in which they found the Dwarf Hendel sitting on one of the long benches, eating ravenously while a scribe took down his report. Hendel looked up as they approached, glanced curiously at the Valemen and nodded briefly to Balinor, continuing to devour his meal without interruption. Balinor dismissed the scribe, and the three men sat down across from the disinterested Dwarf, who appeared both exhausted and starved.

«What an idiot, tackling one of those Sirens with a sword,” he muttered. «Got spunk though. How is he?»

«He’ll be fine after he’s treated,” replied Balinor grinning reassuringly at the uneasy Valemen «How did you find him?»

«Heard him yelling.» The other continued to eat without pausing. «I had to carry him almost seven miles before I ran into Pahn and the search party along the Silver River.»

He paused and looked again at the two Valemen, who were listening intently. The Dwarf appraised them curiously and looked back at Balinor, eyebrows raised.

«Friends of the highlander — and of Allanon,” responded the borderman, cocking his head meaningfully. Hendel merely nodded to them curtly.

«I’d never have known who he was if he hadn’t mentioned your name,” Hendel informed them shortly, indicating the tall borderman. «It might help matters if now and then someone would tell me what was going on before it’s happened, not after.»

He declined to comment further, and an amused Balinor smiled over to the puzzled brothers, shrugging slightly to indicate the Dwarf was irascible by nature. Shea and Flick were a bit uncertain about the fellow’s temperament and had purposely kept silent while the other two conversed, though both Valemen were eager to hear the full story behind Menion’s rescue.

«What’s your report on Sterne and Wayford?» Balinor asked finally, referring to the large Southland cities immediately south and west of the Anar.

Hendel ceased eating and laughed abruptly.

«The officials of those two fine communities will consider the matter and send along a report. Typical bungling officials, elected by the disinterested people to juggle the ball until it can be passed onto some other fool. I could tell five minutes after I opened my mouth that they thought I was crazy. They don’t see the danger until the sword is at their own throats — then they scream for assistance from those of us who knew it all along.» He paused and resumed his meal, obviously disgusted with the whole subject.

«I should have expected that, I suppose.» Balinor sounded worried. «How can we convince them of the danger? There hasn’t been a war in so many years that no one wants to believe it could happen now.»

«That’s not, the real problem, as you well know,” interjected the irate Hendel. «They simply don’t feel they should be involved in the matter. After all, the frontiers are protected by Dwarfs, not to mention the cities of Callahorn and the Border Legion. We’ve been doing it up to now — why can’t we keep doing it? Those poor fools…»

He trailed off slowly, finished with his statement and his meal, feeling tired from the long trip home. He had been on the road for almost three weeks, traveling to the cities of the Southland, and it all seemed to have been for nothing. He felt keenly discouraged.

«I don’t understand what’s happened,” Shea announced quietly.

«Well, that’s two of us,” Hendel replied sullenly. «I’m going to bed for about two weeks. See you then.»

He stood up abruptly and walked out of the assembly room without even a short farewell, his broad shoulders stooped wearily. The three men watched him go without speaking, their eyes fixed on his departing silhouette until it was lost from sight. Then Shea turned questioningly to Balinor.

«It’s the age–old tale of complacency, Shea. ” The tall warrior sighed deeply and stretched as he rose. «We may be standing on the brink of the greatest war in a thousand years, but no one wants to accept the fact. Everyone gets in the same rut — let a few take care of the gates to the city while the rest forget and go back to their homes. It becomes a habit — depending on a few to protect the rest. And then one day… the few are not enough, and the enemy is within the city — right through the open gates…»

«Is there really going to be a war?» Flick asked, almost fearfully.

«That is the question exactly,” Balinor responded slowly. «The only man who can give us the answer is absent… and overdue.»

In the excitement of finding Menion alive and well, the Valemen had temporarily forgotten Allanon, the man who was the reason for their being in the Anar in the first place. The by now familiar questions again flashed through their minds with new persistency, but the Valemen had learned to live with them over the past few weeks and all doubts were reluctantly shoved aside once more. Balinor caught their attention as he moved toward the open door, and they quickly followed.

«You mustn’t mind Hendel, you know,” he reassured them as they walked. «He’s gruff like that with everyone, but he’s one of the finest friends you could ask for. He has fought and outwitted the Gnomes along the upper Anar for years, protecting his people and the complacent citizens of the Southland who so quickly forget the crucial role the Dwarfs play as guardians of these borders. The Gnomes would like to get their hands on him, I can tell you.»

