The Sword of Bheleu

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Garth interrupted, saying, “The battle was not disastrous; we won easily. It’s the consequences of the victory that may be disastrous.”

  “I stand corrected. Let me finish, though. You started, then, a battle that could have disastrous consequences. You have acquired a sword with which you are able to perform destructive magic and you claim it has a mind and will of its own; after the battle the sword has mysteriously vanished. You have brought back with you a human female of no particular value, and then abandoned her. You have behaved oddly, perhaps even insanely, screaming a lot of nonsense about gods and death, while setting fires on all sides. I am told by this human, Saram, that you have made some sort of pact with a local wizard who has promised you immortality.

  “Garth, surely you see that to all appearances you have become completely irrational, madder than the Baron you slew. We have all deferred to you, and let you go your way, so far as was practical, because you are a respected overman, an honored member of the City Council, an experienced military commander, the hereditary Prince of Ordunin, and generally as highly placed and well-considered as it is possible to be among our people. A great deal of eccentricity can be tolerated under such circumstances. There are limits, however, and until Kyrith and I, the legally appointed co-commanders of this force, have received some acceptable explanation of your behavior, we cannot allow you to go on as you have. The consequences could be too severe. If you refuse to explain yourself, we will be forced to consider you deranged—dangerously so, but perhaps only temporarily—and to exclude you from all authority. If you cause any further difficulty, we may have to disarm you and confiscate your goods and weapons, perhaps even place you under provisional arrest. Do you see our position?”

  Garth listened to this speech with shifting emotions. At first he was annoyed, then astonished that Galt and Kyrith could think him to be mad. He was silent for a moment, considering.

  He had behaved irrationally, he knew that. He had been under the sword’s influence. He might even now be less than fully under his own control; he knew that the spell could be subtle and that he need not be touching the weapon to be affected, though he thought it must weaken with distance. He could not be trusted, either by himself or by others. Unpleasant as that conclusion was, he knew he had to accept it.

  Hesitantly, he said, “You are correct, Galt and Kyrith. You are entitled to an explanation. I am not mad; I have reasons, reasons I think good and sufficient, for everything I have done. I can see, though, that from your viewpoint my behavior has been strange indeed. I will be glad to explain myself and let you decide for yourselves how to deal with me.”

  Saram broke into the conversation. “If I might make a suggestion,” he said, “there is no need to stand about out here while explaining. The King’s Inn, over there beyond the ruins of the mansion, was not damaged by the fighting. Frima and I were inside it the whole time, which is why we’re unharmed. I suggest that we go there, where we can sit and speak more comfortably, and get some ale to keep tempers from fraying.”

  Garth realized that he was, in fact, quite thirsty, his throat full of smoke. He nodded consent.

  “An excellent idea,” Galt agreed.

  Though the Baron’s mansion was gone, the cellars remained, half-filled with rubble and not readily passable in the darkness, forcing the party to take a roundabout route to reach the street where the King’s Inn stood. As they passed the ruins, Garth glanced down and noticed something pale in the wreckage. He looked more closely and saw that it was a statue. It had once been a human being, Garth knew; the Baron had used him as a test subject for the basilisk’s legendary power. The overman suddenly no longer regretted killing the Baron, whatever the repercussions might be.

  The street that ran behind the destroyed manor had been the town’s filthiest alleyway, dark and forbidding; now, though, the destruction of the surrounding buildings had let in fresh air and firelight, so that it was no longer much worse than any other debris-strewn byway. Its most outstanding feature was the presence of an unburnt building, the King’s Inn.

  The three overpeople and two humans picked their way through the gloom, past broken stones and fallen timbers that littered their path, while Koros padded silently along a few paces behind, following its master.

  Galt remarked, “It’s curious that this tavern should have survived unscathed, so close to the square.”

  “It is more curious than you know,” Garth said. “It alone, of all the buildings in Skelleth, withstood the power of the sword when I tried to set it ablaze.”

  “I think that you and I, Garth, both suspect why this is,” Saram remarked.

  “Tell me, then,” Galt said. “Or is this some great secret that you two share?”

