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time.”
    â€œThere’s no guarantee they don’t already know about us,” Menionshouted irately. “You said that yourself. What good will we be to Shea if he falls into the hands of the Warlock Lord? What good will the Sword do us without the bearer?”
    â€œWe cannot desert him,” pleaded Flick, stepping forward once more.
    The others said nothing, but stood mutely, waiting to hear Allanon’s explanation. Darkness had completely enfolded the high mountain country, and the men could barely make out one another’s faces in the dim light; the moon was hidden from view by the monstrous peaks that rose behind them.
    â€œYou have forgotten the prophecy,” admonished Allanon patiently. “The last part promised that one of us would not see the other side of the Dragon’s Teeth, but that he would be first to place hands on the Sword of Shannara. That one we now know to be Shea. Furthermore, the prophecy said that we who reached the other side of the mountains would view the Sword before the passing of two nights. It would seem that fate will bring us all together.”
    â€œThat may be good enough for you, but not for me,” stated Menion flatly, with Flick nodding in vigorous agreement. “How can we place our trust in some crazy promise made by a ghost? You’re asking us to risk Shea’s life!”
    Allanon seemed to smolder in fury for a moment, fighting to control his quick temper, then calmly he looked at the two and shook his head in disappointment.
    â€œHave you not believed in a legend from the very start?” he asked quietly. “Have you not yourself seen the foothold that the spirit world has secured in your world of flesh and blood, earth and stone? Have we not from the beginning been fighting against beings born of this other existence, beings who possess powers that surely do not belong to mortal men? You have witnessed the potency of the Elfstones. Why would you now turn your back on all that, in favor of what your common sense tells you—a reasoning process that relies on fact and stimuli accumulated in this world, yourmaterial world, unable to transpose itself to an existence where even your most basic understandings have no meaning.”
    They stared at him wordlessly, realizing that he was right, but unwilling to abandon their plan to find Shea. The whole journey had been premised on half dreams and old legends, not on common sense, and suddenly to decide it was time to be practical once again was indeed a ludicrous idea. Flick had given up being practical the day he had first run in fear from Shady Vale.
    â€œI would not be concerned, my young friends,” Allanon soothed, suddenly next to them, a lean hand on each shoulder, strangely comforting even now. “Shea still carries the Elfstones, and their power will give him great protection. They may also guide him toward the Sword, since they are attuned to it. With luck, we will find him when we find the Sword at Paranor. All roads now lead to the Druid’s Keep, and we must be certain we are there to give what aid we can to Shea.”
    The other members of the company had gathered up their weapons and small packs and stood ready, their silhouettes shadowlike in the dim starlight, finely etched pencil lines against the blackness of the mountains. Flick gazed northward to the dark forest that blanketed the low country beyond the Dragon’s Teeth. In its midst, rising upward like an obelisk, were the cliffs of Paranor, and there at the apex, the Druid’s Keep and the Sword of Shannara. The end of the quest. Flick looked quietly for a few moments at the solitary pinnacle, then turned to Menion. The highlander nodded reluctantly.
    â€œWe’ll go with you.” Flick’s voice was a hushed whisper in the stillness.
    The swirling waters of the rushing river dashed madly against the confining walls of their mountain channel, beating and raging their way eastward,