Chapter Sixteen
The first to arrive at the High King’s castle was Karag of Sland, which was somewhat surprising; Sland lay almost two days’ ride to the west of Kholis, and Shandiph knew there were other councilors closer at hand.
Furthermore, Karag did not come alone. The Baron of Sland had accompanied him, with a party of half a dozen black-clad soldiers.
The presence of the Baron made the arrival a matter of state; the High King was roused and formal presentation arranged. While this went on, Chalkara reported to the Chairman that a ragged stranger dressed in brown and carrying a staff had arrived at the scullery gate, refusing to give his name but insisting that Shandiph had sent for him.
“That’s all right,” Shandiph told her as he watched the High King accepting Karag’s obeisance. “That would be Derelind the Hermit; he lives just south of here.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell me that?”
“Oh, he’s a secretive young fool. Don’t mind him.”
Karag was rising now, and the six soldiers were being presented, together with a list of names and the honors they had received. Shandiph wondered how warriors could acquire so many marks of distinction on their records when the kingdom had been at peace for almost three hundred years.
“Should I find Derelind a guest chamber?”
“I don’t know; ask him. He would probably prefer to sleep on the kitchen floor with the lower servants, and we may not have enough rooms for everybody, if we get a good response to the call.”
Chalkara nodded and slipped away.
She was back by the time the soldiers had finished their ritual presentation. Now, by custom, the High King and the Baron would retire to the King’s private council chamber for a report on the state of the Barony of Sland, and Shandiph would be able to speak to Karag without the Baron’s presence.
“Now, my lord Baron; I would hear how your lands have fared since last we spoke.” The King recited the traditional request slowly and precisely; it was plain to all present that he really didn’t care how Sland fared, but was merely fulfilling his obligations. That was no surprise; the current King was perhaps the most worthless to reign in Eramma to date.
Still, the ritual would proceed; to make it look good, the King and the Baron would have to stay in seclusion for at least a quarter of an hour. Shandiph suspected they would do little in that time other than drink a few toasts, but it gave him his chance to speak with Karag.
When the nobles had left the room, Shandiph started across the floor of the throne room. Karag met him halfway. Before Shandiph could begin a polite greeting, Karag snarled at him, “Have you gone mad, you old fool?”
Shandiph was taken aback. “What?”
“What in the name of all the gods did you think you were doing, summoning the Council to this castle?”
“This is a matter for the Council to discuss,” Shandiph replied stiffly. Chalkara came up behind him as he spoke.
“So you blithely called us all here, to the castle of the High King at Kholis?”
“Yes, of course. Why not? I was here; as chairman, it is my prerogative to choose the meeting site. Further, Kholis is centrally located and has good roads.”
“Does it mean nothing to you that our little group is supposed to be a secret organization, one whose existence is unknown to the world at large? For three centuries we have guarded that secret, and now you have virtually announced to the High King that there is an organization of wizards meeting here.”
“I have done nothing of the sort. Is that why you came so promptly? To tell me this?”
“Yes, it is; I thought that, if I got here soon enough, I could talk sense to you and convince you to warn the others away. We have ridden night and day since half an hour after I received the summons.”
“And you’ve brought the Baron of Sland with you.”
“I had to; had I left without telling him, he would have had my head. I told him that I needed to speak with you immediately, and he insisted on accompanying me.”
“And you call me a fool? Do you think he won’t suspect that something out of the ordinary required such urgency?”
Chalkara interrupted Karag’s sputtered reply. “Why did he come with you? Did you not tell him this was a matter involving only wizards and their affairs?”
“Yes, I told him; I think that’s why he chose to come. He’s been taking a great interest in magic lately, even asking if I could teach him a few simple spells.”
“You haven’t, have you?” Chalkara asked.
“Of course not! But as you have probably heard, it’s unhealthy to deny Barach of Sland anything, however slight. I dared not argue with him about this trip as well.”
“If there is anything that will reveal the nature of this meeting, Karag, it is his presence. The King pays no attention to what happens around him; he cares for nothing but wine, women, and old books. The servants and courtiers can be frightened or bribed into silence. The Baron of Sland, however, is not so easily handled.” Shandiph tried his best to sound stern.
Karag paused for a moment, then said, with no trace of contrition, “Well, it’s done now, and if we’re to keep it secret you’ll have to turn back all the others. I’m sure that the three of us can handle whatever this problem is by ourselves.”
“The four of us; Derelind the Hermit is downstairs somewhere.”
“Very well, then, the four of us. What is this world-shaking problem? Has someone stolen a love potion somewhere or caught a councilor kissing a baron’s daughter?”
“The problem requires a quorum of the Council. An overman has gotten hold of a magic sword, a very powerful one, and has destroyed large parts of two cities. The Seer of Weideth has divined that he is beyond the power of ordinary measures. At the very least he’ll require assassination, and we may need to be even more drastic. Now, Karag of Sland, do you feel I was unjustified in calling the Council together?”
