The guards looked at one another, dumbfounded. Then, abruptly, a man flung down his sword, saying, "Bheleu take it!" He, too, crossed to the liquor barrels and poured himself a drink, ignoring the protests of the innkeeper. That ended the tension, and in moments the entire party of soldiers was at ease, drinking, joking, and laughing. Only the Baron remained in the doorway, screaming imprecations at his men.
Garth relaxed, righted the table, and sat again, looking amusedly at the two shafts protruding from the wood. He was startled when Saram appeared, pulling up a chair.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Whatever you please. I am at your service" Garth was not given to polite exaggeration; he meant it. It was quite likely that Saram's disgusted revolt had saved his life, and he felt indebted to the man.
The guard casually took a long draught from his mug, and seated himself.
There came the noise of a commotion near the door, and all but the Forgotten King turned to see what was happening. The Baron, finally tiring of his ineffectual yelling, had snatched up a dropped sword, apparently planning to attack the overman singlehanded. Several of his men had jumped him and were now struggling to get the weapon away from him before anyone was hurt. Garth could hear muffled curses from the writhing mass of men, and saw one man roll apart, his hand bleeding from a long, shallow scratch.
The man's voice rose above the hubbub. "Oh, Death, that hurts! Aghad and Pria!" Several men not involved in the struggle rushed to his aid.
Then the knot around the Baron broke up. The sword had been flung safely out of reach, and the Baron lay on the floor, crying like an infant. With a low curse and a glance at his wounded companion, one man launched a vicious kick at the fallen noble's midsection. The Baron crumpled into a ball and lay, sobbing.
Someone gently reprimanded the kicker. "You shouldn't have done that."
Herrenmer appeared from somewhere and knelt over his lord. Looking up, he called, "Someone help me; we'll get him safely in bed in the mansion." Willing hands reached out, and in a few moments Herrenmer and another guard were assisting the Baron, still weeping, out into the sunlit alley. The guard captain paused in the doorway to announce, "We'll be back soon."
The episode over, Garth and Saram turned back toward their table.
They sat silently for a moment as Saram poured his remaining ale down his throat. Then, thumping his mug on the table, he said, "I've been wondering about you."
Garth looked politely blank. "Oh?"
"Whatever under the gods brought you to Skelleth?"
The overman considered the question; ordinarily he would have refused to answer it, but in the present state of gratitude he felt unusually open and willing to talk.
"I was on a quest, of sorts."
"A quest?"
"Yes."
"A quest for what? I don't mean the basilisk; I mean why did you go off questing?"
"I wanted to do something of true significance"
"Go on."
"I wanted to change things, to have a lasting influence on the world. I went to an oracle near Ordunin, but was told that no mortal could change the way things are."
"Ah, so you asked to be immortal?"
Neither Saram nor Garth noticed the Forgotten King's reaction to this question; he looked up, light glinting in his eyes like two lonely stars in two black pits. Neither noticed, because Saram was too startled by Garth's reaction, and Garth was not noticing anything. Instead he was staring at Saram, his expression a baleful glare that appalled the man. For several seconds neither spoke. Then Garth muttered, "I never thought of that," and dropped his gaze to contemplate the tabletop.
There was another moment of silence, ending when Saram said, "Then what did you ask for?"
"I asked for fame-that my name be known forever."
"One of those!" Saram leaned back, studying the overman. "Why do you want fame? I never saw much point in it."
Garth looked up. "I wanted something to survive. I had never considered the possibility of living forever myself, but it seemed that having my name live on would be better than nothing."
Saram nodded sagely. "I see. Never thought that, myself, but I can see how one could. So you set out to become famous?"
"I asked the oracle how I might achieve everlasting fame."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I was told to come to Skelleth, find the Forgotten King, and serve him without fail."
"Find who?"
"The Forgotten King." Garth pointed a thumb at the old man, whose head had sunk back to its usual droop.
Saram's surprise was evident. "The old man?"
"Yes."
"Forgotten King? King of what?"
Garth shrugged.
Saram turned to the yellow-robed figure and demanded, "King of what?"
"Of Carcosa. In exile." The dry voice was quieter than usual, but still shockingly harsh.
"I never heard of it."
The old man said nothing, and Saram turned back toward the overman.
"Serving him was supposed to ensure eternal fame?"
"Yes."
"It seems unlikely."
Garth shrugged. "It was the word of the oracle."
"It still seems unlikely."
"I have reason to trust the wisdom and truth of the oracle."
"Well, I know nothing of that. But it doesn't seem possible. Nothing lasts forever, certainly not fame."
Garth shrugged.
"But think, Garth, can you name a single person who lived more than a thousand years ago?"
There was a sound that might have been a dry cough. But the Forgotten King was silent as Garth admitted, "No, but I have made no study of human history. Overmen have not existed that long."
"Well, can you name the first overman, or the wizard who created him?"
"No."
"Llarimuir the Great." Startled, both Garth and Saram turned toward the Forgotten King, who continued, "Llarimuir created a dozen overmen and overwomen simultaneously; there was no first."
Saram demanded, "How do you know that, old man?"
"I remember."
"But it was a thousand years ago!"
The Forgotten King said nothing, and after a moment Saram turned away again.
"Most people know nothing of that, and no one can say with certainty that this old fool is correct."
Garth said nothing. He was remembering the Forgotten King's eerie room upstairs and the casually miraculous cure worked on his wounded foot, and wondering who and what the King really was.
Undaunted, Saram continued, "How do you expect to achieve this fame? Do you expect the old man to tell you how? Or do you think he can do it for you?"
Garth remarked, quietly, "He is a wizard."
Saram snorted. "Then why does he live in a tavern in Skelleth? Why does he not have a place in the warm south?"
Garth shrugged again.
"So you intend to continue to blindly serve him?"
"I am not sure."
"Oh?"
"I am not sure I still want the fame I sought."
"Oh. But you still believe the old man could make it happen?"
"Yes."
Saram abruptly rose. "I'm going to get some more ale." He strode away, mail clinking faintly. Garth watched him go, then turned to the Forgotten King.
"You still will not say why you wanted the basilisk?" The old man said nothing.
"Then what of my goal?"
"I have not yet decided upon your next task."
"Nor have I decided that I wish to accept it."
"What of your bargain?"
"I begin to doubt it."
"You doubt I can grant your desire?"
"No; I doubt whether I truly desire it, and at the price asked."
"Is the price too high?"
"It may be. It may be that I asked the Wise Women of Ordunin the wrong questions; it may also be that the deaths of a dozen men are more than I wish to pay."
"Yet, already, from this first errand, your name is known in Mormoreth and throughout Skelleth."
"Known as the name of a murderer."