He was left there a long time-he heard a bell sound outside, and later, another. Finally a man entered and took a place opposite him at the table. Somewhat rotund and red-faced, middle-aged with a receding hairline, he was dressed in sleek purple robes. Even if Hurd hadn't mentioned it, Sungar would have known this man was a wizard. Something about him was sluglike; his features were so soft, as if weather had never touched him. This was a man who never used his body for anything. He would be ill-equipped for physical combat, Sungar knew; he could snap the man's neck in an instant, were it not for his deceitful magic.
"Chieftain Sungar," he said with an over-wide smile. "I am pleased to meet you at last. I'm Geildarr Ithym. I'm the mayor here in Llorkh, and you are my guest.
"I regret the necessity of your restraints. I hope that in time I will be able to host you unencumbered. Perhaps you'd like to sample our civilized cuisine-it goes far beyond the berries and roasted joints you're probably accustomed to."
Sungar said nothing.
"You might come to enjoy the pleasures of civilization in time," said Geildarr. "You scowl at the word." Geildarr repeated it, savoring every syllable. "Civilization. The name for everything your people despise. But do you even know what it means?"
Sungar spat onto the table before him. He heard rustling behind him and knew that guards were ready to abuse him if he misbehaved. But Geildarr silenced them with a casual wave of his hand.
"Kiev told me you've been very cooperative in his interrogations," Geildarr went on. "But there's one thing I still don't understand. It concerns the axe you left in the Fallen Lands. The exact reason you thought to get rid of it is of great interest to me." Geildarr's gaze became intense. "The wizard named, according to you, Arklow of Ashabenford, demonstrated the axe was magical, so you threw it away. This seems to me-but admittedly, I'm no expert on Uthgardt honor-like an act so petulant as to befit a three-year-old child, not a mighty barbarian warrior.
"I realize you shun magic in all of its forms. I respect that-even a seasoned wizard like myself starts to hate the stuff every now and again. It grows boring when I use it too much. It loses its wonder. However, using a weapon infused with magic isn't quite the same as commanding magic.
"It was your choice to toss it away, to leave it there in the dust. It might have gone for the rest of eternity without anybody finding it. But through a happy accident, or perhaps divine will, somebody did. Sungar, do you know the name Berun?"
Sungar said nothing, but he knew his reaction gave him away.
"Of course you do. He's an important figure in your legends. Well, one of the tales of him was more than legend. That axe you wielded belonged to him."
Sungar scanned the mayor's face. Clearly he was enjoying himself; he was a torturer of another kind. Was that the whole reason for this show? If so, it told much about Geildarr. A true leader, one secure in his power, would not feel the need to taunt the helpless.
But, Sungar wondered, could Geildarr's words possibly be true? Could the weapon of the chiefs have come from the most ancient figure of their history?
Geildarr smiled. "Better still, it's possible-I can't be entirely sure about this, admittedly-that it was also once wielded by Uthgar himself. If this magical axe was an unholy, corruptive influence, as you seem to think, it certainly must have drawn some of the great ones into its web.
"Perhaps you should re-evaluate your relationship with magic. It seems to have been with your tribe from the very beginning. What do you say to that?"
Sungar kept his lips tight. In different words, this was the same argument put to him by the mage Arklow. Worse, Geildarr had a rather dramatic way of showing him up. Limp from weakness and chained to a chair, the only defiance he could manage was silence. Geildarr didn't seem disappointed.
"Mull it over some," he said. "We will speak again. There's no reason we can't be friends. We have much in common, as we are both leaders of men. Your stay in Llorkh needn't be unpleasant. You could have women, food, wine, and all the comforts available even to me. You could be a resident on this keep's highest floors instead of its lowest."
"You will die," said Sungar, though he simultaneously berated himself for playing Geildarr's game.
"Oh?" said Geildarr. "Who will kill me? You? Your people? You should stop thinking that way now-no good holding on to false hope. But you should know this: that axe of yours now resides in the hands of a hobgoblin-a dirty, smelly hobgoblin whose dim mind somehow recognized it as a weapon of legend better than you ever did. But it's far more than a weapon. If only you had realized, you could have kept it safe. Now my people carry it to the depths of the High Forest, where they will use it to rape the history of your tribe."
Geildarr leaned a trifle closer across the table. "And when they do," he said, "it will all be your fault."
In the dark woods of the High Forest's southern reaches, a series of low-slung tents stood pitched in a small clearing. The remnants of a small campfire smoldered in the dark, lighting the twisted trees that surrounded the camp. The Antiquarians felt uncomfortably close to the stands of white-barked trees that marked the edge of the Dire Wood like albino sentinels. That day they had seen an example of the "wizard weather" that sometimes roared out of Karse Butte-a fireball arching over the treetops before exploding into a rain of bloody snow. This part of the forest had obviously been scarred by such phenomena. The trees were tortured, screaming shapes, warped and ugly, and the fact that some of these trees might be sentient and keeping a close eye on them did nothing to help the group sleep better.
Late in the night, Gan stood watch at the camp's edge, clutching the greataxe tightly. He was so happy when Geildarr told him he could wield it again that he almost wept. "But I'm not worthy of it," said Gan. Geildarr told him that he was to wield it as an agent of Llorkh's mayor, and so when Gan held it, it was as if Geildarr carried it.
"Do you know what the axe is?" asked Ardeth. Gan was surprised; he hadn't known she was awake and now she was standing next to him.
"What do you mean?" asked the hobgoblin.
"Did no one tell you?" she asked. "It was once the weapon of a great leader and warrior who lived thousands of years ago. He died in a battle against a demon, giving his own life to save his people."
"Was he a human?" asked Gan.
Ardeth nodded.
"My kind have no such great leaders," Gan lamented. "Word came to us that a hobgoblin named Glargulnir wants to make himself a king of all our people, as Obould united the orcs of the Wall. But humans make the best rulers."
"Why do you have so little faith in your own people?" asked Ardeth. "This Glargulnir could prove a great ruler."
"As great as Geildarr?" asked Gan.
"Let me tell you about Geildarr," said Ardeth. "He may be a great man, but he is mayor of Llorkh only because more powerful men across the desert allow him to be. If they changed their minds, he would be gone in an instant."
Gan frowned. He had allowed himself to build Geildarr up into an authority beyond question. This he could not believe.
Ardeth pointed at the largest tent, from which they could hear Mythkar Leng's snores. "In a way, Geildarr even answers to him."
"The priest?" asked the hobgoblin.
"As you saw for yourself, Geildarr couldn't order him on this mission. It's not always so clear as that. In some ways, Leng is Geildarr's superior, but in other ways, Leng answers to Geildarr."
"But what if the priest were gone?" asked Gan.
Ardeth looked over the camp to make sure all was silent.