Terry Brooks - The Sword of Shannara (Illustrated)

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I only scanned in the covers and the Brothers Hildebrandt art. Sorry its in black & white,

but I only had a copy of the paperback. If I come across color versions, I’ll update the

PDF. The text came from Gnutella, but no name was attached to the text file, so I can’t

give credit to that person.

Look out soon for my next PDF release, volume one of a series of Fate Magazine articles

compendiums. For those unfamiliar with Fate, it’s a periodical that specializes in

conspiracy stuff like UFOs, Big Foot, Loch Ness, etc.

The Sword of Shannara by Terry Brooks

The sun was already sinking into the deep green of the hills to the west of the

valley, the red and gray-pink of its shadows touching the comers of the land,

when Flick Ohmsford began his descent. The bail stretched out unevenly down the

northern slope, winding through the huge boulders which studded the rugged

terrain in massive clumps, disappearing into the thick forests of the lowlands

to reappear in brief glimpses in small clearings and thinning spaces of

woodland. Flick followed the familiar trail with his eyes as he trudged wearily

along, his light pack slung loosely over one shoulder. His broad, windburned

face bore a set, placid look, and only the wide gray eyes revealed the restless

energy that burned beneath the calm exterior. He was a young man, though his

stocky build and the grizzled brown hair and shaggy eyebrows made him look much

older. He wore the loose-fitting work clothes of the Vale people and in the pack

he carded were several metal implements that rolled and clanked loosely against

one another.

There was a slight chill in the evening air, and Flick clutched the collar

of his open wool shirt closer to his neck. His journey ahead lay through forests

and rolling flatlands, the latter not yet visible to him as he passed into the

forests, and the darkness of the tall oaks and somber hickories reached upward

to overlap and blot out the cloudless night sky. The sun had set, leaving only

the deep blue of the heavens pinpointed by thousands of friendly stars. The huge

trees shut out even these, and Flick was left alone in the silent darkness as he

moved slowly along the beaten path. Because he had traveled this same route a

hundred times, the young man noticed immediately the unusual stillness that

seemed to have captivated the entire valley this evening. The familiar buzzing

and chirping of insects normally present in the quiet of the night, the cries of

the birds that awoke with the setting of the sun to fly in search of food-all

were missing. Flick listened intently for some sound of life, but his keen ears

could detect nothing. He shook his head uneasily. The deep silence was

unsettling, particularly in view of the rumors of a frightening black-winged

creature sighted in the night skies north of the valley only days earlier.

He forced himself to whistle and turned his thoughts back to his day's

work in the country just to the north of the Vale, where outlying families

farmed and tended domestic livestock: He traveled to their homes every week,

supplying various items that they required and bringing bits of news on the

happenings of the Vale and occasionally the distant cities of the deep

Southland. Few people knew the surrounding countryside as well as he did, and

fewer still cared to travel beyond the comparative safety of their homes in the

valley. Men were more inclined to remain in isolated communities these days and

let the rest of the world get along as best it could. But Flick liked to travel

outside the valley from time to time, and the outlying homesteads were in need

of his services and were willing to pay him for the trouble. Flick's father was

not one to let an opportunity pass him by where there was money to be made, and

the arrangement seemed to work out well for all concerned.

A low-hanging branch brushing against his head caused Flick to start

suddenly and leap to one side. In chagrin, he straightened himself and glared

back at the leafy obstacle before continuing his journey at a slightly quicker

pace. He was deep in the lowland forests now and only slivers of moonlight were

able to find their way through the thick boughs overhead to light the winding

path dimly. It was so dark that Flick was having trouble finding the trail, and

as he studied the lay of the land ahead, he again found himself conscious of the

heavy silence. It was as if all life had been suddenly extinguished, and he

alone remained to find his way out of this forest tomb. Again he recalled the

strange rumors. He felt a bit anxious in spite of himself and glanced worriedly

around. But nothing stirred on the trail ahead nor moved in the trees about him,

and he felt embarrassingly relieved.

