Lawrence Watt-Evans: The Sword Of Bheleu

"But…who are you? I can't even be sure you're an overman. Come where I can see you."

Galt considered. The man was merely human, and it was plain that he was alone; unskilled as he was in fighting, Galt was sure he could handle a lone human-particularly with the warbeast lurking somewhere close by.

"As you wish." He walked carefully forward until he stood at the outer edge of the lantern's circle of light. His left hand dropped from holding his cloak closed and fell instead upon the hilt of his dagger; his sword was drawn and ready in his right. "Speak," he commanded.

Saram hesitated. "Who are you? You look familiar."

"I was unaware that humans could tell one overman from another."

"I may be mistaken"

There was no harm in admitting his identity. "No; we've met before. I am Galt."

"Oh, of course; the trader."

"The master trader, yes." There was a moment of silence as each considered the other; then Galt demanded, "Speak. What have you to say regarding Garth?"

"I know where he is."

"Do you know when he will return?"

"No. But what difference does that make? He is not in Skelleth. I will swear to that."

Galt smiled humorlessly. "I am afraid it will take more than the word of a single human to convince our leaders of that. If he is not in Skelleth, then where is he? As a matter of fact, Saram, I know as well as you that the Baron of Skelleth banished Garth; I was there, after all. Unfortunately, there are those who prefer to view that entire scene as a fraud, a drama to convince me that Garth was not in Skelleth while the Baron laid subtle plans for his capture."

Saram snorted, a sound barely audible above the drumming rain. "That's absurd."

"To you, it may seem so. To overmen and overwomen who know nothing of humankind, it seems perfectly plausible. The treachery of mankind is legendary among my people."

"But if I say where Garth has gone?"

"Merely another lie. However, I admit to a certain curiosity; where has he gone? He told me only that he would be back before the start of the new year."

"I had hoped to have some assurance of peace before revealing what I know."

"I'm afraid, that we'll just have to forget about it; then. A pity. I would very much like to know."

Saram considered for a moment, looking up at Galt's inhuman face, and then said, "He has gone to Dыsarra on an errand for the Forgotten King."

Galt did not reply immediately; this brief answer raised so many further questions that he preferred to tally them up in his head before asking any.

When he had thought it over, he asked, "Who is the Forgotten King?"

"An old man who lives in a tavern in Skelleth; more than that is hard to say. He claims that his kingdom is also forgotten and that he has lived here in Skelleth for centuries. There is good reason to believe him a wizard of some sort."

"Why would Garth be running errands for him?"

Saram shrugged, and the lantern bobbed, its light dancing and spattering. "Garth is not, perhaps, the least gullible of beings. Apparently, some oracle told him that the old man could grant him wishes, and he believes it. I think that his current quest is supposed to be rewarded with immortality."

"An oracle, you say?"

"I believe he mentioned one."

"The Wise Women of Ordunin, perhaps?"

"I don't know; it could be."

This began to make sense. Garth was one of the privileged few the Wise Women would speak to, and he had consulted them on several occasions. No one had ever yet known the Wise Women to be wrong, or actually to lie; however, they took a perverse delight in misleading their questioners. Undoubtedly Garth had misinterpreted some deliberately vague answer and betaken himself to this mysterious old man on the basis of that misinterpretation.

"Why, then, did this so-called King send Garth to Dыsarra?''

"I'm not sure. He has some complicated magic he's planning, but he lacks some of the necessary ingredients, it seems, and I think Garth was supposed to bring back something he needed."

"Where and what is Dыsarra?"

"I believe it is a city far to the west, in Nekutta."

"How far?"

"I don't know."

Galt contemplated this. "Could it be so far that he has not yet had time to return? It was a month or more ago that he vanished."

"Certainly it could. The world is a very big place."

"We overmen wouldn't know. These past three centuries we have had little opportunity to see it."

Saram ignored the sarcasm. "I haven't seen much of it, either, but I've heard that the land extends for hundreds of leagues to the west and south."

"So it is your belief that Garth is off adventuring in this Dыsarra and will return in due time?"

"Unless he gets himself killed, yes."

"Why have you told me this? Why come here, alone, in the middle of the night, in the pouring rain, to tell us that our missing comrade is running some fool's errand for a crazy old man?"

Saram was momentarily taken aback. "It's the truth."

"Quite possibly it is, but why have you told me?"

"To end the siege!"

"You think this information will end the siege?"

"Why not? You came to rescue Garth; Garth isn't here."

"It would be more pleasant for all of us if things were that simple. Unfortunately, they are not. Garth is not the reason for our presence so much as the excuse. We are here at the behest of his wife Kyrith-who has come seeking her husband, true. But do you think sixty of Ordunin's warriors and a dozen of the best and most valuable warbeasts would be out here solely to please a lone overwoman who prefers not to believe that Garth would rather go off adventuring than come home to her? I was there when the Baron sentenced Garth to exile and I do not think the man was dissembling. Further, I know Garth reasonably well, and I am well aware that in his resentment of his exile he would be disinclined to go meekly home to his wives and children. I know that he might well be impulsive enough to undertake this mission you mention, yet here I am, wearing armor in this miserable rain, watching the North Gate of your stinking village in the middle of the night."

"No, I will be frank. Garth's disappearance was only an excuse. This expedition was intended as a show of force. Our intent was to ride into the market square, confront the Baron, and renegotiate the terms of our existence. For three hundred years overmen have lived a lean and bitter life in a harsh wasteland because your ancestors defeated ours in the Racial Wars and drove us into the barren north. We believed that the defeat was final and irreversible. Our legends taught us that Skelleth stood at the border, a mighty fortress, ready to oppose any attempt on our part to renew our acquaintance with the rest of the world. Your people were reputed to be our implacable and deadly foes. Rather than confront you, we sailed the full width of the Sea of Mori and traded with the smugglers of Lagur for the necessities our land could not provide, paying whatever they asked because we had no choice and knew no better.

"Then Garth came south on some quest of his own invention and discovered that Skelleth was a pitiful ruin, three-fourths abandoned and on the edge of starvation, worse off than we were ourselves. He returned with me and two others to establish trade and, in accordance with our long tradition of bowing to human demands, we allowed your Baron to set the terms of that trade, including Garth's banishment and a dishonorable oath.

"However, this is not just. We saw, we four, just how low Skelleth had sunk. There is no longer any reason for us to cower. It is not fitting for us to do so. Therefore, we shall not. The time has come when the overmen of the Northern Waste are going to assert themselves once again."

"Have you then decided to start the Racial Wars anew?" The harsh sarcasm in Saram's tone was unmistakable.