These three, he thought, must honestly believe that their need was urgent, or they would not have interrupted the day's routine. Despite the unfortunate precedent it set, he decided to hear them out.
He would not do so publicly, however, whatever the matter might be. That would be too damaging to his aura of imperviousness.
In fact, as he prepared to speak, a way of settling the affair to his benefit occurred to him, a scheme that would make plain to all present that the overlord was not to be disturbed without good reason.
He waved an arm, finger pointing. "Guards! Take these three to the Black Hall, and summon the executioner! I will hear their plea, as I must in fairness do, but the penalty for usurping my attention thus and delaying the work of governance must be no less than death, if the cause is not sufficient!"
That, he thought, should impress any overeager father wanting reimbursement for his daughter's lost maidenhood, or a householder demanding that his neighbor's hounds be silenced, enough to keep them out of his hair. He rose, watching as six guardsmen snatched the advisers up off the floor, a soldier at each arm. An officer had gone for the headsman; that was good. The prince led the way to the black and gold door, moving in his stately, slow walk, aware that the soldiers were bringing the three advisers along a few paces behind him.
A footman opened the door into the back corridor, then ran ahead to the black iron door of the execution chamber. The overlord entered the room, waited as the wizards and the archivist were brought in, then waved imperiously at the guards and servant. "Begone," he said.
The seven vanished, and he looked about for somewhere to sit. The room was empty, save for the black stone platform in the center and the great block of ebony that stood upon it. The walls and floor were rough, black stone; the ceiling was blackveined red marble, arched and vaulted. It was a thoroughly uncomfortable place, he decided as he settled on the edge of the platform.
The three counselors stood awkwardly, facing him, unsure whether to prostrate themselves, to bow, or just to stand there.
"Now," the overlord said, "what is it that's so urgent?"
"O Prince," Shandiph replied, "you must prevent Garth from. taking the Book of Silence!"
"Garth? The overman?" The overlord was puzzled. "Why?"
"O Prince," Chalkara said, "the Book of Silence is perhaps the most deadly object ever to exist. It is linked with the higher gods, the gods of life and death and even Dagha himself, it seems. Its arcane power is so great that ordinary wizards cannot use it, for to speak a single word from its pages would be instantly fatal." She paused to catch her breath.
The overlord remarked, "That would seem to make it one of the most useless of objects."
Shandiph demurred. "I fear not, my lord. As Chalkara has said, no ordinary wizard can use it, but Garth of Ordunin serves one who is not an ordinary wizard. The book was created to be used by a single individual, the immortal high priest of The God Whose Name Is Not Spoken. That is whom Garth intends to deliver it to."
"How do you know this?"
Shandiph asked, "Which part, O Prince?"
"How do you know whom the overman plans to give the book to? He mentioned a wizard, not a priest."
"We know him, Chalkara and I, from a previous encounter. We know that he is associated with the King in Yellow, as the high priest of Death was known of old, and with no other wizards. He admitted as much to us when we spoke with him just now."
"The King in Yellow?" The overlord looked at Silda. "I believe you've mentioned an ancient legend about someone with that description."
"Yes, my prince."
The overlord saw that the archivist had no intention of elaborating, and did not pursue the matter.
"Well, then, what if the overman does take this book to this priest? How will that harm us here in Ur-Dormulk?"
Shandiph answered, "We believe it will bring about the start of the Fifteenth Age, the Age of Death."
"You fear that? Are not the ages preordained and unchangeable?"
Shandiph hesitated, and Chalkara answered for him. "We do not know, O Prince. It may be that they are not."
"We are only in the third year of the Fourteenth Age; it seems to me that any worry, about the next age is premature."
"We do not know how long the Fourteenth Age is to be," Chalkara said.
The overlord nodded; he had heard the court astrologer bewailing that uncertainty. "Still," he said, "I cannot believe it will be so brief as that."
"We think that it may be," Chalkara insisted.
The overlord leaned back on his hands and looked at the three scholars. "I think," he said, "that you have all managed to frighten one another with old myths and vague suppositions until you have convinced yourselves that we are all in mortal peril, when in truth we are in no more danger from this mad overman than from the Emperor of Yesh." He held up a hand to forestall any protest. "Furthermore, I think you're missing a few essential facts in your worrying."
He shifted, leaned forward again, and held up a finger. "First, the danger you envision may not exist at all. Second, if it does, this overman may have nothing to do with it. Third, whatever else he may be, the overman is a representative of the Baron of Skelleth. You may not realize just how dependent we are upon Skelleth in these unsettled times. You may take seriously my magnificent titles and the splendor of this palace, but I know better; I may call myself a prince and be known throughout Eramma by the title of overlord, but the hard truth is that I'm nothing more than an Eramman baron. Those lesser lords in my court who give me the claim to be an overlord have no power at all; they are worth no more to me than the officers of my guard-probably less, actually.