Shea and Flick said nothing, ashamed of the fact that the people of their own race could be so selfish, yet realizing that they, too, had been ignorant of the situation in the Anar before hearing of it from Balinor. They were bothered by the thought of renewed hostilities between the races, recalling their history lessons on the old race wars and the terrible hatred of those bitter years. The possibility of a third war of the races was chilling.

«Why don’t you two go on back to the gardens,” advised the Prince of Callahorn. «I’ll have a message sent as soon as I hear of any change in Menion’s condition.»

The brothers reluctantly agreed, knowing they had no other choice in the matter anyway. Before turning in that night, they stopped by the room where Menion was being kept, only to be told by the Dwarf sentry that their friend was asleep and should not be disturbed.

But by the following afternoon, the highlander was awake and being visited by the anxious Valemen. Even Flick was grudgingly relieved to see the other alive and well, though he solemnly intoned that he had correctly predicted their misfortune many days in advance when they first decided to journey through the Black Oaks. Menion and Shea both laughed at Flick’s eternal pessimism, but did not argue the point. Shea explained how Menion had been brought to Culhaven by the Dwarf Hendel, and then went on to relate the mysterious way in which he and Flick had been found near the Silver River. Menion was as mystified as they over their strange journey and could offer no logical explanation. Shea carefully refrained from mentioning the legend of a King of the Silver River, knowing full well what the highlander’s response would be to any speculation that involved an old folktale.

That same day, in the early hours of the evening, word reached them that Allanon had returned. Shea and Flick were about to leave their rooms to visit Menion when they heard the excited shouts of Dwarfs rushing past their open windows toward the assembly hall where some sort of meeting was about to begin. The anxious Valemen had not taken two steps beyond their doorway when they were surrounded by a team of four Dwarf guards and hustled quickly through the pushing crowds, past the open doors of the large assembly into a small adjoining room, where they were told to remain. The Dwarfs closed the door wordlessly as they exited, slid the lock bolts into place, and assumed positions immediately outside. The room was brightly lit and furnished with several long tables and benches, at which the bewildered Valemen silently seated themselves. The windows to the room were closed and even without checking, Shea knew they would be barred like the door. From the assembly hall they could hear the deep voice of a single speaker.

Several minutes later the door to the chamber opened and Menion, looking flushed but otherwise quite well, was briskly ushered in by two Dwarf guards. When they were left alone, the highlander explained that they had come for him the same as for the Valemen. From snatches of conversation he had heard on the way over, it appeared that the Dwarfs in Culhaven and probably all of the Anar were preparing for war. Whatever news Allanon had brought back with him had thrown matters into a state of confusion in the Dwarf community. He thought he had caught a quick glimpse of Balinor through the open doors of the assembly hall, standing on the platform at the front of the building, but the guards had rushed him past and he couldn’t be sure.

The voices from the congregation next door rose in a thunderous roar, and all three paused expectantly. Seconds passed as the shouting continued to roll through the large hall, spreading to the open grounds outside where it was taken up by the Dwarfs there. At the deafening peak of the shouting, the door to their room suddenly burst open to admit the dark, commanding figure of Allanon.

He walked over to the Valemen quickly, shook their hands, and congratulated them on their successful journey to Culhaven. He was dressed as he had been when Flick had first encountered him, his lean face half hidden in the long cowl, his whole appearance dark and foreboding. He greeted Menion courteously and moved to the head of the nearest table, motioning the others to be seated. He had been followed into the room by Balinor and a number of Dwarfs who were apparently leaders in the community, among them the irascible Hendel. Bringing up the rear of this procession were two slim, almost shadowy figures in curious, loose–fitting woodsman garb, who quietly took seats near Allanon at the head of the table. Shea could see them clearly from his position at the other end, and concluded after a quick observation that they were Elves from the distant Westland. Their keen features, from the sharply raised eyebrows to the strange pointed ears, marked them distinctively. Shea turned back and saw that both Flick and Menion were looking at him curiously, obviously appraising his own strong resemblance to the strangers. None of them had ever seen an Elf, and while they knew that Shea was half Elf and had heard descriptions given of the Elven people, none had ever had a chance to compare the Valeman to one.

