As Garth approached the dais, the officer stepped off to the right, the courtier to the left; the overman stopped at the foot of the steps and bowed politely.
There was a murmur and a moment of awkward silence; Garth suspected, too late, that some further form of abasement was customary.
A red-clad courtier stepped forward from somewhere and announced, “Behold, O supplicant, Hildarad, seventh of that name, Prince of Alar, Lord Dormulk, Master of the City, Conqueror of Hastur, supreme in Aldebaran and the Hyades! Speak, then, if you dare!”
Garth wondered what Aldebaran and the Hyades might be, and where Alar was, as he replied, “I am Garth, Prince of Ordunin, Lord of the Overmen of the Northern Waste. I come with a letter of introduction from Saram, Baron of Skelleth, to ask a favor of you, O Prince.” He had almost addressed the overlord as “overlord,” but caught himself at the last moment; the title of prince was more prestigious, and therefore more courteous. He had no idea if the overlord actually had a legitimate claim to it, but he did not care to risk any insult.
The overlord shifted slightly on his throne and said, in a conversational tone, “I have glanced through this letter you bring. My lord of Skelleth asks me to accept you as minister without portfolio in his government and to treat you with all respect due himself. If you are in truth Prince of Ordunin—and I do not question it—that might seem little favor, to give you the courtesy due a baron, yet the relationship between my own domain and the Baroney of Skelleth is most exceptionally warm, and I think that is what he had in mind. Therefore, I invite you to ask your favor, knowing that I look upon you as a good friend and ally.”
“Thank you, O Prince,” Garth replied. “I am seeking a book, an arcane volume known as the Book of Silence. I am told that it lies in or beneath Ur-Dormulk, most probably in what was the royal chapel of an ancient palace.”
He had meant to continue with a few meaningless courtesies and then ask for assistance in locating the book, but he was distracted by the expressions on the faces of two of the overlord’s courtiers. The woman in the yellow gown had turned pale, her face as bloodless and white as bleached wool; beside her, the blue-clad man’s mouth was open, his eyes wide, his broad face flushed.
The overlord, looking at Garth and not to the side, did not notice. He remarked casually, “The Book of Silence? An odd name; is not a book meant to speak to its readers? I have never heard of it; my tax collectors will be grieved to learn that there is something of value within the walls that they had not discovered for me.” He smiled at his jest, and Garth smiled in return; some of the courtiers chuckled politely.
The two who obviously had heard of the Book of Silence managed to compose themselves while their lord was speaking, Garth noticed, though the woman remained pale and unsteady. He wondered who they were. He was slightly disappointed that the overlord seemed unable to tell him where to find the book, but it looked as if this pair might be of help.
Serious again, the overlord asked, “Is this book some sort of grimoire or book of spells?”
“I don’t know,” Garth admitted. “I seek it on behalf of a wizard of my acquaintance, who has told me that he requires it to perform certain magics I wish him to perform.” That was not quite the truth, but it was close enough to serve.
“And was it this wizard who told you the book was in Ur-Dormulk?”
“Yes,” Garth replied. “He told me that it lay in an ancient chapel, or perhaps the ruins of one.”
“I know of no such chapel, and this palace is the only one that has stood in this city in all its recorded history.”
Garth shrugged. “I have said what I was told.”
“This is all strange to me, and I fear I can be of little assistance. Is there any other way in which I might aid you?”
A trace of color was returning to the woman’s face, Garth saw, and the man beside her had wholly recovered, pretending that nothing untoward had happened. Those two, Garth decided, were definitely worthy of investigation. He found himself thinking that there was something familiar about them, but dismissed it as overactive imagination.
That could wait, however. He had another concern he wanted to mention to the overlord, and another audience might not be easy to obtain, despite the man’s expressed goodwill.
“O Prince,” he said, “forgive my ignorance of your city, but is the cult of Aghad active in Ur-Dormulk?”
