The Sword of Bheleu (24 page)

He did not even notice that he was in the center of a blazing pyre; there had been so many pyrotechnic displays in the last few minutes that he had lost track of them. Koros growled, and he looked up from the glowing red jewel.

He was surrounded by flame, but he felt no heat and remained unharmed; something held it back, protecting both him and his mount.

He waved the sword, and the flames parted before him. He found himself looking at the man who called himself Karag of Sland; the man stood, the staff in his hands and the blood draining from his face, directly in front of the warbeast and its rider.

Then, suddenly, red mist swirled out of nowhere and wrapped around the wizard. There was nothing Garth could do in time to stop it, other than slaying the man where be stood, which he chose not to do. He looked around and saw that a similar fog was appearing around the other two wizards, both the live one who was still fleeing some two hundred yards away, and the smoldering corpse.

As he watched, the red stuff vanished again, taking the three humans with it. He had almost expected that to happen.

He gazed around at the area where the battle had occurred. There was a large ring of blackened earth which had now frozen hard, pocked with small craters where lightning bolts had struck. The central circle of snow was mostly a puddle. A few glittering fragments of sword were visible, and a few traces of bright blood.

New snow would come and cover the signs, he knew, but come spring it would be months before anything grew here. It was only a minor work of destruction and a single death, but still he sighed. It seemed that even when the sword did not force him to destroy of its own volition, other forces drove him to destroy in self-defense.

No, he corrected himself, most of this destruction was not his doing, but that of the wizards. He was simply the focus for it. The death, though, was his doing; he regretted that.

This was a new complication in his life. He wondered whether it justified changing his plan to consult the Wise Women. If wizards were to pop out of nowhere everywhere he went, he could hardly keep a visit to Ordunin a secret.

He would move on slowly, he decided; if there were further attacks, he would turn back.

That decided, he took a moment to get his foot securely back in the stirrup and urged Koros forward.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The councilors all stared in horror at the charred corpse that had appeared on the edge of the pentagram, almost ignoring Karag and Kubal.

“What happened?” Shandiph asked at last.

“He can control lightning,” Karag answered. He was shaking, the staff that was still clutched in his hands fluttering like a bird's wing.

“How did you survive, then?”

“I don't know. Kubal fled, and I tried to ward him off with the staff. I think it worked, at least temporarily.”

“Then the sword is not unbeatably powerful!” someone exclaimed.

Karag shook his head. “I have never seen so much power. I don't mean just the sword, but the staff as well. It felt like a live thing in my hands. Without the magicks in this room, we wouldn't have a chance. He made a storm from nothing with a single gesture, and directed the lightning wherever he chose; the sword burned and spat fire. The staff made a wall of flame that consumed everything it touched, until he turned it back with the sword's flame. He rides a great black monster with fangs as long as my fingers.”

Kubal nodded agreement. “We didn't know what we were doing; I didn't know he could be so powerful. I didn't believe Kala when she said that he could summon storms.”

“The three of you were all acting stupidly,” Shandiph said. “The essence of magic is not power, but subtlety and deception, and poor Alagar paid for your rashness in not thinking of that. As additional folly, you alerted the overman.”

“He is no wizard, though,” the Baron of Therin said. “He won't know how to defend himself against us. Karag made a natural mistake in thinking that three wizards could handle him, magic sword or no.”

“I do not say that they underestimated the overman, but that they underestimated the sword,” Shandiph replied. “We need to use subtler methods, methods that the sword cannot counter directly.”

“What did you have in mind?” Chalkara asked.

Shandiph replied by crossing to the guidebook, opening it, and asking, “Are there magicks in this chamber that can kill a foe from afar?”

The book turned to a page very near the front, which said, in large, ornate runes, simply, “YES”

“What are the dozen most effective that can be used without great preparation, how do they work, and where can they be found?”

Pages turned, revealing a list.

“Kala, ready your scrying glass, so that we can see what happens.”

“I don't have my glass; it was left in Kholis.”

Disconcerted, Shandiph admitted, “I hadn't thought of that.”

“There must be a scrying glass here somewhere,” Chalkara said. “Ask the book.”

A glass was found and given to Kala; she wandered several yards down the room and found a suitable spot to work in.

