{"product_id":"the-talismans-of-shannara-isbn-9780345386748","title":"The Talismans of Shannara","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe fourth volume of The Heritage of Shannara, which continues one of the most popular fantasy series of all time.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Shadowen still swarm over the Four Lands, poisoning everything with their dark magic. And their leader is determined to destroy all the Scions of Shannara. For Walker Boh, he dispatches the Four Horsemen. For Wren, he sends an untrue friend. And for Par, he devises the most terrible fate of all. With these traps cleverly laid, the charges given by the shade of the Druid Allanon are doomed to failure—unless Par can discover a way to harness the power of the Sword of Shannara.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThus continues the enthralling Shannara epic, a spellbinding tale of adventure, magic, and myth…\"If Harry Potter has given you a thirst for fantasy and you have not discovered the magic of Terry Brooks, you are in for a treat.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e--Rocky Mountain News\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"If you were delighted and entranced by Michael Ende's \u003ci\u003eThe Never Ending Story\u003c\/i\u003e, you will definitely want to sample one of more of Terry Brooks's books.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e--Santa Cruz Sentinel\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eTerry Brooks\u003c\/b\u003e has thrilled readers for decades with his powers of imagination and storytelling. He is the author of more than thirty books, most of which have been \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestsellers. He lives with his wife, Judine, in the Pacific Northwest.Dusk settled down about the Four Lands, a slow graying of light, a gradual lengthening of shadows.\u003cbr\u003eThe swelter of the late summer’s day began to fade as the sun’s red fireball sank into the west and\u003cbr\u003ethe hot, stale air cooled. The hush that comes with day’s end stilled the earth, and leaves and\u003cbr\u003egrass shivered with expectation at the coming of night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt the mouth of the Mermidon where it emptied into the Rainbow Lake,\u003cbr\u003eSouthwatch rose blackly, impenetrable and voiceless. The wind brushed\u003cbr\u003ethe waters of the lake and river, yet did not approach the obelisk, as\u003cbr\u003eif anxious to hurry on to some place more inviting. The air shimmered\u003cbr\u003eabout the dark tower, heat radiating from its stone in waves, forming\u003cbr\u003espectral images that darted and flew. A solitary hunter at the water’s\u003cbr\u003eedge glanced up apprehensively as he passed and continued swiftly on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWithin, the Shadowen went about their tasks in ghostly silence, cowled\u003cbr\u003eand faceless and filled with purpose.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRimmer Dall stood at a window looking out on the darkening countryside, watching the color fade from the earth as the night crept stealthily out of the east to gather in its own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe night, our mother, our comfort.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe stood with his hands clasped behind his back, rigid within his dark\u003cbr\u003erobes, cowl pulled back from his rawboned, red-bearded face. He looked\u003cbr\u003ehard 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. His outside was of no consequence; he could be anything he chose. What burned within mattered. That gave him life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis eyes glittered as he looked beyond what he was seeing to what one\u003cbr\u003eday would be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo what was promised.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe shifted slightly, alone with his thoughts in the tower’s silence.\u003cbr\u003eThe others did not exist for him, wraiths without substance. 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 substance, given shape and form, lent purpose. It was the gift of the Shadowen, and it belonged to them alone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDruids and others notwithstanding.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe tried a faint smile, but his mouth refused to put up with it and it\u003cbr\u003edisappeared in the tight line of his lips. His gloved left hand squirmed\u003cbr\u003ewithin the clasp of the bare fingers of his right. Power for power,\u003cbr\u003estrength for strength. On his breast, the silver wolf’s-head insignia\u003cbr\u003eglittered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThrum, thrum,\u003c\/i\u003e came the sound of the magic working down below.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRimmer Dall turned back into the grayness of the room--a room that\u003cbr\u003euntil recently had held Coll Ohmsford prisoner. Now the Valeman was\u003cbr\u003egone--escaped, he believed; but let go in fact and made prisoner\u003cbr\u003eanother way. Gone to find his brother, Par.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe one with the real magic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe one who would be his.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe 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 table before him and his craggy face lowered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll the Ohmsfords were back in the Four Lands, all the scions of\u003cbr\u003eShannara, returned from their quests. Walker Boh had come back from\u003cbr\u003eEldwist despite Pe Ell, the Black Elfstone regained, its magic fathomed,\u003cbr\u003eParanor 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 anew, her own identity and heritage revealed. Two out of three of Allanon’s charges fulfilled. Two out of three steps taken.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePar’s was to be the last, of course. Find the Sword of Shannara. Find the Sword and it will reveal the truth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGames played by old men and shades, Rimmer Dall mused. Charges and\u003cbr\u003equests, searches for truth. Well, he knew the truth better than they,\u003cbr\u003eand the truth was that none of this mattered because in the end the\u003cbr\u003emagic was all and the magic belonged to the Shadowen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt grated on him that despite his efforts to prevent it, both the Elves\u003cbr\u003eand Paranor were back. Those he had sent to keep the Shannara scions\u003cbr\u003efrom succeeding had failed. The price of their failure had been death,\u003cbr\u003ebut that did little to assuage his annoyance. Perhaps he should have\u003cbr\u003ebeen angry--perhaps even a little worried. But Rimmer Dall was\u003cbr\u003econfident in his power, certain of his control over events and time,\u003cbr\u003eassured that the future was still his to determine. Though Teel and Pe\u003cbr\u003eEll had disappointed him, there were others who would not.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThrum, thrum,\u003c\/i\u003e the magic whispered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd so . