Terry Brooks - The Scions of Shannara

The magic! Oh, Shades—it was the magic!

Power surged through the blade, linking them together, flowing into Teel. Then crimson fire exploded through her. Her hands tore at the blade, at her body, at her face, and the mask came free. Morgan Leah would never forget what lay beneath, a countenance born of the blackest pits of the netherworld, ravaged and twisted and alive with demons that he had only imagined might exist. Teel seemed to disappear entirely, and there was only the Shadowen behind the face, a thing of blackness and no substance, an emptiness that blocked and swallowed the light.

Invisible hands fought to thrust Morgan away, to strip him of his weapon and of his soul.

“Leah! Leah!” He sounded the battle cry of his ancestors, of the Kings and Princes of his land for a thousand years, and that single word became the talisman to which he clung.

The Shadowen’s scream became a shriek. Then it collapsed, the darkness that sustained it crumbling and fading away. Teel returned, a frail, limp bundle, empty of life and being. She fell forward atop him, dead.

It took several minutes for Morgan to find the strength to push Teel away. He lay there in the wetness of his own sweat and blood, listening to the sudden silence, exhausted, pinned to the cavern floor by the dead girl’s weight. His only thought was that he had survived.

Then slowly his pulse quickened. It was the magic that had saved him. It was the magic of the Sword of Leah. Shades, it wasn’t gone after all! At least some part of it still lived, and if part of it lived then there was a chance that it could be completely restored, that the blade could be made whole again, the magic preserved, the power...

His ruminations scattered uncontrollably in their frantic passing and disappeared. He gulped air into his lungs, mustered his strength and pushed Teel’s body aside. She was suprisingly light. He looked down at her as he rolled onto his hands and knees. She was all shrunken in, as if something had dissolved her bones. Her face was twisted and scarred, but the demons he had seen there were gone.

Then he heard Steff gasp. Unable to rise, he crawled to his friend. Steff lay on his back, the dagger still protruding from his chest. Morgan started to remove it, then slowly drew back. He knew at a glance that it was too late to make any difference. Gently, he touched his friend’s shoulder.

Steff’s eyes blinked open and shifted to find him. “Teel?” he asked softly.

“She’s dead,” Morgan whispered back.

The Dwarf’s scarred face tightened with pain, then relaxed. He coughed blood. “I’m sorry, Morgan. Sorry ... I was blind, so this had to happen.”

“It wasn’t only you.”

“I should have seen... the truth. Should have recognized it. I just... didn’t want to, I guess.”

“Steff, you saved our lives. If you hadn’t awakened me

“Listen to me. Listen, Highlander. You are my closest friend. I want you... to do something.” He coughed again, then tried to steady his voice. “I want you to go back to Culhaven and make certain... that Granny Elise and Auntie Jilt are all right.” His eyes squeezed shut and opened again. “You understand me, Morgan? They will be in danger because Teel...”

“I understand,” Morgan cut him short.

“They are all I have left,” Steff whispered, reaching out to fasten his hand on Morgan’s arm. “Promise me.”

Morgan nodded wordlessly, then said, “I promise.”

Steff sighed, and the words he spoke were little more than a whisper. T loved her, Morgan.“

Then his hand slid away, and he died.

Everything that happened after that was something of a blur to Morgan Leah. He stayed at Steff s side for a time, so dazed that he could think of doing nothing else. Then he remembered Padishar Creel. He forced himself to his feet and went over to check on the big man. Padishar was still alive, but unconscious, his left arm broken from warding off the blows struck by the iron bar, his head bleeding from a deep gash. Morgan wrapped the head injury to stop the blood loss, but left the arm alone. There was no time to set it now.

The machinery that operated the bridge was smashed and there was no way that he could repair it. If the Federation was sending an attack force into the tunnels tonight—and Morgan had to assume they were—then the bridge could not be raised to prevent their advance. It was only a few hours until dawn. That meant that Federation soldiers were probably already on their way. Even without Teel to guide them they would have little trouble following the tunnel to the Jut.

He found himself wondering what had become of Chandos and the men he was supposed to bring with him. They should have arrived by now.

He decided he couldn’t risk waiting for them. He had to get out of there. He would have to carry Padishar since his efforts to waken the other had failed. Steff would have to be left behind.

It took him several minutes to decide what was needed. First he salvaged the Sword of Leah, slipping it carefully back into its makeshift sheath. Then he carried Teel and afterward Steff to the edge of the crevice and dropped them over. He wasn’t sure it was something he could do until after it was done. It left him feeling sick and empty inside.

He was incredibly tired by then, so weak that he did not think he could make it back through the tunnels by himself, let alone carrying Padishar. But somehow he managed to get the other across his shoulders and, with one of the torches to guide him, he started out.

He walked for what seemed like hours, seeing nothing, hearing only the sound of his own boots as they scraped across the stone. Where was Chandos, he asked himself over and over again? Why hadn’t he come? He stumbled and fell so many times that he lost count, tripped up by the tunnel’s rock and by his own weariness. His knees and hands were torn and bloodied, and his body began to grow numb. He found himself thinking of curious things, of his boyhood and his family, of the adventures he had shared growing up with Par and Coll, of the steady, reliable Steff and the Dwarves of Culhaven. He cried some of the time, thinking of what had become of them all, of how much of the past had been lost. He talked to Padishar when he felt himself on the verge of collapse, but Padishar slept on.

He walked, it seemed, forever.

Yet when Chandos finally did appear, accompanied by a swarm of outlaws and Axhind and his Trolls, Morgan was no longer walking at all. He had collapsed in the tunnel, exhausted.

He was carried with Padishar the rest of the way, and he tried to explain what had happened. He was never certain exactly what he said. He knew that he rambled, sometimes incoherently. He remembered Chandos saying something about a new Federation assault, that the assault had prevented him coming as quickly as he had wanted. He remembered the strength of the other’s gnarled hand as it held his own.

It was still dark when they regained the bluff, and the Jut was indeed under attack. Another diversion, perhaps, to draw attention away from the soldiers sneaking through the tunnels, but one that required dealing with nevertheless. Arrows and spears flew from below, and the siege towers had been hauled forward. Numerous attempts at scaling the heights had already been repelled. Preparations for making an escape, however, were complete. The wounded were set to move out, those that could walk risen to their feet, those that couldn’t placed on litters. Morgan went with the latter group as they were carried back into the caves to where the tunnels began.

Chandos appeared, his fierce, black-bearded face hovering close to Morgan as he spoke.

“All is well, Highlander,” Morgan would remember the other man saying, his voice a faint buzz. “There’s Federation soldiers in the hidden tunnel already, but the rope bridges have been cut. That will slow them a bit—long enough for us to be safely away. We’ll be going into these other tunnels. There’s a way out through them as well, you see, one that only Padishar knows. It’s rougher going, a good number of twists and turns and a few tricky choices to be made. But Padishar knows what to do. Never leaves anything to chance. He’s awake again, bringing the rest of them down, making sure everyone’s out. He’s a tough one, old Padishar. But no tougher than you. You saved his life, you did. You got him out of there just in time. Rest now, while you can. You won’t have long.”