The Lure of the Basilisk

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “I hoped to trade for the gem.”

  “With such worthless items you hoped to buy an enchanted gem? You are an optimist, aren’t you?”

  Garth shrugged again; he hoped the gesture seemed natural.

  “What of your gold?”

  “I had little with me.”

  “Then with what did you buy your freedom from the bandits in Derbarok?”

  “What little I had, which I had gotten for my goods in Mormoreth.”

  “And, poverty-stricken though you were, you spent a good bit of gold here in Skelleth feeding an old man? And I have heard that the stable boy who tended your warbeast mysteriously acquired enough gold to buy a share in the last ice-caravan, as well. Could that gold have been yours?”

  “I . . .” Garth stopped. He could not think of a reasonable answer.

  “And how is it that these ‘Wise Women’ sent you south with little gold? That, my friend, was not wise.”

  “Very well. I did have a great deal of gold. The ropes and chains were to take hostages, should my offer of gold for the gem be refused.”

  “Ah, that’s better. And the cage?”

  “I bought no cage.”

  “The carpenter Findalan says you did.”

  “He is mistaken.”

  “That seems unlikely.”

  Garth shrugged again.

  “And what of the old man you spoke with?”

  “He seemed congenial, and I needed to learn the route to Mormoreth.”

  “I see. He must have been very congenial indeed.”

  Another shrug.

  “However, I have heard otherwise from every other person who has spoken with this old man.”

  “Oh?”

  “He is well known in Skelleth as the surliest, most unfriendly creature in Eramma.”

  “Perhaps he likes overmen.”

  “Perhaps.” The Baron shifted position, so that he was sitting up. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and put his hands together, resting his chin on his fingers. “Do you know his name?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t ask?”

  “It seemed unimportant.”

  “I would be interested in learning his name.”

  “Why?”

  “That man has lived in the King’s Inn since before I was born, yet no one seems to know his name. He is referred to simply as ‘the old man,’ which seems lacking in respect. I would like to call him by his right name.”

  “I am sorry; I did not ask.”

  “It has been said that the old man is a wizard of some sort.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Tell me about Mormoreth. I have never been there.”

  Garth was caught by surprise by the sudden change of subject. “Well, it’s . . . it’s a city of white marble, in the middle of a fertile valley-”

  “I know all that. What of the Baron of Mormoreth?”

  “There is no Baron of Mormoreth. The city is ruled by a wizard named Shang.” It did not seem wise to admit that Garth had left the city in the hands of bandits.

  “Oh. Did you meet this wizard?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? I should think he would be the obvious owner of this magical gem you sought.”

  “Perhaps; but he does not allow visitors.”

  “But surely, a . . . a person as resourceful as yourself would not let a mere detail like that stop him!”

  “I did not care to start any trouble.”

  “Oh. Yet you started trouble here.”

  “Not intentionally. I wished no trouble. Your villagers wished otherwise.”

  “Ah, yes, I understand they blame you for today’s execution.”

  “Some of them, yes.”

  “Just as well that they blame you and not me. They liked Arner far too well to blame him, but somebody must be responsible.” The Baron smiled. Garth did not like the expression.

  “Tell me, Garth, how did the bandits manage to kill your warbeast?”

  “A sword through its eye.”

  “Do you expect me to believe any of this?”

  There was no change in tone or expression, and Garth groped awkwardly for an answer.

  “It’s true!” was all he could manage.

  “Some of it may be.”

  “Believe what you will, I have spoken the truth.” On occasion, Garth added mentally.

  “Why did you not obtain ropes and chains in Ordunin?”

  “I knew I could get them here, and I did not wish to burden my mount unnecessarily.”

  “Are you aware it is no further from the port of Lagur to Mormoreth than it is from Ordunin to Skelleth? There are no bandits if one goes by sea.”

  “There are pirates. And I was not aware that Mormoreth was near Lagur. As I mentioned before, I had to ask the old man for directions.”

  “The Wise Women did not know?”

  “No.”

  “You have no old maps in Ordunin? Mormoreth is a thousand years old.”

  “Our maps are untrustworthy.”

  “Less trustworthy than directions obtained from a senile old fool in a tavern?”

  “It seemed so at the time.”

  “So you went a dozen leagues or more out of your way to visit Skelleth.”

  “Yes.”

  “I will tell you, Garth of Ordunin, what I believe of your tale. I believe you went to Mormoreth. That is all; the rest is all lies.”

  “Believe what you will.”

  “I do not believe that a bandit in Derbarok killed your warbeast but let you live. When did this take place?”

  “Five days ago.” That was, in fact, when he had passed the site of his first battle with the bandits.

  “You made the journey from Derbarok to Skelleth on foot in five days?”

  Garth realized he had made another mistake, and made no answer.

  “I understand that, when the crowd was threatening you, you warned them that your fellow overmen would avenge your death.”

  “I did.”

  “But what if I send a messenger demanding ransom for you, and hold you prisoner here?”

  “By what law?”

