The Sword of Shannara - Terry Brooks [310]
Time drifted away as Shea floated senselessly in a vast, black, empty void.
“I don’t think he made it.”
A voice reached into his mind from somewhere far, far away. His hands and face felt the sudden chill of smooth stone against his heated skin.
“Wait a minute, his eyes are blinking. I think he’s coming around!”
Panamon Creel. Shea’s eyes opened and he found himself lying on the floor in the little cell, yellowish torchlight flickering through the darkness in a hazy glow. He was himself again. One hand still clenched the Sword of Shannara, but the power of the talisman had left him, and the strange bond that had briefly joined them together was gone. He stumbled awkwardly to his hands and knees, but a deep, ominous rumbling shook the cavern and he pitched forward. Strong hands reached out to grab him as he fell.
“Easy now, slow down a minute.” Panamon’s rough voice sounded almost in his ear. “Let me take a look at you. Here now, look at me.” He practically jerked the little Valeman about and their eyes locked. There was just a trace of fear in the thief’s hard stare, and then he was smiling. “He’s all right, Keltset. Now let’s get out of here.”
He brought Shea to his feet and started moving toward the open doorway. The massive form of Keltset lumbered several feet ahead. Shea took a few uncertain steps and halted. Something held him back.
“I’m all right,” he muttered almost inaudibly.
Then abruptly everything came back to him — the power of the Sword coursing through his body to link them together, his inner visions of the truth about himself, the frightening battle against the Warlock Lord, the death of Orl Fane... He screamed and faltered.
Panamon Creel reached down impulsively with his good arm and held the little Valeman close.
“Easy, easy, it’s all over, Shea. You’ve done it — you’ve won. The Warlock Lord is destroyed. But this whole mountain is shaking apart. We’ve got to get out of here before the whole place comes down around our ears!”
The low rumbling had grown steadily louder, and chunks of rock were being dislodged from the cavern walls and ceiling and falling in small showers of dust and gravel. Cracks were appearing along the ancient stone as the heavy shaking continued to mount. Shea looked at Panamon and nodded.
“You’ll be all right.” The scarlet-clad thief rose quickly. “I’m going to get you out of this. That’s, a promise.”
Swiftly the three men moved into the dark passageway leading from the chamber. The craggy tunnel twisted and wound through the heart of the Knife Edge, the rough walls split by jagged seams and fissures. More breaks quickly appeared as the rumbling grew stronger and the walls began to crack and fall apart. The mountain shook as if the earth were threatening to open and swallow it whole, quaking with the force of the thunderous reverberations that echoed brokenly from the core of the earth. They passed through countless small passageways and connecting chambers, moving steadily, yet unable to find an exit to safety. Several times one or more went down under a cascade of rock and dust, but each time they worked themselves free. Huge-chunks of rock fell crashing before them to block the tunnel passage, but the powerful Keltset heaved the boulders aside, and the small party continued quickly on. Shea began to lose all sense of what was happening to them, a strange weariness settling into his body, pressing remorselessly down and sapping the little stamina that remained. When he thought he could no longer continue, Panamon was at his side to support him, the strong arm alternately lifting him over and shoving him through the stone rubble.
They had reached a particularly narrow section of the passageway that angled sharply to the right when a violent, wrenching quake shook the, dying mountain.