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"Then the invasion has
begun?" Balinor asked shortly.
Allanon nodded solemnly, and
the others exchanged startled looks.
"Without the Sword we cannot
defeat the Warlock Lord, so we must attempt to stop his armies. To do
this, we must unite the free nations quickly. We may already be too
late. Brona will use his armies to seize all of the central Southland.
To do this he need only destroy the Border Legion of Callahorn. Balinor,
the Legion must hold the cities of Callahorn to give the nations enough
time to unite their armies and strike back at the invader. Durin and
Dayel can accompany you to Tyrsis and from there travel westward to
their own land. Eventine must bring his Elven armies across the Plains
of Streleheim to reinforce Tyrsis. If we lose there, the Warlock Lord
will have succeeded in driving a wedge between the armies, and there
will be little chance of uniting them. Worse still, the entire Southland
will lie open and unprotected. Men will never be able to form their
armies in time. The Border Legion of Callahorn is the only chance they
have."
Balinor nodded in agreement
and turned to Hendel.
"What support can the Dwarfs
give us?"
"The city of Varfleet is the
key to the eastern sector of Callahorn." Hendel pondered the situation
carefully. "My people must protect against any assault through the Anar,
but we can spare enough men to help defend Varfleet as well. But you
must hold the cities of Kern and Tyrsis yourself."
"The Elven armies will help
you on the west," Durin promised quickly.
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed
Menion incredulously. "What about Shea? You've kind of forgotten about
him, haven't you?"
"Still allowing your words
to preceded your thinking, I see," Allanon said darkly. Menion turned
scarlet with anger, but waited to see what the mystic had to say.
"I'm not abandoning the
search for my brother," Flick announced quietly.
"Nor am I suggesting you
should, Flick." Allanon smiled at the other's concern. "You and Menion
and I shall continue to search for our young friend and for the missing
Sword. I suspect that where we find one, we shall find the other.
Remember the words spoken to me by the Shade of Bremen. Shea shall be
the first to lay hands on the Sword of Shannara. Perhaps he has already
done so."
"Then let's get on with the
search," suggested Menion irritably, avoiding the eyes of the Druid.
"We shall leave now,"
Allanon announced, adding pointedly, "but you must see that you keep a
closer guard over your tongue. A Prince of Leah should speak with wisdom
and foresight, with patience and understanding--not with foolish anger."
Menion nodded grudgingly.
The seven said their farewells with mixed emotions and parted. Balinor,
Hendel, and the Elven brothers turned westward past the forest in which
Shea and his companions had spent the night, hoping to circle the
Impregnable Forest and pass down through the hill country north of the
Dragon's Teeth and thereby reach Kern and Tyrsis within two days.
Allanon and his two youthful companions moved eastward, searching for
some sign of Shea. Allanon was convinced that the Valeman must have
eventually come northward toward Paranor and perhaps was a prisoner in
one of the Gnome camps in that region. Rescuing him would not be easy,
but the Druid's greatest fear was that the Warlock Lord would learn of
his capture and find out who he was, then have him immediately executed.
If that happened, the Sword of Shannara would be worthless to them
anyway, and they would have no choice but to rely on the strength of the
divided armies of three besieged lands.
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