“Have you come alone?” Garth inquired
“You’re Garth, Prince of Ordunin?”
“You know who I am.”
“I wish to be sure.”
“Yes, I am Garth, and you are Selk, son of Zhenk and Valik. Did you come alone?”
“I am here alone.”
“Kyrith did not come with you?”
“I have said I am alone.”
Garth was dismayed by the messenger’s surliness; it did not bode well for the message the overman carried. He rose to get a better look at Selk’s face. The warbeast growled.
Surprised, Garth looked at it, rather than at its rider.
Like almost every warbeast, it was black; its eyes were green, and its belly-fur white. Its fangs were gleaming white, a sign that it was young and healthy, since the teeth tended to yellow with age. Perhaps, he thought, it still had some of the excitability of cubhood.
Its tail was lashing, and Garth realized that it was looking, not at him, but at the hilt of the sword that protruded up above his left shoulder.
This was something new; none of the warbeasts remaining in Skelleth had reacted to the sword before. He wondered if this beast might have some special sensitivity to magic, or if maybe the sword was doing something new that was perceptible to a warbeast but not to an overman.
Selk also looked at the sword, startled, and said, “It really does glow!”
It was the first thing he had said that had not been spoken as harshly as possible, Garth hoped that it was a sign that Selk was relaxing somewhat.
“Yes, it glows,” he replied. “It also burns and does other unpleasant things. Did Kyrith tell you about it?”
“Kyrith said nothing—I mean, she wrote nothing of it in her statement. The others with her, however, did mention it.”
“Did you doubt them?”
Selk did not answer immediately; when he did reply, it was only indirectly. “I have never encountered magic before.”
“You have now. Be glad that you have not seen much, though; in my experience, most magic is very unpleasant.”
Selk made no reply.
Before Garth had decided on his next remark, Galt and his escort arrived. In addition to the warrior sent after him, he was accompanied by three humans, including Frima, and another overman, a young fellow named Palkh. Garth had seen both the male humans before, but did not know their names.
“Greetings, Selk!” Galt called as he climbed up the ramp from the cellars.
Selk did not reply. Garth thought he glimpsed a trace of worry in Galt’s expression at that. For his own part, Garth now suspected that either Selk’s news was very bad indeed, or that the fellow was simply rude by nature.
When Galt had reached the top of the slope, Selk suddenly spoke, declaiming in a loud voice while he held up a golden rod that represented his authority to speak for the Council.
“Know all present that this is the decision of the City Council of Ordunin! I have been sent here to present this decision, and bear no responsibility for its content. I bear no malice toward any present, nor do I favor them. I speak as I have been commanded.”
Several women and children who were gathered in the marketplace, trading salvaged household goods among themselves, stopped and turned to listen.
“Whereas it has come to the attention of the Council that the party of overmen of Ordunin under the joint command of the master trader Galt, son of Kant and Filit, and Kyrith, daughter of Dynth and Dharith, and commissioned to negotiate trade agreements with Doran, Baron of Skelleth, has exceeded its authority and committed acts of war against the Barony of Skelleth; and whereas these acts were committed under the direction of the aforementioned Galt and also Garth, Prince of Ordunin, son of Karth and Tarith, and a Lord of the Overmen of the Northern Waste, and resulted in unnecessary bloodshed and destruction; therefore, the City Council of Ordunin hereby disavows all responsibility for these actions.”
Selk paused to catch his breath, and Galt started to protest. Garth silenced him with a gesture.
“Furthermore, inasmuch as the members of the party in question may have been unaware of the limits of the authority granted to their commanders, no blame shall be assigned to any person other than the aforementioned Galt, Kyrith, and Garth, if those other persons immediately remove themselves from the area of Skelleth and return to the Northern Waste. No charges shall be drawn up against these persons.
“Furthermore, the aforementioned Kyrith, by virtue of her avowed reluctance to participate in acts of war, and by virtue of her presence before the Council and arguments presented, is hereby pardoned, conditional upon her continued presence in Ordunin.”
“Finally, the Council disavows all claim to any portion of the Kingdom of Eramma, or to any profits that may accrue from acts of war committed against the Kingdom of Eramma, and declares the aforementioned Galt and Garth to be outlaws, this information to be delivered to them as soon as circumstances shall allow.”
Selk stopped speaking, returned the rod to its place beneath his tunic, and sat astride his warbeast, looking down at Galt and Garth. There was a moment of silence.
“They can’t do that,” Galt said at last.
Garth was unsure what to say. Palkh said, “It appears that they have done it, though.”
The women who had heard the announcement suddenly began talking among themselves, discussing this unexpected news.
Garth felt anger growing somewhere within him; he did not bother to look at the red jewel. Whether this anger was wholly his own or not did not seem important.
“Selk,” he said, “is that your entire message?”
“Yes, that’s it, at least so far as you are concerned.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I am to carry the same message to the High King at Kholis, together with a formal apology.”
