“And he believes it will be the same now with you,” Damson finished. She was looking at Par as if she were seeing him for the first time. “If you are not strong enough, if you are not willing to give enough, the Sword of Shannara will be useless to you. The Shadowen will prevail.”
Par’s answering nod was barely discernible.
“But why would the Shadowen—or the Federation, for that matter—leave the Sword in the Pit all these years?” Coll demanded, irritated that they were even talking about the matter after what had happened to them last night. “Why not simply remove it—or better yet, why not destroy it?”
Par’s face was intense. “I don’t think either the Federation or the Shadowen can destroy it—not a talisman of such power. I doubt that the Shadowen can even touch it. The Warlock Lord couldn’t. What I can’t figure out is why the Federation hasn’t taken it out and hidden it.”
He clasped his hands tightly before him. “In any case, it doesn’t matter. The fact remains the Sword is still there, still in its vault.” He paused, eyes level. “Waiting for us.”
Coll gaped at him, realizing for the first time what he was suggesting. For a moment, he couldn’t speak at all.
“You can’t be serious, Par.” he managed finally, the disbelief in his voice undisguised. “After what happened last night? After seeing...” He forced himself to stop, then snapped, “You wouldn’t last two minutes.”
“Yes, I would,” Par replied. His eyes were bright with determination, “I know I would. Allanon told me as much.”
Coll was aghast. “Allanon! What are you talking about?”
“He said we had the skills needed to accomplish what was asked—Walker, Wren, and myself. Remember? In my case, I think he was talking about the wishsong. I think he meant that the magic of the wishsong would protect me.”
“Well, it’s done a rather poor job of it up to now!” Coll snapped, lashing out furiously.
“I didn’t understand what it could do then. I think I do now.”
“You think? You think? Shades, Par!”
Par remained calm. “What else are we to do? Run back to the Jut? Run home? Spend the rest of our days sneaking about?” Par’s hands were shaking. “Coll, I haven’t any choice. I have to try.”
Coll’s strong face closed in upon itself in dismay, his mouth tightening against whatever outburst threatened to break free. He wheeled on Damson, but the girl had her eyes locked on Par and would not look away.
The Valeman turned back, gritting his teeth. “So you would go back down into the Pit on the strength of an unproven and untested belief. You would risk your life on the chance that the wishsong—a magic that has failed to protect you three times already against the Shadowen—will somehow protect you now. And all because of what you perceive as your newfound insight into a dead man’s words!” He drew his breath in slowly. “I cannot believe you would do anything so... stupid! If I could think of anything worse to call it, I would!”
“Coll...”
“No, don’t say another word to me! I have gone with you everywhere, followed after you, supported you, done everything I could to keep you safe—and now you plan to throw yourself away! Just waste your life! Do you understand what you are doing, Par? You are sacrificing yourself! You still think you have some special ability to decide what’s right! You are obsessed! You can’t ever let go, even when common sense tells you you should!”
Coll clenched his fists before him. His face was rigid and furrowed, and it was all he could do to keep his voice level. Par had never seen him so angry. “Anyone else would back away, think it through, and decide to go for help. But you’re not planning on any of that, are you? I can see it in your eyes. You haven’t the time or the patience. You’ve made up your mind. Forget Padishar or Morgan or anyone else but yourself. You mean to have that Sword! You’d even give up your life to have it, wouldn’t you?”
“I am not so blind...”
“Damson, you talk to him!” Coll interrupted, desperate now. “I know you care for him; tell him what a fool he is!”
But Damson Rhee shook her head. “No. I won’t do that.” Coll stared at her, stunned. “I haven’t the right,” she finished softly.
Coll went silent then, his rough features sagging in defeat. No one spoke immediately, letting the momentary stillness settle across the room. Daylight had shifted with the sun’s movement west, gone now to the far side of the little storage shed, the shadows beginning to lengthen slightly in its wake. A scattering of voices sounded from somewhere in the streets beyond and faded away. Par felt an aching deep within himself at the look he saw on his brother’s face, at the sense of betrayal he knew Coll was feeling. But there was no help for it. There was but one thing Par could say that would change matters, and he was not about to say it.
“I have a plan,” he tried instead. He waited until Coll’s eyes lifted. “I know what you think, but I don’t propose to take any more chances than I have to.” Coll gave him an incredulous look, but kept still. “The vault sits close to the base of the cliffs, just beneath the walls of the old palace. If I could get into the ravine from the other side, I would have only a short distance to cover. Once I had the Sword in my hands, I would be safe from the Shadowen.”
There were several huge assumptions involved in that last statement, but neither Coll nor Damson chose to raise them. Par felt the sweat bead on his forehead. The difficulty of what he was about to suggest was terrifying.
He swallowed. “That catwalk from the Gatehouse to the old palace would give me a way across.”
Coll threw up his hands. “You plan to go back into the Gatehouse yet a third time?” he exclaimed, exasperated beyond reason.
“All I need is a ruse, a way to distract...”
“Have you lost your mind completely? Another ruse won’t do the trick! They’ll be looking for you this go-around! They’ll spy you out within two seconds of the time you...”
“Coll!” Par’s own temper slipped.
“He is right,” Damson Rhee said quietly.
Par wheeled on her, then caught himself. He jerked back toward his brother. Coll dared him to speak, red-faced, but silent. Par shook his head. Then I’ll have to come up with another way.“
Coll looked suddenly weary. “The truth of the matter is, there isn’t any other way.”
“There might be one.” It was Damson who spoke, her low voice compelling. “When the armies of the Warlock Lord besieged Tyrsis in the time of Balinor Buckhannah, the city was betrayed twice over from within—once by the front gates, the second time by passageways that ran beneath the city and the cliffs backing the old palace to the cellars beneath. Those passageways might still exist, giving us access to the ravine from the palace side.”
Coll looked away wordlessly, disgust registering on his blocky features. Clearly, he had hoped for better than this from Damson.
Par hesitated, then said carefully, “That all happened more than four hundred years ago. I had forgotten about those passageways completely—even telling the stories as often as I do.” He hesitated again. “Do you know anything about them—where they are, how to get into them, whether they can be traversed anymore?”
Damson shook her head slowly, ignoring the deliberate lift of Coll’s eyebrows. She said, “But I know someone who might. If he will talk to us.” Then she met Coll’s gaze and held it. There was a sudden softness in her face that surprised Par. “We all have a right to make our own choices,” she said quietly.