He had it partly figured out now; it was determined to remain in his possession, but it was intelligent enough not to waste energy in holding him any more tightly than necessary. As long as he kept it on his person, it didn't care how it was carried.
He pulled it out, then sheathed it again, demonstrating that it was behaving like any ordinary sword. "You see, Galt? I think it's worn itself out, at least temporarily."
"Very well, Garth. Carry it, if you please. I warn you, though…"
"I know, I know. You cannot trust me while I bear it with me."
"Exactly. I would ask, Garth, that henceforth you sleep well away from the center of town, lest it rouse in the night and drive you mad."
Garth shrugged. "As you please."
Reluctantly, Galt dismissed his dozen supporters; they trailed off toward the market, returning to whatever they had been doing previously. After a final uneasy glance in Garth's direction, Galt followed them.
Garth, in turn, followed; Saram and Frima joined him. Fyrsh turned, as if to accompany them, then stopped and said, "We forgot Pandh."
"Who?" Saram asked.
"Pandh. The other guard Galt posted here. If you're taking the sword, there's no need for him to stay here. He's still up the road; he probably hasn't noticed any of this."
"You're right," Garth agreed. "Go relieve him, then."
Fyrsh nodded and turned back down the street.
When he had gone, Garth remarked to the two humans, "I'm bound for the King's Inn; all this shouting back and forth has made me thirsty."
"We'll join you, if we're not needed elsewhere," Saram said.
"I'd be glad of your company." At least, Garth thought, they would be welcome while he quenched his thirst, which was quite genuine. His primary reason for visiting the King's Inn, however, was to speak with the Forgotten King, and he would prefer privacy for that. He hoped that Saram would be needed somewhere.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Seer of Weideth had never acquired the knack of using a scrying glass and made do instead with an assortment of divining spells. Every spell he tried gave the same answer; the Dыsarran girl had indeed told the truth.
Garth of Ordunin had destroyed Skelleth for no reason. Furthermore, he had murdered the rightful baron of the village on only the slightest provocation, and killed a score of innocents with no cause at all. The girl had not mentioned that.
The overman had done this with the Sword of Bheleu, which was obviously an artifact of great power. The apparent level of arcane energy was, in fact, so great that no material force could possibly stand against it. There would be no point, therefore, in sending an army to Skelleth; only magic or stealth could hope to deal with such a menace.
The Seer wondered how so dangerous a weapon had been left lying about where any passing overman could pick it up in the first place; one of the Council's overseers must have been shirking his duties.
It was not, fortunately, his responsibility; he was only liable for the village and the surrounding hills. Since the matter had been brought to his attention, it was his duty to report it-and that was the entirety of his duty.
He gathered together the three village elders; his own powers were too feeble to reach more than a dozen leagues with a message-spell, and he judged that this matter was worthy of the immediate attention of the Chairman of the Council. That was old Shandiph, and a simple divination told the Seer that Shandiph was in Kholis, the capital city of Eramma, which lay more than a hundred leagues to the east. Communicating over such a distance would require three other minds working in concert with his own. He had worked with the elders before, and they had become reasonably adept at this sort of thing.
By the time he returned to the tavern's common room after divining the Chairman's location, ready to make the attempt at contact, the messenger from the city was long gone and the elders were waiting for him.
In Kholis, Shandiph was visiting with Chalkara, court wizard to the High King. The two were alone in Chalkara's velvet-draped chambers, playing caravanserai with an ancient set of hand-carved jade and ivory, which the court wizard had inherited from her predecessor, and sampling a golden wine of unknown but venerable vintage that Shandiph had brought with him from a stay in Ur-Dormulk. Shandiph had had more than his share of the wine and was consequently a good sixty coins behind in the game when the image of the Seer of Weideth suddenly appeared on the tapestry Chalkara was leaning her back against.
Startled, the old man dropped his wine glass, scattering the green pieces in all directions and spilling yellow wine across the whites. For a moment both wizards were too busy picking up pieces and sopping up the spill with Shandiph's cloak to pay any heed to the message.
When some semblance of order had been restored, Shandiph demanded angrily, "What do you want?"
The Seer's image mouthed something.
"Oh, Regvos, the damnable fool hasn't got a voice; I have to do everything myself!"
Chalkara said soothingly, "I'll do it, Shandi." She reached up to an ornate silk and silver box on a nearby table and pulled out a gleaming amulet, then recited a brief incantation before slipping the golden trinket around her throat.
"Speak, image!" she commanded.
"I am the Seer of Weideth," the image said, "and I have an urgent and private message for Shandiph the wandering sorcerer."
"I am listening," Shandiph replied.
"Ah…it is not to be heard by any but Shandiph."
"Never mind that, Seer, just give me the message. I have better things to do."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?"
"Give me the damn massage!"
With much hesitation and awkwardness, the Seer explained about the visit from the Dыsarran girl and reported what his divinations had told him.
When he had finished, he waited for a response. Shandiph sat silently for a long moment, then said, "All right. You've delivered your message; you can go now."
The Seer's image vanished immediately.
In Weideth, the Seer relaxed. The matter was out of his hands. He thanked the elders for their assistance, then ordered a final mug of ale before retiring.
In Kholis, Chalkara looked at Shandiph, who was staring at the floor. "This could be serious," she said. "It could start the Racial Wars all over again."
"We'll have to make sure it doesn't," Shandiph replied. "Listen, I'm having trouble thinking clearly; have you got something that counteracts wine? I left all my potions in my own rooms."
"I think so." She rose gracefully, crossed to a cabinet against the far wall, and began rummaging through it.
"Do you think he's right about how dangerous this overman is?" The elder wizard scratched his balding head.
"I don't know anything about it, Shandi. I have never even heard of Weideth or its Seer, nor Garth of Ordunin, nor of the Sword of Bheleu. The only name I know from the whole affair is Skelleth; and even if Skelleth is a pesthole-it is, too-the High King won't be pleased to hear it's been destroyed. It's a bad precedent. Besides, the Baron of Sland is bound to make trouble about it." She pulled out a small brass bottle. "I think this will do; it's a cure for drunkenness and senility."
"I am neither drunk nor senile, woman, merely tipsy. Still, it should serve; pass it here."
Chalkara complied and told him, "The normal dose is three drops."
"One should do, then, but I'll make it two to be safe." He suited actions to words, then shut his eyes and mouth for a moment.
"It tastes awful," he said a moment later.
"Potions usually do," she replied.
"I know. You'd think something could be done about it."
"Right now, I think there are other things more important to do."