Garth had reached the conclusion three days earlier that, through some great good fortune, the High King and the other lords of Eramma were as yet unaware of the sacking of Skelleth. Had they known about it, there would surely have been some sort of reaction by now, such as a formal demand for surrender.
This ignorance was very useful. It gave them time. The King would have to learn eventually, but Garth hoped that the news would be delivered at the right time and under the right circumstances for the maximum advantage of overmankind. Therefore, he did not want this messenger spreading the word prematurely.
“I can’t allow that,” he said.
“What?” Selk was plainly astonished.
“Garth, what are you doing?” Galt asked.
“I cannot allow any such message to reach the High King at Kholis at this time,” he said.
“You have no authority to stop me,” Selk answered.
“I need no authority. I am an outlaw, am I not? Dismount, Selk, slowly and carefully, and make no move toward your weapons.”
Selk hesitated.
In a single fluid motion Garth unsheathed the Sword of Bheleu; the red gem was gleaming brightly, and the blade shone silver.
“Dismount, Selk.”
The bystanders, including Galt, were drawing back, unsure what to do. Frima called, “Garth, is it the sword?”
Without turning his gaze from Selk’s face, Garth answered, “I don’t think so. This is really what I think best.”
Selk looked about uncertainly and saw that no one was making any move to aid him. Garth stood ahead of him and to his left, five feet away, the immense broadsword clutched before him in both hands. Selk was not a warrior, but a messenger and a peaceful person, yet he dared not surrender; the Council would hear, and he would lose his position.
He could not fight and he could not surrender. That left flight. Trying to give as little warning as possible, he suddenly shouted the command to run to his mount.
Obediently, the warbeast
surged forward; the Sword of Bheleu lashed out with preternatural speed and caught Selk across the chest. Garth had managed at the last instant to turn the blade so that the flat struck the overman, not the edge; the sword had fought the turn, but given in. Therefore Selk was not killed, but he was knocked backward off the beast’s back, to lie stunned on the hard ground, his chestplate dented in more than an inch, his chest crossed by a great bruise, and two ribs cracked.
Garth started to lower the sword but found it resisting him; almost immediately he saw why.
The warbeast had been trained to protect its rider. As soon as it realized he was no longer in the saddle, it whirled to face Garth.
Everyone in the marketplace—the women, Frima, Galt, the three men, and the other overmen—immediately fled, amid a chorus of shrieks and shouting, leaving Selk lying on the ground and Garth facing the monstrous creature.
The warbeast roared deafeningly, baring fangs more than three inches in length, and charged toward Garth.
For an instant Garth was certain that he was about to die; he had seen warbeasts in action and knew that an overman was no match for one, regardless of what weapons he might hold. Spears and arrows could not penetrate the natural armor created by thick fur, loose, leathery hide, and layer upon layer of muscle that protected a warbeast’s vital organs. A well-wielded sword might manage it, but only by luck; no other creature could move as fast as a fighting warbeast, or dodge with so much skill. A single blow from one of the great padded paws could tear an overman in half.
He forgot all that though, as the warbeast neared him. He forgot everything except that he held the Sword of Bheleu. It came up in his hands, hissing with flame and moving with blurring speed to meet the warbeast’s charge.
The monster leaped upon him, and the blade met it in mid-air, at the base of its throat.
There was a sudden roar of flame, and Garth was smashed backward and down.
He came to a second or so later and found himself lying on his back on the ground, pinned beneath the immense bulk of a dead warbeast, both his hands still clutching the hilt of the sword. The blade had gone cleanly through the beast, its tip emerging between the shoulders, red with blood.
The air was full of the stench of scorched fur and burned flesh.
Garth found it hard to believe that he was still alive. How could the warbeast have died so quickly? Even had he struck it through the heart, which he had not, it should have lived long enough to tear him apart.
“Garth?” It was Galt’s voice that called uncertainly. “Are you alive?”
“Yes,” he answered. The effort was painful; the wind had been knocked out of him by the creature’s impact, and one fang had gashed his cheek in passing.
“Can you move?”
Garth was not sure whether he could or not; he tried, shifting slightly, and discovered that he could not.
“No,” he called, “I’m pinned here.”
There were sounds, but no further words reached him.
Something occurred to him, and he called, “Don’t let Selk escape!”
“He’s not going anywhere,” someone said grimly; Garth thought the voice was human, rather than overman. It was definitely not Galt.
Something else occurred to him, and he looked down at the hilt of the sword. He was unable to raise his head enough to see anything other than black fur; there was no way he could see whether the stone pressing into his belly was glowing.
Cautiously, he removed his left hand from the hilt; it came away easily, as he had expected. Then he tried to open his right hand.
One thumb and one finger came free, but the other thumb and fingers remained in place. The sword had not released its hold.
He lay back, disappointed.
A few minutes later, with much straining, Galt and a party of overmen managed to push the warbeast’s carcass off him. He pulled the sword free, wishing he didn’t have to, then staggered to his feet, the weapon hanging loose in one hand. The gemstone flickered dimly.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Garth,” Galt demanded, “why did you do that?”
