Garth picked up the sheath with his free hand and flung it back across his left shoulder. He managed to catch the lower strap with the fingers of his right hand, despite the sword's encumbrance, and to bring it up to meet the shoulderpiece.
It took several minutes and much fumbling, but he contrived to tie a reasonably secure knot. He wished that the thing had a buckle; he was sure he could have managed that much more readily.
When he had the scabbard in place, he tipped it forward and slid the blade into it. Then, slowly, he removed his fingers, one by one, from the sword's hilt.
They came away easily, and the sword fell back into place, slapping his back. It felt peculiar to be wearing the scabbard without armor; a two-handed broadsword was strictly a weapon of war, not something to be carried casually about the streets.
"There, you see?" he called to the watching crowd. He held up his hands, showing that they were free and empty. "All I needed was the scabbard."
Galt called in reply, "We see that you have released the sword, but has it released you? Can you remove the scabbard?"
"Of course I can, Galt, but I think I had best keep it with me for the moment. It's too dangerous to leave lying around." He lifted the sheath's strap up from his shoulder, to show that it was not adhering unnaturally. He had no problem in doing so. "See?" he said. "And the gem is dark. It's quiescent right now."
In truth, he did not believe that he could remove the sword and scabbard; he was sure that the knot would prove impossible to untie as long as the sword was sheathed. It was his own problem, though, and he did not want Galt and a bunch of ignorant helpers making matters worse. He was reasonably certain that the only way the sword would voluntarily let him go was if he were to be killed and that Galt's motley group would be unable to remove the sword against its will. He had no wish to die when they attempted to do so, nor to kill any of them.
He had some idea of how powerful the sword was, and they did not, as yet. He would be unable to convince them that the sword was more than they could handle without bloody experimentation. He therefore intended to convince them of the opposite, that the problem was already under control.
"Are you sure?" Galt asked.
"Yes, I'm sure. I've handled this sword for weeks, Galt. It's harmless right now." He reached up and grasped and released the hilt a few times to show that it was not spitting flame or grabbing hold. It remained cooperatively inanimate.
He had it partly figured out now; it was determined to remain in his possession, but it was intelligent enough not to waste energy in holding him any more tightly than necessary. As long as he kept it on his person, it didn't care how it was carried.
He pulled it out, then sheathed it again, demonstrating that it was behaving like any ordinary sword. "You see, Galt? I think it's worn itself out, at least temporarily."
"Very well, Garth. Carry it, if you please. I warn you, though…"
"I know, I know. You cannot trust me while I bear it with me."
"Exactly. I would ask, Garth, that henceforth you sleep well away from the center of town, lest it rouse in the night and drive you mad."
Garth shrugged. "As you please."
Reluctantly, Galt dismissed his dozen supporters; they trailed off toward the market, returning to whatever they had been doing previously. After a final uneasy glance in Garth's direction, Galt followed them.
Garth, in turn, followed; Saram and Frima joined him. Fyrsh turned, as if to accompany them, then stopped and said, "We forgot Pandh."
"Who?" Saram asked.
"Pandh. The other guard Galt posted here. If you're taking the sword, there's no need for him to stay here. He's still up the road; he probably hasn't noticed any of this."
"You're right," Garth agreed. "Go relieve him, then."
Fyrsh nodded and turned back down the street.
When he had gone, Garth remarked to the two humans, "I'm bound for the King's Inn; all this shouting back and forth has made me thirsty."
"We'll join you, if we're not needed elsewhere," Saram said.
"I'd be glad of your company." At least, Garth thought, they would be welcome while he quenched his thirst, which was quite genuine. His primary reason for visiting the King's Inn, however, was to speak with the Forgotten King, and he would prefer privacy for that. He hoped that Saram would be needed somewhere.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Seer of Weideth had never acquired the knack of using a scrying glass and made do instead with an assortment of divining spells. Every spell he tried gave the same answer; the Dыsarran girl had indeed told the truth.
Garth of Ordunin had destroyed Skelleth for no reason. Furthermore, he had murdered the rightful baron of the village on only the slightest provocation, and killed a score of innocents with no cause at all. The girl had not mentioned that.
The overman had done this with the Sword of Bheleu, which was obviously an artifact of great power. The apparent level of arcane energy was, in fact, so great that no material force could possibly stand against it. There would be no point, therefore, in sending an army to Skelleth; only magic or stealth could hope to deal with such a menace.
The Seer wondered how so dangerous a weapon had been left lying about where any passing overman could pick it up in the first place; one of the Council's overseers must have been shirking his duties.
It was not, fortunately, his responsibility; he was only liable for the village and the surrounding hills. Since the matter had been brought to his attention, it was his duty to report it-and that was the entirety of his duty.
He gathered together the three village elders; his own powers were too feeble to reach more than a dozen leagues with a message-spell, and he judged that this matter was worthy of the immediate attention of the Chairman of the Council. That was old Shandiph, and a simple divination told the Seer that Shandiph was in Kholis, the capital city of Eramma, which lay more than a hundred leagues to the east. Communicating over such a distance would require three other minds working in concert with his own. He had worked with the elders before, and they had become reasonably adept at this sort of thing.