Pausing momentarily in a moonlit clearing, he gazed at the fullness of the

night sky before passing abruptly into the trees beyond. He walked slowly,

picking his way along the winding path that had narrowed beyond the clearing and

how seemed to disappear into a wall of trees and bushes ahead. He knew that it

was merely an illusion, but found himself glancing about uneasily all the same.

A few moments later, he was again on a wider trail and could discern bits of sky

peeking through the heavy trees. He was almost to the bottom of the valley and

about two miles from his home. He smiled and began whistling an old tavern song

as he hurried on. He was so intent on the trail ahead and the open land beyond

the forest that he failed to notice the huge black shadow that seemed to rise up

suddenly, detaching itself from a great oak tree on his left and moving swiftly

toward the path to intercept him. The dark figure was almost on top of the Vale

man before Flick sensed its presence looming up before him like a great, black

stone which threatened to crush his smaller being. With a startled cry of fear

he leaped aside, his pack falling to the path with a crash of metal, and his

left hand whipped out the long thin dagger at his waist. Even as he crouched to

defend himself, he was stayed by a commanding arm raised above the figure before

him and a strong, yet reassuring voice that spoke out quickly.

"Wait a moment, friend. I'm no enemy and have no wish to harm you. I

merely seek directions and would be grateful if you could show me the proper

path."

Flick relaxed his guard a bit and tried to peer into the blackness of the

figure before him in an effort to discover some semblance of a human being. He

could see nothing, however, and he moved to the left with cautious steps in an

attempt to catch the features of the dark figure in the tree-shadowed moonlight.

"I assure you, I mean no harm," the voice continued, as if reading the

Valeman's mind. "I did not mean to frighten you, but I didn't see you until you

were almost upon me, and I was afraid you might pass the by without realizing I

was there."

The voice stopped and the huge black figure stood silently, though Flick

could feel the eyes following him as he edged about the path to put his own back

to the light. Slowly the pale moonlight began to etch out the stranger's

features in vague lines and blue shadows. For a long moment the two faced one

another in silence, each studying the other, Flick in an effort to decide what

it was he faced, the stranger in quiet anticipation.

Then suddenly the huge figure lunged with terrible swiftness, his powerful

hands seizing the Valeman's wrists, and Flick was lifted abruptly off the solid

earth and held high, his knife dropping from nerveless fingers as the deep voice

laughed mockingly up at him.

"Well, well, my young friend! What are you going to do now, I wonder? I

could cut your heart out on the spot and leave you for the wolves if I chose,

couldn't I?"

Flick struggled violently to free himself, terror numbing his mind to any

thought but that of escape. He had no idea what manner of creature had subdued

him, but it was far more powerful than any normal man and apparently prepared to

dispatch Flick quickly. Then abruptly, his captor held him out at arm's length,

and the mocking voice became icy cold with displeasure.

"Enough of this, boy! We have played our little game and still you know

nothing of me. I'm tired and hungry and have no wish to be delayed on the forest

trail in the chill of the evening while you decide if I am man or beast. I will

set you down that you may show me the path. I warn you-do not try to run from me

or it will be the worse for you."

The strong voice trailed off and the tone of displeasure disappeared as

the former hint of mockery returned with a short laugh.

"Besides," the figure rumbled as the fingers released their iron grip and

Flick slipped to the path, "I may be a better friend than you realize."

The figure moved back a step as Flick straightened himself, rubbing his

wrists carefully to restore the circulation to his numbed hands. He wanted to

run, but was certain that the stranger would catch him again and this time

finish him without further thought. He leaned over cautiously and picked up the

fallen dagger, returning it to his belt.