There was a moment of silence.
“Are you sure of the facts?”
“The Seer of Weideth swore to them.”
“Are you sure it was the true Seer?”
“No, but if it were not, Karag, then we have an even worse problem, do we not? The message was an image-sending; if it was not the Seer, then we have an enemy or traitor of unknown purpose and power to deal with.”
“True. What cities were destroyed?”
“Shall we go somewhere more private?”
“Yes, of course. Chalkara?”
“There is my chamber; it has the customary wards upon it.”
“Good.” They retired to her quarters, pausing only to order a servant to send up Derelind, and any other enchanters who might arrive.
When Shandiph and Karag had settled on the velvet cushions in her sitting room, Chalkara found the remains of the golden wine that she and Shandiph had been drinking when the message first arrived and served it out to the three of them. They sipped it, waiting for Derelind.
When the hermit had arrived and refused cushions and wine, preferring to squat on the bare stone between rugs, Karag again asked, “What two cities were destroyed?”
“Permit me to explain, Derelind. The matter that I have summoned the Council to discuss involves an overman who has obtained a very powerful magic sword. He has already destroyed much of the city of Dûsarra, in western Nekutta, defiling most of its temples, burning the market and much of the surrounding area, and spreading the White Death, a particularly vile sort of plague. Dûsarra being what it is, I think we might forgive him that, but he has continued by laying waste to the bordertown of Skelleth and murdering its Baron.”
“Murdering?” Derelind inquired.
“He was stabbed in the back, I am told.”
“That would seem to be murder,” Karag agreed. “What else?”
“He and a force of overmen have occupied Skelleth and are
rebuilding it to suit themselves. It appears that they may intend to renew the Racial Wars. I need not remind you that it was those wars that created this Council in the first place; we were sworn to maintain peace by whatever means necessary.”
“Is the High King aware of this invasion?” Derelind asked.
“No.”
“You have not told him?”
“We would prefer to settle the whole matter ourselves. The Seer of Weideth tells us that armies would be of no use against this overman, and what other option would the King have, save to send an army?”
“What, then, do you propose instead?”
“I wish to send either one or more very good assassins, or to use magic of a level this sword cannot counter,” Shandiph said.
“What magic did you have in mind?” Karag asked.
“You know what our great weapon is, Karag,” Derelind said.
“Yes, and I also know that many people think it a panacea and wish to use it every time the least little difficulty arises.”
“You exaggerate, Karag. It has been used only once in the last three centuries,” Derelind said.
“That once was more than enough; were it not for the sorry state of trade in these decadent times, the news of that use would have been a world-wide legend by now.”
“Would that be so harmful?” Chalkara asked.
“Our organization’s existence is a secret,” Karag stated slowly and precisely. “We want to keep it a secret. Only in secret can we continue to maintain peace and to manipulate the governments of the world so that there is no aggressive action taken. Only by acting in secret can we limit the knowledge of the arcane arts and prevent the magical battles that caused such catastrophes in the earlier ages.”
“It seems to me,” Chalkara said, “that we are getting ahead of ourselves. It is not our place to decide this; it is a matter for a quorum of the Council. I think we can all agree on that.”
“There is no harm,” Derelind said, “in planning ahead. I suspect that the Council as a whole will, in fact, agree that this situation may require drastic remedies—and quickly. Might I suggest that, as soon as someone with the requisite talents arrives, we should send a magical message to the keeper of the weapon? I know little about the spells involved in controlling it; do they require any preparation time?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know either,” Shandiph admitted. “That has always been left entirely to the keeper.”
“I still think it’s a mistake,” Karag said. “Turning people to stone can’t help but attract attention.”
“We are only suggesting sending a message, to have it ready if needed. You know that Shang has orders to stay where he is and to ignore the summons I sent; we can’t leave the thing unguarded.”
“All right, then, send a message to Mormoreth. I still think, though, that using the basilisk is a mistake, and I’ll vote against it in the Council.”
Chapter Seventeen
Over the course of the next several days Garth attempted repeatedly to get rid of the sword. In doing so he broke two dozen assorted blades; hurt his jaw in trying to chew through the scabbard strap; burned his hand badly in a candle flame in the hope that sufficient heat or pain might cause the sword to lose its hold; cut the same hand and lost considerable blood in trying to pry his fingers open with a knife which eventually broke; and acquired several scrapes and bruises in using various blunt instruments to try to pry his fingers from the hilt.
He antagonized several people, both human and overman, by breaking their tools, wasting their time, avoiding their questions, and sometimes by accidentally inflicting minor injuries of the sort that had battered his own hands and chest. He also talked three individuals into burning their hands in varying degrees by trying to handle the sword, which continued to allow no one other than himself to touch it.
His own injuries were of no consequence, however, and in fact scarcely even rated as a nuisance, since every cut, bruise, burn, or scrape healed miraculously overnight. There could be no denying that the sword had its beneficial aspects.