The overlord appeared momentarily startled. “Aghad? The Dûs god of hatred? There is a temple to him here, certainly, and it has, I suppose, its complement of priests and devotees. We of Ur-Dormulk pride ourselves upon the toleration of all faiths—or at least all save the most repulsive. The dark gods and their followers may be distasteful, but we permit them to remain and worship as they please, so long as they do not disturb the peace. One or two have, in truth, been banished for practicing human sacrifice, but to date, the Aghadites have behaved themselves. Why do you ask?”
“I have a personal interest in the cult of Aghad, O Prince. Its followers murdered my wife.”
Garth’s tone was flat and dull; the humans probably took it for the emptiness of grief rather than the seething anger it was. A few of the courtiers made vague, sympathetic murmurs.
The overlord was slow in replying. “I am sorry to hear of this,” he said at last. “Why do you mention it? What would you have of me?”
“O Prince, I am sworn to destroy those who slew my wife, yet I do not wish to trouble your domain. The Baron of Skelleth, the people of Skelleth, and I would esteem it a very great favor if you were to expel the followers of Aghad from Ur-Dormulk, so that they might be removed from your protection.” That seemed the most he could reasonably ask. He would have preferred to demand that the overlord send his soldiers immediately to burn the temple and kill its priests.
“I am reluctant,” the overlord admitted. “It goes against the traditions of the city to banish any faith that has not directly harmed my subjects.” He paused, then continued. “I will take what you ask for under advisement; I am well aware that it is to our benefit to respect Skelleth’s wishes, yet this request is unprecedented. If you could identify any person who had a direct role in your wife’s death, I might have him arrested and sent to Skelleth for trial—but to exile the entire sect! You ask much, and I must consider well before making my decision.”
Garth bowed in polite acknowledgment. He had both feared and hoped that the overlord would refuse him. He was already planning a venture of his own into the temple. He knew, rationally, that to destroy the temple himself would antagonize both the overlord of Ur-Dormulk and the Baron of Skelleth and would make his life less pleasant all around. Emotionally, however, the prospect of wreaking havoc was very appealing indeed.
“Is there anything else, overman?”
“If I may, O Prince, I would like to consult with some of your advisers regarding the possible location of the Book of Silence, if there are any who might have knowledge of it.”
The overlord raised a hand and gestured. “I have here with me two most excellent wizards; if this book is indeed magical, they might be of some assistance.” He indicated the woman in yellow and the man in blue. “This is Chalkara of Kholis, Court Wizard to the High King at Kholis, retired recently and come here upon leaving the King’s service; and Shandiph the Wanderer, a magician of some note and a native of Ur-Dormulk, returned home to join my court. There is also,” he said as he turned and indicated an old woman in somber brown and burgundy velvet, “my court archivist, Silda; she knows more about this city than any other living person. They will accompany you to the Rose Chamber, where you may speak in comfort. Now, if you will forgive me, there is other business I must attend to.”
Garth nodded. He had suspected that the pair might be magicians or seers of some sort and had hoped that the overlord would answer as he had. Only one more point remained to be mentioned before the end of the audience.
“O Pr
ince, I thank you for your consideration; if I might trouble you just a moment longer, however, there is a detail...”
“What is it?” The overlord was becoming impatient and trying unsuccessfully to hide it.
“My sword.” Garth pointed at the soldier who carried his weapons. “Will it be returned to me?”
“Yes, of course.” The overlord waved a hand in dismissal. “When you leave the palace, your weapons will be returned.” He gestured at the officer who had escorted Garth. “See to it.”
“Thank you, O Prince. May your reign be long and prosperous,” Garth said. He bowed, retreated a few steps, and looked about.
A red-clad courtier stood ready to guide him; wary and unsmiling, the three advisers stepped from their places at the dais and joined him.
The party made its way out of the incense-filled audience chamber through a side door, then down a long paneled corridor that seemed chill and empty by contrast, and finally into a small room that opened off to the right.