"Maybe in ancient times Ur-Dormulk was a real nation unto itself and a power to be reckoned with; maybe Alar and Hastur and those other lands I claim really existed; I don't know and I don't care. All I rule is a walled city, a few miles of lakes and mountains, and a good-sized piece of plain that's totally impossible to defend, should one of my neighbors decide to invade. One of those neighbors is the Baron of Skelleth, and right now he's the only one who isn't at war somewhere and the only one conducting any trade at all. We haven't had a caravan in from Therin or Kholis in eighteen months; have you noticed what fresh fruit costs in the markets and shops these days? And what there is, is all our own, at that; I haven't seen a date or an orange in over a year, and if any were available in the city, I'd know it, I promise you.
"That may not mean much to you, but if we lost the trade with Skelleth, you'd know it and you'd feel it. I don't know where the goods are coming from, but we've been getting better furs and wool than we had in times of peace, pickled fish at half what we used to pay, and ivory and gold and a dozen other things-more than a dozen-scores, or hundreds! From Skelleth, which used to sell nothing but ice and hay! It was a gift from the gods that the new Baron began selling to us just about the time the other routes started to be cut, and I don't dare jeopardize that. The Barony of Skelleth covers half our borders, to the north and northeast, and if this Saram can bring us caravans out of nowhere, he might be able to bring armies with equal ease. Now he's sent us a representative, and an overman at that-where in all the world did he find an overman? I thought they were extinct, despite the stories we heard from the traders out of Skelleth. I was wrong. What's more, the gatekeeper tells me that the overman arrived riding a monster twenty feet long with fangs the size of a man's fingers.
"And now you ask me to throw away the goodwill of this overman, and with it the goodwill of the Baron of Skelleth, because of a vague legend. You ask me to risk losing our only remaining trade route, the richest I've ever seen. You ask me to risk an invasion, perhaps led by overmen on monsterback, like those in the tales of the Racial Wars. Why? Because you don't want a magical book no one can read to be taken to a mysterious wizard.
"And that brings me to my fourth, and most important, point. What makes you think that this overman will find this Book of Death, or whatever it is? He says that it's in the roy
al chapel of some palace. What palace? The only palace in Ur-Dormulk is this one, and I promise you all, on my soul and the shades of my ancestors, that there is no royal chapel here containing a mystical book no one can read! If this book exists at all, it must be in the crypts somewhere. Have you ever been in the crypts, any of you?"
The three advisers nodded in unison, like chastised children.
"All of you. Then you should know that you can't find anything in the crypts unless you know exactly where it is! They go on forever, in a maze, like a mass of worms tied in knots.
"So do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to let this overman wander about the city all he likes, and if he wants to get himself lost in the crypts, I'll allow that, too. I'll even give him a guide, if he asks, one who will lead him in nice, large circles through the more familiar corridors. If he persists I'll let him wander all he wants. He can go explore the ruins between the lakes. He can kill a few Aghadite priests, if he does it quietly, and I won't do a thing about it. If he does find the book, or anything else of real value, I'll know it, I promise you. If that happens-if it happens-then I'll talk to you again, and maybe have it taken away from him if you can convince me it's really that important. That's what I'm going to do about this overman, and I hope it satisfies you, because I am not going to offend the Baron of Skelleth unless I really have to, for my own safety and for the safety of Ur-Dormulk. Is that clear?"
The three, overwhelmed by this lengthy speech, nodded again.
"Good. So if you want to make yourselves useful, you might apply your magic, you two, to help keep an eye on the overman. All three of you might want to see if you can get some idea where this book is, if it exists, so that we can get to it before he does-if we have to." The overlord waved a hand in dismissal. "So much for that. Now, about the matter of your barging into the audience chamber. As you may have guessed, I am not going to have you executed."
Silda was visibly relieved to hear this; Shandiph and Chalkara, who had never taken the threat seriously, were startled by its mere mention.
"However," the prince continued, "I am not at all pleased that you took it upon yourselves to interrupt my routine; therefore, you are all confined to the north wing of the palace until further notice. I don't want you in the hall with me, I don't want you in my apartments, and I don't want you in the front rooms. Is that understood?"
"O Prince," Shandiph began, "I think you underestimate…"
"Silence!" the overlord bellowed.
Shandiph subsided.
"That's better. If you do that again, wizard, you'll be a wanderer once more; I won't execute you, as that would be a stupid waste, but I won't hesitate to banish you from the city if you become more trouble than you're worth to me."
Shandiph bowed his head in acknowledgment.
"Good." The overlord got to his feet and brushed off his velvet robes. "Now let's get back to work." He gestured, and Silda opened the door.
The executioner, hooded and robed in black and yellow, stood outside, his axe in his hands. Behind him, a ring of nervous guards and footmen waited.
The prince spread his arms theatrically. "My thanks, my lord, for heeding my summons. I have decided, however, to be merciful; your services will not be needed."
The headsman bowed low, backed up a pace as soldiers scurried to clear a path, then turned and marched away without speaking.