Garth looked at him. The brief battle had tired him, and his entire body ached from the strain of supporting the warbeast’s weight and from being slammed against the ground. A stray pebble had cut open the back of his head when he fell, and he felt blood dripping down his back, across immense bruises, as well as running down his cheek.
“Do what?”
“Why did you stop Selk from leaving?”
He stared at Galt in astonishment. Could the trader really be that stupid? “Galt,” he said, “what would the High King do upon receiving such a message?”
“I don’t know,” Galt answered. “Send a polite reply, I suppose.”
“Don’t you think that he might send an army to recapture Skelleth, once he was aware that we had taken it and that Ordunin would not send any reinforcements to our aid or back us in any way?”
“But he wouldn’t have to recapture Skelleth!”
“Why not? We happen to be running it right now.”
“But we’re leaving, aren’t we? The Council has disowned our occupation; our troops will be going home to take advantage of the amnesty, and we’ll either have to go back and plead for pardon or seek refuge somewhere.”
“Galt, I am not leaving. The Council has declared us to be outlaws and renounced all claim to Skelleth. The rightful baron is dead, without heir. We are in control of the barony. It seems to me that we can do quite well for ourselves by staying here in control. If the High King believes us to be here with the approval of the Council and the Lords of the Overmen of the Northern Waste, he will negotiate with us to save bloodshed—I hope—and we can have Saram declared the new Baron, thereby ensuring us of a place here. The Council will not interfere; they have disclaimed the whole affair.”
“I don’t understand. What good will it do to stay here and have Saram made Baron? We will still be outlaws in both lands.”
“No, we will not; we will be Erammans, able to establish trade between the two realms. Benefits aside, though, have you considered what will happen to Saram and his ministers if we leave? He will be tried for treason and beheaded for cooperating with us. Would you willingly allow that to happen?”
“I had not considered that. I find myself confused.”
“And are you so certain that all our warriors will take advantage of the amnesty? Might some not prefer to remain here, outlawed or not? There are things to be done here and very little to be done in Ordunin. Here they are a powerful elite; in Ordunin they are nothing out of the ordinary.”
“I don’t know.”
“Galt, if you wish, you can go home and plead for clemency, but I am staying here and intend to call for volunteers to stay with me. And so long as I stay here, I dare not let Selk deliver his message to the High King. Is that clear?”
“Clear enough. I will have to think this through carefully.”
“In the meanwhile, what will be done with Selk?”
“He’s under arrest, more or less; I’ll keep him there until I decide.”
Garth nodded; that would do for the present.
Things had changed suddenly, he realized; less than an hour earlier he had been thinking that he might return to Ordunin. Now he was absolutely refusing to do so.
The difference was in Selk’s message. It had not occurred to him that the Council could be stupid enough to throw away its claim to Skelleth. The Council might be sufficiently timid to let Skelleth go for nothing, but Garth was not. He intended to hold it. If he was not to hold it on behalf of Ordunin, then he would hold it on his own behalf. He was sure that he could run it better than the Council could in any case. He found himself almost hoping that Galt would give up, go home, and leave him in charge. He would show the trader how a village should be run.
That was still to be
decided, though. He stood and watched as Galt walked off, lost in thought, toward the King’s Inn.
Saram appeared from somewhere; he had finally gotten word of the fight. He looked at the dead warbeast and called, “Find me someone who knows how to skin animals! We shouldn’t let so fine a hide go to waste. Garth, will warbeasts eat their own kind? We’ve been running short of meat for them.”
Garth’s chain of thought was broken as he tried to recall whether he knew anything about cannibalism among warbeasts.
Resorting to experimentation after the fur had been stripped from the carcass, he and Saram learned that warbeasts had no objection to cannibalism.
When the warbeasts had stripped much of the flesh away, it also became clear how the Sword of Bheleu had killed the monster quickly enough to save Garth’s life; the internal organs had all been burned to a fine ash.
Chapter Eighteen
The first arrival capable of sending a message to Shang was the sorceress Zhinza, an ancient, tiny woman who maintained a small farm a few leagues to the east. Despite her age, she was still cheerful and energetic. She gladly consented to make the attempt when Shandiph explained the situation.
Chalkara obtained the High King’s permission to use the castle’s highest tower, which Zhinza said would make her sending easier. The topmost chamber, which had been used for storage of old weaponry, was cleared out and furnished with a clean, new mattress and an assortment of cushions and hangings; that done, Zhinza was moved in and left in the privacy she demanded.
The dozen councilors present by this time had expected her to emerge with an answer within the hour; as the minutes crawled by, they became first impatient, then concerned, and finally worried. The minutes became hours, and finally a full day passed, during which Zhinza had had no food or drink.
The more impatient wizards finally convinced Shandiph that something must have gone wrong, that the strain had been too much for the poor old creature; a rescue party was on its way up the stairs of the tower when Zhinza finally emerged.
The Sword of Bheleu Page 18
