Fortunately, it could still be put off. He had not yet made a cover for the invisible cage, and that would take a good bit of time. Reluctantly he rose from his breakfast and, tottering on his blisters, set out in search of a needle and thread strong enough for his purpose.
After an hour’s search he located a needle and supply of heavy thread in a back storeroom, apparently intended for the repair of saddles; it seemed perfect. He limped back across the courtyard and out into the market, blinking in the noon sun, and began collecting fallen canopies.
Koros returned from its hunt when the shadows were of a length equal with their sources, the hour of midafternoon. Garth had sewn together a dozen large pieces of fabric into a gaily patterned circle a good fifty feet across, and was debating with himself as to whether it would be sufficient. Koros’ return decided him; he would risk it, and maybe get a start on his journey to Skelleth.
He wondered what the warbeast had found to eat. It seemed well fed, though there was little or none of the usual blood on its mouth. It didn’t matter, of course, as long as the animal was satisfied.
It would be necessary to get Koros out of sight of the market temporarily while the cover was put on the cage. Garth had already decided that it would be impractical to try and cover the enclosure while it was still in the palace, where it would become entangled at every doorway. The barrier seemed to pass through walls as if they weren’t there, but the cover, being ordinary cloth, would not be so cooperative.
He led the warbeast to a convenient alley and instructed it to wait. Then it was a matter of mere minutes to fetch the basilisk out and drape the covering over the enclosure. It fit admirably; the cage proved to be about thirty feet in diameter and ten feet high, as he had guessed, so that the skirts of the cover were easily made to touch ground on all sides but did not drag more than a few inches. They did tend to flap somewhat in the breeze, so Garth took the time to lash the chains he had carried in his pack throughout the entire adventure in place at the bottom edges, gratified to be getting some use from them after having gone to the trouble of dragging them about for so long. The added weight acted to keep the cover exactly in place. Standing back a few paces, Garth admired his handiwork; the basilisk could not be seen, and Koros was safe — and so was he. He could look around without worrying about mirrors and such. All there was to be seen was a large cylindrical tent. The basilisk apparently didn’t much like its new habitat; it was hissing angrily in protest. He ignored its complaints; he had only agreed to bring it back alive, not to bring it back happy and contented.
It was a matter of minutes to summon Koros, tuck the wooden talisman securely into the warbeast’s harness, and mount, removing at long last the weight on his feet. He had become so used to walking on them that the lessening of that pain resulted in a burst of euphoria, as if he were pleasantly drunk. He felt like singing; unfortunately, he knew no songs, and doubted he could carry a tune if he did. Overmen were notoriously unmusical. Instead he chanted, reciting an elaborately bloodthirsty historical saga that he had learned as a child. As Koros strode through the streets of Mormoreth toward the ruined city gate, Garth lost himself in chanting the tale of one of his own ancestors who had single-handedly held a city in the long-ago Racial Wars between men and overmen, the wars that had driven the outnumbered overmen into the Northern Waste.
He had done it, he told himself between stanzas; he had captured the basilisk, and was now riding comfortably with his quarry dragging behind him, its tentlike covering apparently moving of its own power as it followed Koros without any visible attachment. He was safe from the wizard Shang; though he had not truly defeated him, nonetheless the wizard was dead and no longer a threat. He was well fed, his wounds were minor and healing. Life seemed very pleasant.
This happy mood could not last; it was ruined when he reached the city gates and realized that the basilisk’s carefully prepared enclosure would not fit through them. Garth broke off his chant in annoyance. It proved necessary to lead Koros well away along the curvature of the city walls, then to drag the cloth covering off and out the gate, then to move the enclosure out and reassemble the whole affair. After the brief respite, the pain in his feet was worse than ever; he limped badly as he struggled with the recalcitrant basilisk and its uncooperative cage. When he was again mounted and moving, he turned sidesaddle and did what he could to clean and bandage the ruined soles, which were now oozing blood and pus in equal and copious amounts. The sun was well down the western sky, and the shadows did nothing to aid him. In all, when he at last turned his face forward once more, he had little inclination to resume his chant. Instead he began to wonder blackly what the Forgotten King could want with a basilisk.
It seemed quite plain that the old man had known all along what Garth would encounter. Why else would he have sent the overman on such an errand? There was no point in wondering how he had known that the only living thing in the crypts was a basilisk; he had known, most likely through magic. Further, he had not told Garth. Why? To avoid frightening him into abandoning the bargain? It seemed unlikely that the Forgotten King had so badly misjudged his new servant. No, the old man had wanted Garth to be ill prepared. Two possibilities came of that conclusion: either the King had wanted Garth to fail, to die attempting the almost-impossible task, or he had wanted to provide a severe test of Garth’s resourcefulness. Perhaps it was a combination; perhaps the task was intended to end in either success or death. The former would prove Garth to the King, and the latter would remove a nuisance.