Flick could see the fellow more dearly now, and a quick scrutiny of him

revealed that he was definitely human, though much larger than any man Flick had

ever seen. He was at least seven feet tall, but exceptionally lean, though it

was difficult to be certain about this, since his tall frame was wrapped in a

flowing black cloak with a loose cowl pulled close about his head. The darkened

face was long and deeply lined, giving it a craggy appearance. The eyes were

deep-set and almost completely hidden from view by shaggy eyebrows that knotted

fiercely over a long flat ruse. A short, black beard outlined a wide mouth that

was lust a line on the face-a line that never seemed to move. The overall

appearance was frightening, all blackness and size, and Flick had to fight down

the urge building within him to make a break for the forest's edge. He looked

straight into the deep, hard eyes of the stranger, though not without some

difficulty, and managed a weak smile.

"I thought you were a thief," he mumbled hesitantly.

"You were mistaken," was the quiet retort. Then the voice softened a bit.

"You must learn to know a friend from an enemy. Sometime your life may depend

upon it. Now then, let's have your name."

"Flick Ohmsford."

Flick hesitated and then continued in a slightly braver tone of voice.

"My father is Curzad Ohmsford. He manages an inn in Shady Vale a mile or

two from here. You could find lodging and food there."

"Ah, Shady Vale," the stranger exclaimed suddenly. "Yes, that is where I

am going." He paused as if reflecting on his own words. Flick watched him

cautiously as he rubbed his craggy face with crooked fingers and looked beyond

the forest's edge to the rolling grasslands of the valley. lie was still looking

away when he spoke again.

"You . . . have a brother."

It was not a question; it was a simple statement of fact. It was spoken so

distantly and calmly, as if the tall stranger were not at all interested in any

sort of a reply, that Flick almost missed hearing it. Then suddenly realizing

the significance of the remark, he started and looked quickly at the other.

"How did . . .?"

"Oh, well," the man said, "doesn't every young Valeman like yourself have

a brother somewhere?"

Flick nodded dumbly, unable to comprehend what it was that the other was

trying to say and wondering vaguely how much he knew about Shady Vale. The

stranger was looking questioningly at him, evidently waiting to be guided to the

promised food and lodging. Flick quickly turned away to find his hastily

discarded pack, picked it up and slung it over his shoulder, looking back at the

figure towering over him.

"The path is this way." He pointed, and the two began walking.

They passed out of the deep forest and entered rolling, gentle hills which

they would follow to the hamlet of Shady Vale at the far end of the valley. Out

of the woods, it was a bright night; the moon was a full white globe overhead,

its glow clearly illuminating the landscape of the valley and the path which the

two travelers were following. The path itself was a vague line winding over the

grassy hills and distinguishable only by occasional rain-washed ruts and fiat,

hard patches of earth breaking through the heavy grass. The wind had gathered

strength and rushed at the two men with quick gusts that whipped at their

clothing as they walked, forcing them to bow their heads slightly to shield

their eyes. Neither spoke a word as they proceeded, each concentrating on the

lay of the land beyond, as new hills and small depressions appeared with the

passing of each traveled knoll. Except for the rushing of the wind, the night

remained silent. Flick listened intently, and once he thought he heard a sharp

cry far to the north, but an instant later it was gone, and he did not hear it

again. The stranger appeared to be unconcerned with the silence. His attention

seemed to be focused on a constantly changing point on the ground some six feet

in front of them. He did not look up and he did not look at big young guide for

directions as they went. Instead, he seemed to know exactly where the other was

going and walked confidently beside hum.

After a while, Flick began to have trouble keeping pace with the tall man,

who traveled the path with long, swinging strides that dwarfed Flick's shorter

ones. At times, the Valeman almost had to run to keep up. Once or twice the

other man glanced down at his smaller companion and, seeing the difficulty he

was having in trying to match strides, slowed to an easier pace. Finally, as the

southern slopes of the valley drew near, the hills began to level off into

shrub-covered grasslands that hinted at the appearance of new forests. The

terrain began to dip downward at a gentle slope, and Flick located several

familiar landmarks that bounded the outskirts of Shady Vale. He felt a surge of

relief in spite of himself. The hamlet and his own warm home were just ahead.

