Thinking again of the Shadowen enigma, the mystery of who and what they were and how they could be so many things, he was led to wonder suddenly if there were Shadowen in the outlaw camp, if the enemy they were so desperately seeking to remain hidden from was in fact already among them. The traitor that Padishar Creel sought could be a Shadowen, one that only looked human, that only seemed to be one of them. How were they to know? Was magic the only test that would reveal them? Was that to be the purpose of the Sword of Shannara, to reveal the true identity of the enemy they sought? It was what he had wondered from the moment Allanon had sent him in search of the Sword. But how impossible it seemed that the talisman could be meant for such endless, exhausting work. It would take forever to test it against everyone who might be a Shadowen.
He heard in his mind the whisper of Allanon’s voice.
Only through the Sword can truth be revealed and only through truth shall the Shadowen be overcome.
Truth. The Sword of Shannara was a talisman that revealed truth, destroyed lies, and laid bare what was real against the pretense of what only seemed so. That was the use to which Shea Ohmsford had put it when the little Valeman had defeated the Warlock Lord. It must be the use for which the talisman was meant this time as well.
They climbed a long, spiral staircase to a landing. A door in the wall before them stood closed and bolted. The wall behind and the ceiling above were lost in shadow. The drop below seemed endless. They crowded together on the landing while the Mole worked the bolts, first one, then another, then a third. One by one, the metal grating softly, they slid free. The Mole twisted the handle slowly. Par could hear the sound of his own breathing, of his pulse, and of his heartbeat, all working in response to the fear that coursed through him. He could feel Shadowen watching, hidden in the dark. He could sense their presence. It was irrational, imagined—but there nevertheless.
Then the Mole had the door open, and they slipped quickly through.
They found themselves in a tiny, windowless room with a stairwell in the exact center that spiralled down into utter pitch and a door to the left that opened into a empty corridor. Light filtered through slits in the walls of the corridor, faint and wispy. At the corridor’s far end, maybe a hundred feet away, a second door stood closed.
The Mole motioned them into the corridor and shut the first door behind them. Par edged over to one of the slits in the wall and peered out. They were somewhere in the palace, above ground again. Cliffs rose up before him, their slopes a tangle of pine trees. Above the trees, clouds hung thick across the skyline, their underbellies flat and hard and sullen.
Par drew back. Darkness was beginning to give way to daylight. It was almost morning. They had been walking all night.
“Lovely Damson,” the Mole was saying softly as Par rejoined them. “There is a catwalk ahead that crosses the palace court. Using it will save us considerable time. If you and your friends will keep watch, I will make certain the shadow things are nowhere about.”
Damson nodded. “Where do you want us?”
Where he wanted them was at each end of the corridor, listening for the sound of anything that might approach. It was agreed that Coll would remain where he was. Par and Damson went on with the Mole to the corridor’s far end. There, after a reassuring nod, the Mole slipped past them through the door and was gone.
The Valeman and the girl sat across from each other, close against the door. Par glanced back down the dimly lighted corridor to make certain that Coll was in sight. His brother’s rough face lifted briefly, and Par gave a cursory wave. Coll waved back.
They sat in silence then, waiting. The minutes passed and the Mole did not return.
Par grew uneasy. He edged closer to Damson. “Do you think he is all right?” he asked in a whisper.
She nodded without speaking.
Par sat back again, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “I hate waiting like this.”
She made no response. Her head tilted back against the wall and her eyes closed. She remained like that for a long time. Par thought she might be sleeping. He looked down the corridor again at Coll, found him exactly as he had left him, and turned back to Damson. Her eyes were open, and she was looking at him.
“Would you like me to tell you something about myself that no one else knows?” she asked quietly.
He studied her face wordlessly—her fine, even features, so intense now, her emerald eyes and pale skin shadowed under the sweep of her red hair. He found her beautiful and enigmatic, and he wanted to know everything about her.
“Yes,” he replied.
She moved over until their shoulders were touching. She glanced at him briefly, then looked away. He waited.
“When you tell someone a secret about yourself, it is like giving a part of yourself away,” she said. “It is a gift, but it is worth much more than something you buy. I don’t tell many people things about myself. I think it is because I have never had much besides myself, and I don’t want to give what little I have away.”
She looked down and her hair spilled forward, veiling her face so that he couldn’t see it clearly. “But I want to give something to you. I feel close to you. I have from the very beginning, from that first day in the park. Maybe it is because we have the magic in common—we share that. Maybe that is what makes me feel we’re alike. Your magic is different from mine, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that using the magic is how we live. It is what we are. Magic gives us our identity.”
She paused, and he thought she might be waiting for a response, so he nodded. He could not tell if she saw the nod or not.
She sighed. “Well, I like you, Elf-boy. You are stubborn and determined, and sometimes you don’t take notice of anything or anyone around you—only of yourself. But I am like that, too. Maybe that is how we keep ourselves from becoming exactly like everyone else. Maybe it is how we survive.”
She paused, then faced him. “I was thinking that if I were to die, I would want to leave something of myself with you, something that only you would have. Something special.”
Par started to protest, but she put her fingers quickly against his mouth. “Just let me finish. I am not saying that I think I will die, but it is surely possible. So perhaps telling you this secret will protect me against it, like a talisman, and keep me safe from harm. Do you see?”
His mouth tightened and she took her fingers away. “Do you remember when I first told you about myself, that night you escaped from the Federation watch after the others were captured? I was trying to convince you that I was not your betrayer. We told ourselves some things about each other. You told me about the magic, about how it worked. Do you remember?”
He nodded. “You told me that you were orphaned when you were eight, that the Federation was responsible.”
She drew her knees up like a child. “I told you that my family died in a fire set by Federation Seekers after it was discovered that my father was supplying weapons to the Movement. I told you a street magician took me in shortly after and that is how I learned my trade.”
She took a deep breath and shook her head slowly. “What I told you was not entirely true. My father didn’t die in the fire. He escaped. With me. It was my father who raised me, not an aunt, not a street magician. I grew up with street magicians and that is how I learned my trade, but it was my father who looked after me. It is my father who looks after me still.”
Her voice shook. “My father is Padishar Creel.”
Par stared in wonderment. “Padishar is your father?”
Her eyes never left him. “No one knows but you. It is safer that way. If the Federation found out who I was, they would use me to get to him. Par, what you needed to know that night when I told you about my childhood was that I could never betray anyone after the way my family was betrayed to the Federation. That much was true. That is why my father, Padishar Creel, is so furious that there might be a traitor among his own men. He can never forget what happened to my mother, brother, and sister. The possibility of losing anyone close to him again because of someone’s treachery terrifies him.”