Unfortunately, the injuries received by others were not so obliging, though the burns caused by touching the sword invariably turned out to be less severe than they first appeared and always healed quickly and cleanly.
His attempts to remove the sword were further complicated by the necessity of keeping them secret from Galt; Garth was quite sure that Galt would interfere if he realized that the sword did have a hold on Garth, and that any such interference would do far more harm than good.
Saram was more astute than Galt and quickly figured out the truth of the matter. Garth was able to convince him to say and do nothing about it.
Galt, fortunately, was too busy trying to organize and govern Skelleth and the warrior overmen to pay much attention to Garth—particularly since Garth was specifically excluded from any say in the new government.
Garth was amused by his observation of Skelleth’s resurrection. He had plenty of time to play the disinterested observer, since he was the only person of either species not actively involved in it. He had nothing to do with his time except to eat, drink, sleep, think, try to dispose of the sword, and watch the events going on around him.
His amusement derived from the differing styles and results of Galt and Saram. Galt had thrown himself completely into a frenzy of planning and organizing, spending every waking moment hard at work on governing. Any dispute that came before him was given careful and detailed attention and settled logically after much thought and analysis.
Saram, on the other hand, spent as little time as possible in work of any sort; he often joined Garth in doing nothing but watching. He settled disputes by fiat, without discussion, or by vote of whoever happened to be present—assuming disputes ever reached him in the first place, as he had given his horde of ministers to understand that it was their responsibility to keep their people in hand and out of his hair. Only when an argument crossed jurisdictional lines or involved jurisdictional lines did it reach Saram’s ear.
Galt’s efforts had resulted in very little in the way of concrete accomplishments; he had not managed to set up any permanent housing for his overmen, despite the approach of winter, nor to establish any lower levels of governance that could function without constant supervision.
Saram, on the other hand, had been building houses out of rubble at the rate of almost three a day and had had the town’s wells cleaned out and a rudimentary distribution system set up. His ministers had sifted themselves out into levels of importance; some had resigned, either because their jobs were done or because they felt that they weren’t needed. Two had been fired for incompetence and replaced. In short, Saram was the head of a working government.
That was the situation that existed when the messenger from Ordunin arrived.
Garth was sitting on a block of stone in front of the hole where the Baron’s cellars had been, the stone walls having been excavated for use in new buildings; he wore his quilted gambeson beneath his tunic to keep out the growing chill in the air. Changing his clothing while the sword retained its grip had proved difficult, but possible. He had exhausted every method he could think of for getting free of the sword’s hold that did not involve either travel or giving in to the Forgotten King and was now trying to decide where he should go first—the nearest ocean, to see if salt water might have an effect, or Ordunin, where the Wise Women might be able to suggest a solution. He was no longer particularly concerned about his oath, though he had never been released from it, because it hardly applied to the current situation.
He was beginning to think that, after all, he no longer had much reason for staying in Skelleth. He had declined to accompany Kyrith because he had wanted to deal with the sword, which was then in Skelleth; now, though, the sword was wherever he was, and be could easily carry it to Ordunin and deal with it there. Ordunin was on the ocean, as well, though hardly the c
losest coast. Furthermore, if he were to travel, he would prefer to do so before winter closed in.
The only thing still keeping him in Skelleth—other than his interest in the rebuilding—was the presence of the Forgotten King, the one person known to be capable of controlling the sword.
There was a possibility that by taking the sword elsewhere it would stop being so complacent and again drive him into a destructive fury; that would be very unfortunate if it happened in Ordunin. But then, it might happen in Skelleth, which would also be unfortunate now that the rebuilding was well under way. His best course might be to head due east to the coast of the Sea of Mori; there were no towns along that route, nothing that he might destroy.
He reached up and pulled the hilt of the sword down so that he could look at the gem. Its glow was faintly visible even in the midday sun, yet he felt no anger nor bloodlust building up. The thing was being subtle, he was sure, planning something, waiting for something, or perhaps affecting him in some new way he hadn’t yet detected.
As he stared at the red gem, he heard the rattle of armor and looked up. It came from somewhere behind him, to his right; he turned and saw three overmen approaching, with two men trailing along behind them. One of the overmen was riding a good-sized warbeast.
Garth recognized the humans and the two overmen on foot, but he could not place the mounted figure for a long moment.
As the party drew up near him, he finally realized who it was: Selk, one of the City Council’s messengers. He had not been among the sixty volunteers.
This, then, he knew, must be the response to Kyrith’s mission to acquaint the Council with the situation.
“Where is the master trader Galt?” the messenger demanded.
“He’s in the King’s Inn,” Garth replied politely, ignoring the other’s imperious tone.
“You, fetch him,” Selk ordered one of the two overmen who had accompanied him. Garth realized that they and the humans must be those who had been posted to guard the North Gate.
The warrior hurried to obey, taking the direct route through the pit; earthen ramps had been built on both sides to aid in removing the stones.
The Sword of Bheleu Page 17