The Sword of Shannara - Terry Brooks [215]
The borderman shook his head negatively, desperately trying to hold his brother’s attention for a few minutes longer. Palance had apparently gone mad, whether from a latent congenital defect of the mind or from the strain of whatever it was that had been happening since Balinor had left Tyrsis with Allanon, it was impossible to tell. In any event, he was no longer the brother that Balinor had grown to manhood with and had loved as he had loved no one else. It was a stranger living in the physical shell that was his brother’s body — a stranger obsessed with the need to be King of Callahorn. Stenmin was behind this; Balinor knew it. The mystic had somehow twisted the mind of his maddened brother, bending it to his own uses, filling it with promises of his destiny as King. Palance had always wanted to rule Callahorn. Even when Balinor had left the city, he knew Palance felt certain he would one day be King. Stenmin had been there all the time, counseling and advising in the manner of a close friend, poisoning his mind against his brother. But Palance had been strong-willed and independent, a sane and healthy man who would not be broken easily. Yet he was changed. Hendel had been wrong about Palance, but apparently Balinor had been wrong as well. Neither could have foreseen this, and now it was too late.
“Shirl — what of Shirl?” the tall borderman asked quickly.
Again the anger faded from his brother’s darting eyes and a slow smile crept over his lips, relaxing the anguished face for an instant.
“She is so beautiful... so beautiful.” He sighed foolishly, the dagger falling harmlessly to the cell floor as the Prince opened his hands to emphasize the feeling. “You took her from me, Balinor — tried to keep her from me. But she is safe now. She was saved by a Southlander, a Prince like myself. No, I am King of Tyrsis now, and he is only a Prince. It’s just a little kingdom; I had never heard of it myself. He and I will be good friends, Balinor, the way you and I once were. But Stenmin... says I can trust no one. I even had to lock away Messaline and Acton. They came to me when the Border Legion was sent home, trying to persuade me to... well, I guess to give up my plans for peace. They didn’t understand... why...”
He stopped suddenly, his lowered eyes falling on the momentarily forgotten dagger. He picked it up quickly, placing it back in its belted sheath with a sly smile at his brother, looking strikingly like a clever child that has just avoided a scolding. There was no longer any doubt in Balinor’s mind that his brother was totally incapable of making rational decisions. He was suddenly struck with his earlier premonition that while he could easily seize the dagger and hold his brother prisoner, it would be a serious mistake. Now he knew why that innate sense of warning had been generated. Stenmin fully realized Palance’s condition, and had purposely left the brothers alone in that cell. If Balinor had attempted to disarm Palance and to escape while holding him prisoner, the evil mystic could have accomplished his obvious goal in one bold stroke by killing both brothers. Who would question him when he explained that Palance had met his death by accident while his brother was attempting to flee his prison confinement? With both brothers dead and their father incapable of governing, the mystic might be able to seize control of the government of Callahorn. Then he alone would determine the fate of the Southland.
“Palance, listen to me, I beg of you,” Balinor pleaded quietly. “We were so close once. We were more than just brothers by bloodline. We were friends, companions. We trusted each other, loved each other, and we could always work our problems out by understanding each other. You can’t have forgotten all that. Listen to me! Even a king must try to understand his people even when they don’t agree on the way things are to be handled. You agree with that, don’t you?”
Palance nodded soberly, the eyes vacant and detached as he tried