advantage of overmankind. Therefore, he did not want this messenger spreading the word prematurely.
'I can't allow that,' he said.
'What?' Selk was plainly astonished.
'Garth, what are you doing?' Galt asked.
'I cannot allow any such message to reach the High King at Kholis at this time,' he said.
'You have no authority to stop me,' Selk answered.
'I need no authority. I am an outlaw, am I not? Dismount, Selk, slowly and carefully, and make no move toward your weapons.'
Selk hesitated.
In a single fluid motion Garth unsheathed the Sword of Bheleu; the red gem was gleaming brightly, and the blade shone silver.
'Dismount, Selk.'
The bystanders, including Galt, were drawing back, unsure what to do. Frima called, 'Garth, is it the sword?'
Without turning his gaze from Selk's face, Garth answered, 'I don't think so. This is really what I think best.'
Selk looked about uncertainly and saw that no one was making any move to aid him. Garth stood ahead of him and to his left, five feet away, the immense broadsword clutched before him in both hands. Selk was not a warrior, but a messenger and a peaceful person, yet he dared not surrender; the Council would hear, and he would lose his position.
He could not fight and he could not surrender. That left flight. Trying to give as little warning as possible, he suddenly shouted the command to run to his mount.
Obediently, the warbeast surged forward; the Sword of Bheleu lashed out with preternatural speed and caught Selk across the chest. Garth had managed at the last instant to turn the blade so that the flat struck the overman, not the edge; the sword had fought the turn, but given in. Therefore Selk was not killed, but he was knocked backward off the beast's back, to lie stunned on the hard ground, his chestplate dented in more than an inch, his chest crossed by a great bruise, and two ribs cracked.
Garth started to lower the sword but found it resisting him; almost immediately he saw why.
The warbeast had been trained to protect its rider. As soon as it realized he was no longer in the saddle, it whirled to face Garth.
Everyone in the marketplace-the women, Frima, Galt, the three men, and the other overmen- immediately fled, amid a chorus of shrieks and shouting, leaving Selk lying on the ground and Garth facing the monstrous creature.
The warbeast roared deafeningly, baring fangs more than three inches in length; and charged toward Garth.
For an instant Garth was certain that he was about to die; he had seen warbeasts in action and knew that an overman was no match for one, regardless of what weapons he might hold. Spears and arrows could not penetrate the natural armor created by thick fur, loose, leathery hide, and layer upon layer of muscle that protected a warbeast's vital organs. A well-wielded sword might manage it; but only by luck; no other creature could move as fast as a fighting warbeast, or dodge with so much skill. A single blow from one of the great padded paws could tear an overman in half.
He forgot all that though, as the warbeast neared him. He forgot everything except that he held the Sword of Bheleu. It came up in his hands, hissing with flame and moving with blurring speed to meet the warbeast's charge.
The monster leaped upon him, and the blade met it in mid-air, at the base of its throat.
There was a sudden roar of flame, and Garth was smashed backward and down.
He came to a second or so later and found himself lying on his back. on the ground, pinned beneath the immense bulk of a dead warbeast, both his hands still clutching the hilt of the sword. The blade had gone cleanly through the beast, its tip emerging between the shoulders, red with blood.
The air was full of the stench of scorched fur and burned flesh.
Garth found it hard to believe that he was still alive. How could the warbeast have died so quickly? Even had he struck it through the heart, which he had not, it should have lived long enough to tear him apart.
'Garth?' It was Galt's voice that called uncertainly. 'Are you alive?'
'Yes,' he answered. The effort was painful; the wind had been knocked out of him by the creature's impact, and one fang had gashed his cheek in passing.
'Can you move?'
Garth was not sure whether he could or not; he tried, shifting slightly, and discovered that he could not.
'No,' he called, 'I'm pinned here.'
There were sounds, but no further words reached him.
Something occurred to him, and he called, 'Don't let Selk escape!'
'He's not going anywhere,' someone said grimly; Garth thought the voice was human, rather than overman. It was definitely not Galt.
Something else occurred to him, and he looked down at the hilt of the sword. He was unable to raise his head enough to see anything other than black fur; there was no way he could see whether the stone pressing into his belly was glowing.
Cautiously, he removed his left hand from the hilt; it came away easily, as he had expected. Then he tried to open his right hand.
One thumb and one finger came free, but the other thumb and fingers remained in place. The sword had not released its hold.
He lay back, disappointed.
A few minutes later, with much straining, Galt and a party of overmen managed to push the warbeast's carcass off him. He pulled the sword free, wishing he didn't have to, then staggered to his feet, the weapon hanging loose in one hand. The gemstone flickered dimly.
'Thank you,' he said.
'Garth,' Galt demanded, 'why did you do that?'
Garth looked at him. The brief battle had tired him, and his entire body ached from the strain of supporting the warbeast's weight and from being slammed against the ground. A stray pebble had cut open the back of his head when he fell, and he felt blood dripping down his back, across immense bruises, as well as running down his cheek.
'Do what?'
'Why did you stop Selk from leaving?'
He stared at Galt in astonishment. Could the trader really be that stupid? 'Galt,' he said, 'what would the High King do upon receiving such a message?'
'I don't know,' Galt answered. 'Send a polite reply, I suppose.'
'Don't you think that he might send an army to recapture Skelleth, once he was aware that we had taken it and that Ordunin would not send any reinforcements to our aid or back us in any way?'
'But he wouldn't have to recapture Skelleth!'
'Why not? We happen to be running it right now.'
'But we're leaving, aren't we? The Council has disowned our occupation; our troops will be going home to take advantage of the amnesty, and we'll either have to go back and plead for pardon or seek refuge somewhere.'
'Galt, I am not leaving. The Council has declared us to be outlaws and renounced all claim to Skelleth. The rightful baron is dead, without heir. We are in control of the barony. It seems to me that we can do quite well for ourselves by staying here in control. If the High King believes us to be here with the approval of the Council and the Lords of the Overmen of the Northern Waste, he will negotiate with us to save bloodshed-I hope-and we can have Saram declared the new Baron, thereby ensuring us of a place here. The Council will not interfere; they have disclaimed the whole affair.'
'I don't understand. What good will it do to stay here and have Saram made Baron? We will still be