By the time he returned to the tavern's common room after divining the Chairman's location, ready to make the attempt at contact, the messenger from the city was long gone and the elders were waiting for him.
In Kholis, Shandiph was visiting with Chalkara, court wizard to the High King. The two were alone in Chalkara's velvet-draped chambers, playing caravanserai with an ancient set of hand-carved jade and ivory, which the court wizard had inherited from her predecessor, and sampling a golden wine of unknown but venerable vintage that Shandiph had brought with him from a stay in Ur-Dormulk. Shandiph had had more than his share of the wine and was consequently a good sixty coins behind in the game when the image of the Seer of Weideth suddenly appeared on the tapestry Chalkara was leaning her back against.
Startled, the old man dropped his wine glass, scattering the green pieces in all directions and spilling yellow wine across the whites. For a moment both wizards were too busy picking up pieces and sopping up the spill with Shandiph's cloak to pay any heed to the message.
When some semblance of order had been restored, Shandiph demanded angrily, "What do you want?"
The Seer's image mouthed something.
"Oh, Regvos, the damnable fool hasn't got a voice; I have to do everything myself!"
Chalkara said soothingly, "I'll do it, Shandi." She reached up to an ornate silk and silver box on a nearby table and pulled out a gleaming amulet, then recited a brief incantation before slipping the golden trinket around her throat.
"Speak, image!" she commanded.
"I am the Seer of Weideth," the image said, "and I have an urgent and private message for Shandiph the wandering sorcerer."
"I am listening," Shandiph replied.
"Ah…it is not to be heard by any but Shandiph."
"Never mind that, Seer, just give me the message. I have better things to do."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I
interrupt something?"
"Give me the damn massage!"
With much hesitation and awkwardness, the Seer explained about the visit from the Dыsarran girl and reported what his divinations had told him.
When he had finished, he waited for a response. Shandiph sat silently for a long moment, then said, "All right. You've delivered your message; you can go now."
The Seer's image vanished immediately.
In Weideth, the Seer relaxed. The matter was out of his hands. He thanked the elders for their assistance, then ordered a final mug of ale before retiring.
In Kholis, Chalkara looked at Shandiph, who was staring at the floor. "This could be serious," she said. "It could start the Racial Wars all over again."
"We'll have to make sure it doesn't," Shandiph replied. "Listen, I'm having trouble thinking clearly; have you got something that counteracts wine? I left all my potions in my own rooms."
"I think so." She rose gracefully, crossed to a cabinet against the far wall, and began rummaging through it.
"Do you think he's right about how dangerous this overman is?" The elder wizard scratched his balding head.
"I don't know anything about it, Shandi. I have never even heard of Weideth or its Seer, nor Garth of Ordunin, nor of the Sword of Bheleu. The only name I know from the whole affair is Skelleth; and even if Skelleth is a pesthole-it is, too-the High King won't be pleased to hear it's been destroyed. It's a bad precedent. Besides, the Baron of Sland is bound to make trouble about it." She pulled out a small brass bottle. "I think this will do; it's a cure for drunkenness and senility."
"I am neither drunk nor senile, woman, merely tipsy. Still, it should serve; pass it here."
Chalkara complied and told him, "The normal dose is three drops."
"One should do, then, but I'll make it two to be safe." He suited actions to words, then shut his eyes and mouth for a moment.
"It tastes awful," he said a moment later.
"Potions usually do," she replied.
"I know. You'd think something could be done about it."
"Right now, I think there are other things more important to do."
"You're right. I don't know anything about Garth of Ordunin or about Skelleth, and the Sword of Bheleu is legendary, which means the available information can't be trusted. I do, however, know the Seer of Weideth, albeit only slightly. It's a hereditary post, one of these odd little oracular talents that turn up here and there. Weideth is a village in the hills in the northwest of Nekutta, and its seers have certain undeniable gifts as long as they remain within the immediate area. The current Seer is no great prophet, but he can do a simple divination; I'm afraid there's no disputing his facts."
"Then this sword really is too powerful to defeat by mundane methods?"
"Oh, we can't be sure of that; a clever assassin might manage something. There could be flaws in the Seer's detail work in that particular conclusion. I would certainly agree that an army won't work; he couldn't have missed the mark by that much."
"Do you want to try an assassin, then?"
"Chala, my dear, I'm not going to try anything. I don't know enough about it. I'm going to get some expert advice first."
"What sort of advice?"
"Oh, I think I had best consult an astrologer and a theurgist, since there may be a god involved, and experts on swords and overmen and perhaps an archivist or two. I'll find a really good diviner to study the entire affair; I'm no good at that sort of work myself."
"Shandi, if you're going to do all that, wouldn't it be simpler just to convene the entire Council and turn the whole thing over to them at once? You know that you need approval from a quorum before you start commissioning assassinations or fooling with major arcana."
Shandiph considered this silently for a moment. The pleasant glow he had felt earlier was almost wholly dissipated now, and he found himself slightly irritable in consequence.
"You're right, Chala. Aghad take this overman, you're right. I hate convening the Council; there's always argument, and I always have to break it up. There's no getting around it, though; this is important enough for the whole Council. A border has been violated and the invaders are using magic. That's exactly the sort of thing that the Council is supposed to prevent."