  “No, hardly that,” Garth replied. “This inn is the home of the Forgotten King, the wizard I first came to Skelleth to find. He seems to be capable of many amazing things; saving his home from the flames is simply the latest example of his power.”

  “From what I know of the old man,” Saram added, “he could probably have saved the entire village, but preferred not to take the trouble.”

  Galt snorted in derision. “If this man is such a mighty wizard, what is he doing in a pesthole like Skelleth?”

  “That’s one of the mysteries about him,” Saram answered.

  They had reached the door of the tavern; it was closed, despite the relatively warm weather, the only sign that there was anything out of the ordinary. The broad front window was clean and unbroken, the half-timbered walls clean and smooth, with no sign of smoke or soot anywhere.

  Saram opened the door and led the party inside; Koros, at a word from Garth, waited in the alleyway.

  Chapter Ten

  The interior of the tavern was crowded with people, all human. As the three overpeople entered a sudden quiet spread before them. Three dozen pairs of eyes watched them intently. In the silence Garth could hear the sound of a knife sliding from its sheath.

  Saram muttered, “I think you had better say something.”

  “People of Skelleth!” Garth said. “We have come in peace. The battle is over. We mean you no harm; we have come here to drink and to talk, nothing more.”

  The silence and tension remained; the crowd still watched.

  “Innkeeper,” Galt called, “five mugs of your best ale!” He sauntered into the room, found an empty chair, and seated himself. The table he had chosen was occupied by two grubby, middle-aged men in stained tunics. “I hope you don’t mind if we join you,” he said casually, “but there don’t appear to be any vacant tables.”

  One of the men muttered a vague reply; the other sat and stared.

  Galt waved to Garth and the others. “Come and sit down!”

  Hesitantly Garth obeyed, taking the remaining empty chair at the table. Kyrith followed, and stood awkwardly for a moment until Saram brought her a chair from a neighboring table.

  “Uh ... we were just going,” one of the villagers said. He rose and backed cautiously away. His companion sat and stared.

  Saram escorted Frima into the vacated place, then tapped the lingering human on the shoulder. “Excuse me, friend, but would you mind moving to another table?”

  The man looked up, startled. “Hah? Oh ... no, no, of course not.” He got awkwardly to his feet and followed his companion, backing away from the table and finding an empty chair elsewhere.

  Saram seated himself and remarked, “That’s better.” He raised an arm and called, “Innkeeper, where’s that ale?”

  Galt remarked, “Garth, you really don’t know much about dealing with humans. You don’t want to make speeches to a crowd like this; just convince them that you belong. Actions are far more convincing than words.”

  “A truth I had forgotten momentarily,” Saram agreed.

  The other patrons were beginning to lose interest and turn away. The innkeeper was approaching with a tray bearing
ale. Garth glanced around the room, realized the crisis was over, and allowed himself to relax. He also noted in passing that the Forgotten King was at his customary table, as if nothing had happened.

  “Now, Garth,” Galt said, “we would like to hear your explanation for your behavior.”

  “One moment.” The ale had arrived, and Garth downed his in a few quick gulps. He handed back the empty mug and said, “Keep refilling this until I tell you to stop.”

  The innkeeper nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  The other four were not hasty in their drinking; the man departed with Garth’s mug while they sipped their ale.

  “Where shall I begin?” Garth asked.

  “Wherever you please,” Galt replied.

  “At the beginning,” Saram said.

  Kyrith nodded in agreement.

  “What beginning?” Garth asked.

  “We thought your behavior odd when you first ventured south from the Northern Waste,” Galt replied. “Why not begin by explaining how that came to pass?”

  “I am not certain where the beginning of that was,” Garth said. “Last winter, I suppose, though I cannot name a date; it seemed to grow gradually.”

  “Start with that,” Galt told him.

