She paused, studying him intently. “I promised never to tell anyone who I really was, but I am breaking that promise for you. I want you to know. It is something I can give you that will belong only to you.”
She smiled then, and some of the tension drained out of him. “Damson,” he said, and he found himself smiling back at her. “Nothing had better happen to you. If it does, it will be my fault for talking you into bringing me down here. How will I face Padishar, then?” His voice was a soft whisper of laughter. I wouldn’t be able to go within a hundred miles of him!“
She started laughing as well, shaking soundlessly at the thought, and she shoved him as if they were children at play. Then she reached over and hugged herself against him. He let her hold him without responding for a moment his eyes straying to where Coll sat, a vague shadow at the other end of the hall. But his brother wasn’t looking. There had been friends and traitors mixed up in this enterprise from the beginning, and it had been all but impossible to tell which was which. Except for Coll. And now Damson.
He put his arms around her and hugged her back.
Moments later, the Mole returned. He came upon them so quietly that they didn’t even know he was there until the door began to open against them. Par released Damson and jumped to his feet, the blade of his long knife flashing free. The Mole peeked through the door and then ducked hurriedly out of sight again. Damson grabbed Par’s arm. “Mole!” she whispered, it’s all right!“
The Mole’s roundish face eased back into view. Upon seeing that the weapon had been put away, he came all the way through. Coll was already hastening down the corridor. When he joined them, the Mole said, calm again, The catwalk is clear and will stay that way if we hurry. But be very quiet, now.“
They slipped from the corridor and found themselves on a balcony that encircled a vast, empty rotunda. They moved quickly along it, passing scores of closed, latched doors and shadowed alcoves. Halfway around, the Mole led them into a hall and down its length to a set of iron-barred doors that opened out over the main courtyard of the palace. A catwalk ran across the drop to a massive wall. The courtyard had once been a maze of gardens and winding pathways; now there were only crumbling flagstones and bare earth. Beyond the wall lay the dark smudge of the Pit.
The Mole beckoned anxiously. They stepped onto the catwalk, feeling it sway slightly beneath their combined weight, hearing it creak in protest. The wind blew in quick gusts, and the sound it made as it rushed over the bare stone walls and across the empty courtyard was a low, sad moan. Weeds whipped and shuddered below them and debris scattered about the court, careening from wall to wall. There was no sign of life, no movement in the shadows and murk, no Shadowen in sight.
They crossed the catwalk quickly, once they were upon it, ignoring the creak and groan of its iron stays. They kept their feet moving, their hands on the railing, and their eyes focused carefully ahead, watching the palace wall draw closer. When the crossing was completed they stepped hurriedly onto the battlement, each reaching back to help the next person, grateful to be done.
The Mole took them into a stairwell where they found a fresh set of steps winding downward into blackness. Using the light of the stones Damson had supplied, they descended silently. They were close now; the stone of the wall was all that separated them from the Pit. Par’s excitement sent the blood pumping through him, a pounding in his ears, and his nerve endings tightened.
Just a few more minutes...
At the bottom of the stairwell, there was a passageway that ended at a weathered, ironbound wooden door. The Mole walked to the door and stopped. When he turned back to face them, Par knew at once what lay beyond.
“Thank you. Mole,” he said softly.
“Yes, thank you,” Damson echoed.
The Mole blinked shyly. Then he said, “You can look through here.”
He reached up and carefully pulled back a tiny shutter that revealed a slit in the wood. Par stepped forward and peered out.
The floor of the Pit stretched away before him, a vast, fog-bound wilderness of trees and rock, a bottomland that was strewn with decaying logs and tangled brush, a darkness in which shadows moved and shapes formed and faded again like wraiths. The wreckage of the Bridge of Sendic lay just to the right and disappeared into the gray haze.
Par squinted into the murk a moment longer. There was no sign of the vault that held the Sword of Shannara.
But he had seen it, right there, just beyond the wall of the palace. The magic of the wishsong had revealed it. It was out there. He could feel its presence like a living thing.
He let Damson take a look, then Coll. When Coll stepped back, the three of them stood facing one another.
Par slipped out of his cloak. “Wait for me here. Keep watch for the Shadowen.”
“Keep watch for them yourself,” Coll said bluntly, shrugging off his own cloak. “I’m going with you.”
“I’m going, too,” said Damson.
But Coll blocked her way instantly. “No, you’re not. Only one of us can go besides Par. Look about you, Damson. Look at where we are. We’re in a box, a trap. There is no way out of the Pit except through this door and no way out of the palace except back up the stairs and across the catwalk. The Mole can watch the catwalk, but he can’t watch this door at the same time. You have to do that.”
Damson started to object, but Coll cut her short. “Don’t argue, Damson. You know I’m right. I’ve listened to you when I should; this time you listen to me.”
“It doesn’t matter who listens to whom. I don’t want either of you going,” insisted Par sharply.
Coll ignored him, shifting his short sword in his belt until it was in front of him. “You don’t have any choice.”
“Why shouldn’t I be the one to go?” Damson demanded angrily.
“Because he’s my brother!” Coll’s voice cracked like a whip, and his rough features were hard. But when he spoke next, his voice was strangely soft. “It has to be me; it’s why I came in the first place. It’s why I’m here at all.”
Damson went still, frozen and voiceless. Her gaze shifted. “All right,” she agreed, but her mouth was tight and angry as she said it. She turned away. “Mole, watch the catwalk.”
The little fellow was glancing at each of them in turn, a mix of uncertainty and bewilderment in his bright eyes.
“Yes, lovely Damson,” he murmured and disappeared up the stairs.
Par started to say something more, but Coll took him by the shoulders and pushed him back up against the weathered door. Their eyes met and locked.
“Let’s not waste any more time arguing about this, huh?” Coll said. “Let’s just get it over with. You and me.”
Par tried to twist free, but Coll’s big hands were like iron clamps. He sagged back, frustrated. Coll released him. “Par,” he said, and the words were almost a plea. “I spoke the truth. I have to go.”
They faced each other in silence. Par found himself thinking of what they had come through to reach this point, of the hardships they had endured. He wanted to tell Coll that it all meant something, that he loved him, that he was frightened for him now. He wanted to remind his brother about his duck feet, to warn him that duck feet were too big to sneak around in. He thought he might scream.
But, instead, he said simply, “I know.”
Then he moved to the heavy, weathered door, released its fastenings and pulled on its worn handle. The door swung open, and the half-light and fog, the rancid smells and cloying chill, the hiss of swamp sounds, and the high, distant call of a solitary bird rushed in.