The following teasers appeared on the back of the hardcover or on a titlepage of the paperback for the respective novel.

The Sword of Shannara

ATOP THE DRUID'S KEEP

Slowly the survivors of the quest filed into the stone chamber, smiles on their faces, their wounds forgotten. In the exact center of the rounded chamber, set in the polished surface of the giant Tre-Stone, they beheld the legendary Sword of Shannara, blade downward like a gleaming cross of silver and gold.

At last, after all their effort, the endless marches, the miserable days and nights, there before them stood the ancient talisman they had risked everything to find. Allanon was missing, and Shea was lost as well. But the Sword of Shannara was theirs. They had outwitted the Warlock Lord.

"Where is Flick?" the Elf asked suddenly. For the first time they realized that he was missing. They glanced about the chamber, looking blankly at one another for explanation. Then Menion Leah, who had turned back to the gleaming Sword, watched the impossible happen.
The great block of Tre-Stone and its precious display began to shimmer and dissolve before his astonished eyes. It took only seconds for the entire image to fade into smoke, and at last into the air itself, until the men stood alone in an empty room, staring into space.
"A trap! The third trap!" roared Menion, recovering from the initial shock.

THE TRAIL OF EVIL

"Lauren?" Prince Ander Elessedil spoke the Elf's name softly. No answer came. He stepped through the entry into the darker shadows beyond. A flicker of movement registered at the edge of his vision, movement that came from somewhere within the surrounding evergreens. A sudden apprehension swept through him, leaving him cold all over.

He stood motionless for a time, waiting for something more. But there was no further movement, no sounds betraying the presence of another living being. Resolutely he went forward.

"Lauren?"

Then his sight adjusted to the dimmer interior and the young Elf's name caught in his throat. Bodies lay strewn about the main room like discarded sacks, torn and broken and lifeless. Lauren, Jase -- all of the Chosen were dead, ripped apart as if by maddened animals. Despair filled him. Now no Chosen remained to carry the seed of the Ellcrys in search of the Bloodfire. Now there could be no rebirth of the tree, no salvation for the Elves. Sickened by the carnage, he stood there, horror and revulsion sweeping through him, a single word shrieking in his mind.

Demons!

RED COILS OF EVIL

As Allanon turned to walk away, there was a sudden, terrifying explosion. A whirling mass of red fire engulfed the Druid, and he disappeared. Dazed and half blinded by the explosion, Brin Ohmsford struggled to her knees and shielded her eyes as she stared to where red fire burned all about Allanon, wrapping him in crimson coils and flaring out wickedly. Within the fire, the Druid was hunched down against the shimmering black rock of the valley floor, barely holding back the flames with a faint blue aura.

Desperately, she sought the maker of that horror and found it not twenty yards away. There, stark against the dawn's faint light, a tall black form stood silhouetted, arms raised and leveled, with the red fire spurting forth.

She knew immediately what it was -- Mord Wraith, foul minion of the evil Ildatch!

It had come upon them without a sound, caught them unawares, and struck down the Druid. With no chance to defend himself, Allanon was alive now only through his instinctive response of the blue shield. But how much longer could he survive against that crimson blast that was turning all the world to bloody fire?

THE RAGING OF THE SHADOWEN

The Shadowen was a huge, manlike thing, its body covered in shaggy hair and its massive limbs ending in paws that were clawed. It stood looking at Par and Coll Ohmsford, studying them, Then it launched itself with a shriek.
Coll struck it so hard with his short sword that he severed one arm above the elbow. The Shadowen reeled away, darted back, snatched up its severed limb, and retreated again. Carefully, it placed its arm back. There was a movement, an entwining of muscle and bone, like snakes moving. The limb reattached itself.

It came at them again. One great arm caught Par across the face, snapping his head back. Then the Shadowen was right in front of him, clawed forelimbs spread wide to embrace him. Par backed away, searching for an escape. But the creature was too close...

AGAINST THE SHADOWEN

Even with the silver dust exploding all through them, the Shadowen came on. Despairing, Cogline used the last of his powder, igniting a wall of flame that brought a temporary halt to their advance. Swiftly he darted inside and snatched the Druid history from its place. Now we'll see!

He barely made the door again before the Shadowen were through the wall and on him. He heard Rimmer Dall screaming at them. There was nowhere to run and no point in trying, so he simply stood his ground, clutching the book to his chest, a scarecrow in tattered robes before a whirlwind. His attackers came on.

When they were on him, as his body was about to be ripped apart, he felt the rune marking on the book flare to life. Brilliant fire burst forth. Everything within fifty feet was consumed. It remains for you now, Walker Boh, was Cogline's last thought.
He dissappeared in the flames.

THE LAST TRUE ELF?

Who was she?

Wren had always known that she was part Rover and part a descendant of the long-ago Shea Ohmsford. Her earliest memories were of playing with the Ohmsford children until she was five, when she was given to Garth, the deaf and dumb Rover who had taught her all the skills of the Rover life.

Now even that was stripped from her. Garth had finally admitted that both her parents had been Elves. He could -- or would -- tell her no more.

But the Elves had been gone from the Four Lands for more than a hundred years, and it seemed impossible to her that they could have survived the demons on Morrowindl for so long.

Could she be the last of the Elves -- the only true Elf?

SWORD OF TRUTH

Desparate to help his brother, before every chance was gone, Par impulsively jammed the sword of Shannara into the earth before him. He reached to take hold of Coll's hands and fastened Coll's chill, shaking fingers around the pommel of the Sword, holding them there with his own. Please let the magic come, begged Par.

Light flared down the length of the Sword's smooth blade. fire followed. Par felt it extend and weave, drawing him out of himself and into the talisman, there to find Coll waiting, there to join the brothers as one.

The Sword of Shannara. The magic of the Sword. Listen to me, Coll. Listen to the truth.

Coll reared back and screamed then -- and his hands wrenched free of the Sword...

FIRST KING OF SHANNARA

A Skull Bearer gave orders and crooked-limbed monsters ascended the stairs in a knot of teeth and claws and weapons. The small band of Druid Guards repulsed the rush. The monsters came again, and again the Guards threw them back. But by then half the defenders were dead or injured. And no more had arrived to replace them.

Caerid Lock looked around in despair. Where were the Druids? Why didn't they respond?

The monsters attacked a third time, a bristling mass of thrashing bodies and windmilling limbs, shrieks and cries rising out of gaping throats. The Druid Guards counterattacked and bore them down the stairway, but left half their own number sprawled lifeless on the blood-slick steps.

Grabbing a Guard by the tunic, Caerid whispered desperately, "Find the Druids, and tell them to flee while there is still time. Tell them Paranor is lost. Then flee yourself!"

Seconds later the creatures of the Warlock Lord surged up the stairway once more. Caerid and his men braced to meet them.

But this time the monsters were too many.

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