  “Very well. You all know how the winters in our lands can wear on one—save perhaps Frima, who is not from these northern realms. The shortness of the days, the paleness of the light, the cold, the snow, the ice—all oppress the mind and the senses. This past winter seemed to affect me more than usual, though it was not an especially harsh one. I found myself depressed and bored; each day I told myself that it would pass, but each day I seemed to sink further into gloom. I could think of nothing but death and despair, and the futility of our lives, struggling to live in the Waste, able to do little more than survive. Every event seemed to contribute to my melancholy; when the hundred and forty-fourth anniversary of my birth arrived, all I could think of was that I must now be more than halfway to my death. It seemed that I had done nothing of any importance in that half of my life. I had won a few inconsequential battles with pirates and raiders, I had fathered a few children, and I had spoken in the City Council on such matters as rebuilding wharves and buying arms. The pirates and raiders survived and will doubtlessly return; my children will grow old and die; my speeches will be forgotten. What was worse, I saw no prospect of anything better in the future. I would grow old and die without ever having done anything to make a mark upon the world. In a century or two, no one would remember that I had ever existed. I did not want that to come about, but I could think of no way to avoid it.”

  “No one looks forward to death,” Galt said.

  Garth glanced in the direction of the Forgotten King, but did not deny Galt’s statement. Instead, he said, “I know, I know, it is the way of things. I was not satisfied with that, however, and resolved to change it, if it could be changed. I went to the Wise Women of Ordunin and asked, first, whether there was anything I could do that would alter this way of things, some act of cosmic significance I could perform that would change the nature of life. They told me that was beyond the power of mortals. I had expected that. I then asked if there was any way that I could be remembered forever, so that, if I had to die, at least my memory might survive.”

  The innkeeper arrived with Garth’s second ale; he drank it and handed back the mug. Before he could resume his narrative, Saram asked, “Who are the Wise Women of Ordunin? You have mentioned an oracle of some sort, but you never told me much about them.”

  “Ao and Ta are sisters who live in a cave near Ordunin; both are ancient and deformed overwomen,” Galt told him. “They have been there at least since the city was built during the Racial Wars. They will speak with certain people, but avoid all others by hiding in the depths of their cave. They answer questions. Although no one has ever known them to lie or to be wrong, they are fond of evasive and confusing answers.”

  “You trust them?”

  “They have never been wrong and have never lied,” Garth said. “I trusted them last winter. I am not certain I will trust them in the future.”

  “Go on, then, with your story,” Galt said.

  “When I asked the Wise Women how I might be remembered until the end of time, Ao told me that I must go to Skelleth, find the Forgotten King, and serve him without fail. She told me the name of this inn, and that he could be found here wearing yellow rags. I was sufficiently caught up in my search for eternal fame that I immediately gathered together supplies, armed myself, and came south on Koros—though I had not yet named it then; it was simply my warbeast. I told no one what I planned because I considered it wholly my own affair and did not want it known that I was coming to Skelleth. I feared that the City Council might consider such a venture potentially dangerous, since at that time we all still believed Skelleth to be a mighty fortress whence the humans might attack us at any time. I could not then truly explain why I was suddenly so concerned with being remembered, why I was obsessed with death, or what had brought on my depression; I still cannot. Whatever the reason, knowing I would be remembered seemed the most important thing imaginable.

  “I knew nothing about Skelleth, of course, save for the old tales from the wars, and not much more about humans. When I saw that the walls were in ruins, I thought that the fortress must be deserted; therefore, I rode directly in, making no attempt at stealth. When I came upon people, it was too late to change my approach, so I continued on openly and asked directions to the King’s Inn.

  “Here I found the Forgotten King, exactly matching the description I had been given; he told me he could, indeed, guarantee that my name would be known until the end of time if I were to serve him, and if he were successful in some great feat of magic he had planned. I agreed to undertake an errand for him as a trial of sorts; I was to go to the city of Mormoreth, southeast of here, and bring back the first living thing I found in the crypts beneath the city. I did as he asked, but I was not pleased with the outcome. The only living thing in the crypts was a basilisk, a magical and incredibly poisonous creature, so venomous that its slightest touch or even its gaze was fatal. To capture it, I had to kill several bandits and a wizard, which I had no wish to do.”