The stranger did not speak a single word during the brief journey, and

Flick was reluctant to attempt any conversation. Instead, he tried to study the

giant in quick glimpses as they walked, without permitting the other to observe

what he was doing. He was understandably awed. The long craggy face, shaded by

the sharp black beard, recalled the fearful Warlocks described to him by stern

elders before the glowing embers of a late evening fire when he was only a

child. Most frightening were the stranger's eyes-or rather the deep, dark

caverns beneath the shaggy brows where his eyes should be. Flick could not

penetrate the heavy shadows that continued to mask that entire area of his face.

The deeply lined countenance seemed carved from stone, fixed and bowed slightly

to the path before it. As Flick pondered the inscrutable visage, he suddenly

realized that the stranger had never even mentioned his name.

The two were on the outer lip of the Vale, where the now clearly

distinguishable path wound through large, crowded bushes that almost choked off

human passage. The tall stranger stopped suddenly and stood perfectly still,

head bowed, listening intently. Flick halted beside him and waited quietly, also

listening, but unable to detect anything. They remained motionless for seemingly

endless minutes, and then the big man turned hurriedly to his smaller companion.

"Quickly! Hide in the bushes ahead. Go now, run!"

He half pushed, half threw Flick in front of him as he raced swiftly

toward the tall brush. Flick scurried fearfully for the sanctuary of the

shrubbery, his pack slapping wildly against his back and the metal implements

clanging. The stranger turned on him and snatched the pack away, tucking it

beneath the long robe.

"Silence!" he hissed. "Run now. Not a sound"

They ran quickly to the dark wall of foliage some fifty feet ahead, and

the tall man hurriedly pushed Flick through the leafy branches that whipped

against their faces, pulling him roughly into the middle of a large clump of

brush, where they stood breathing heavily. Flick glanced at his companion and

saw that he was not looking through the brush at the country around them, but

instead was peering upward where the night sky was visible in small, irregular

patches through the foliage. The sky seemed clear to the Valeman as he followed

the other's intense gaze, and only the changeless stars winked back at him as he

watched and waited. Minutes passed; once he attempted to speak, but was quickly

silenced by the strong hands of the stranger, gripping his shoulders in warning.

Flick remained standing, looking at the night and straining his ears for some

sound of the apparent danger. But he heard nothing save their own heavy

breathing and a quiet rush of wind through the weaving branches of their cover.

Then, just as Flick prepared to case his tired limbs by sitting the sky

was suddenly blotted out by something huge and black that floated overhead and

then passed from sight. A moment later it passed again, circling slowly without

seeming to move, its shadow flanging ominously above the two hidden travelers as

if preparing to fall upon them. A sudden feeling of terror raced through Flick's

mind, trapping it in an iron web as it strained to flee the fearful madness

penetrating inward. Something seemed to be reaching downward into his chest,

slowly squeezing the air from his lungs, and he found himself gasping for

breath. A vision passed sharply before him of a black image laced with red, of

clawed hands and giant wings, of a thing so evil that its very existence

threatened his frail life. For an instant the young man thought he would scream,

but the hand of the stranger gripped his shoulder tightly, pulling him back from

the precipice. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the giant shadow was gone

and the peaceful sky of the patched night was all that remained.

The hand on Flick's shoulder slowly relaxed its grip, and the Valeman slid

heavily to the ground, his body limp as he broke out in a cold sweat. The tall

stranger seated himself quietly next to his companion and a small smile crossed

his face. He laid one long hand on Flick's and patted it as he would a child's.

"Come now, my young friend," he whispered, "you're alive and well, and the

Vale lies just ahead."

Flick looked up at the other's calm face, his own eyes wide with fear as

he shook his head slowly.

"That thing! What was that terrible thing?"

"Just a shadow," the man replied easily. "But this is neither the place

nor the time to concern ourselves with such matters. We will speak of it later.

Right now, I would like some food and a warm fire before I lose all patience."

