By Terry Brooks
The mythical hero Allanon takes middle level within the first of 3 gripping new stand-alone booklet brief tales set on this planet of the fantasy-fiction phenomenon that's Shannara—by loved New York Times bestselling writer Terry Brooks.
The historical past is hence: The once-Druid Brona, seduced by means of his pursuit of darkish magic, used to be perpetually remodeled into the Warlock Lord—whose evil stands out as the downfall of the 4 Lands and the loss of life of the Races. opposed to him, the Elven King Jerle Shannara wielded the fabled sword that bore his surname and triumphed. Or so it used to be believed. yet even though the darkish Lord was once pushed out . . . he used to be no longer destroyed.
The Druid Allanon is aware in basic terms too good the prophecy handed all the way down to him via his overdue grasp: that finally the Warlock Lord will go back. Now, after thousands of years, that day turns out impending. And the time is handy for the Sword of Shannara to once again be introduced forth from its sanctuary to serve its historical objective. All that is still is for a blood descendent of the Elven condo of Shannara to hold the blade into battle.
With ever extra portents of doom at the horizon, Allanon needs to search out the final ultimate Shannara inheritor, who on my own will endure the load of shielding the 4 Lands’ future. yet with brokers of darkness remaining in from at the back of, unforeseen enemies mendacity in wait forward, and treachery encroaching on each aspect, there may be no simple task of good fortune. Nor any insurance that this determined quest are usually not the Druid’s final.
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Additional info for Allanon's Quest (Shannara: Paladins of Shannara, Book 1)
There’s a problem with your son’s hair,” he’d said. ” Stu walked Bennie over to Chris in the chair and parted his hair to reveal some tan little creatures the size of poppy seeds moving around on his scalp. Bennie felt himself grow faint. “Lice,” the barber whispered. ” Bennie had blurted. ” Other people were staring, and Bennie had felt responsible, with his own riotous head of hair, to the point where he sprayed OFF! in his armpits every morning to this day, and kept an extra can at the office—crazy!
She heard Alex ask. The concierge was young and spiky haired. “We’ve called the police,” he said defensively. Alex turned to the woman. ” “In the ladies’ room. ” Alex swung around to Sasha. “You were just in the bathroom,” he said. ” “No,” she managed to say. She had Xanax in her purse, but she couldn’t open her purse. Even with it zipped, she feared that the wallet would blurt into view in some way that she couldn’t control, unleashing a cascade of horrors: arrest, shame, poverty, death. Alex turned to the concierge.
He said. “Someone stole my wallet. My ID is gone, and I have to catch a plane tomorrow morning. ” She stared beseechingly at both of them. It was the sort of frank need that New Yorkers quickly learn how to hide, and Sasha recoiled. It had never occurred to her that the woman was from out of town. ” Alex asked. “The concierge said he would call. ” She looked helplessly at the marble floor around their feet. Sasha relaxed slightly. This woman was the type who annoyed people without meaning to; apology shadowed her movements even now, as she followed Alex to the concierge desk.
Categories: Short Stories