The overlord spotted an officer among the clustered guardsmen and called, "Captain, if you would escort these three to their quarters, I would appreciate it. They are not prisoners and are not to be confined, but I think they would like to rest. They have been overexcited. See to them; I must return to my own business."
The officer saluted, setting the crimson plume on his helmet bobbing; he pulled two of his men off to one side as the others formed an honor guard around the overlord, then waited as servants, soldiery, and prince marched back into the audience chamber. When the black and gold door had closed behind the last footman, the officer gestured for the first of his two men to accompany Silda and for the other to guard Chalkara, while he himself escorted Shandiph. Thus arranged, he bowed politely and said, "At your service, my lord wizard."
Shandiph was in no mood for pleasantries. "Lead on," he said.
Together the party trooped up the corridor, past the golden door of the Hall of Promotion, and through the ornate gate at the end of the passage. All turned right, but Silda and her guard continued directly down the carpeted corridor, while the wizards and their unwanted companions headed up the gilded staircase. The archivist's apartments were on a lower level, near the archives themselves, which were in an upper part of the crypts. The wizards, in keeping with tradition, were housed on the topmost floor of one of the palace towers. Shandiph, not as young and spry as he once was, sometimes regretted that.
During the long walk along the length of the north wing, ascending each flight of stairs they encountered, neither Chalkara nor Shandiph spoke. Each observed the other, however. Chalkara saw Shandiph's fists clench and unclench, saw him biting back words. Shandiph saw Chalkara's eyes shifting, her face pale, with the look of a hunted animal in her manner.
They reached the spiral stair that led into the tower proper, and Shandiph broke his silence. "You need go no farther," he told the soldiers. "There's no reason to tire yourselves out by climbing all these stairs."
The captain stopped, glanced about, and nodded. "Very well. The prince said you were not under confinement, and at any rate, there is no other exit from the tower."
"Indeed," Shandiph said. "Thank you for your company, captain, and a good evening to you." He bowed slightly.
The officer saluted, but did not depart; instead he stood where he was and watched as the two wizards made their way up the staircase. Glancing back, Shandiph noticed, with some amusement despite his worry over Garth's actions, that the young guardsman who stood at his captain's side was not watching both wizards, but only Chalkara. Unaware that he was observed, the soldier stared at her hips as she climbed the steps. Shandiph was not surprised; Chalkara was worth staring at. He guessed that the youth was wondering whether the tales one heard in every barracks were true, that sorceresses are not like other women.
Shandiph turned away, resisting the urge to comment. The stories were not true; Chalkara was as human as anyone.
The curve of the stair took them out of sight before they reached the first floor of the tower; their own rooms were in the fifth and highest storey. Shandiph paused, out of breath, at the first landing, but then marched determinedly onward.
"Shandi, we…" Chalkara began as they rounded the next curve.
He waved her to silence and trudged upward.
At the third landing he stopped and listened; Chalkara came and stood beside him.
"I don't think they can hear us," he said, keeping his voice low. "Chala, do you like it here?"
"What?"
"Do you like Ur-Dormulk? Do you want to stay here?"
"I don't know. It's comfortable, even if it isn't home, and where else could we go?"
"Sland, perhaps; I understand that it's at peace now, and Karag fled years ago. There might be a place for a wizard or two."
"Shandi, what are you talking about? Why should we leave Ur-Dormulk? If the Fifteenth Age starts, it won't matter where we are."
"It might, but that's not my point. I want to know if you'll go along with me if I disobey the overlord and get us both exiled."
"Oh, Shandi, of course I will! We have to do something, whatever he says! The King in Yellow wouldn't have sent Garth here unless he knew the Book of Silence could be found!"
"We'll have to run for our lives, probably. The prince may decide to put us to death if we stay here."
"I don't mind. Maybe we should leave anyway, Shandi, even if he doesn't do anything. I want to see Kholis again; the fighting hasn't reached there yet, not all the way to the castle, and I'm sure the King is over his anger by now. I may not live long enough to go home if we don't stop the overm
an."
"Don't be so pessimistic, Chala; we'll stop him, at least for now. He's just one overman." Shandiph did not wholly believe that, even as he said it.
Chalkara did not believe it either, but she said nothing to contradict the older wizard. "What are you planning to do?" she asked.
"I'm not sure yet, but I have an idea. Can you make a golem?"
Chalkara considered, then shook her head. "No."
"What about illusions?"
"Oh, I can do those, but they aren't always reliable. What are you thinking of?"
"I'm thinking of ways of killing Garth. I don't have any spells that can do it anymore; do you?"
"No. At least, I don't think so."
"Well, I'm not about to go up and try to kill him in person; he's dangerous. That means we'll have to send someone else to do it."
"Shandi, should we do that? Isn't there any other way to stop him?"
"I doubt it. He's stubborn. I'm sure we can't destroy the King in Yellow or the Book of Silence, but we can probably get Garth killed."
Book of Silence tlod-4 Page 14