He helped the Valeman to his feet and returned his pack to him. Then with

a sweep of his robed arm, he indicated that he was ready to follow if the other

was ready to lead. They left the cover of the brush, Flick not without

misgivings as he glanced apprehensively at the night sky. It almost seemed as if

the whole business had been the result of an overactive imagination. Flick

pondered the matter solemnly and quickly decided that whatever the case, he had

had enough for one evening: first this nameless giant and then that frightening

shadow. He silently vowed that he would think twice before traveling again at

night so far from the safety of the Vale.

Several minutes later, the trees and brush began to thin out and the

flickering of yellow light was visible through the darkness. As they drew

closer, the vague forms of buildings began to take shape as square and

rectangular bulks in the gloom. The path widened into a smoother dirt road that

led straight into the hamlet, and Flick smiled gratefully at the lights that

shone in friendly greeting through the windows of the silent buildings. No one

moved on the road ahead; if it had not been for the lights, one might well have

wondered if anyone at all lived in the Vale. As it was, Flick's thoughts were

far from such questions. Already he was considering how much he ought to tell

his father and Shea, not wishing to worry them about strange shadows that could

easily have been the product of his imagination and the gloomy night. The

stranger at his side might shed some light on the subject at a later time, but

so far he had not proved to be much of a conversationalist. Flick glanced

involuntarily at the tall figure walking silently beside him. Again he was

chilled by the blackness of the man. It seemed to reflect from his cloak and

hood over his bowed head and lean hands, to shroud the entire figure in hazy

gloom. Whoever he was, Flick felt certain that he would be a dangerous enemy.

They passed slowly between the buildings of the hamlet, and Flick could

see torches burning through the wooden frames of the wide windows. The houses

themselves were long, low structures, each containing only a ground floor

beneath a slightly sloping roof, which in most instances tapered off on one side

to shelter a small veranda, supported by heavy poles affixed to a long porch.

The buildings were constructed of wood, with stone foundations and stone

frontings on a few. Flick glanced through the curtained windows, catching

glimpses of the inhabitants, the sight of familiar faces reassuring to him in

the darkness outside. It had been a frightening night, and he was relieved to be

home among people he knew.

The stranger remained oblivious to everything. He did not bother with more

than a casual glance at the hamlet and had not spoken once since they had

entered the Vale. Flick remained incredulous at the way in which the other

followed him. He wasn't following Flick at all, but seemed to know exactly where

the Valeman was going. When the road branched off in opposite directions amid

identical rows of houses, the tall man had no difficulty in determining the

correct route, though he never once looked at Flick nor even raised his head to

study the road. Flick found himself trailing along while the other guided.

The two quickly reached the inn. It was a large structure consisting of a

main building and lounging porch, with two long wings that extended out and back

on either side. It was constructed of huge logs, cut and laced on a high stone

foundation and covered with the familiar wood shingle roof, this particular roof

much higher than those of the family dwellings. The central building was well

lighted, and muffled voices could be heard from within, interspersed with

occasional laughter and shouts. The wings of the inn were in darkness; it was

there that the sleeping quarters of the guests were located. The smell of

roasting meat permeated the night air, and Flick quickly led the way up the

wooden steps of the long porch to the wide double doors at the center of the

inn. The tall stranger followed without a word.

Flick slid back the heavy metal door latch and pulled on the handles. The

big door on the right swung open to admit them into a large lounging room,

filled with benches, high-backed chairs, and several long, heavy wooden tables

set against the wall to the left and rear. The room was brightly lit by the tall

candles on the tables and wall racks and by the huge fireplace built into the

center of the wall on the left; Flick was momentarily blinded as his eyes

adjusted to this new light. He squinted sharply, glancing past the fireplace and

lounging furniture to the closed double doors at the back of the room and over

to the long serving bar running down the length of the wall to his right. The

men gathered about the bar looked up idly as the pair entered the room, their

faces registering undisguised amazement at the appearance of the tall stranger.

