Book of Silence tlod-4

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "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 Prince, 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 death," 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 Dыsarra 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?"

  Garth remained skeptical. "It has been scarcely three years since the Thirteenth Age ended; that is hardly an age."

  "No rule is known that limits the length of each god's age, either maximum or minimum. Perhaps your refusal to accept your role, welcome though it is, has cut short the Age of Bheleu."

  "Why are you so certain that I wish to take the book to the King in Yellow?"

  "I saw that old man who took the sword, Garth, and felt something of his power. Who else could it be?"

  Chalkara made a suggestion. "You do not trust us, Garth, but Silda, here, has heard of the King; let her describe him, and we will let you decide whether it is he you serve."

  Garth was quite well aware that the Forgotten King was also known as the King in Yellow and that he was exactly what the wizards said he was, but the overman found himself wondering what the archivist knew. He would welcome any new information that might help in his dealings with the old man.

  "Speak, then, archivist," he said.

  Silda looked at each of the three in turn, then said in a precise voice, "The King in Yellow is a legend in the most ancient histories of Ur-Dormulk. I know of no connection between him and any deity, nor of any connection with a book, or with overmen, or anything else you have spoken of, save only destruction and death. He once ruled an empire from this city, long ago, when it bore another name; one version called it Hastur, another Carcosa. His origins have never been explained; in the very earliest records and even earlier myths, his presence is accepted as an ongoing thing since time immemorial. The legends are all vague as to who or what he was-many seem to assume that any reader will already know-but it is clear that he could not die, and that he was an object of terror throughout the world as these historians knew it. His visage was said to hold death or madness for all who met his gaze.

  "Although he was once a king in fact, and a king whom emperors served, he gave up his throne to a successor who founded the ancient Imperial dynasty that the founders of the present Ur-Dormulk overthrew centuries later-yet it was said that in time the King would return and reclaim his rightful place, and when he did, the stars would fall and the earth shatter. He disdained all trappings of royalty and went about the world in scalloped tatters that were a strange shade of yellow-hence the name, the King in Yellow. His servants wore black. This is said to be why the lords of Ur-Dormulk wear black and the people of the city shun all shades of yellow."

  Silda paused and shook her head. Chalkara glanced down at her yellow dress, and Garth was uncomfortably aware of his custom of wearing black armor.

  Silda continued. "Such a bare recounting of the facts known to me does not convey the essence of what I have read and heard concerning him. Throughout all the city's recorded history, from times so ancient that we cannot interpret the dates and on until the chaos of the Twelfth Age, the shadow of the King hangs like smoke. In every account of tragedy he is mentioned, and in descriptions of more pleasant times there is always an air of foreboding associated with him. In the wars of the Age of Aghad, the city was sufficiently disrupted so that the continuity was lost and the myths forgotten among the public. But there can be no doubt that, before that age, the tales of the King had persisted, at least among the learned, for more than ten thousand years. This, despite the fact that no historian or storyteller ever dared set down anything but veiled hints as to his true nature. I had thought that no one now alive had ever heard of him, save myself; that only in the ancient books and scrolls was he mentioned-books and scrolls that no one but me has read in three centuries or more. To hear you three speak of him as if he were alive today, as if you had seen him…"

  "I have seen him," Shandiph said.

  "He ha
s been lost for more than a thousand years!"

  "You said yourself that he could not die," Chalkara pointed out.

  Garth said nothing. He was mulling over what he had heard.

  He had thought of the Forgotten King's life span in terms of centuries, not millennia. He could not conceive of anything existing for eleven thousand years. He could not truly conceive of living even one thousand years. That would be seven times his own lifetime, roughly; eleven thousand years would be his years seventy-sevenfold. His species itself had not existed for much over a millennium.

  For the first time he honestly thought he understood why the King wanted to die. The weight of so many years was surely more than any mind could bear.

  He had known that the King had a sinister reputation among any who knew of him at all; Garth had attributed this to his position as the high priest of death, but here there seemed to be something more. Why were the city's histories silent on the exact nature of the King's menace? Why was it said that the heavens would fall if he returned?

  Would delivering the Book of Silence truly begin an Age of Death? If so, what would that mean?

  That, at least, was a question he might ask. "What would an Age of Death entail?" he inquired.

  "Widespread death, obviously," Shandiph replied. "Just as the current age is one of war and chaos and destruction, and the last was a time of stagnation and decay."

  "And after it, what?"

  Shandiph shrugged. "Who knows? Perhaps nothing will survive the Age of Death, not even the earth or the gods themselves. Perhaps humanity will be destroyed but the rest of the world will go on, and your people will begin a new cycle of their own. Perhaps death will be limited, and many, even whole nations, will survive, and the lesser gods will have their turns as the rulers of the ages. I don't know. I do know that an Age of Death is not something I want to see."

  Garth considered these possibilities, particularly the first and most horrific.

  What if nothing were to survive the Age of Death? The world itself vanished, and the gods dead; would not even time itself cease to be? The end of time would be an actual fact, not just a poetical turn of phrase.