"Well, at least if you, turn it over to the Council, you won't have the entire responsibility."
"Oh, I don't mind the responsibility. It's better than having to listen to that fool Deriam and his idiot theories about the natural supremacy of Ur-Dormulk or trying to keep peace between Karag of Sland and Thetheru of Amag. You know, I came down here early just to get away from Deriam and now I'm going to have to invite him here."
"I thought you came to see me!"
"I did, I did; after all, I could have gone anywhere from Ur-Dormulk, couldn't I?"
"I know, Shandi. I guess we won't be finishing the game, will we?"
Shandiph looked at the scattered caravanserai pieces. "I suppose not. And just when my luck was changing!"
"Ha! You would have been lucky not to lose a hundred coins!"
"Would I? We'll see next time, then!" He smiled, then frowned. "Right now, though, I had best go find the Charm of Convocation." He clambered awkwardly to his feet.
Chalkara began gathering up the carved tokens. "Shall I come with.. you?"
"You tempt me, but no. Only the Chairman is to see the Charm-another silly rule."
"In that case, shall I go and tell the King to expect company?"
"Yes, I think so; it is his castle, after all. He might get upset if three dozen magicians were to turn up on his doorstep without warning."
Chalkara nodded, and began placing the ivory pieces neatly into their places in the rosewood box.
Shandiph watched her for a moment, then said, "Gan and Pria bless you, Chala." He left, closing the door gently behind him.
That night each and every member of the Council of the Most High had the same dream, and each awoke knowing that he or she was to leave immediately for Kholis.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Saram was not called away immediately, but eventually, as Garth was beginning to feel rather soggy from the vast amount of ale he had consumed; someone came looking for the interim baron. A jurisdictional dispute had developed between two of his ad hoc ministers.
Garth watched him go, taking Frima with him, and marveled that he could walk straight. The human had consumed ale mug for mug with him, and if Garth was feeling the effects, then surely, he thought, the much smaller human should be staggering drunk. It did not occur to him that he had been drinking earlier as well, before picking up the sword, while Saram had not.
It was the middle of the evening and the tavern was crowded; nonetheless, as usual, the Forgotten King was alone at his table in the corner beneath the stairs. Garth seated himself opposite the old man.
For a long moment neither spoke; Garth was unsure how to begin, and the Forgotten King preferred to let the other speak first.
"I have questions I would ask you," Garth said at last.
The old man said nothing, but the yellow cowl dipped in a faint nod.
"You say that you cannot die by ordinary means. How can this be? What would happen if you were struck with a good blade? If your neck were to be severed, would you not die like any other mortal?"
"My neck cannot be severed by any ordinary blade," the King replied.
The hideous dry voice caught Garth off-guard; he had forgotten how unpleasant it was to hear. He hesitated before asking, "How can that be?"
The yellow-draped shoulders rose, then sank.
Garth felt a flicker of annoyance and immediately looked at the hilt of the Sword of Bheleu. The gem was glowing very faintly.
That was not necessarily bad, he thought. Perhaps if he were to allow himself to become angry, the old wizard would douse the sword's power as he had done before, and Garth would be able to escape from the weapon's hold without making any sort of deal at all.
He turned back to the Forgotte
n King and asked, "You say no ordinary blade can kill you; what of the sword I carry?"
"You are welcome to make the attempt," the old man replied.
Garth considered that.
If the result were the destruction of the sword, then all would be well, and his problems would be at an end for the moment. If the result were the death of the King, then he would have performed an act of mercy, but he might be stuck with the sword indefinitely. If both were destroyed, that would be best all around.
There was surely some other way of getting free of the sword. Perhaps, even if it were not destroyed, it would be sufficiently weakened by the effort to loose its hold.
One way or another, the odds appeared to be in his favor. He decided to risk it. He stood, reached up, and pulled the sword from its sheath, awkward in the confined space of the tavern. The tip of the up-ended scabbard scraped the ceiling as the blade came free. It was obvious that he would be unable to swing the blade up over his head; he would have to use a sweeping horizontal stroke instead.
There was a hush, and he looked about, realizing that the other patrons of the tavern had abruptly fallen silent. They were staring at him and at the great broadsword, wearing expressions that ranged from vague curiosity to abject terror.
"Have no fear," he called, "I mean none of you any harm. The old man here has challenged me to strike off his head. Haven't you, old man?"
The yellow-garbed figure nodded, and Garth thought he caught a glint of light in one shadowed eye.
The overman looked along the path he planned for the sword and saw that it would pass uncomfortably close to the humans at a neighboring table. "Excuse me, friends," he said, "but I would greatly appreciate it if you could step back for a moment, to give me room to swing."
The humans quickly rose and backed away.
Satisfied that he would endanger no one but the King, Garth took a good two-handed grip on sword and tried to swing it.
At first it moved normally, but as it approached the old man's neck it slowed, as if moving through water rather than air. From the corner of-his eye Garth could see the red gem glowing fiercely, but he felt none of the roaring anger and exultant bloodlust that usually accompanied the glow.
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