  “In the course of attempting to deliver it, I encountered further difficulties; the Baron of Skelleth learned of the creature’s existence, and desired it for use as a weapon of war. He took possession of it briefly, but I recaptured it and delivered it to the King. I didn’t know what he wanted with it, or what he did with it, but it did not serve his purpose. When he had finished with it, I killed it, rather than let so dangerous a creature fall into the hands of the mad Baron.”

  “That enraged the Baron; he already disliked me because I had failed to cooperate with him, and being deprived of the basilisk seems to have caused him to hate me implacably.”

  “Meanwhile, I had reconsidered my bargain with the Forgotten King. I was dismayed at having accomplished nothing beyond several deaths in running his errand; when he pointed out that I would be remembered in Skelleth and Mormoreth for those deaths, I broke off our agreement. I was no longer so enamored of eternal fame as to wish to buy it through slaughter and servitude.”

  “The King, however, perhaps to soothe me, made a suggestion; he pointed out that, as I could see, Skelleth was no longer the unforgiving enemy of overmankind that it had once been, and that I might acquire some measure of fame and wealth by establishing trade between Skelleth and the Northern Waste. As you all know, I set out to do that. I found you, Galt, to handle the details of trade, that being outside my own knowledge, and brought you, Tand, and Larth back here to open up trade, only to learn that the Baron would not cooperate with the one who had deprived him of the basilisk and his hopes of becoming a mighty warlord. He set intolerable conditions on our trading in order to humiliate me. You know that, Galt; you were there. You know that he asked me to swear fealty to him, to become his vassal.r />
  “Caught by surprise, I foolishly agreed to present his proposal to the City Council and, in fact, swore an oath to that effect. That was a bad mistake on my part; I concede that.”

  A third mug of ale arrived; Garth paused to drink, but did not gulp it down as he had the first two. He waved the hovering innkeeper away.

  “It is difficult for me to explain exactly why I acted as I did. I had it fixed in my mind that the establishment of trade was an absolute necessity, both for the good of our people and for my own aggrandizement. I wanted to accomplish something that would be an unmixed blessing, that would be beneficial to all concerned, and the opening of this trade route seemed to fit. No one would die; I would be serving no mysterious old man. Still, I would achieve renown which, if not eternal, would at least be of a positive nature. Convinced as I was of the value, to myself and to Ordunin, of trade, I was ready to agree unthinkingly to almost any terms. It took the shock of the Baron’s insults and arrogance to jar me out of that.

  “By the time I realized what I had done in swearing that oath and accepting banishment, it was too late to retract. To have gone to the Baron and asked him to reconsider at that point would have been humiliating in itself. I wanted time to think, to see if there were any way to arrange matters more to my satisfaction. The oath I had sworn had a loophole—I had agreed to speak to the Council immediately upon my return to Ordunin, but I had not said when I would return. I decided, therefore, that I would leave Skelleth as ordered, but would not return home. Galt told you this, Kyrith, or part of it, but you chose not to believe him. I have treated you badly in giving you no explanation before this and I apologize for my negligence.

  “Having decided that I could be in neither Skelleth nor Ordunin, I had nowhere to go. I could have gone to Kirpa, I suppose, or Mormoreth, but I had no reason to. The Forgotten King had expressed an interest in renewing our bargain and had even offered to change the terms, promising me not merely eternal fame but actual immortality if I would return to his service. I was not eager to accept; I’m sure you know tales of how a long life can prove more a curse than a blessing, and I had begun to suspect that the old man was practicing deceit. I was wary. However, I had nothing better to do, and he promised me that running his new errand would provide me with the means of avenging the slights I had received from the Baron of Skelleth. Therefore I agreed to attempt the task he set, though I made no promises that I would complete it. This task was to bring him whatever I found upon the altars of the seven temples of Dûsarra. I had no idea where Dûsarra was, or how long it would take me to rob the seven temples, or even whether I would truly go there; therefore I could not tell Galt when I would be back. I guessed that it would be by the end of the year and told him to tell you that, Kyrith. I should have told him more, explained the situation perhaps, but I was angry and slightly drunk at the time and in no mood to do so. I am sincerely sorry if I caused you worry.”