Lawrence Watt-Evans: The Sword Of Bheleu

"An embassy from Skelleth has arrived and is at this moment speaking with the High King; my other self has just entered the audience chamber to hear what they have to say."

"What are they saying?"

Dor paused for a moment, as if listening, then answered, "They say that Skelleth has been burned and many of its people slain as a result of the dead Baron's madness. They say that a peaceful trade mission of overmen was attacked by the Baron's guards without cause, and the ensuing battle ended with the guardsmen and the Baron all dead, and many others as well."

"That is not what the Seer of Weideth said had happened."

Dor shrugged. "The ambassador is undoubtedly lying. Now he is explaining that the overmen stayed to aid in the rebuilding, and that a man named Saram, once a lieutenant in the Baron's guard, organized the survivors."

Shandiph glanced at where Chalkara was whirling, her knife glinting in the lantern light, and then looked about "Where is the Seer?"

The man from Weideth made his presence known from somewhere behind the Chairman.

"Ah, there you are. Can you say anything of the truth or falsehood of what Lord Dor is telling us?"

"Lord Dor speaks the truth as he knows it, my lord; but of course, that is to be expected, and says nothing about the truthfulness of the ambassador from Skelleth. I cannot know what is true at secondhand, like this."

"You said that the Baron of Skelleth was murdered."

"Oh, yes, he was! I tested that by three separate divinations; he was stabbed from behind without warning, by the Sword of Bheleu, while unarmed"

"Then this ambassador is lying."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"What is he saying now, Dor?"

"He is explaining that Skelleth hasn't enough wood or food to last the winter and asking that the High King send aid and name a new baron, so that the town will flourish as before, despite this unfortunate incident."

"Skelleth hasn't flourished in two hundred years!" Deriam said.

"True enough," Dor agreed. "I merely repeat what I hear."

"Now what's happening?"

"Barach of Sland has interrupted the ambassador's speech; he says that the man is obviously a lying blackguard, and asks that the High King send him to Skelleth to learn the truth of the matter."

"The Baron of Sland wants to go to Skelleth?" Thetheru was plainly astonished. He could not imagine anyone wanting to go to such a place.

"That's no surprise," Karag replied. "He has always liked the idea of acquiring a second barony, and was rather annoyed when Skelleth went to someone else-when was it?-twenty-three, twenty-four years ago."

"Even if we do dispose of the overman, it appears that we may have to settle other matters regarding Skelleth," Shandiph observed.

"I would say so," Dor agreed. "The High King has just said that he sees no reason to disbelieve the ambassador and will send what aid he can. He is naming this man Saram as the new Baron of Skelleth, pending his formal presentation at Kholis for confirmation. Barach is raging mad. He's storming out now, calling for his men."

"We will have to patch up this quarrel when time allows," Shandiph said.

"Shouldn't we see to it immediately, before anyone does anything foolish?" Deriam asked.

"No," Shandiph answered, "I think we should tend to what we've begun first and deal with the overman. He's the more dangerous problem." He gestured at Chalkara, who was nearing the end of her ritual. "If these spells have worked, any of them, we should be in plenty of time. If they haven't, then it's all the more important that we handle Garth immediately."

Chalkara completed her dance with a final flourish and flung the dagger to the floor between her feet. According to the book that contained the spell, the blade was supposed to penetrate any floor, even stone, easily and draw blood. The blood would be that of the intended victim.

The knife struck, ringing, and stuck into the stone floor as intended, but only the tip had penetrated; no blood flowed.

"I don't think it worked," Kubal said.

"It may be that the overman was already dead," Derelind said. "After all, we have tried to kill him a dozen times over. We have burned him, choked him, stabbed him, flayed him, smothered him, poisoned him, and sent birds to tear him to pieces."

"I hope that's it," Shandiph said. He leaned on the reading stand and asked the guidebook, "Is Garth of Ordunin dead?"

Pages turned, and he read aloud. "This book is not a true oracle, and answers only questions about magic and arcane information known to the Council of the Most High at the close of the Twelfth Age."

"Try your scrying glass, Kala," someone said.

There was a general chorus of agreement, and Kala withdrew into the darkness with a single candle she had found. The candle came from a chest of similar candles, each of which the book said held a minor fire-elemental; this was supposed to allow it to burn for several days before being consumed.

The others spoke quietly among themselves for several minutes while Kala struggled with her glass. Most consciously did not look at her, but Karag could not resist; he watched and saw the crystal globe glowing a vivid red.

Then Zhinza, who stood nearest Kala, remarked, "I smell cooking meat." An instant later Kala cried out and dropped the sphere. It exploded, and gobbets of semi molten glass spattered in every direction.

Most of the councilors were unhurt, since Kala had stayed well away from the crowd, but Zhinza and Kala received several cuts and burns, and a glowing shard had cut open Sherek's arm. Derelind used the guidebook to locate a healing spell, which Chalkara applied.

The spell stopped the cuts from bleeding and eased most of the burns, but did nothing for Kala's scorched palms.

When that emergency had been dealt with, the twenty councilors looked at one another in the lantern light, each waiting for someone else to speak, until at last Chalkara said, "Now what? The overman is still alive, or else Kala's glass would not have exploded None of our spells touched him, apparently. What do we do now?"

Shandiph, for once, had no reply; it was Karag who finally answered slowly, "I think I have an idea."

Garth was considering his situation as he rode northeastward along the narrow valley.

He was beginning to doubt that he would find any way out of his dilemma. It looked very much as if the only way to free himself of the Sword of Bheleu was to swear to serve the Forgotten King. After all, he knew that the King was someone unique and uniquely powerful; it might well be that there was nothing and no one else who could control the sword. The three wizards had certainly not given it much of a fight.

If it did finally come down to a choice between the King and the sword, he was unsure which he preferred. Either choice would lead to several unwanted deaths; he knew that he could not hope to restrain the sword forever, and the old man admitted that his great magic would kill many people besides himself.

Of course, the Forgotten King's spell would be a single event, while the sword was an ongoing problem. Furthermore, it was possible that Garth would not live long enough to fetch the mysterious book the King wanted. The book might have been destroyed or irrevocably lost long ago.

If it came down to a simple final choice, then, Garth would choose to serve the Forgotten King again, although he was not happy with that decision, since he did not like or trust the old man. He felt that the King was manipulating him, controlling him as if he were a mere beast of burden, to be ordered about or coerced into obedience when it proved reluctant.

Even that, though, was preferable to being possessed outright by the sword's malevolent power, whatever it was.

He might never find the Book of Silence. His oath to the Forgotten King might lead to nothing. He could not believe, however, that possession of the sword would lead to nothing.