  “As a trespassing enemy. As you must be aware, Eramma never concluded peace with your people. We are still nominally at war with all overmen. Why else must all your trade be by sea? Why else have no overmen visited Skelleth in three centuries?”

  “Holding me could make the war an actuality again.”

  “I think that unlikely. Surely a modest ransom is preferable to slaughter.”

  Garth had no answer. The Baron was quite correct.

  “Do you still claim that you return empty-handed from Mormoreth, that your visits to Skelleth are merely for provisions?”

  “No. My visits to Skelleth are what I say, but I have lied as to the rest. Should you imprison me, my warbeast will come seeking me and undoubtedly kill a good many of your people before it can be stopped.”

  “Ah! And where is this beast?”

  “I left it in hiding near the city wall.”

  “And why, pray, did you not ride into town as before?”

  “I did not wish to create a disturbance.”

  “That could be the reason, but I doubt it; no, I think you left the beast to guard something. I think your quest to Mormoreth was successful.”

  “Why would I leave the beast and the magic gem elsewhere? I could easily hide such a gem on my person. And for that matter, if I had a gem that renders one invisible, would I have been seen, assaulted, and captured?”

  “Perhaps you do not know how to use such a gem. However, I prefer to believe that that, too, is lies. You went to Mormoreth for something too large to conceal, if in truth it was Mormoreth you visited. No, I believe that you hold a
prisoner. Why else the chains and ropes? Or perhaps some valuable beast, which you keep caged. You came to Skelleth because the old man had made his interest known. You agreed on the price, perhaps, and now return to arrange delivery.”

  Garth was dumbfounded by how close the Baron’s guess came to the truth. Could the man be a seer of some sort?

  “Now, surely, this would make more sense than a futile search for an untrustworthy trinket like an invisible jewel? The only question is the nature of your captive.”

  “You seem very apt at deluding yourself.”

  “Oh? I do not think I delude myself. You yourself say that your warbeast waits somewhere nearby. Why not escort me to it, and we will see whether or not it guards some worthy prize?”

  “Why should I do that?”

  “To purchase your freedom.”

  “But you cannot hold me for long in any case. Koros will free me or die in the attempt, and I doubt you want that.”

  “Koros being your warbeast? Well, even should the beast be loyal enough to do as you say, it would be slain before it could reach you in the dungeon. I care little for the villagers it may kill; Skelleth is overcrowded and starving. Further, such an attack would permit me to reverse your earlier threat. The High King at Kholis might welcome an excuse to send his troublesome and warlike barons to a far-off invasion of the Northern Waste. No, Garth, why not avoid all such difficulties and complications? I will make it a wager, of sorts, a bargain you can ill refuse; lead me and an armed escort to your warbeast, and I will let you go free. However, any captives, man or beast, that your mount guards will become my property. Surely that’s equitable? If you’re telling the truth, you lose nothing at all; if you’re lying, you will still be free.” The man grinned.

  Garth could find no legitimate reason to reject such an offer. It would get the basilisk into Skelleth safely, yet keep it out of the Forgotten King’s hands for the moment. Or perhaps it would rid him of the Baron, if he could coax the man into glancing under the covering. And there was a better chance of escape out amid the surrounding farms than here in the Baron’s mansion . . . though perhaps escape would be appropriate now. He glanced casually up at the windows again, as if considering the Baron’s proposal.

  “Oh, by the way, should you escape, we will post a guard at the King’s Inn — with crossbows.” Garth looked down again, startled and annoyed. Had his thoughts been that obvious? This human apparently had none of the difficulty in interpreting overman expressions that Garth had in reading human ones. He wondered again if the Baron were a seer or wizard. Perhaps he really had sold himself to the gods of evil. That, Garth told himself, was silly; in all likelihood there were no such gods.

  “Well, overman, will you lead us to your warbeast?”

  “Yes. If I have your oath before these witnesses that you will free me immediately thereafter.”

  “I will even return your weapons, which I am afraid will have to be confiscated during the journey. To render escape less tempting.”

  “Very well; your oath.”

  “How would you have me swear?”

  “I know little of human oaths. As you please.”

  “Very well; I swear by the Seven, by the Seven, and by the One that I will abide by the agreement made and free you if you lead us truly.”

  As this oath was spoken, Garth watched the face, not of the Baron, but of one of the courtiers listening. The man remained impassive at the first “by the Seven,” blanched at the second, and looked confused at “by the One,” throwing a quick glance at his lord. Garth guessed that the apparently meaningless numbers did indeed have some theological significance, though he could not imagine what it might be. Pretending comprehension, he nodded. “That will do.”

  “Good. But it’s late. You will be my guest for the night, and we will go in the morning.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning Garth awoke at the first light of dawn. He had been given a room in the east end of the mansion, and sunlight seeped through the curtained windows, though the sky was still mostly dark, making patches of gold on the yellow walls.

  He was in a comfortable bed and had eaten well as the Baron’s dinner guest the night before, but he was not happy. He had had bad dreams again, and furthermore, he did not really like the bargain he had struck with the Baron. He would almost certainly have to hand over the basilisk, and it would be a considerable nuisance recapturing it should the Forgotten King insist he do so.

  He rose and dressed. Scarcely had he donned his armor — he had no other garments with him, and the mansion staff had nothing available large enough for his use — when there was a rap at the door. He growled acknowledgement, and the Baron entered, accompanied, as always in Garth’s presence, by a pair of guards.

  “I see you are up. I trust you slept well?” The Baron appeared slightly irritated, Garth noticed; perhaps his own rest had been uneasy.

  “Well enough.” Remembering the courtesies due a baron, he added, “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Then let us be gone.”

  “As you wish.” He watched silently as one of the guards picked up his sword and axe. His broken dagger he had left in Mormoreth, coated with basilisk venom. Although he had no desire to rush matters, he could think of no legitimate reason for delay; he followed as the Baron led the way down the stairs and past the sentries into the town square. There the party paused as a further contingent of half a dozen men-at-arms joined them. Thus reinforced, the Baron bowed infinitesimally and said, “Now, my dear Garth, if you would lead the way.” His manner struck the overman as slightly odd, and the sardonic smile that had been present the day before was lacking. Garth wondered what had caused the transformation as he led the way to the East Gate, a drawn sword inches from his back.

  Somewhat over an hour later, the entourage arrived at the copse. Koros stood there, waiting placidly. It growled a greeting to its master, while keeping a wary eye on the nine men with him. The party came to a halt a few yards from the cloth-covered enclosure.

  The Baron said nothing, but merely looked sourly at the tentlike object. He seemed to sag curiously. When the silence had begun to become oppressive, Herrenmer, the captain of the guard, said, “You made no mention of a camp, overman.”

  “I had no reason to mention it.”

  “Your tent is very peculiar. Is such a structure usual for travelers among your people?”

  Garth shrugged.

  Herrenmer turned to the Baron. “My lord, shall we search the tent?”

  The Baron said nothing. Garth interposed, “My lord, can you trust your men? It might be best if you searched for yourself, if I did indeed bring some great treasure from Mormoreth.”

  The Baron’s slight frown turned into a baleful glare. He picked one of his men, one Garth had not seen before that morning, and demanded, “How much money have you got?”

  The man looked startled, and pulled out a purse. It held four silver coins.

  “You search.”

  The man selected bowed and said, “Yes, my lord.”

  Resignedly, Garth watched as the soldier circled the cage looking for a door-flap. He had made it too obvious that there was some sort of trap. Although the Baron had somehow changed his entire manner from loquacious good humor to gloomy silence overnight, he was still no fool.

  The man sent to search announced, “There is no opening. Shall I lift the edge and crawl in?”

  The Baron shouted, “Of course, idiot!” The man promptly fell to his knees and began to lift the chain-weighted border. Garth tensed himself to make a sudden move, and closed his eyes. To cover his actions, he yawned; but that failed to fool the Baron.

  “Wait!” He looked at Garth, who opened his eyes and looked back. “Around the far side.” He glanced at the men behind the overman, and Garth felt the tip of a sword at his back.

  Herrenmer said, “Overman, if there is some
danger within, I suggest you tell us. The agreement made no allowance for traps, and my men would feel little remorse for killing you if one of their comrades is harmed.”

  The Baron nodded agreement. Herrenmer called for the searcher to wait. “Is there danger, overman?”

  “I believe so,” Garth admitted reluctantly.

  “Explain,” Herrenmer demanded.

  “This is not exactly a tent, but a cage. It holds the monster I was sent to capture and bring back alive.”

  “The monster would tear my man to pieces, I suppose? Then why hasn’t it torn the tent?”

  “The monster will not harm your man with either teeth or claws. It is enclosed in a magical protective circle.”

  “Then what danger is there?”

  “It is said that the monster’s gaze can turn one to stone.”

  Herrenmer looked utterly disbelieving. The Baron interjected, “What kind of monster?”

  “It is called a basilisk.”

  The Baron nodded gloomily. Herrenmer looked, from the overman to his master and back again.

  “What,” he asked loudly, “is a basilisk?”

  “A sort of poisonous lizard,” Garth explained.

  The Baron muttered, “Your bargain.”

  “The basilisk is yours, if you want it; that was the agreement. When I am properly armed and safely astride my mount, I will tell you how the enclosure can be moved. I will not tell you how it may be removed, as that was not included in the agreement. It was said only that I would give any spoils to you, not that I would show you how to use them.” Garth was rather proud of himself for thinking of this loophole. It had occurred to him on the walk out from the village. “If you do not want the basilisk, I will be glad to take it with me and be on my way.”

  The Baron snorted. “I daresay. How is the cage worked? I said I would free you and arm you, but a dead overman is as free as a live one.”

  In response to the Baron’s words the sword point at Garth’s back jabbed slightly. Koros growled warningly.

  “If you kill me, not all of you will live to return to Skelleth.”

  The Baron had apparently said all he cared to say. Wearily, he motioned to Herrenmer, who said, “What about a revision of the original agreement, or rather an addition to it? Your life in exchange for the workings of the protective circle.”