Terry Brooks - The Talismans Of Shannara

VIP免费

2024-11-29 0 0 673.67KB 309 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

Busk settled down about the Four Lands, a slow graying

of light, a gradual lengthening of shadows. The swelter

of the late summer's day began to fade as the sun's red

fireball sank into the west and the hot, stale air cooled. The

hush that comes with day's end stilled the earth, and leaves

and grass shivered with expectation at the coming of night.

At the mouth of the Mermidon where it emptied into the

Rainbow Lake, Southwatch rose blackly, impenetrable and

voiceless. The wind brushed the waters of the lake and river,

yet did not approach the obelisk, as if anxious to hurry on to

some place mere inviting. The air shimmered about the dark

tower, heat radiating from its stone in waves, forming spectral

images that darted and flew. A solitary hunter at the water's

edge glanced up apprehensively as he passed and continued

swiftly on.

Within, the Shadowen went about their tasks in ghostly si-

lence, cowled and faceless and filled with purpose.

Rimmer Dall stood at a window looking out on the darken-

ing countryside, watching the color fade from the earth as the

night crept stealthily out of the east to gather in its own.

The night, our mother, our comfort.

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, rigid

within his dark robes, cowl pulled back from his rawboned,

red-bearded face. He looked hard and empty of feeling, and

had he cared he would have been pleased. But it had been a

long time since his appearance had mattered to the First

Seeker—a long time since he had bothered even to wonder.

2 The Talismans of Shannara

His outside was of no consequence; he could be anything he

chose. What burned within mattered. That gave him life.

His eyes glittered as he looked beyond what he was seeing

to what one day would be.

To what was promised.

He shifted slightly, alone with his thoughts in the tower's si-

lence. The others did not exist for him, wraiths without sub-

stance. Below, deep within the bowels of the tower, he could

hear the sounds of the magic at work, the deep hum of its

breathing, the rumble of its heart. He listened for it without

thinking now, a habit that brought reassurance to his troubled

mind. The power was theirs, brought from the ether into sub-

stance, given shape and form, lent purpose. It was the gift of

the Shadowen, and it belonged to them alone.

Druids and others notwithstanding.

He tried a faint smile, but his mouth refused to put up with

it and it disappeared in the tight line of his lips. His gloved left

hand squirmed within the clasp of the bare fingers of his right.

Power for power, strength for strength. On his breast, the silver

wolf's-head insignia glittered.

Thrum, thrum, came the sound of the magic working down

below.

Rimmer Dall turned back into the grayness of the room—a

room that until recently had held Coil Ohmsford prisoner. Now

the Valeman was gone—escaped, he believed; but let go in fact

and made prisoner another way. Gone to find his brother. Par.

Side 1

Terry Brooks - The Talismans Of Shannara

The one with the real magic.

The one who would be his.

The First Seeker moved away from the window and seated

himself at the bare wooden table, the weight of his big frame

causing the spindly chair to creak. His hands folded on the ta-

ble before him and his craggy face lowered.

All the Ohmsfords were back in the Pour Lands, all the sci-

ons of Shannara, returned from their quests. Walker Boh had

come back from Eldwist despite Pe Ell, the Black Elfstone re-

gained, its magic fathomed, Paranor brought back into the

world of men, and Walker himself become the first of the new

Druids. Wren Elessedil had come back from Morrowindl with

Arborlon and the Elves, the magic of the Elfstones discovered

The Talismans of Shannara 3

anew, her own identity and heritage revealed. Two out of three

of Allanon's charges fulfilled. Two out of three steps taken.

Par's was to be the last, of course. Find the Sword of

Shannara. Find the Sword and it will reveal the truth.

Games played by old men and shades, Rimmer Dall mused.

Charges and quests, searches for truth. Well, he knew the truth

better than they, and the truth was that none of this mattered

because in the end the magic was all and the magic belonged

to the Shadowen.

It grated on him that despite his efforts to prevent it, both

the Elves and Paranor were back. Those he had sent to keep

the Shannara scions from succeeding had failed. The price

of their failure had been death, but that did little to assuage his

annoyance. Perhaps he should have been angry—perhaps even

a little worried. But Rimmer Dall was confident in his power,

certain of his control over events and time, assured that the fu-

ture was still his to determine. Though Teel and Pe EU had dis-

appointed him, there were others who would not.

Thrum, thrum, the magic whispered.

And so ...

