Free The Heritage of Shannara by Terry Brooks

canvas tarp down to the skiff for stowing.
    Coll managed a quick shrug. “I'm not denying it.”
    “And if he really is Cogline, then you cannot deny the possibility that everything he told us is the truth!”
    “I'm not denying that either.”
    “What about the woodswoman? What was she if not a Shadowen, a night thing with magic stronger than our own?”
    “Your own.”
    Par fumed. “Sorry. My own. The point is, she
was
a Shadowen! She had to be! That makes at least part of what the old man told us the truth, no matter how you view it!”
    “Wait a minute.” Coll dropped his end of the tarp and stood there with his hands on his hips, regarding his brother with studied dismay. “You do this all the time when we argue. You make these ridiculous leaps in logic and act as if they make perfect sense. How does it follow that, if that woman was a Shadowen, the old man was telling the truth?”
    “Well, because, if …”
    “I won't even question your assumption that she
was
a Shadowen,” Coll interrupted pointedly. “Even though we haven't the faintest idea what a Shadowen is. Even though she might just as easily have been something else altogether.”
    “Something else? What sort of …?”
    “Like a companion to the old man, for instance. Like a decoy to give his tale validity.”
    Par was incensed. “That's ridiculous! What would be the purpose of that?”
    Coll pursed his lips thoughtfully. “To persuade you to go with him to the Hadeshorn, naturally. To bring you back into Callahorn. Think about it. Maybe the old man is interested in the magic, too—just like the Federation.”
    Par shook his head vehemently. “I don't believe it.”
    “That's because you never like to believe anything that you haven't thought of first,” Coll declared pointedly, picking up his end of the tarp again. “You decide something and that's the end of it. Well, this time you had better not make your decision too quickly. There are other possibilities to consider, and I've just given you one of them.”
    They walked down to the shoreline in silence and deposited the tarp in the bottom of the skiff. The sun was barely above the eastern horizon, and already the day was beginning to feel warm. The Rainbow Lake was smooth, the air windless and filled with the scent of wildflowers and long grass.
    Coll turned. “You know, it's not that I mind you being decisive about things. It's just that you then assume I ought simply to agree. I shouldn't argue, I should acquiesce. Well, I am not going to do that. If you want to strike out for the Hadeshorn and the Dragon's Teeth—fine, you go right ahead. But quit acting as if I ought to jump at the chance to go along.”
    Par didn't say anything back right away. Instead, he thought about what it had been like for them growing up. Par was the older by two years and while physically smaller than Coll, he had always been the leader. He had the magic, after all, and that had always set him apart. It was true, he was decisive; it had been necessary to be decisive when faced with the temptation to use the magic to solve every situation. He had not been as even-tempered as he should have; he wasn't any better now. Coll had always been the more controlled of the two—slower to anger, thoughtful and deliberate, a born peacemaker in the neighborhood fights and squabbles because no one else had the physical and emotional presence. Or was as well liked, he added—because Coll was always that, the sort of fellow that everyonetakes to instantly. He spent his time looking after everyone, smoothing over hard feelings, restoring injured pride. Par was always charging around, oblivious to such things, busy searching for new places to explore, new challenges to engage, new ideas to develop. He was visionary, but he lacked Coll's sensitivity. He foresaw so clearly life's possibilities, but Coll was the one who understood best its sacrifices.
    There had been a good many times when they had covered for each other's