Terry Brooks - The Sword of Shannara

«Are you mad? Are you as insane as some say, my King?» he whispered venomously. «Will you throw everything away now — give it all back to your brother? Was he meant to be king — or you? This is all a lie! The Prince of Leah is a friend to Allanon.»

Palance turned toward him slightly, his eyes widening.

«Yes, Allanon!» Stenmin knew he had struck a nerve and was determined to pursue it. «Who do you think seized your betrothed from her home in Kern? This man who speaks of friendship was part of the kidnapping — it was all a ruse to get inside the palace and then assassinate you. You were to be killed!»

Below the stairway, Hendel took a step forward, but Balinor put out a restraining hand. Menion stood quietly, knowing that any sudden move now would only confirm Stenmin’s charges. He directed a withering glance at the wily mystic, turning quickly back to Palance and shaking his head.

«He is a traitor. He belongs to the Warlock Lord.»

Palance took several steps down the stairway, glancing briefly at Menion and then staring fixedly at his brother who waited patiently at the foot of the stairs. A faint smile crossed his lips as he paused confusedly.

«What do you think, brother? Am I really… mad? If not me, then… why, it must be everyone else, and I alone am… sane. Say something, Balinor. We should have that talk now… Before… I did want to say something…»

But the sentence was left unfinished as he straightened his tall frame and looked back once again at Stenmin, who had taken on the appearance of a dangerously cornered animal, crouched and waiting to attack.

«You are pathetic, Stenmin. Stand up!» The sharp command cut through the stillness and the bent figure of the mystic snapped upright. «Advise me what I should do,” Palance ordered sharply. «Do I have everyone killed — will that protect me?»

In an instant Stenmin was back at his side, the sharp eyes cold with fury.

«Call your guard, my Lord. Dispose of these assassins now!»

Suddenly Palance seemed to waver, his tall frame drooping, his eyes glancing at the walls of the cellar in studied concentration of the stonework. Menion sensed that the Prince of Callahorn was again losing his grip on reality and falling back into the clouded world of madness that had impaired his once sound reason. Stenmin recognized it as well, a grim smile creeping over his dark face, his hand coming up to stroke the small pointed beard. Then abruptly, Palance spoke once more.

«No, there will be no soldiers… no killing. A King must be a man of judgment… Balinor is my brother, though he wishes to be King in my place. He and I must talk now… he is not to be harmed… not harmed.» His voice trailed off and he smiled unexpectedly at Menion. «You brought Shirl back to me… I thought I had lost her, you know. Why… would you do that… if you were an enemy…?»

Stenmin screamed in fury, grasping furiously at the other’s tunic, but the Prince did not seem to realize he was even there.

«It is difficult for me… to think clearly, Balinor,” Palance continued in a low whisper, shaking his head slowly. «Nothing is clear anymore… I don’t even feel angry toward you for wanting to be King. I have always… wanted to be King. I have, you know. But I have to have… friends… someone to talk to…»

He turned dispassionately toward Stenmin, his eyes blank and expressionless. Something his adviser saw there caused the mystic to release his grip on the other’s arm and shrink limply back against the stone wall, his jaw sagging in fear. Only Menion was close enough to realize what had happened. Whatever hold the evil mystic had managed to secure over Palance Buckhannah was gone. The man’s already muddled thought processes had been pushed beyond the brink of even basic comprehension of identities, and Stenmin was now no more than another face in a sea of indistinguishable beings that haunted the nightmare world of the maddened Prince of Callahorn.

«Palance, listen to me,” Menion called softly to him, reaching through the web of darkness to the man beneath for just an instant. The broad figure turned slightly. «Call Shirl down from her room. Call Shirl and she will help you.»

The Prince hesitated for a moment as if trying to remember, then a small smile crossed his haggard face and a deep calm seemed to settle through his whole body. He remembered her soft voice, her gentle manner, her fragile beauty — memories that recalled peace and serenity, moments of deep affection that he had never found with any other human being. If he could just be with her for a while…

«Shirl» he spoke her name softly and turned back to the closed cellar door, one hand outstretched. As he brushed past Stenmin, the crouched mystic seemed suddenly to go berserk. Shrieking with rage and frustration, he threw himself at the other man, grappling wildly at his tunic front. Responding instantly, Menion Leah bounded quickly toward the high landing to part the struggling men. But he was still several steps away when Stenmin’s lean hand drew back momentarily, holding high a long dagger seized from beneath his robes. The weapon raised and for one terrible second hung poised — above the men, as Balinor cried out in helpless shock. Then it fell. Palance Buckhannah rose sharply to his full height, the dagger buried to the hilt in his broad chest, a terrible whiteness flooding his young face.

«I give you back your brother, fool!» shrieked the maddened Stenmin, shoving the rigid form down the stone stairway.

The stricken Prince fell heavily into Menion’s outstretched arms, knocking him back roughly against the wall, causing him momentarily to lose his balance and the opportunity to reach the hated enemy. Stenmin had already turned to flee, pulling frantically on the massive cellar door. Balinor bounded up the stairway, desperately trying to stop the mystic’s escape, the Elven brothers immediately behind him, yelling for the guards. The scarlet figure had pulled the door partially open and was just slipping to freedom when Hendel, still standing at the foot of the stairs, seized a discarded mace and hurled it wildly at the fleeing man. It struck the mystic’s exposed shoulder with bone–crunching force, and a scream of pain echoed off the dank walls. Yet it wasn’t enough to stop him completely, and a moment later he had disappeared through the doorway. From the hallway beyond they could hear his shrill cry that the prisoners had assassinated the King.

Balinor paused only an instant in his pursuit to glance down on the still form resting quietly in the strong arms of Menion Leah, then raced for the open cellar door. Two black–clad palace guards appeared suddenly from the hallway beyond, swords drawn, to confront the unarmed borderman. They could have been statues for all the difference their unexpected appearance made to Balinor, who bowled them over with a lightning assault, seizing a fallen sword as he disappeared from view. Durin and Dayel were only steps behind. Menion knelt alone on the stairway, gazing after them and holding the stricken Palance, cradling gently the body of the self–proclaimed King of Callahorn. Silently, Hendel climbed the stone steps to stand beside him, shaking his grizzled head sadly. The Prince was still alive, the shallow breathing harsh and the eyelids twitching sporadically. Grimly the Dwarf reached down as Menion held the limp form and slowly withdrew the deadly blade, casting the weapon away with disgust. The Dwarf bent to help the highlander raise the wounded man, and abruptly the eyes opened for an instant. Palance spoke softly, a barely perceptible murmur, and then drifted into unconsciousness once more.

«He’s calling for Shirl,” Menion whispered, tears in his eyes as he glanced briefly at the other. «He still loves her. He still loves her.»