Terry Brooks - The Sword of Shannara

«Speak up, assassin!» Menion growled menacingly.

«No, no wait, you’ve made a mistake… I’m not an enemy… please, I can’t breathe…»

The voice choked sharply and the man’s breath rasped in ragged gulps as the highlander’s grip remained unaltered and the cold dark eyes surveyed the face of his captive. To his knowledge, Menion had never seen the man. The face was pinched and sharp, framed by a small black beard and lined with pain. Even as he studied the teeth clenched in anger and the eyes burning with hatred, the highlander instinctively knew there had been no mistake made. Stepping quickly to one side, he jerked the intruder to his feet, one hand still firmly fastened on the scrawny neck.

«Tell me about my mistake, then. You have about a minute before I cut your tongue out and turn you over to the guards!»

He released his grip on the man’s throat, his hand dropping to seize the front of the scarlet tunic. Tossing his sword on the bed, he quickly picked up the fallen dagger, holding it ready should his attacker attempt anything further.

«This was a gift, Prince of Leah… merely a gift from the King.» The voice broke slightly as the fellow struggled to regain his composure. «The King wanted to show his gratitude, and I… I came through another door so as not to disturb your sleep.»

He paused as if waiting for something, the sharp eyes riveted on the highlander’s own. He wasn’t waiting to see if his story would be believed — it was something else, almost as if he were expecting Menion to see something more… The Prince of Leah jerked him sharply, snapping the lean face close to his own.

«That is unquestionably the weakest tale I have ever heard! Who are you, assassin?»

The eyes burned into his own with intense hatred.

«I am Stenmin, the King’s personal adviser.» He seemed to have suddenly regained his senses now. «I did not lie to you. The dagger was a present from Palance Buckhannah which I was asked to bring to you. I meant you no harm. If you do not believe me, go to the King. Ask him!»

There was a hint of confidence in the man’s voice that convinced Menion that Palance would affirm his adviser’s story whether it was true or not. He had in his grasp the most dangerous man in Callahorn, the evil mystic who had become the power behind the monarchy — the one man he had to eliminate if Balinor were to be rescued. Why the man had chosen to attack him when they had never met was something he did not understand, but it was clear that if he released him now or even took him before Palance in an effort to discredit him, the highlander would lose the initiative and place his own life in danger again. Roughly he threw the mystic into a nearby chair and ordered him to remain motionless. The man sat quietly, his eyes drifting aimlessly about the room, the hands moving nervously to stroke the small pointed beard. Menion eyed him absently, his mind carefully pondering the choices open to him. It took him only, a moment to decide. He could no longer bide his time, waiting for the right moment to free his friends; the decision had been taken out of his hands.

«On your feet, mystic, or whatever you prefer to call yourself!» The evil face stared menacingly at him, and in fury Menion yanked the man violently up from the chair. «I ought to dispose of you without further consideration; the people of Callahorn would be much the better for it. But for the time being, I need your services. Take me to the dungeons where Balinor and the others are imprisoned — now!»

Stenmin’s eyes went wide in sudden shock at the mention of Balinor.

«How could you know of him… a traitor to this kingdom?» the mystic exclaimed in astonishment. «The King himself has ordered his brother imprisoned until his natural death, Prince of Leah, and even I…»

His sentence ended in a strangled gasp as Menion grabbed him roughly by the throat and began to squeeze. Stenmin’s face turned slowly purple.

«I didn’t ask for excuses or explanations. Just take me to him!»

Once more he tightened his iron grip and finally the gasping captive nodded violently his acquiescence. Menion released him with a snap of his wrist and the nearly throttled man fell dizzily to one knee. Quickly the highlander slipped out of his robe and into his clothing, strapping on the sword and shoving the dagger into his belt. For an instant he thought about arousing Shirl in the next room, but quickly discarded that idea. His plan was dangerous enough, there was no reason to risk her life as well. If he succeeded in freeing his friends, there would be time enough to come back for her. He turned to his captive, drawing the dagger from his belt and holding it up for the other to see.

«The present that you were so kind to bring me will be returned to you, assassin, if you attempt to trick or betray me in any way,” he warned in his most menacing tone of voice. «So don’t try to be clever. When we leave this room, you will take me down the back corridors and stairs to the prison where Balinor and his companions are held. Don’t try to alarm the guards — you won’t be fast enough. If you doubt anything I’ve told you, then understand this. I was sent to this city by Allanon!»

Stenmin seemed to go suddenly white at the mention of the giant Druid and undisguised fear shot into his widening eyes. Apparently cowed into obeying his captor, the scarlet mystic moved silently toward the bedroom door and Menion fell into step directly behind him, the dagger back in his belt with one hand gripping the hilt. Time was the all–important factor now. He had to act quickly, freeing Balinor and the other imprisoned members of the company of friends and seizing the deranged Palance before the members of the palace guard were alerted. Then a quick message to Janus Senpre would bring to their aid those still loyal to Balinor, and the power of the monarchy would be restored without a battle.

Already the massive Northland army would be mobilizing on the grasslands above the island of Kern, preparing to move on Tyrsis. If the Border Legion could be reassembled and deployed quickly enough that day, there was a chance the invader might be stopped on the north shore of the Mermidon. It would be a nearly impossible task to cross that flooded river with a defensive force holding the opposite bank, and it would take the enemy several days to manage a flanking maneuver — more than enough time for the armies of Eventine to reach them. Menion knew it would all depend on the next few minutes.

The two men stepped cautiously into the hallway beyond the room. Menion quickly glanced in both directions for any sign of the black–garbed sentries, but the hall was deserted, and the highlander motioned Stenmin ahead. The mystic reluctantly led his captor toward the inner rooms of the central palace, winding his way along the corridors that ran to the rear of the ancient building, carefully avoiding the occupied rooms. Twice they passed members of the palace guard, but each time Stenmin withheld any comment or greeting, his dark face lowered in grim determination.

Through the latticework of the castle windows, Menion could see the gardens that decorated the grounds of the Buckhannah home, the sunlight falling warmly on the brightly colored flowers. It was already midmorning, and before much longer the normal gathering of visitors and business personages would begin. There had been no sign of Palance Buckhannah, and Menion was hopeful that the Prince was preoccupied with other matters.

As the two walked slowly down the hallways, the sound of voices was distinctly audible in all directions. Servants began to appear in increasing numbers, moving busily about their assigned tasks. When they passed, they pointedly ignored Stenmin and his apparent companion, a good indication that they neither liked nor trusted the mystic. None questioned their presence and at last they approached the massive doorway that led to the castle cellars. Two armed sentries were stationed before the door, and a huge metal bar now held the latches firmly in place.