The Sword Of Bheleu tlod-3

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "Would that be so harmful?" Chalkara asked.

  "Our organization's existence is a secret," Karag stated slowly and precisely. "We want to keep it a secret. Only in secret can we continue to maintain peace and to manipulate the governments of the world so that there is no aggressive action taken. Only by acting in secret can we limit the knowledge of the arcane arts and prevent the magical battle that caused such catastrophes in the earlier ages."

  "It seems to me," Chalkara said, "that we are getting ahead of ourselves. It is not our place to decide this; it is a matter for a quorum of the Council. I think we can all agree on that."

  "There is no harm," Derelind said, "in planning ahead. I suspect that the Council as a whole will, in fact, agree that this situation may require drastic remedies-and quickly. Might I suggest that, as soon as someone with the requisite talents arrives, we should send a magical message to the keeper of the weapon? I know little about the spells involved in controlling it; do they require any preparation time?"

  "I'm afraid I don't know either," Shandiph admitted. "That has always been left entirely to the keeper."

  "I still think it's a mistake," Karag said. "Turning people to stone can't help but attract attention."

  "We are only suggesting sending a message, to have it ready if needed. You know that Shang has orders to stay where he is and to ignore the summons I sent; we can't leave the thing unguarded."

  "All right, then, send a message to Mormoreth. I still think, though, that using the basilisk is a mistake, and I'll vote against it in the Council."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Over the course of the next several days Garth attempted repeatedly to get rid of the sword. In doing so he broke two dozen assorted blades; hurt his jaw in trying to chew through the scabbard strap; burned his hand badly in a candle flame in the hope that sufficient heat or pain might cause the sword to lose its hold; cut the same hand and lost considerable blood in trying to pry his fingers open with a knife-which eventually broke; and acquired several scrapes and bruises in using various blunt instruments to try and pry his fingers from the hilt.

  He antagonized several people, both human and overman, by breaking their tools, wasting their time, avoiding their questions, and sometimes by accidentally inflicting minor injuries of the sort that had battered his own hands and chest. He also talked three individuals into burning their hands in varying degrees by trying to handle the sword, which continued to allow no one other than himself to touch it.

  His own injuries were of no consequence, however, and in fact scarcely even rated as a nuisance, since every cut, bruise, burn, or scrape healed miraculously overnight. There could be no denying that the sword had its beneficial aspects.

  Unfortunately, the injuries received by others were not so obliging, though the burns caused by touching the sword invariably turned out to be less severe than they first appeared and always healed quickly and cleanly.

  His attempts to remove the sword were further complicated by the necessity of keeping them secret from Galt; Garth was quite sure that Galt would interfere if he realized that the sword did have a hold on Garth, and that any such interference would do far more harm than good.

  Saram was more astute than Galt and quickly figured out the truth of the matter. Garth was able to convince him to say and do nothing about it.

  Galt, fortunately, was too busy trying to organize and govern Skelleth and the warrior overmen to pay much attention to Garth-particularly since Garth was specifically excluded from any say in the new government.

  Garth was amused by his observation of Skelleth's resurrection. He had plenty of time to play the disinterested observer, since he was the only person of either species not actively involved in it. He had nothing to do with his time except to eat, drink; sleep, think, try to dispose of the sword, and watch the events going on around him.

  His amusement derived from the differing styles and results of Galt and Saram. Galt had thrown himself completely into a frenzy of planning and organizing, spending every waking moment hard at work on governing. Any dispute that came before him was given careful and detailed attention and settled logically after much thought and analysis.

  Saram, on the other hand, spent as little time as possible in work of any sort; he often joined Garth in doing nothing but watching. He settled disputes by fiat, without discussion, or by vote of whoever happened to be present-assuming disputes ever reached him in the first place, as he had given his horde of ministers to understand that it was their responsibility to keep their people in hand and out of his hair. Only when an argument crossed jurisdictional lines or involved jurisdictional lines did it reach Saram's ear.

  Galt's efforts had resulted in very little in the way of concrete accomplishments; he had not managed to set up any permanent housing for his overmen, despite the approach of winter, nor to establish any lower levels of governance that could function without constant supervision.

  Saram, on the other hand, had been building houses out of rubble at the rate of almost three a day and had had the town's wells cleaned out and a rudimentary distribution system set up. His ministers had sifted themselves out into levels of importance; some had resigned, either because their jobs were done or because they felt that they weren't needed. Two had been fired for incompetence and replaced. In short, Saram was the head of a working government.

  That was the situation that existed when the messenger from Ordunin arrived.

  Garth was sitting on a block of stone in front of the hole where the Baron's cellars had been, the stone walls having been excavated for use in new buildings; he wore his quilted gambeson beneath his tunic to keep out the growing chill in the air. Changing his clothing while the sword retained its grip had proved difficult, but possible. He had exhausted every method he could think of for getting free of the sword's hold that did not involve either travel or giving in to the Forgotten King and was now trying to decide where he should go first-the nearest ocean, to see if salt water might have an effect, or Ordunin, where the Wise Women might be able to suggest a solution. He was no longer particularly concerned about his oath, though he had never been released from it, because it hardly applied to the current situation.

  He was beginning to think that, after all, he no longer had much reason for staying in Skelleth. He had declined to accompany Kyrith because he had wanted to deal with the sword, which was then in Skelleth; now, though, the sword was wherever he was, and be could easily carry it to Ordunin and deal with it there. Ordunin was on the ocean, as well, though hardly the closest coast. Furthermore, if he were to travel, he would prefer to do so before winter closed in.

  The only thing still keeping him in Skelleth-other than his interest in the rebuilding-was the presence of the Forgotten King, the one person known to be capable of controlling the sword.

  There was a possibility that by taking the sword elsewhere it would stop being so complacent and again drive him into a destructive fury; that would be very unfortunate if it happened in Ordunin. But then, it might happen in Skelleth, which would also be unfortunate now that the rebuilding was well under way. His best course might be to head due east to the coast of the Sea of Mori; there were no towns along that route, nothing that he might destroy.

  He reached up and pulled the hilt of the sword down so that he could look at the gem. Its glow was faintly visible even in the midday sun, yet he felt no anger nor bloodlust building up. The thing was being subtle, he was sure, planning something, waiting for something, or perhaps affecting him in some new way he hadn't yet detected.

  As he stared at the red gem, he heard the rattle of armor and looked up. It came from somewhere behind him, to his right; he turned and saw three overmen approaching, with two men trailing along behind them. One of the overmen was riding a good-sized warbeast.

  Garth recognized the humans and the two overmen on foot, but he could not place the mounted figure for a long moment.

  As the party drew up near him, he finally realized who it was: Selk,
one of the City Council's messengers. He had not been among the sixty volunteers.

  This, then, he knew, must be the response to Kyrith's mission to acquaint the Council with the situation.

  "Where is the master trader Galt?" the messenger demanded.

  "He's in the King's Inn," Garth replied politely, ignoring the other's imperious tone.

  "You, fetch him," Selk ordered one of the two overmen who had accompanied him. Garth realized that they and the humans must be those who had been posted to guard the North Gate.

  The warrior hurried to obey, taking the direct route through the pit; earthen ramps had been built on both sides to aid in removing the stones.

  "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 broadsw
ord 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.