Rimmer Dall's lips pursed. A little time was all that was

needed. A little time to let events he had already set in motion

follow their course, and then it would be too late for the Druid

dead and their schemes. Keep the Dark Uncle and the girl

apart. Don't let them share their knowledge. Don't let them

join forces.

Don't let them find the Valemen.

What was needed was a distraction, something that would

keep them otherwise occupied. Or better still, something that

would put an end to them. Armies, of course, to grind down

the Elves and the free-bom alike. Federation soldiers and

Shadowen Creepers and whatever else he could muster to

sweep these fools from his life. But something more, some-

thing special for the Shannara children with all their magics

and Druid charms.

He considered the matter for a long time, the gray twilight

changing to night about him. The moon rose in the east, a

scythe against the black, and the stars brightened into sharp

pinpricks of silver. Their glow penetrated the darkness where

the First Seeker sat and transformed his face into a skull.

Side 2

Terry Brooks - The Talismans Of Shannara

4 The Talismans of Shannara

Yes, he nodded finally.

The Dark Uncle was obsessed with his Druid heritage. Send

him something to play against that weakness, something that

would confuse and frustrate him. Send him the Four Horse-

men.

And the girl. Wren Elessedil had lost her protector and ad-

viser. Give her someone to fill that void. Give her one of his

own choosing, one who would soothe and comfort her, who

would ease her fears, then betray her and strip her of every-

thing.

The others were no serious threat—not even the leader of

the free-bom and the Highlander. They could do nothing with-

out the Ohmsford heirs. If the Dark Uncle was imprisoned in

his Keep and the Elf Queen's brief reign ended, the Druid

shade's carefully constructed plans would collapse about him.

Allanon would sink back into the Hadeshorn with the rest of

his ghost kin, consigned to the past where he belonged.

Yes, the others were insignificant.

But he would deal with them anyway.

And even if all his efforts failed, even if he could do noth-

ing more than chase them about, harry them as a dog would its

prey, still that would be sufficient if in the end Par Ohmsford's

soul fell to him. He needed only that to put an end to all of the

hopes of his enemies. Only that. It was a short walk to the

precipice, and the Valeman was already moving toward it. His

brother would be the staked goat that would bring him, that

would draw him like a wolf at hunt. Coil Ohmsford was deep

under the spell of the Mirrorshroud by now, a slave to the

magic from which the cloak was formed. He had stolen it to

disguise himself, never guessing that Rimmer Dall had in-

tended as much, never suspecting that it was a deadly snare to

turn him to the First Seeker's own grim purpose. Coil

Ohmsford would hunt his brother down and force a confronta-

tion. He would do so because the cloak would let him do noth-

ing less, settling a madness within him that only his brother's

death could assuage. Par would be forced to fight. And be-

cause he lacked the magic of the Sword of Shannara, because

his conventional weapons would not be enough to stop the

Shadowen-kind his brother had become, and because he would

The Talismans of Shannara 5

be terrified that this was yet another trick, he would use the

wishsong's magic.

Perhaps he would kill his own brother, but this time kill him

in truth, and then discover—when it was too late to change

things back—what he had done.

And perhaps not. Perhaps he would let his brother escape—

and be led to his doom.

The First Seeker shrugged. Either way, the result would be

the same. Either way the Valeman was finished. Use of the

magic and the series of shocks that would surely result from

doing so would unbalance him. It would free the magic from

his control and let him become Rimmer Dall's tool. Rimmer

Dall was certain of it. He could be so because unlike the

Shannara scions and their mentor he understood the Elven

magic, his magic by blood and right. He understood what it

Side 3

Terry Brooks - The Talismans Of Shannara

was and how it worked. He knew what Par did not—what was

happening to the wishsong, why it behaved as it did, how it

had slipped its leash to become a wild thing that hunted as it

chose.

Par was close. He was very close.

The danger of grappling with the beast is that you will be-

come it.

He was almost one of them.

Soon it would happen.

There was, of course, the possibility that the Valeman would

discover the truth about the Sword of Shannara before then.

Was the weapon he carried, the one Rimmer Dall had given up

so easily, the talisman he sought or a fake? Par Ohmsford still

didn't know. It was a calculated risk that he would not find

out. Yet even if he did, what good would it do him? Swords

were two-edged and could cut either way. The truth might do

Par more harm than good ...

Rimmer Dall rose and walked again to the window, a

shadow in the night's blackness, folded and wrapped against

the light. The Druids didn't understand; they never had.