«My friends.» The deep voice of Allanon boomed out in the slight stir of voices as he rose commandingly to his full height of seven feet. The room was instantly silent as all faces turned in his direction. «My friends, I must now tell you what I have as yet told no one else. We have suffered a tragic loss.»

He paused and looked at the anxious faces in turn.

«Paranor has fallen. A division of Gnome hunters under the command of the Warlock Lord has seized the Sword of Shannara!»

There was dead silence for about two seconds before the Dwarfs were on their feet, shouting in anger. Balinor rose quickly in an effort to quiet them. Shea and Flick looked at each other in disbelief. Only Menion seemed unsurprised by the announcement, his lean face carefully scrutinizing the dark figure at the head of the table.

«Paranor was taken from within,” Allanon continued after some semblance of order had been restored. «There is little question as to the fate of those who guarded the fortress and the Sword. I am told that all were executed. No one knows exactly how it happened.»

«Have you been there?» Shea asked suddenly, feeling almost immediately that it was a stupid question.

«I left your home in the Vale so suddenly because I received word that an attempt would be made to secure Paranor. I arrived too late to help those within and barely escaped detection myself. That is one of the reasons I am so late in reaching Culhaven.»

«But if Paranor has fallen and the Sword been taken…?»Flick’s whispered question trailed off ominously.

«Then what can we do now?» Allanon finished harshly. «This is the problem facing us, the one we must provide an immediate answer for — the reason for this council.»

Allanon suddenly left his position at the head of the long table and moved around until he was standing directly behind Shea. He placed one great hand on the slim shoulder and faced his attentive audience.

«The Sword of Shannara is useless in the hands of the Warlock Lord. It can only be raised by a son of the House of Jerle Shannara — this alone prevents the evil one from striking now. Instead, he has systematically hunted down and destroyed all members of that House, one at a time, one after another, even those I tried to protect all whom I could find. Now they are all dead — all save one, and that one is young Shea. Shea is only half Elf, but he is a direct descendant of the King who earned the great Sword so many years before. Now he must raise it once again.»

Shea would have bolted for the door if it had not been for the strong hand gripping his shoulder. He looked desperately at Flick and saw the fear in his own eyes mirrored in those of his brother’s. Menion had not moved, but appeared visibly impressed by this grim declaration. What Allanon seemed to expect from Shea was more than any man had the right to ask.

«Well, I think we have shaken our young friend a bit.» Allanon laughed shortly. «Do not despair, Shea. Things are not as bad as they may seem to you right now.» He turned abruptly, walked back to the head of the table and faced the others.

«We must recover the Sword at all costs. There is no other choice left to us. If we fail to do this, the whole of the land will be plunged into the greatest war the races have seen since the near destruction of life two thousand years ago. The Sword is the key. Without it, we must fall back on our mortal strength, our fighting prowess — a battle with iron and muscle that can only result in uncountable thousands dying on both sides. The evil is the Warlock Lord, and he cannot be destroyed without the aid of the Sword — and the courage of a few men, not the least of whom must be those of us in this room.»

Again he paused to measure the force of his words. There was absolute silence as he looked doubtfully at the silent gallery of grim faces staring back. Suddenly Menion, Leah rose at the far end of the table and faced the giant speaker.

«What you are suggesting is that we go after the Sword — to Paranor.»

Allanon nodded slowly, a half smile playing over his thin lips as he waited for a reaction from the startled listeners. His deep–set eyes twinkled blackly beneath the great brow, watching carefully the faces about him. Menion sat down slowly, total disbelief showing plainly on his handsome features, as Allanon continued.

«The Sword is still at Paranor; there is an excellent possibility that it will remain there. Neither Brona nor the Bearers of the Skull can personally remove the talisman — its mere physical presence is an anathema to their continued existence in the mortal world. Any form of exposure for more than several minutes would cause excruciating pain. This means that any attempt to transport the Sword north to the Skull Kingdom must be accomplished by use of the Gnomes that hold Paranor.

«Eventine and his Elven warriors were given the task of securing the Druid stronghold and the Sword. While Paranor has been lost to us, the Elves still hold the southern stretch of the Streleheim north of the fortress, and any attempt to travel north to the Dark Lord would require breaking through their patrols. Apparently Eventine was not at Paranor when it was taken, and I have no reason to believe that he will not endeavor to regain the Sword or, at the very least, thwart any attempt to remove it. The Warlock Lord will be aware of this, and I do not think he will risk losing the weapon by having the Gnomes carry it out. Instead, he will entrench at Paranor until his army moves south.

«There is a possibility that the Warlock Lord does not expect us to attempt to regain the Sword. He may believe that the House of Shannara has been exterminated. He may expect us to concentrate on strengthening our defenses against his forthcoming assault. If we act immediately, a small party may be able to slip into the Keep undetected and retrieve the Sword. Such an undertaking would be dangerous, but if there is even the remotest chance of success, the risk is worth it.»

Balinor had risen and indicated he wished to speak to those assembled. Allanon nodded and sat down. «I do not understand the power of the Sword over the Warlock Lord — that much I freely admit,” the tall warrior began. «But I do know the threat that we all face if Brona’s army invades the Southland and the Anar as our reports indicate it is preparing to do. My homeland will be the first to face this threat, and if I can prevent it in any way, then I cannot do otherwise. I will go with Allanon.»

The Dwarfs leaped up again at this point and enthusiastically shouted their support. Allanon stood up and raised his long arm in a plea for silence.

«These two young Elves at my side are cousins of Eventine. They will accompany me, for their stake in this matter is at least as great as your own. Balinor will go as well, and I will take one of the Dwarf chieftains — no more. This must be a small, highly skilled party of hunters if we are to succeed. Pick the best man among you and let him come with us.»

He looked to the end of the table, where Shea and Flick sat watching in a mixed state of shock and confusion. Menion Leah pondered quietly, looking at no one in particular. Allanon glanced expectantly at Shea, his grim face suddenly softening as he saw the frightened eyes of the young Valeman who had come so far, through so many dangers to this apparent haven of safety, only to be told that he was expected to leave it for an even more perilous trip northward. But there had been no time to break the news to the Valeman in a gentle way. He shook his head doubtfully and waited.

«I think I had better go.» The abrupt declaration came from Menion, who had again risen to his feet to face the others. «I came with Shea this far to be certain he reached the safety of Culhaven, which he has done. My duty to him is finished, but I owe it to my homeland and to my people to protect them in any way I can.»

«What can you offer then?» asked Allanon abruptly, astonished that the highlander would volunteer without first speaking to his friends. Shea and Flick were clearly dumbfounded by this unexpected announcement.

«I’m the best bowman in the Southland,” Menion answered smoothly. «Probably the best tracker as well.»

Allanon seemed to hesitate for a moment, then looked to Balinor, who quietly shrugged. For a brief moment Menion and Allanon locked gazes, as if to judge each other’s intentions. Menion smiled coldly at the grim historian.

«Why should I answer to you?» he queried shortly.

The dark figure at the other end of the table stared at him almost curiously and a deathly silence settled over the company. Even Balinor stepped back one short pace in shock. Shea knew instantly that Menion was asking for trouble and that everyone at the table except the three companions knew something about the foreboding Allanon they did not. The frightened Valeman shot a quick look at Flick, whose flushed face had gone pale at the thought of a confrontation between the two men. Desperate to avoid any trouble, Shea stood up suddenly and cleared his throat. Everyone looked in his direction, and his mind went blank.

«You have something to say?» demanded Allanon blackly. Shea nodded and his mind raced desperately, knowing what was expected. He looked again to Flick, who managed a barely perceptible nod indicating that he would go along with whatever his brother decided. Shea cleared his throat a second time.

«My special skill appears to be that I was born in the wrong family, but I had better see this matter through. Flick and I — Menion, too — will go to Paranor.»

Allanon nodded his approval and even managed a slight smile, inwardly pleased with the young Valeman. Shea, more than any of the others, had to be strong. He was the last son of the house of Shannara, and the fate of so many would depend on that single, small chance of birth.

At the other end of the table, Menion Leah relaxed quietly in his seat, a barely audible sigh of relief escaping his lips as he silently congratulated himself. He had deliberately provoked Allanon, and in so doing had forced Shea to come to his rescue by agreeing to go to Paranor. It had been a desperate gamble to induce the little Valeman to make up his mind that he was going with them. The highlander had come close to what might have been a fatal confrontation with Allanon. He had been lucky. He wondered if luck would smile on all of them during the journey ahead.