But there must be thousands of possible quests that would serve such an end; it would have been much simpler to order him to duel to the death with some formidable antagonist. The King must have some use for the basilisk, then, or maybe he considered Shang to be an enemy. No, in that case he would have sent Garth to kill Shang. He had some use for the basilisk.
What possible use is a basilisk?
It provided an unlimited supply of poison, of course, and could be used to turn people to stone; that was why Shang had wanted it. Could the Forgotten King be planning to do to Skelleth what Shang did to Mormoreth? If so, Garth wanted no part of it. Or perhaps he intended to use the basilisk against someone else; the High King at Kholis, perhaps, or worst of all, against Garth’s own people, to finish what the Racial Wars started three hundred years ago.
Whatever the old man had in mind, Garth had little doubt it was something evil; it was hard to imagine how the basilisk could be used for anything that was not in essence evil. It was a creature of death. As he had told himself in the crypts, if there were gods, the basilisk served the god of death, the being humans called the Final God. He tried to recall everything he knew of that god; there was very little. There was a myth that any being who spoke the true name of the Death-God would die instantly, unless he had already sold himself to an evil power. Also, the Final God had brothers and sisters. Garth had no idea what the forbidden name might be, nor which of the thousands of gods were kin to Death.
If the basilisk were in truth a creature of the Death-God, then did the Forgotten King serve him as well? If so, Garth thought, he might well come to regret his bargain. He wanted no truck with the forces of evil; they were already far too strong for his liking. If he had to sell his life for the immortality of his name, he might settle for a lesser degree of fame.
He would have to discuss matters more thoroughly with the Forgotten King.
The sun was down before he had covered a third of the distance to the foothills of the Annamar Pass, but Garth ignored the darkness and kept Koros moving, dragging the huge cloth cage down the highway. Even in the darkness it was hard to lose one’s way, since the road was bounded on either side by high grass. An occasional glance backward in the gathering gloom showed that the vegetation in the unkept roadway and for a few feet on either side withered and died as the basilisk’s cage passed over it, further proof, were any needed, of the virulence of the monster’s poison.
; It was some time around midnight that Garth reached the spot where he had camped before entering Mormoreth, where he had separated from Elmil. It seemed as good a place as any to spend the remainder of the night, he decided. It took perhaps five minutes to unburden the warbeast and secure the Sealing Rod, and five seconds to fall asleep. His last waking thought was to wonder what use the Forgotten King had in mind for the basilisk.
His sleep was uneasy, troubled once again by dreams in which his eyes met the basilisk’s gaze, dreams of feeling once again the numbness of the Cold Death as the monster and the Forgotten King watched him perish. Finally, he awoke, to find Elmil standing over him, propped on a rude crutch, with a sword naked in his hand.
He started to rise, but stopped when the bandit made a threatening motion with his sword. Reluctantly, he lay back.
“Greetings, overman.”
Garth said nothing.
“You broke your word. I thought the word of an overman was good.”
Astonished, Garth said nothing. His eyes widened slightly, but Elmil, having as little experience with overmen as Garth had with humans, noticed nothing.
“Have you an explanation?”
“I am unaware as to how I broke my word.”
“You swore that you would not slay Dansin.”
“I did not slay Dansin.”
“You swore your beast would not slay Dansin.”
Garth started to speak, then halted. He had not foreseen such a possibility. He would have to be more careful when setting Koros free to hunt — assuming he lived long enough to do anything. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “I did not order it to slay Dansin.”
“Yet it did so.”
“I was not aware of this”
Elmil’s voice was controlled and steady. Garth could not tell if the bandit was suppressing fear, or rage, or hatred, or was merely tensing in preparation for the kill. “Your beast devoured Dansin without provocation, though you swore it would not.”
“It was hungry.”
“So you let it feed on my comrade?”
“I did not know what it ate. I was in Mormoreth. I had been trapped in the crypts beneath the palace for several days, and Koros had not been fed. It killed and ate Shang, but was still hungry. I set it free to hunt. I did not know that it would kill Dansin, nor even that he was in the area. Had I not let it hunt, it might have turned on me.”
The point of Elmil’s sword moved slightly away from Garth’s throat. “Shang is dead?”
“Yes.”
“You killed him?”
“Koros killed him.”
“What is in that tent?” He nodded toward the magic cage.
“The basilisk.”
“Basilisk?”
“The monster I was sent to capture.”
“What kind of monster?”
“A very poisonous one. Its gaze will turn one to stone.”
Elmil said nothing.
“It was the basilisk that permitted Shang to turn the people of Mormoreth to stone. He collected its venom.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Then look for yourself.”
Elmil managed a feeble grin. “Maybe I do believe you, after all.”
“Good. May I get up?”
Elmil hobbled back and permitted Garth to sit up. Remembering the sorry condition of his feet, the overman declined to stand.
“You still broke your word.”
“True, though it was unintentional. My apologies, though I realize they can do little to comfort you or Dansin.”
“It is the custom among my people to pay for a man’s death.”