The walls of this room were lined with rose-colored velvet, and the floor was an elaborate rosewood inlay; chairs of rosewood and velvet were gathered around an ebony table that held a vase of fresh-cut white roses.
This was obviously the Rose Chamber, and Garth settled cautiously into one of the chairs, uncertain at first that it would support his weight. Shandiph took the place opposite the overman, while Chalkara seated herself on Garth’s right and Silda on his left, so that each occupied a different side of the table.
The red-clad guide pulled the two superfluous chairs off to one side, out of the way of extended legs or stretching arms, and then vanished discreetly.
For a moment of awkward silence the four studied one another. Garth noticed that Silda seemed, if anything, slightly bored, but the two magicians were obviously nervous and ill at ease. Chalkara appeared almost desperate, he thought, while Shandiph, fumbling with something small and shiny, was only marginally calmer.
He wondered what had so upset them.
When the silence had dragged on uncomfortably long, Garth said at last, “I saw your faces.” He was turned somewhat to the right, leaving the archivist out for the moment. “You two have heard of the Book of Silence.”
The two wizards glanced at each other, then back at the overman.
“We have heard of it,” Shandiph admitted.
“You seem reluctant to speak of it,” the overman remarked.
After a moment’s hesitation, Shandiph nodded without answering.
“Why?” Garth asked.
Again the two looked at each other before replying.
“Do you think we should explain?” Chalkara asked.
Shandiph nodded slowly. “I fear we must.”
Chalkara turned away and studied the velvet walls. “You do it,” she said.
Garth glanced at Silda; she looked very confused and was obviously not a party to whatever conspiracy was afoot.
“To begin with,” Shandiph said, “we have met before, Garth of Ordunin, something over two years ago.”
Garth gazed with new interest at the wizards’ faces; that explained why he had thought they might be familiar. He had encountered various wizards in various ways, but he was fairly sure where he had met these two. They had almost certainly been among the group of fifteen or twenty that had attacked him, appearing out of thin air in the hills north of Skelleth. The Sword of Bheleu had turned back their every assault and retaliated; Garth had seen that several had been killed before the Forgotten King had stepped in and ended the battle by magically transporting the wizards to their respective homes. That was the battle that had driven him to swear his false oath; he was hardly likely to forget it, but in the red haze of the sword’s power and the flare and shadow of spell and counterspell, he had not seen clearly the faces of all the wizards.
“I believe I recall the incident,” he said.
“I thought you might,” Shandiph said. “I hope you bear us no ill will for our attempts to kill you; it seemed at the time to be the only way in which untold destruction might be averted.”
“I have wondered, since then, who you might be, why you chose the time you did to attack me, and why you made no further attempts after your initial defeat,” Garth said in a tone of polite curiosity.
Shandiph glanced at Chalkara, then replied, “As for who we were, it doesn’t matter any more; our organization was destroyed. The survivors of our conflict with you were scattered, and the wars that followed prevented all attempts to regroup from succeeding. We had attacked you in hopes of halting the onset of the Age of Destruction, which was heralded by your acquisition of the Sword of Bheleu. We made no further attempts after our initial failure because there was no reason to, even had our organization remained intact; you no longer had the sword, and it was obvious that, whatever your part in it might have been, the Age of Destruction had already begun. Eramma was destroyed by civil war.”
Garth nodded, though he thought to himself that the destruction hadn’t been very complete.
“Chalkara and I fled here, hoping that Ur-Dormulk, which has lasted so long with so little change, would remain safe. We had not expected to see you again. Your arrival was something of a shock—most particularly when you professed to be seeking the Book of Silence.”
“And that,” Garth said, “brings us back to the original question. What do you know of the Book of Silence?”
“Little enough. What do you know of it? Why do you seek it?”
