ignored his clear responsibility to the Valeman, and yet the choices that had brought him to Tyrsis had been his own. There were others besides Shea who desperately needed him…
Crossing the spacious bedroom in measured steps, still lost in thought, he dropped heavily to the welcome softness of the large bed, his outstretched hand coming to rest on the cool metal of his sword. He fingered it lightly as he lay back wearily and pondered the problems facing him. Shirl’s frightened face lingered in his mind, her eyes searching Menion’s own. She was very important to him; he could not leave her now in order to resume the search for Shea, no matter what the consequences might be. It was a bitter choice to make, if indeed there was any real choice at all, for his duty ran beyond those two single lives to those of Balinor and his imprisoned comrades and ultimately to those of the people of Callahorn. It would be for Allanon and Flick to find and rescue the missing Valeman if he were still alive. So much depended on them all, he thought absently, his tired mind and body already drifting toward a much needed sleep. They could only pray for success… pray and wait. He hovered on the brink of slumber and then softly dropped off.
A moment later his sleeping mind jerked sharply and he was instantly awake. There may have been a slight noise or perhaps only a highly keyed sixth sense, but whatever it was snapped him back from a sleep that would have ended in his death. He lay motionless on the great bed as his listening ears caught a faint scraping sound from the far wall, and through the slits of his eyelids he saw a portion of a tapestry ripple with movement. A part of the heavy stone behind the tapestry seemed to push outward and a bent, scarlet–cloaked figure slid noiselessly into view.
Menion forced himself to continue breathing in measured intervals, although his heart was beating wildly, urging him to leap from the bed and seize the mysterious intruder. The cloaked figure moved silently across the bedroom floor, the unfamiliar face glancing quickly about the room and then turning back to the highlander’s sprawled form. The intruder was only several feet from the bed when a lean hand slipped beneath the scarlet cloak and emerged, gripping a long, wicked dagger.
Menion’s outstretched hand rested loosely on the sword of Leah, but still he did not move. He waited a moment longer until the attacker was within about a yard of the bed, the dagger held at waist level; then with the lightning speed of a cat, he struck. The lean body whipped upward and toward the startled intruder, one hand clenching the sword still sheathed in its leather scabbard as the flat of the blade snapped sharply around at the man’s unprotected face, striking it in a stinging slap. The mysterious figure reeled backward, the dagger raised defensively. The sword struck a second time, and the weapon clattered to the floor as the numbed fingers of the attacker clenched suddenly in pain. Menion did not pause, but threw himself at the scarlet figure, his own weight dragging the struggling man to the floor where he quickly pinned him, twisting one arm sharply as his fingers closed tightly about the windpipe.
«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
