The Scions of Shannara Read Online Free PDF Page B

understanding, beings that drew their power from the night and from magics lost since the time of the Druids.
    They even had names, these creatures. They were called Shadowen.
    Suddenly, unpleasantly, Par thought again of the dreams and of the dark thing within them that had summoned him.
    He was aware then that the night had gone still; the voices of the fishermen and dockworkers, the buzz of the insects, and even the rustle of the night wind had disappeared. He could hear the sound of his own pulse in his ears, and a whisper of something else . . .
    Then a splash of water brought him to his feet with a start. Coll appeared, clambering out of the Mermidon at the river’s edge a dozen feet away, shedding water as he came. He was naked. Par recovered his composure and stared at him in disbelief.
    â€œShades, you frightened me! What were you doing?”
    â€œWhat does it look like I was doing?” Coll grinned. “I was out swimming!”
    What he was really doing, Par discovered after applying a bit more pressure, was appropriating a fishing skiff owned by the keeper of the Blue Whisker. The keeper had mentioned it to Coll once or twice when bragging about his fishing skills. Coll had remembered it when Par had mentioned needing a boat, remembered as well the description of the boat shed where the man said it was kept, and gone off to find it. He’d simply swum up to where it was stored, snapped the lock on the shed, slipped the mooring lines and towed it away.
    â€œIt’s the least he owes us after the kind of business we brought in,” he said defensively as he brushed himself dry and dressed.
    Par didn’t argue the point. They needed a boat worse than the ale house keeper, and this was probably their only chance to find one. Assuming the Seekers were still scouring the city for them, their only other alternative was to strike out on foot into the Runne Mountains—an undertaking that would require more than a week. A ride down the Mermidon was a journey of only a few days. It wasn’t as if they were stealing the boat, after all. He caught himself. Well, maybe it was. But they would return it or provide proper compensation when they could.
    The skiff was only a dozen feet in length, but it was equipped with oars, fishing gear, some cooking and camping equipment, a pair of blankets, and a canvas tarp. They boarded and pushed off into the night, letting the current carry them out from the shore and sweep them away.
    They rode the river south for the remainder of the night, using the oars to keep it in mid-channel, listening to the night sounds, watching the shoreline, and trying to stay awake. As they traveled, Coll offered his theory on what they should do next. It was impossible, of course, to go back into Callahorn any time in the immediate future. The Federation would be looking for them. It would be dangerous, in fact, to travel to any of the major Southland cities because the Federation authorities stationed there would be alerted as well. It was best that they simply return to the Vale. They could still tell the stories—not right away perhaps, but in a month or so after the Federation had stopped looking for them. Then, later, they could travel to some of the smaller hamlets, the more isolated communities, places the Federation seldom visited. It would all work out fine.
    Par let him ramble. He was willing to bet that Coll didn’t believe a word of it; and even if he did, there was no point in arguing about it now.
    They pulled into shore at sunrise and made camp in a grove of shade trees at the base of a windswept bluff, sleeping until noon, then rising to catch and eat fish. They were back on the river by early afternoon and continued on until well after sunset. Again they pulled into shore and made camp. It was starting to rain, and they put up the canvas to provide shelter. They made a small fire, pulled the blankets close, and sat silently facing the river,