Garth shrugged. “I agreed to fetch it for an acquaintance of mine. I assume it’s a book of magic of some sort.” He saw no reason to give any unnecessary details, but he could scarcely claim complete ignorance.
Chalkara asked, “Who is this acquaintance?”
“A wizard, of sorts,” Garth replied.
“The wizard who took the Sword of Bheleu from you after the battle?” she persisted.
Reluctantly, Garth admitted, “Yes.”
The yellow-gowned wizard exchanged glances with her companion.
The archivist broke her long silence and remarked in a slightly querulous tone, “I wish I knew what you three were talking about. What battle was this? Who is this wizard, and what is the Sword of Bheleu?”
Shandiph held up a hand. “Patience, Silda. Let us speak a moment longer, and I will explain it all to you when I can.” He paused, and the woman settled back into her silent discontent.
When he was fairly sure that Silda would not make any further protest, Shandiph went on. “Garth, this wizard—the one we saw two and a half years ago. Is he the King in Yellow?”
Silda gasped. “The King in Yellow?” she blurted.
“Silda,” Shandiph said. “Please!”
The archivist stifled another outburst. When order was restored, Shandiph repeated, “Is he the King in Yellow, Garth?”
The overman shrugged. “He’s an old man who lives in Skelleth. He told me his name once, but I’ve forgotten it; it was hard to pronounce.”
A glance around the table made it plain that both women were now struggling to keep from shouting at him. Shandiph sighed. “I wish you were more cooperative, Garth.”
“My apologies, wizard, but I am not here at your convenience, to be interrogated as you see fit. You are here to answer my questions, are you not? That was the overlord’s instruction.”
“I know that. I’m sorry. This is very important, though, and very dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because of what the Book of Silence is, damn it!”
“Perhaps if you were to tell me what you believe it to be, we would both gain,” Garth replied. This verbal sparring, each side trying to get the most information in exchange for its own, was beginning to annoy him, yet he was not about to end it by telling all he knew. Were he to do so, the wizards would have no reason to reveal their own secrets.
“It’s dea
th,” Shandiph told him. “It’s the end of everything.”
One expression that was the same in both species was that of skepticism, and Garth looked openly skeptical.
“It’s the totem of death,” Shandiph insisted. “You know that the gods each have their unique devices; you must know it. You were the chosen of Bheleu. the one who bore his totem, who was to be his mortal incarnation.”
Garth gave a noncommittal nod. “Go on,” he said.
“I am no theurgist, no expert on dealing with the gods, but an old friend of mine was; he died in the hills outside Skelleth. He had no protective spells that could defend him against the Sword of Bheleu, though he knew what it was. He explained it to me, and I have studied further since then. Each of the greater gods has a period of ascendancy, an age in which the balance of power is tilted in his favor, and those things that please him are prevalent in our own mortal realm. Each of these ages has its particular herald, someone who wields the totem of the dominant god or goddess. When an age ends, the servants of the waning deity perform a service for the representative of the ruler of the new age, as a symbol of the shift in power. We are now in the Fourteenth Age, the Age of Bheleu, god of destruction, as you know only too well; you are Bheleu’s chosen representative, though you have, with the aid of a power I do not pretend to understand, refused that role. I am not aware of the circumstances, but according to theory, a representative of P’hul must have done you a service of some sort, to mark the beginning of this era and the end of the Thirteenth Age, ruled by P’hul, goddess of decay.”
Garth nodded. The cult of P’hul had, in fact, spread the White Death in Dûsarra when he had asked, in a fit of madness, for the city’s destruction.
“Now, you see, the King in Yellow is the undying priest of The God Whose Name Is Not Spoken. It is a safe assumption that he will be the chosen avatar for the Final God when the Age of Death arrives. That means two things: he must have the totem of the god of death, and a representative of Bheleu must perform a symbolic service for him. Do you not see, then, why we cannot permit you—you in particular—to deliver the Book of Silence to the King in Yellow?”
The Book of Silence Page 12