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRimmer Dall’s lips pursed. A little time was all that was needed. A\u003cbr\u003elittle time to let events he had already set in motion follow their\u003cbr\u003ecourse, and then it would be too late for the Druid dead and their\u003cbr\u003eschemes. Keep the Dark Uncle and the girl apart. Don’t let them share\u003cbr\u003etheir knowledge. Don’t let them join forces.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDon’t let them find the Valemen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat was needed was a distraction, something that would keep them\u003cbr\u003eotherwise occupied. Or better still, something that would put an end to\u003cbr\u003ethem. Armies, of course, to grind down the Elves and the free-born\u003cbr\u003ealike, Federation soldiers and Shadowen Creepers and whatever else he\u003cbr\u003ecould muster to sweep these fools from his life. But something more,\u003cbr\u003esomething special for the Shannara children with all their magics and\u003cbr\u003eDruid charms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe considered the matter for a long time, the gray twilight changing to\u003cbr\u003enight about him. The moon rose in the east, a scythe against the black,\u003cbr\u003eand the stars brightened into sharp pinpricks of silver. Their glow\u003cbr\u003epenetrated the darkness where the First Seeker sat and transformed his face into a skull.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYes, he nodded finally.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe 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 Horsemen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the girl. Wren Elessedil had lost her protector and adviser. Give\u003cbr\u003eher someone to fill that void. Give her one of his own choosing, one who\u003cbr\u003ewould soothe and comfort her, who would ease her fears, then betray her and strip her of everything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe others were no serious threat--not even the leader of the free-born and the Highlander. They could do nothing without 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYes, the others were insignificant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut he would deal with them anyway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd even if all his efforts failed, even if he could do nothing more\u003cbr\u003ethan chase them about, harry them as a dog would its prey, still that\u003cbr\u003ewould be sufficient if in the end Par Ohmsford’s soul fell to him. He\u003cbr\u003eneeded only that to put an end to all of the hopes of his enemies. Only\u003cbr\u003ethat. It was a short walk to the precipice, and the Valeman was already\u003cbr\u003emoving toward it. His brother would be the staked goat that would bring him, that would draw him like a wolf at hunt. Coll 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 intended as much, never suspecting that it was a deadly snare to turn him to the First Seeker’s own grim purpose. Coll Ohmsford would hunt his brother down and force a confrontation. He would do so because the cloak would let him do nothing less, settling a madness within him that only his brother’s death could assuage. Par would be forced to fight. And because 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 be terrified that this was yet another trick, he would use the wishsong’s\u003cbr\u003emagic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePerhaps he would kill his own brother, but this time kill him in truth,\u003cbr\u003eand then discover--when it was too late to change things back--what he had done.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd perhaps not. Perhaps he would let his brother escape--and be led to his doom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe First Seeker shrugged. Either way, the result would be the same.\u003cbr\u003eEither 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 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 \u003cbr\u003ethat hunted as it chose.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePar was close. He was very close.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe danger of grappling with the beast is that you will become it.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was almost one of them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSoon it would happen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was, of course, the possibility that the Valeman would discover\u003cbr\u003ethe 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\u003cbr\u003esought 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 . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRimmer Dall rose and walked again to the window, a shadow in the\u003cbr\u003eNight’s blackness, folded and wrapped against the light. The Druids\u003cbr\u003edidn’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 terrified of its risks. No wonder the flames had burned them so often. But that did not prevent them from refusing their mysterious gift. They were so quick to judge others who sought to wield the power‰Û”the Shadowen foremost‰Û”to see them as the enemy and destroy them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs they had destroyed themselves.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut there was symmetry and meaning in the Shadowen vision 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe tree-tips of the forests and the cliffs of the Runne were dark humps against the flat, silver-laced surface of the Rainbow Lake. Rimmer Dall gazed out upon the world, and he saw what the Druids had never been able to see.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat it belonged to those strong enough to take it, hold it, and shape\u003cbr\u003eit. That it was meant to be used.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis eyes burned the color of blood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was ironic that the Ohmsfords had served the Druids for so long,\u003cbr\u003ecarrying out their charges, going on their quests, following their\u003cbr\u003evisions to truths that never were. The stories were legend. Shea and\u003cbr\u003eFlick, Wil, Brin and Jair, and now Par. It had all been for nothing. But\u003cbr\u003ehere is where it would end. For Par would serve the Shadowen and by\u003cbr\u003edoing so put an end forever to the Ohmsford-Druid ties.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Par. Par. Par.?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRimmer Dall whispered his name soothingly to the night. It was a litany\u003cbr\u003ethat filled his mind with visions of power that nothing could withstand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor a long time he stood at the window and allowed himself to dream of\u003cbr\u003ethe future.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen abruptly he wheeled away and went down into the tower’s depths to feed.","brand":"Del Rey","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302013849829,"sku":"NP9780345386748","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345386748.jpg?v=1767741777","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-talismans-of-shannara-isbn-9780345386748","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}