“I have little to give for blood-money.” An idea struck him. “Except, that is, for the city of Mormoreth, which I took from Shang. Will you accept the city as weregild?”
It was Elmil’s turn to be astonished.
“As you know, the people of Mormoreth are no more and, now that Shang is dead, the city is empty. It’s a good city, though there are a few broken doors and rather a lot of statues.”
“It is a farmer’s city.” The barbarian’s tone was uncertain, belying his words of rejection.
“Cannot bandits learn farming? Surely it’s a more profitable trade, and it is definitely safer.”
Elmil grinned. “Very well, Garth Oath-Breaker, we will accept your payment for Dansin’s life.”
“Good.”
“The sun is well up. Will you be riding soon?”
“I suppose I shall.”
“Perhaps I will accompany you as far as the South Road.”
“If you wish.”
“It will be a great surprise to my tribe to hear that we now own the Valley of Mormoreth.”
“You paid heavily for it; eleven of your tribesmen are dead.”
“True. Those of us who survive will have to take extra wives to compensate.”
Garth was unsure whether this was a joke, a fact to be regretted or a pleasurable circumstance, so he said nothing. Human sexuality was utterly incomprehensible to him.
The conversation ceased, and Garth rose, limping, to saddle Koros.
Chapter Ten
Nine days later Garth halted his warbeast as Skelleth came into sight in the distance; he did not care to ride boldly into the village dragging the basilisk’s enclosure. For one thing, he doubted it would fit through the narrow, winding streets. For another, such a spectacle would undoubtedly stir up all manner of gossip, and he doubted very much that the Forgotten King would appreciate that. There was also the possibility that some fool would peer under the cloth cover, which was becoming somewhat bedraggled. It had rained twice on the journey home, a foretaste of the spring rains that were due any day now, and the cloth had stretched and sagged while wet. Mud had spattered all along its lower edge, and the constant friction where the chains dragged on the ground had worn away small patches here and there, though fortunately not enough to provide a view of the interior. In all, the thing looked a mess, though it was still serviceable, and Garth’s esthetic pride also contributed somewhat to his disinclination to parade through the streets with such a thing trailing behind him.
Recalling his first entry into Skelleth, he decided that it would not even do to ride Koros; if he wanted to avoid being the cause of a crowd of onlookers, he would have to sneak into town on foot, looking as small and human as he could manage. Therefore he would have to leave Koros and the basilisk somewhere where he could find them again but passers-by would not. He knew Koros would keep anyone who happened along at a distance no matter where he left it, even right where it was in the middle of the highway. He wanted not merely to keep the basilisk safe, but to keep it undetected. Glancing about, he made out a rather scraggly copse off to his left, and decided it would provide the best cover of anything on the muddy, lightly farmed plain surrounding Skelleth.
Ten minutes later he was glad that the cloth had been muddied, as the mud provided some degree of camouflage; the weather-beaten little trees of the copse could hardly hide so large an object by themselves. Having ordered Koros to guard the spot, he turned and headed again toward the village, wearing a rough grey cloak he had pieced together from his bolt of cloth to hide his armor and weapons, and with rags tied around his otherwise bare feet to protect them from pebbles and to hide the coarse black fur that covered them. Fortunately, his burns had healed almost completely on the trek from Mormoreth.
This arrangement had another advantage, he realized; he would be able to inquire as to why the Forgotten King wanted the basilisk. Should he be planning some great evil, Garth could withhold his knowledge of the monster’s whereabouts, which he could not have done had he simply hauled the creature directly into town.
It was an hour’s walk to the East Gate, and Garth spent the time considering the most tactful way to coax the Forgotten King into explaining what he wanted with
what was undoubtedly the most deadly creature in the world. It did little good; his mind did not readily lend itself to verbal subtlety in such matters.
There was no guard at the gate; there had been none when he left, either. Garth was not surprised. There had been very few wars in his lifetime or that of his father, save for minor squabbles and pirate raids, and there was nothing in Skelleth worth fighting for in any case. Such a village, in such a desolate region, had little need for guards. However, when he had passed the ruins into the part of the town that was still inhabited, he was surprised to see the streets empty. It was midafternoon, and he would have expected to find women on their way to market, farmers trading with villagers, and dogs and children playing in the street. Instead the streets were deserted.
But they were not quite silent. Garth could hear, coming from somewhere ahead, the sound of a good-sized crowd. It grew louder as he proceeded, and was apparently coming from the market-square in front of the Baron’s mansion. Although it would be possible to reach the King’s Inn without crossing the square, Garth’s curiosity was aroused; he continued toward the sound. As he neared, when the next corner would bring him in sight of the market, the sound suddenly changed from the muttering of a milling, waiting crowd to an expectant hush. The event, whatever it was, was beginning.
He turned the corner and found himself looking at the backs of a dozen people. The whole village had apparently turned out. As unobtrusively as possible, he joined them, and peered over the heads in front of him.
The Lure of the Basilisk Page 11