«You were the man on the beach — the kidnapper!» he accused in undisguised fury. «You tried to kill me because you thought I would recognize you as the man who kidnapped Shirl — the man who turned her over to the Northlanders. You traitor! You intended to betray us all — to turn the city over to the Warlock Lord!»
Heedless of the cries of his companions, he rushed toward the now hysterical mystic, who somehow managed to evade his initial lunge and break away toward the cellar stairway. Menion was after him with a bound, the gleaming sword of his father raised to strike. Halfway up the stone steps he caught him, one hand jerking the dark form about as the man shrieked in terror. Yet the end did not come, for as the sword drew back and Menion held the maddened Stenmin tightly against the stone wall, the massive door to the ancient cellar suddenly swung open, the thrust of the pull slamming the ironbound wood back against the wall with a jarring crash. Framed in the entryway stood the broad figure of Palance Buckhannah.
Chapter Twenty–Nine
For a moment no one moved. Even the terrified Stenmin had gone limp against the cellar wall, his dark face staring blankly at the silent form that waited statuelike at the top of the ancient stairway. The lined face of the Prince was drained of color, and the eyes reflected a curious mixture of anger and confusion. Resolutely, Menion Leah met those searching eyes, his sword arm lowering slowly, his own hatred fading with the sudden turn of events. Their lives might all be forfeited if he didn’t act fast. Roughly he yanked Stenmin to his feet and threw him disdainfully toward the Prince.
«Here is your traitor, Palance — the real enemy of Callahorn. This is the man who gave Shirl Ravenlock to the Northlanders. This is the man who would give Tyrsis to the Warlock Lord…»
«My Lord, you’ve come just in time.» The mystic had recovered his wits enough to cut Menion off before any more damage could be done. He stumbled fearfully to his feet and rushed up the stairs, throwing himself at Palance’s feet and pointing down at the company of friends. «I discovered them escaping — I was running to warn you! The highlander is a friend of Balinor — he came to kill you!» The words were tumbling out of the man’s mouth in undisguised hatred as he groped at his benefactor’s tunic and raised himself slowly to his side. «They would have killed me — and then you, my Lord. Can’t you see what is happening?»
Menion fought down the urge to rush up the steps and cut the evil mystic’s lying tongue out, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm, his gaze riveted on that of the stunned Palance Buckhannah.
«You have been betrayed by this man, Palance,” he continued evenly. «He has poisoned your heart and your mind. He has sapped you of your will to think for yourself. He cares nothing for you, he cares nothing for this land, which he has so cheaply sold to the enemy that has already destroyed Kern.» Stenmin roared in fury, but Menion continued in stoney disregard. «You once said we would be friends, and friends must have trust for each other. Do not be deceived now, or your kingdom will surely be lost.»
At the bottom of the stairway, Balinor and his friends watched silently, afraid that any distraction might break the strange spell Menion Leah was weaving, for Palance was still listening, his clouded mind struggling to break the wall of confusion surrounding it. Slowly he stepped forward on the landing, closing the door quietly behind him and brushing past Stenmin as if he hadn’t seen him. His adviser hesitated in confusion, glancing uncertainly at the cellar door as if debating the wisdom of attempting to flee. But he was not yet prepared to accept defeat, and he whirled quickly, catching Palance by the arm and thrusting his lean face next to the man’s ear.
«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.»