Allanon was an anachronism before he had even become what

Bremen intended him to be. Druids—they used the magic like

fools played with fire: astounded at its possibilities, yet terri-

fied of its risks. No wonder the flames had burned them so of-

ten. But that did not prevent them from refusing their

6 The Talismans of Shannara

mysterious gift. They were so quick to judge others who

sought to wield the power—the Shadowen foremost—to see

them as the enemy and destroy them.

As they had destroyed themselves.

But there was symmetry and meaning in the Shadowen vi-

sion of life, and the magic was no toy with which they played

but the heart of who and what they were, embraced, protected,

and worshipped. No half measures in which life's accessibility

was denied or self-serving cautions issued to assure that none

would share in the use. No admonitions or warnings. No

gamesplaying. The Shadowen simply were what the magic

would make them, and the magic when accepted so would

make them anything.

The tree-tips of the forests and the cliffs of the Runne were

dark humps against the flat, silver-laced surface of the Rain-

bow Lake. Rimmer Dall gazed out upon the world, and he saw

what the Druids had never been able to see.

That it belonged to those strong enough to take it, hold it,

and shape it. That it was meant to be used.

His eyes burned the color of blood.

It was ironic that the Ohmsfords had served the Druids for

so long, carrying out their charges, going on their quests, fol-

lowing their visions to truths that never were. The stories were

legend. Shea and Flick, Wil, Brin and Jair, and now Par. It had

all been for nothing. But here is where it would end. For Par

would serve the Shadowen and by doing so put an end forever

to the Ohmsford-Druid ties.

Side 4

Terry Brooks - The Talismans Of Shannara

"Par. Par. Par."

Rimmer Dall whispered his name soothingly to the night. It

was a litany that filled his mind with visions of power that

nothing could withstand.

For a long time he stood at the window and allowed himself

to dream of the future.

Then abruptly he wheeled away and went down into the

tower's depths to feed.

The cellar beneath the gristmill was thick with shadows,

the faint streamers of light let through by gaps in the

floorboards disappearing rapidly into twilight. Chased

from his safe hole through the empty catacombs, pinned finally

against the blocked trapdoor through which he had thought to

escape. Par Ohmsford crouched like an animal brought to bay,

the Sword of Shannara clutched protectively before him as the

intruder who had harried him to this end stopped abruptly and

reached up to lower the cowl that hid his face.

"Lad," a familiar voice whispered. "It's me."

The cloak's hood was down about the other's shoulders,

and a dark head was laid bare. But still the shadows were too

great ...

The figure stepped forward tentatively, the hand with the

long knife lowering. "Par? "

The intruder's features were caught suddenly in a hazy wash

of gray light, and Par exhaled sharply.

"Padishar!" he exclaimed in relief. "Is it really you? "

The long knife disappeared back beneath the cloak, and the

other's laugh was low and unexpected. "In the flesh. Shades,

I thought I'd never find you! I've been searching for days, the

whole of Tyrsis end to end, every last hideaway, every burrow,

and each time only Federation and Shadowen Seekers wait-

ing!"

He came forward to the bottom of the stairs, smiling

broadly, arms outstretched. "Come here, lad. Let me see you."

Par lowered the Sword of Shannara and came down the

8 The Talismans of Shannara

steps in weary gratitude. "I thought you were ... I was

afraid ..."

And then Padishar had his arms about him, embracing him,

clapping him on the back, and then lifting him off the floor as

if he were sackcloth.

"Par Ohmsford!" he greeted, setting the Valeman down fi-

nally, hands gripping his shoulders as he held him at arm's

length to study him. The familiar smile was bright and care-

less. He laughed again. "You look a wreck!"

Par grimaced. "You don't look so well-kept yourself." There

were scars from battle wounds on the big man's face and neck,

new since they had parted. Par shook his head, overwhelmed.

"I guess I knew you had escaped the Pit, but it's good seeing

you here to prove it."

"Hah, there's been a lot happen since then, Valeman, I can

Side 5

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

Terry Brooks - The Talismans Of ShannaraIBusk settled down about the Four Lands, a slow grayingof light, a gradual lengthening of shadows. The swelterof the late summer's day began to fade as the sun's redfireball sank into the west and the hot, stale air cooled. Thehush that comes with day's end st...

展开>> 收起<<

Terry Brooks - The Talismans Of Shannara.pdf

共309页,预览5页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Terry Brooks - The Talismans Of Shannara

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: