The Sword of Bheleu

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Galt’s smooth manner irritated Garth. He snapped, “It didn’t work?”

  “It might have succeeded had the Baron met with us. Unfortunately, we were told, with much sincere regret, that he was sick in bed and could not see us. We did not care to force the issue then and there, but Kyrith was unwilling to do nothing; hence the siege.”

  “The Baron refused to see you, and you simply left town?”

  “We set up the siege.”

  “Siege! You call this farce a siege?”

  Galt shrugged, and Garth’s annoyance grew.

  “You accepted the word of the humans that the Baron was ill? You did not insist upon seeing him?”

  “No. The captain of the guard swore by half a dozen gods I never heard of and by various parts of his anatomy that the Baron was ill in bed. I spoke last night with the man called Saram, whom you know and whom I believe you trust, and he told me that the Baron’s illness is legitimate—a side-effect of his madness.”

  “Did it not occur to any of you that it would be far more effective to camp in the marketplace, where you could not be so easily ignored or put off, rather than to establish a siege you cannot possibly maintain? Furthermore, a single message slipped past your pitiful line of sentries could bring the wrath of the entire Kingdom of Eramma down on you and on the Northern Waste, since a siege is undeniably an act of war. Had you camped peacefully in the square, you would have been honest petitioners, breaking no laws.”

  Galt was slow to reply. “Such an audacious action did not occur to me.”

  “Audacious? The Baron of Skelleth is the audacious one! He dares to dictate terms to overmen as if we were mere peasants? To refuse your embassy an audience? It is time that we showed him the error of his ways. I propose that we march back into town; if he will still not speak with us, we will camp in the market until he does.”

  “I am not sure that would be wise. I did not approve of the siege, but I think that your plan faces the same objections. We dare not push the Baron too far; we need this trade with Skelleth.”

  “No, we don’t. We can trade anywhere we please. The Racial Wars are over, Galt, whatever we may have believed while isolated in the Northern Waste, and regardless of what the Baron of Skelleth may have told us. I have just returned from a city called Dûsarra, where overmen are an everyday sight. The humans have forgotten their fear and hatred; remember how short their lives are! To them, three centuries are a dozen generations, almost five lifetimes.”

  “How can overmen be a common sight anywhere outside the Northern Waste?”

  “Ah, this is the best news of all! There are overmen living on the Yprian Coast. We are not the only survivors.”

  “The Yprian Coast? That barren wasteland?”

  “Is the Northern Waste any better?”

  Galt did not answer that. Instead, he asked, “Are you sure we could trade elsewhere?”

  “At the very least, we could trade with the Yprians and with Dûsarra. I think we could probably go anywhere we pleased without interference; humans care more for gold than for ancient hatreds.”

  “Still, any overland trade route would have to go through the Barony of Skelleth; it extends from the Yprian Gulf to the Sea of Mori.”

  “What of it? Do you think the Baron’s thirty-odd guardsmen can patrol the entire border?”

  “It would still be preferable to have the Baron’s permission.”

  “Yes, it would be preferable, but it is not necessary, and it would also be preferable to make plain to all that overmen are not to be treated with the disrespect the Baron of Skelleth has displayed.”

  While Galt digested this, Kyrith scribbled on her tablet, then handed it to Garth. It read, “What disrespect? Why not go home?”

  He handed it back. “No, Kyrith, I can’t go home yet. I can’t go back to Ordunin until the Baron releases me from my oath.”

  She made a questioning gesture.

  Garth said, “What are you asking?”

  She wrote and handed him the tablet. It read: “What oath?”

  “Galt should have told you,” Garth replied. “He was there. I swore an oath to the Baron of Skelleth when last I saw him. He proposed that in order to remove all legal impediments to trade between Skelleth and the Waste and to put a formal end to the war with Eramma, I, as Prince of Ordunin, should surrender and swear fealty to him, thereby making Ordunin and its territory—which is to say, the entire eastern half of the Northern Waste—part of the Barony of Skelleth. He called this a simple and reasonable thing, but we both knew he devised it to humiliate me, as I had humiliated him once before. He insisted that I swear to present this proposal to the City Council as soon as I returned to Ordunin. I was unarmed, on a peaceful trading mission, and caught off-guard; I swore the oath he demanded. I will not present any such disgraceful scheme to the City Council, however. Therefore, if I am not to break my sworn word, I cannot return to Ordunin until the Baron releases me from my vow. This is one reason we must confront him, quite aside from trading concessions or my exile from Skelleth; he must release me. He will release me. He will release me, or I will kill him.”

  Garth’s voice had gone flat and toneless during this speech, which was a sign of mounting anger among overmen. Galt and Kyrith both noted it, and Kyrith put a hand on her husband’s arm, attempting to calm him.

  Galt noticed the gesture, and something else caught his eye as well. Koros stood behind its master, and an immense two-handed broadsword, easily six feet in length, was thrust horizontally through the warbeast’s harness, along the creature’s right flank. A huge red jewel was mounted in the weapon’s pommel, and the gem was glowing with an eerie, bloody light of its own.

  “Garth,” he said, “that’s an interesting sword there. Where did you get it?”

  Garth turned to glance at the sword and froze when he saw the crimson glow. He had been working up to a murderous fury, imagining himself using the sword to impale a cowering, whimpering Baron of Skelleth; visions of blood and fire had been flashing through his mind. Now, he struggled to suppress those urges.

  For a moment he regretted leaving Frima in Saram’s care; had she been there, she would probably have warned him sooner.

  When he thought he had himself more or less under control, he said, “I found it in Dûsarra, in a ruined temple. It appears to have some sort of enchantment to it.” He found himself curiously reluctant to speak of it, and therefore did not explain the nature of its power over him and did not mention Bheleu or any other deities.

  “It’s magical? Is that why it’s glowing?” Galt was fascinated; he had heard of magic, but had never before seen any at first hand. He looked more closely. The glow seemed to have dimmed somewhat, but it was still clearly visible.

  “Yes”

  Galt stepped around the other two, to get a better view of the strange gem.

  “Don’t touch it!” Garth roared.

  Startled, Galt stepped back. “I wasn’t going to.”

  Garth was annoyed with himself; there had been no need to bellow at Galt. He was unreasonably touchy about anything having to do with the sword, it seemed; he told himself that he would have to keep that in check. He would also have to get rid of the sword, and quickly; its hold on his emotions seemed to be getting stronger and had been quite dangerous enough before. It would not do to go into a killing frenzy while negotiating with the Baron of Skelleth.

  On the other hand, it was a beautiful weapon, a magnificent blade; it would be a very impressive thing to have along during negotiations. He would take it, he decided, and keep himself under careful control. After all, he could not safely leave it lying around untended and he would not trust it in the hands of any of these idiotic volunteers. He would worry about disposing of it after he had settled with the Baron.

  He had turned away as he reached this decision and therefore did not see the glow flare up brightly onc
e more. Galt saw the increased brightness, but did not realize it had any significance and said nothing. His attention was distracted from the sword when Garth announced, “I want the entire company packed up within an hour, so that we will have time to reach the market square and set up camp there before full dark.” Galt turned away to help in breaking camp and paid no more attention to the great sword or the shining jewel.

  He had a curious feeling, however, that he was being watched.

  Garth had lived with that feeling almost constantly for more than a fortnight and no longer noticed it, but he, too, was slightly troubled. He seemed to sense mingled amusement and triumph without actually feeling either emotion himself.

  Chapter Six

  Herrenmer, captain of the guard, had wasted no time; within five minutes of hearing from the scout that an overman had ridden openly out of Skelleth to the encampment on the Wasteland Road, he had summoned his five lieutenants and told them to put every man on active duty immediately. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he intended to take as few chances as possible. He was sure that the overman was Garth. Earlier, Shallen had reported that the self-proclaimed Prince of Ordunin had turned up at the King’s Inn, and no other overman had been seen inside the walls since the whole company had been turned away the preceding morning.

  When he had heard that, Herrenmer had immediately sent someone to see if the Baron was able to take charge of affairs once again. The report had been negative; he was stirring, but not yet coherent.

  Herrenmer had not dared to take action against Garth on his own authority; he was nervous about the overman’s claims to nobility, since he didn’t understand just what that might entail. Therefore he had just waited.

  Now, however, Garth had gone to join his fellows. With their leader back it was unclear just what action the overmen might take, but it seemed likely that they would do something. Garth’s absence had been one of the things that had been mentioned by the leaders of the main group when Herrenmer had spoken with them yesterday.

  They might be satisfied now that he was back and just go home peacefully—but Herrenmer didn’t expect it. He thought that they would now probably march back into town and cause more trouble.

  He intended to see that it was not that simple.

  Once his lieutenants had gone to find and bring back all the men, he gave orders to those men who were already available that they were to proceed immediately to the north wall, with crossbows, moving under cover of the ruins and staying out of sight of the overmen. This time the overmen would not be able just to walk in unhindered.

  When reports began arriving that the ring of sentries that the overmen had set up around the town was being removed, he was sure that something was planned, and soon. It was still possible that they were simply going home, but he would be shirking his duty if he took no action because he made that assumption.

  When he had sent twenty men northward, he gave orders that the rest of the guards were to serve as a second line of defense here in the village, in case the overmen did march in despite his efforts. That done, he himself headed toward the North Gate.

  He had not yet reached it when the overmen began moving south.

  When Garth had announced his intentions to the gathered volunteers, there had been no dissent; all present seemed to take it for granted that he had assumed command and had the right to do so. Many of the warriors cheered when he spoke of showing the Baron that overmen would not be pushed around any longer. They were obviously glad to be taking action, any action, rather than standing guard or sitting around doing nothing.

  Camp had been broken quickly and with reasonable efficiency; while that was being done, someone had found Garth an over-the-shoulder sheath for a two-handed broadsword, so that he was able to carry the Sword of Bheleu slung on his back, rather than strapped inaccessibly in his warbeast’s harness.

  When everything was packed away and stored on the back of warbeasts and overmen—Garth regretted again that no one had thought to bring a supply train; even a handful of wagons or yackers would have helped—the company was formed up into something resembling a military formation, rather than a mob. He placed himself front and center, with Kyrith on his right and Galt on his left, all mounted on warbeasts. Behind them came a second row of five warbeasts carrying the overmen Garth thought showed potential. The main body of troops followed, arranged in ten rows five abreast, and the remaining five warbeasts and overmen brought up the rear.

  It would have pleased Garth to have the overmen march in step, perhaps to some rhythmic marching chant such as he had been taught by one of his great-grandfathers, but he decided it would take more time and effort than it was worth. If he had time, he thought, he would also have liked to set up a proper military organization with a command structure that might actually work, rather than the current loose arrangement. He hoped that such organization would not be needed. With luck, the troops would not be required to do anything but stand there looking formidable, and that they could do.

  When he was satisfied with the formation he took his place at the head and gave the order to advance.

  Movement was ragged and uneven at first, but the warriors got the hang of it fairly quickly. By the time they were within fifty yards of the North Gate, they were moving more or less in unison, staying more or less in their places in the formation.

  Ahead of them, Garth saw the guard at the North Gate turn and run as they approached. He smiled; it felt good to inspire such obvious fright. Of course, the guard was just doing his duty, running to alert the village, since one man could not possibly hope to stop more than sixty overmen, but it was still pleasant to see.

  He glanced back and saw that other overmen were smiling as well.

  Then he heard the slap of a bowstring and ducked instinctively. A crossbow quarrel whirred past his head.

  He knew, in a vague and detached way, that he should get down, order his troops to do the same, and appraise the exact situation before taking any direct action, but a blinding wave of fury drowned all such logic. He reached up and grabbed the hilt of the great sword and pulled it from its sheath.

  “Human scum!” he bellowed. “You dare defy me?” The sword came free, and he swung it over his head.

  The sun, low in the western sky, vanished behind a cloud at that moment, and the glow of the jewel was visible to friend and foe alike.

  “I am Bheleu, bringer of destruction!” Garth cried. “Who dares stand against me?”

  Two dull snaps sounded, and two more bolts sped toward him; he spun the sword and somehow met both in mid-air, striking sparks as their barbed heads hit the steel of the sword’s blade. The quarrels flew harmlessly aside; one left a trail of smoke in the air.

  As it moved the sword shone silver, then white, as if the blade were now glowing as well as the gem. Garth laughed. “Flee, humans! Flee before the wrath of a god!”

  Clouds had gathered overhead with incredible speed, and a distant roll of thunder answered him.

  No more crossbows were fired. The guardsmen, already terrified at facing three times their number in overmen, did as they were told and fled. None of them cared to face this supernatural being who could knock arrows out of the air with his glowing sword. The cover provided by the crumbling wall and heaped rubble suddenly seemed hopelessly inadequate; when the last to arrive, who had not yet had time to conceal himself, turned and ran, the others were quick to follow.

  The overmen watched in amazed confusion as their foe, who had appeared from nowhere, vanished with equal speed, while Garth raved and did mysterious things with his strange sword.

  As suddenly as it had come, the spell departed, and Garth found himself holding the sword awkwardly above his head while men newly visible were running southward into the town. That was not what he wanted; he wanted to negotiate peacefully. The show of force was to have been just that, a show; he had no desire to risk starting the R
acial Wars anew. “No!” he called, “they mustn’t flee!”

  Behind him, someone overheard him and misinterpreted his intent. “After them!” he called.

  Before Garth could recover sufficiently to countermand, his troops were surging forward, yelling and cheering. They poured over the broken remnants of the wall and into the town, pursuing the running guardsmen.

  Galt and Garth were both shouting, trying to stop the forward rush, but neither could be heard above the clamor. The warriors of Ordunin were on the offensive for the first time in three hundred years, and enjoying it.

  Garth quickly realized that he could accomplish nothing where he was. The other overmen were getting further away and more scattered with each passing second; he would have to head them off. He ordered Koros forward, along the roadway and through the gate. Galt followed his lead; Kyrith trailed behind.

  Garth reached one of his warriors, grabbed the overman by the shoulder, and bellowed in his ear, “Let them go! Form up on the road!” Before the warrior could acknowledge the command, Garth was on to the next.

  Moving in a straight line and mounted as he was, he quickly passed all the infantry; the warbeasts, fortunately, had not joined in the headlong dash after the fleeing humans. He had collared half a dozen of his troops, and they were now gathering on the road as he had ordered, but looking none too pleased about it. He turned and bellowed, “Hold! Let them go!”

  Another half-dozen overmen stopped and looked at him.

  “Get back in formation on the road!”

  Reluctantly, those who heard him obeyed; the clump of warriors on the road grew. Galt, too, was gathering them in.

  A few moments later Garth had to turn and head off a few who had wandered well off to one side. When he came back with them in tow, he found that Galt had managed to gather more than half the company into position. The rest, seeing what was happening, were now drifting back, one or two at a time.

  It took perhaps fifteen minutes before they were all together, and Garth found himself again at the head of sixty overmen.