But Flick's silent companion did not seem to see them, and they quickly returned

to their conversation and evening drinks, glancing back at the newcomers once or

twice to see what they were going to do. The pair remained standing at the door

for a few moments more as Flick looked around a second time at the face of the

small crowd to see if his father were present. The stranger motioned to the

lounging chairs on the left.

"I will have a seat while you find your father. Perhaps we can have dinner

together when you return."

Without further comment, he moved quietly away to a small table at the

rear of the room and seated himself with his back to the men at the bar, his

face slightly bowed and turned away from Flick. The Valeman watched him for a

moment, then moved quickly to the double doors at the rear of the room and

pushed through them to the hallway beyond. His father was probably in the

kitchen, having dinner with Shea. Flick hurried down the hall past several

closed doors before reaching the one that opened into the inn kitchen. As he

entered, the two cooks who were working at the rear of the room greeted the

young man with a cheerful good evening. His father was seated at the end of a

long counter at the left. As Flick had anticipated, he was in the process of

finishing his dinner. He waved a brawny hand in greeting.

"You're a bit later than usual, son," he growled pleasantly. "Come over

here and have dinner while there's still something to eat."

Flick walked over wearily, lowered the traveling pack to the floor with a

slight clatter, and perched himself on one of the high counter stools. His

father's large frame straightened itself as he shoved back the empty plate and

looked quizzically at the other, his wide forehead wrinkling.

"I met a traveler on the road coming into the valley," Flick explained

hesitantly. "He wants a room and dinner. Asked us to join him."

"Well, he came to the right place for a room," the elder Ohmsford

declared. "I don't see why we shouldn't join him for a bite to eat-I could

easily do with another helping."

He raised his massive frame from the stool and signaled the cooks for

three dinners. Flick looked about for Shea, but he was nowhere in sight. His

father lumbered over to the cooks to give some special instructions on preparing

the meal for the small party, and Flick turned to the basin next to the sink to

wash off the dirt and grime from the road. When his father came over to him,

Flick asked where his brother had gone.

"Shea has gone out on an errand for me and should return on the moment,"

his father replied. "By the way, what's the name of this man you brought back

with you?"

"I don't know. He didn't say." Flick shrugged.

His father frowned and mumbled something about closemouthed strangers,

rounding off his muffled comment with a vow to have no more mysterious types at

his inn. Then motioning to his son, he led the way through the kitchen doors,

his wide shoulders brushing the wall beyond as he swung to his left toward the

lounging area. Flick followed quickly, his broad face wrinkled in doubt.

The stranger was still sitting quietly, his back to the men gathered at

the serving bar. When he heard the rear doors swing open, he shifted about

slightly to catch a glimpse of the two who entered. The stranger studied the

close resemblance between father and son. Both were of medium height and heavy

build, with the same broad, placid faces and grizzled brown hair. They hesitated

in the doorway and Flick pointed toward the dark figure. He could see the

surprise in Curzad Ohmsford's eyes as the innkeeper regarded him for a minute

before approaching. The stranger stood up courteously, towering over the other

two as they came up to him.

"Welcome to my inn, stranger," the elder Ohmsford greeted him, trying

vainly to peer beneath the cloak hood that shadowed the other's dark face. "My

name, as my boy has probably told you, is Curzad Ohmsford."

The stranger shook the extended hand with a grip that caused the stocky

man to grimace and then nodded to Flick.

"Your son was kind enough to show me to this pleasant inn." He smiled with

what Flick could have sworn was a mocking grin. "I hope you will join me for

dinner and a glass of beer."

"Certainly," answered the innkeeper, lumbering past the other to a vacant

chair where he seated himself heavily. Flick also pulled up a chair and sat

down, his eyes still on the stranger, who was in the process of complimenting

his father on having such a fine inn. The elder Ohmsford beamed with pleasure

and nodded in satisfaction to Flick as he signaled one of the men at the serving

bar for three glasses. The tall man still did not pull back the hood of the

cloak shading his face. Flick wanted to peer beneath the shadows, but was afraid

the stranger would notice, and one such attempt had already earned him sore

wrists and a healthy respect for the big man's strength and temper. It was safer

to remain in doubt.

