The Scions of Shannara by Terry Brooks Page A

tips of the ridgelines and bluffs like scattered strips of linen.
    â€œI think that woodswoman was genuinely afraid of the old man,” Par was saying as they climbed a long, gradual slope into a stand of ash. “I don’t think she was pretending. No one’s that good an actor.”
    Coll nodded. “I think you’re right. I just said all that earlier about the two of them being in league to make you think. I can’t help wondering, though, if the old man is telling us everything he knows. What I mostly remember about Allanon in the stories is that he was decidedly circumspect in his dealings with the Ohmsfords.”
    â€œHe never told them everything, that’s true.”
    â€œSo maybe the old man is the same way.”
    They crested the hill, moved into the shade of the ash trees, dropped their rolled-up blankets wearily and stood looking out at the Highlands. Both were sweating freely, their tunics damp against their backs.
    â€œWe won’t make Shady Vale tonight,” Par said, settling to the ground against one of the trees.
    â€œNo, it doesn’t look like it.” Coll joined him, stretching until his bones cracked.
    â€œI was thinking.”
    â€œGood for you.”
    â€œI was thinking about where we might spend the night. It would be nice to sleep in a bed for a change.”
    Coll laughed. “You won’t get any argument out of me. Got any idea where we can find a bed out here in the middle of nowhere?”
    Par turned slowly and looked at him. “Matter-of-fact, I do. Morgan’s hunting lodge is just a few miles south. I bet we could borrow it for the night.”
    Coll frowned thoughtfully. “Yes, I bet we could.”
    Morgan Leah was the eldest son in a family whose ancestors had once been Kings of Leah. But the monarchy had been overthrown almost two hundred years ago when the Federation had expanded northward and simply consumed the Highlands in a single bite. There had been no Leah kings since, and the family had survived as gentlemen farmers and craftsmen over the years. The current head of the family, Kyle Leah, was a landholder living south of the city who bred beef cattle. Morgan, his oldest son, Par and Coll’s closest friend, bred mostly mischief.
    â€œYou don’t think Morgan will be around, do you?” Coll asked, grinning at the possibility.
    Par grinned back. The hunting lodge was really a family possession, but Morgan was the one who used it the most. The last time the Ohmsford brothers had come into the Highlands they had stayed for a week at the lodge as Morgan’s guests. They had camped, hunted and fished, but mostly they had spent their time recounting tales of Morgan’s ongoing efforts to cause distress to the members of the Federation government-in-residence at Leah. Morgan Leah had the quickest mind and the fastest pair of hands in the Southland, and he harbored an abiding dislike for the army that occupied his land. Unlike Shady Vale, Leah was a major city and required watching. The Federation, after abolishing the monarchy, had installed the provisional governor and cabinet and stationed a garrison of soldiers to insure order. Morgan regarded that as a personal challenge. He took every opportunity that presented itself, and a few that didn’t, to make life miserable for the officials that now lodged comfortably and without regard for proper right of ownership in his ancestral home. It was never a contest. Morgan was a positive genius at disruption and much too sharp to allow the Federation officials to suspect he was the thorn in their collective sides that they could not even find, let alone remove. On the last go-around, Morgan had trapped the governor and vice-governor in a private bathing court with a herd of carefully muddied pigs and jammed all the locks on the doors. It was a very small court and a whole lot of pigs. It took two hours to free them all, and Morgan insisted solemnly that by then it