As the carriage drew away to the Inner Wall, the youthful commander waved once in sharp salute to Menion, his face impassive. Then accompanied by the grizzled Fandrez and several select officers, he strode purposefully toward the Legion barracks. In the coach, Menion smiled faintly to himself and gripped Shirl’s hand.
The carriage passed through the gates of the Inner Wall and moved slowly onto the crowded Tyrsian Way. The people of the walled city had risen early that day, anxious to welcome the unfortunate fugitives from their sister city, eager to offer both food and shelter to friends and strangers alike. Everyone wanted to know more about the massive invasion force that was now advancing on their own homes. Throngs of worried and frightened people lingered uncertainly in the busy streets, talking anxiously among themselves, pausing to stare curiously as the carriage escorted by the palace guards rolled slowly past them. A few pointed or waved in astonishment as they recognized the slim girl who rode within, the dark, rust–colored hair shadowing her worn and drawn face. Menion sat close to her, suddenly aware once more of the pain stabbing in quick twinges from his battered feet. He was grateful now that it was not necessary to walk any farther.
The great city seemed to rush past him in short flashes of buildings and overpasses, all crowded with men, women, and children of all ages and descriptions, all rushing somewhere in noisy waves. The highlander breathed deeply and settled back in the cushioned seat, his hand still holding Shirl’s, his eyes closing momentarily as he allowed his tired mind to drift into the gray haze that clouded his thoughts. The city and its multitudes faded quickly into a faint drone of sound that soothed him, lulled him quietly toward the comfort of sleep.
He was on the verge of slipping away entirely when a gentle shaking of his shoulder brought him quickly around, and his eyes opened to view the distant palace grounds as the carriage mounted the wide avenue of the Sendic Bridge. The youth gazed appreciatively down on the sunlit parks and gardens beneath the bridge, their tree–shaded lawns dotted with color from seemingly countless carefully tended flower beds. Everything lay in peace and warmth, as if this sector of the city were somehow an unrelated part of the turbulent human existence that had created it.
At the other end of the bridge the gates to the palace swung open in reception. Menion peered ahead in disbelief. The entire entryway was lined with soldiers of the palace guard, all immaculately dressed in their black uniforms crested by the emblem of the falcon, all standing stiffly at attention. From within the enclosure, trumpets announced the arrival of the coach and its passengers. The highlander was astonished. They were being accorded the formal welcome normally reserved for only the greatest leaders of the four lands, a policy strictly observed by the few monarchies remaining in the vast Southland. The pomp and display of a full military salute clearly indicated that Palance Buckhannah was determined to ignore not only the circumstances under which they had arrived, but the inviolate tradition of centuries.
«He must be mad — absolutely mad!» the angered Southlander stormed. «What does he think this is? We’re besieged by an invading army, and he turns out the troops for a dress parade!»
«Menion, be careful what you say to him. We must be patient if we are to be of any use to Balinor.» Shirl gripped his shoulder and faced him for a moment, smiling quickly in warning. «Remember as well that he loves me, misguided though he may be. He was a good man once, and he is Balinor’s brother still.»
Impatient and impulsive as always, Menion nevertheless realized that she was right. There was nothing to be gained by showing he was angered with the foolish pageant, and he was well advised to go along with the Prince’s whims until Balinor was located and freed. He sat quietly back in the coach as it entered the palace gates, passing in slow review before the rows of expressionless soldiers that formed the elite of the King’s personal guard. The fanfares continued to roll from all sides, and a small squad of cavalry wheeled in precise formation about the courtyard for the benefit of the new arrivals. Then the carriage came to a gentle halt, and the big figure of the new ruler of Callahorn appeared at the coach door, the broad face smiling in nervous delight.
«Shirl — Shirl, I thought I would never see you again!» He reached into the coach and helped the slim girl from the small enclosure, holding her close to him for a moment and stepping away to view her once more. «I… I really thought I had lost you.»
Burning quietly, an impassive Menion helped himself from the carriage, stepping down beside them, smiling faintly as Palance turned to greet him.
«Prince of Leah, you are indeed welcome in my kingdom,” the big man greeted the lean highlander, reaching warmly for his hand. «You have done me… a very great service. Anything I have is yours — anything. We shall be great friends, you and I! Great friends! It has been… so long since…»
He trailed off sharply, looking intensely at the highlander, suddenly lost in thought. His speech was stilted and nervous, almost as if he weren’t quite sure of what he was swing at any one point. If he weren’t completely mad a ready, Menion thought quickly, he was certainly very ill.
«I’m very pleased to be in Tyrsis,” he responded, «although I wish the circumstances could have been more pleasant for all concerned.»
«You mean my brother, of course?» The question shot out as the other snapped awake again, his face flushed. Menion started momentarily in surprise.
«Palance, he means the invasion of the Northlanders, the burning of Kern,” Shirl interposed quickly.
«Yes. Kern…» Again he trailed off, this time looking anxiously about as if someone were missing. Menion glanced about uneasily, realizing that the mystic Stenmin was strangely absent. According to Shirl and Janus Senpre, the Prince never went anywhere without his adviser. Quickly he caught Shirl’s watchful eye.
«Is there something wrong, my Lord?» Menion used the formal address to catch the other’s instant attention, smiling quickly in reassurance that he was a concerned friend prepared to help. The deception brought unexpected results.
«You can help me… and this kingdom, Menion Leah,” Palance responded quickly. «My brother seeks to be King in my place. He would have me killed. My adviser Stenmin has saved me from this — but there are other enemies… all around! You and I must be friends. We must stand together against those who seek to take my throne — to bring harm to this lovely woman whom you have returned to me. I… I cannot talk with Stenmin… the way I would talk with a friend. But you, I could talk with you!»
Like a small child, he gazed eagerly at the amazed Menion Leah, awaiting his reply. A sudden feeling of pity for this son of Ruhl Buckhannah swept over the highlander, and he duly wished there was something he could do to help the unfortunate man. Smiling sadly, he nodded his agreement.
«I knew you would stand with me!» the other exclaimed excitedly, laughing in delight. «We are both men of royal blood, and that… binds us closely. You and I shall be great friends, Menion. But now… you must rest.»