“What images would you like to see?” he asked her.
She thought for a moment, “I would like to see what Culhaven was like in the days of Allanon.”
He started to tell her he wasn’t sure what Culhaven had been like that long ago, then caught himself and nodded. “I can try,” he said.
He sang softly to her, alone in the trees, reaching out with the magic of the wishsong to fill her mind with images of the village as it might have looked three hundred years ago. He sang of the Silver River, of the Meade Gardens, of the cottages and homes all carefully tended and kept, of life in the home city of the Dwarves before the war with the Federation. When he was finished, she studied him expressionlessly for a moment, then turned without a word and disappeared back into the night.
Par stared after her in confusion for a moment, then shrugged, finished picking up deadwood and went off to sleep.
They struck out again at dawn, working their way along the upper stretches of the Wolfsktaag where the forests thinned and the sky hovered close. It was another warm, bright day filled with good smells and a sense of endless possibilities. Breezes blew gently against their faces, the woods and rocks were filled with tiny creatures that darted and flew, and the mountains were at peace.
Despite all that, Par was uneasy. He hadn’t felt that way the previous two days, but he did so on this one. He tried to dispel the uneasiness, telling himself it lacked any discernible cause, that it was probably the result of needing something to worry about when it appeared that Steff had been right about this being the safest way after all. He tried studying the faces of the others to see if they were experiencing any discomfort, but the others seemed quite content. Even Teel, who seldom showed anything, walked with an air of total unconcern.
The morning slipped away into afternoon, and the uneasiness grew into a certainty that something was following them. Par found himself glancing back on any number of occasions, not knowing what it was he was looking for, but knowing nevertheless that it was back there. He hunted through the distant trees and across the rocks and there was nothing to be seen. Above, to their right, the ridgelines rose into the cliffs and defiles where the rock was too barren and dangerous to traverse. Below, to their left, the forest was thick with shadows that gathered in pools amid a tangle of heavy brush and close-set black trunks.
Several times, the trail branched downward into the murk. Steff, who was in the lead with Teel, motioned that way once and said, “That is what might have happened to those missing Federation parties. You don’t want to wander into the dark places in these mountains.”
It was Par’s hope that this was the source of his discomfort. Identifying the source should allow him to dismiss it, he told himself. But just as he was prepared to believe that the matter had resolved itself, he glanced over his shoulder one final time and saw something move in the rocks.
He stopped where he was. The others walked on a few steps, then turned and looked at him. “What is it?” Steff asked at once.
“There’s something back there,” Par said quietly, not shifting his eyes from where he had last seen the movement.
Steff walked back to him. “There, in the rocks,” Par said and pointed.
They stood together and looked for a long time and saw nothing. The afternoon was waning, and the shadows were lengthening in the mountains as the sun dropped low against the western horizon, so it was difficult to discern much of anything in the mix of half-light. Par shook his head finally, frustrated. “Maybe I was mistaken,” he admitted.
“Maybe you weren’t,” Steff said.
Ignoring the surprised look Par gave him, he started them walking again with Teel in the lead and himself trailing with Par. Once or twice, he told Par to glance back, and once or twice he did so himself. Par never saw anything, although he still had a sense of something being back there. They crossed a ridgeline that ran from east to west and started down. The far side was cloaked in shadow, the sun’s fading light blocked away entirely, and the trail below wound its way through a maze of rocks and scrub that were clustered on the mountainside like huddled sheep. The wind was at their backs now, and the sound of Steff’s voice, when he spoke, carried ahead to them.
“Whatever’s back there is tracking us, waiting for dark or at least twilight before showing itself. I don’t know what it is, but it’s big. We have to find a place where we can defend ourselves.”
No one said anything. Par experienced a sudden chill. Coll glanced at him, then at Morgan. Teel never turned.
They were through the maze of rocks and brush and back on an open trail leading up again when the thing finally emerged from the shadows and let them see what it was. Steff saw it first, called out sharply and brought them all about. The creature was still more than a hundred yards back, crouched on a flat rock where a narrow shaft of sunlight sliced across its blunted face like a lance. It looked like some sort of monstrous dog or wolf with a massive chest and neck thick with fur and a face that was all misshapen. It had oddly fat legs, a barrel body, small ears and tail, and the look of something that had no friends. Its jaws parted once, the biggest jaws Par had ever seen on anything, and spittle drooled out. The jaws snapped shut, and it started toward them in a slow amble.
“Keep moving,” Steff said quietly, and they did. They walked ahead steadily, following the weave of the trail, trying not to look back.
“What is it?” Morgan asked, his voice low.
“They call it a Gnawl,” Steff answered calmly. “It lives east in the deepest part of the Anar, beyond the Ravenshorn. Very dangerous.” He paused. “I never heard of one being seen in the central Anar, though—let alone in the Wolfsktaag.”
“Until now, you mean,” muttered Coll.
They made their way through a broad split in the mountains where the trail began to dip sharply downward into a hollows. The sun was gone, and gray twilight hung over everything like a shroud. It was getting hard to see. The thing behind them appeared and disappeared in fits and starts, causing Par to wonder what would happen when they lost sight of it altogether.
“I never heard of one stalking men either,” Steff declared suddenly from just behind him.
The strange hunt continued, the Gnawl trailing them at a distance of about a hundred yards, apparently content to wait for darkness to descend completely. Steff urged them on, searching for a spot where they could make a stand.
“Why don’t you simply let me go after it!” Morgan snapped back at him at one point.
“Because you would be dead quicker than I could say your name, Highlander,” the Dwarf answered, his voice cold. “Don’t be fooled. This creature is more than a match for the five of us if it catches us unprepared. All the magic in the world won’t make a difference if that happens!”
Par froze, wondering suddenly if the magic in Morgan’s sword was of any use against this beast. Wasn’t the sword’s magic triggered only by an encounter with similar magic? Wasn’t it simply a common sword when otherwise employed? Wasn’t that what Allanon had intended when he had given the blade its power? He struggled to remember the particulars of the story and failed. But the other magics, those of the Sword of Shannara and of the Elfstones, had been effective only against things of magic—he remembered that well enough. It was very likely the same with...
“Ahead, down by that hollows,” Steff said abruptly, ending his speculation. “That’s where we will...”
He never finished. The Gnawl came at them, hurtling through the darkness, a huge, black shape bounding across the broken rock and scrub with a speed that was astonishing. “Go!” Steff shouted at them, pointed hurriedly down the trail and turned to face the beast.