He sat in silence as the conversation between his father and the stranger

lengthened from polite comments on the mildness of the weather to a more

intimate discussion of the people and happenings of the Vale. Flick noticed that

his father, who never needed much encouragement anyway, was carrying the entire

conversation with only casual questions interjected by the other man. It

probably did not matter, but the Ohmsfords knew nothing about the stranger. He

had not even told them his name. Now he was quite subtly drawing out information

on the Vale from the unsuspecting innkeeper. The whole situation bothered Flick,

but he was uncertain what he should do. He began to wish that Shea would appear

and see what was happening. But his brother remained absent, and the long-

awaited dinner was served and entirely consumed before one of the wide double

doors at the front of the lobby swung open, and Shea appeared from out of the

darkness.

For the first time, Flick saw the hooded stranger take more than a passing

interest in someone. Strong hands gripped the table as the black figure rose

silently, towering over the Ohmsfords. He seemed to have forgotten they were

there, as the lined brow furrowed more deeply and the craggy features radiated

an intense concentration. For one frightening second, Flick believed that the

stranger was somehow about to destroy Shea, but then the idea disappeared and

was replaced with another. The man was searching his brother's mind.

He stared intently at Shea, his deep, shaded eyes running quickly over the

young man's slim countenance and slight build. He noted the telltale Elven

features immediately-the hint of slightly pointed ears beneath the tousled blond

hair, the pencil-like eyebrows that ran straight up at a sharp angle from the

bridge of the nose rather than across the brow, and the slimness of the nose and

jaw. He saw intelligence and honesty in that face, and now as he faced Shea

across the room, he saw determination in the penetrating blue eyes-determination

that spread in a flush over the youthful features as the two men locked their

gazes on one another. For a moment Shea hesitated in awe of the huge, dark

apparition across the room. He felt unexplainably trapped but, bracing himself

with sudden resolve, he walked toward the forbidding figure.

Flick and his father watched Shea approach them, his eyes still on the

tall stranger and then, as if suddenly realizing who he was, the two rose from

the table. There was a moment of awkward silence as they faced one another, and

then all the Ohmsfords began greeting each other at once in a sudden jumble of

words that relieved the initial tension. Shea smiled at Flick, but could not

take his eyes off the imposing figure before him. Shea was slightly shorter than

his brother and was therefore even more in the shadow of the stranger than Flick

had been, though he was less nervous about it as tie faced the man. Curzad

Ohmsford was talking to him about his errand, and his attention was momentarily

diverted while he replied to his father's insistent questions. After a few

preliminary remarks, Shea turned back to the newcomer to the Vale.

"I don't believe we have met, yet you seem to know me from somewhere, and

I have the strangest feeling that I should know you."

The dark face above him nodded as the familiar mocking smile crossed it

fleetingly.

"Perhaps you should know me, though it is not surprising that you do not

remember. But I know who you are; indeed, I know you well."

Shea was dumbfounded at this reply and, unable to respond, stood staring

at the stranger. The other raised a lean hand to his chin to stroke the small

dark beard, glancing slowly around at the three men who waited for him to

continue. Flick's open mouth was framing the question on the minds of all the

Ohmsfords, when the stranger reached up and pulled back the cowl of his cloak to

reveal clearly the dark face, now framed by long black hair, cut nearly shoulder

length and shading the deep-set eyes, which still showed only as black slits in

the shadows beneath the heavy brows.

"My name is Allanon," he announced quietly.

There was a long moment of stunned silence as the three listeners stared

in speechless amazement. Allanon-the mysterious wanderer of the four lands,

historian of the races, philosopher and teacher, and, some said, practitioner of

the mystic arts. Allanon-the man who had been everywhere from the darkest havens

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Terry Brooks - The Sword of Shannara (Illustrated)

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