The magical light Shandiph had conjured was beginning to fade, which suited her well; it was easier to use a glass in dim light. She attempted to summon up Garth's image, and found it impossible. The sword's power still blocked her.

She said as much to the others, who had gathered together most of the devices and spell books the guidebook had listed as necessary for the dozen death-spells.

“I forgot about that entirely,” Shandiph said. “I suppose we'll just have to try these, and then go there and see.”

“If he resists other magic as well as he resists a scrying spell, I think we had best go prepared for battle.”

“I fear you're right,” Shandiph agreed. “Let me ask the book what other weapons we might take.”

“I already asked that,” Karag said. He was beginning to regain his composure. “We took three of the four most powerful—the Great Staff of Power, the Sword of Koros, and something the book called the Blood-Sword of Hishan of Darbul. The book said it was the third most powerful weapon here, after the Staff and the Ring of P'hul, but the Sword of Bheleu shattered it instantly.”

There was a glum silence in response to this news.

After a pause, Shandiph asked, “Book, what would you recommend we use against the Sword of Bheleu?”

The page revealed bore a single sentence, which Chalkara read aloud over Shandiph's shoulder. “There is no power in the Council's possession that can withstand the Sword of Bheleu.”

“You say there is nothing we can do?”

With a thump, pages turned back to reveal the single ornate word.

“Is there no power that can defeat the wielder of the sword?” Chalkara asked.

“There are two; the Book of Silence and the King in Yellow,” Shandiph read.

“Who is the King in Yellow?” Thetheru asked.

A single page turned, and Shandiph said, “I knew this already. It says, ‘the immortal high priest of Death'.”

“Where can we find him?” Chalkara asked.

No pages turned, but Shandiph replied, “We don't want to find him; he would be worse than the overman. He is the agent of Death as Garth is the agent of Bheleu.”

“Then what of the Book of Silence?” called someone from the back of the little crowd.

“Do you know why it's called the Book of Silence?” Miloshir replied. “To speak aloud a single word written therein will kill anyone but its rightful owner.”

There was a somber silence. Herina spoke up at last. “We could draw lots, and the loser would use the Book...”

“No, it won't work. The loser would die before completing the spell. It would take one of us for each word of the spell, and I have no idea how long the incantation we want might be.”

“Can we find the rightful owner and ask his aid?”

“The Book belongs to the King in Yellow.”

“It would seem we are defeated before we have begun,” Derelind said.

“We must
try
, at the very least,” Veyel replied.

“We must and we will. We will try each of these twelve spells the book led us to. It may be that the book is not infallible and has overestimated the power of the sword; it may be that Garth is not yet fully attuned to the sword's power. We still have a chance.”

“Attuned?” Karag snorted. “The overman can summon storms from a clear sky and steer the lightning! How much more control over the sword's magic can he possess?”

“Much more, Karag. The sword's power is virtually limitless.”

Kubal shuddered at that.

The discussion broke down after that into several groups of two or three, each working on one or two of the long-range spells. One by one, the death-spells were worked, amid strange chants, evil-smelling smoke, eerie lights, and other by-products of magic. The golden light vanished completely, and lanterns were found to replace it. Several of the councilors had become hungry, and Deriam used the book to locate a bottomless purse that could be made to produce an unlimited supply of biscuits and cakes and a wine flask that never ran dry.

“This is a very useful thing,” he remarked as he gulped down the red wine, “though it's hardly a great vintage. I wonder why it was sealed away here?”

Shandiph was watching the last death-spell being worked, which involved an elaborate dance with a very sharp knife. Chalkara was the dancer. He answered absentmindedly, “Someone must have thought it was dangerous.”

“How could a wine flask be dangerous?”

“Oh, easily enough, I think.”

“How?”

“You could drown someone, I suppose,” Amarda the Blood-Drinker suggested, “or flood out a place.” She was nursing cuts on her palms from the spell she had helped with and licking off the blood with disconcerting relish. Deriam glanced at her, then quickly looked away again.

“I hadn't thought of that,” he admitted.

At that moment the Baron of Therin distracted Shandiph from the dance. “I have news from Kholis,” he said.

The Chairman turned and asked, “What is it?”

“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?”