dour old man wearing clothes the color of drying blood, this observer sat near the fireplace, ostensibly drinking his luncheon; his eyes, however, flicked swiftly about, missing nothing that happened in the taproom, but always returning to the mismatched pair in the back corner, their conversation just within range of his hearing.
Garth himself was oblivious to the whole thing; he had been facing the wrong direction. He seated himself across from the Forgotten King and gazed for a moment at the ragged hood that shaded the ancient face; its color was scarcely visible in the sheltered gloom, and the overman wondered how yellow could look so dark. From where he sat he saw no motion, no glint of light, but only shadows and the old man's wispy beard trailing from his withered chin.
'Greetings, O King,' he said.
'Greetings, Garth.' As always, the hideous voice was an unpleasant surprise.
'I have considered your proposed bargain.'
The old man made no reply, but Garth thought he might have nodded slightly.
'I would know more about what services you would require of me.'
There was a contemplative silence for a few seconds, then the old man replied, 'I require certain items. I do not at present recall exactly which.'
Garth, not yet over his anger at the Baron, felt a twinge of annoyance at the old man's vague reply. 'Listen, I do not care to waste my time prying words from you. I will not bind myself to your service, but at present I seek a way to divert myself while I consider what manner of reply to make to your Baron of Skelleth. What are these items, and where are they to be found? Would you have me fetch them?'
The King was again silent for a moment, and Garth's irritation grew; finally, the old man said, 'You are to bring me whatsoever you find upon the seven high altars of the seven temples in Dыsarra.'
'Dыsarra?' The name was unfamiliar.
'A city in Nekutta, far to the west.'
'And will I find upon these altars that which you need for your mysterious cosmic purpose?'
'You will find the solution to your problems with Doran of Skelleth; let that suffice for the present.'
'What? Will one of these altar objects provide some magical means of dealing with that madman? You are being deliberately vague.'
The old man shrugged.
Garth sat for a long moment, thinking. It was plain that he would coax no further explanation out of the Forgotten King, and the task set was exasperatingly cryptic. Still, such a quest would undoubtedly be an interesting diversion, and the old man had said it would provide a solution to his problems-presumably some means of coercing the Baron into behaving reasonably, or else a means of carrying out a satisfactory vengeance without destroying the fledgling trade. He had never caught the old man in an actual lie, and there could be no doubt he had knowledge beyond what was natural.
And what else was he to do? He could not return to Ordunin under the present circumstances. Until he could come up with some way out of his oath to the Baron he had nothing better to do and nowhere better to go. Running some fool errand halfway across the world would be a welcome distraction. That was all he had expected until the King had made his final statement, and he had thought it sufficient; the old man's words, curious as they were, could only make it more tempting.
However, they also somehow made Garth uneasy.
'I will do it,' he said. 'I will find this city you speak of, and rob these seven altars, and we will see whether my problems are solved thereby.'
The Forgotten King smiled behind his beard.
Beside the fireplace, the old man wearing dark red nodded to himself.
Three days later, in a windowless chamber bright with golden tapestries and gleaming lamps somewhere in the black-walled city of Dыsarra, the high priest of Aghad sat, sipping bitter red wine and studying an ancient text. With a rustle of draperies and robes one of his subordinates entered, and stood waiting until such time as her exalted master should deign to notice her.
The wait was brief; the high priest lowered his book and demanded, 'Yes, child?'
'Darsen of Skelleth sends a message.' The underling held up a narrow strip of parchment such as could be wrapped on the leg of a carrier pigeon.
The high priest held out his hand, and the acolyte surrendered the note. He read it, then crushed it in one great brown hand.
'We must see this prospective visitor. Go tell Haggat to ready his scrying glass.'
The acolyte bowed and vanished through the curtains with another swift rustle; the high priest picked up his book once again, glanced at the page, placed a thin strip of embroidered velvet upon it to serve as a bookmark, then closed it and slid it onto a shelf beside a dozen others.
Fifteen minutes later the priest strode into another windowless room; this one was draped in black and deep red, its somber gloom scarcely softened by the light of a single immense candle. A plump middle-aged man in a loose black robe stood within, holding a great crystal sphere in his hands; the acolyte knelt beside him, her face hidden in the shadow of her hood.
'She has told you what I wish to-see?'
The man nodded, and held out the sphere.
The high priest reached out and took it; he cradled it in his hands and gazed into it. The other two maintained a complete silence.
Deep within the globe's interior, the flickering reflection of the single candle's flame twisted and shaped itself into the form of a sunlit path, a narrow road through grassy countryside; as the high priest watched, a figure appeared, riding down this golden strip of light. Mounted on a huge catlike black beast, clad in helmet, breastplate, and flowing brown cloak, the figure was that of a red-eyed overman.
The priest studied this vision for long minutes, then handed the sphere back to its master.
'This overman may be useful, perhaps very useful indeed. You; Haggat, will inform me of everything you can learn relating to him. You may have this acolyte as your personal property, to aid you in this and as your reward. Understood?'
The man nodded; one hand fell and pulled aside the acolyte's hood, then stroked her night-black hair possessively. The other hand balanced the crystal sphere, which flashed and glittered strangely. Despite the dim and uneven light, fear was plain on the girl's face as she looked up at her new master.
The high priest turned and left, thinking intently; although not the focus of his contemplation, he found himself aware that he considered Haggat to be very pleasant company. A man with his tongue cut out could not chatter on aimlessly as so many did.
He pulled his mind away from such distractions, and considered seriously what would be done with this thieving impertinent overman.
CHAPTER FOUR
The sun was sailing low in the western sky, as vividly red as Garth's eyes, turning the narrow wisps of cloud into a ruddy web of light and shadow. The overman admired the uncanny beauty of the scene; the colors seemed brighter, more fiery, than the sunsets of the Northern Waste. He mused as to why this should be so.
His mount seemed unimpressed. It kept its head low, its catlike ears spread, clearly displeased with its surroundings. Garth could hear, very faintly, the crunching of volcanic cinders beneath the warbeast's huge soft paws, a rather remarkable circumstance. Ordinarily the beast moved as quietly as any lesser feline, its padded feet as silent as the moon.
No wonder, then, that it disliked this strange new country! The sound of its own footsteps was alien, a constant reminder that it was far from home and all things familiar.
Ahead of them, dead black against the crimson flushed western sky, there reared up yet another mountain range. Already, in the fortnight's journey from Skelleth, they had crossed one chain, the highest and most rugged Garth had ever seen, through a narrow pass, and made a detour around the southern end of another, lesser range. Now they were approaching a third such barrier, this one actively volcanic, as evidenced by
