The old man himself had freed Garth from much of the restraint his oath would have placed upon him; no one need know he was forsworn for some time yet.
Anything might happen before the Forgotten King remembered; he might die, Garth might die, or the oath might be renounced. Garth's false semblance of honor might be retained for years, perhaps even for the rest of his life.
He knew it to be a false semblance, for he had given his oath in bad faith. He gulped down the rest of his ale and signed to the innkeeper for another.
He wondered whether there might not be a higher honor in sacrificing his name and good word for the lives of others.
No, he told himself, he would not delude himself with such false excuses.
The innkeeper approached with a fresh mug, but before he could place it on the table a sudden loud noise drew the attention of both overman and servitor. There was a burst of shouting and much rattling and thumping somewhere outside the King's Inn.
After a moment of ongoing racket, the unmistakable roar of a warbeast sounded, and the taverner dropped the mug in surprise, denting the pewter vessel and spattering cold ale across the floor and Garth's legs. The overman paid no attention; he shoved back his chair, rose, and strode to the door to see what was happening, while behind him the innkeeper wiped at the floor with his apron.
Garth had a moment of fear that a new battle had begun and that Skelleth was perhaps to be destroyed all over again. Could the King have been wrong about the wizards? Were they attacking anew?
He dismissed such pessimistic thoughts almost immediately; the sounds were not those of battle, nor of any destructive magic he had yet encountered. There was a cheerful note to the shouting.
He paused in the doorway and looked out. Directly before him was the dark hole where the Baron's mansion had stood, but beyond it the marketplace was bright with torches and crowded with people and animals. The sun had been down for the better part of an hour, so this gathering was no ordinary trading.
There were men, women, and overmen in the market, as well as several warbeasts and oxen. Most of the people, of whatever species, appeared to be clustered about a pair of warbeasts and a small group of overmen.
Curious, and with nothing to prevent him from doing as he pleased, he marched down the ramp into the cellar pits, across the floor, and up the opposite slope toward the square. As he emerged, he spotted Saram in the midst of the mob, looking about wildly; Frima was near him, and Galt was approaching from the opposite direction.
Garth looked over the central grouping; with a start, he recognized the warbeasts and one of the overmen. Tand and his party had returned.
The apprentice trader looked exhausted, and at least one of his companions wore a bloody bandage. Behind him, Garth realized for the first time, were several overmen he had never seen before, wearing strange and outlandish attire-bright cloaks, enameled armor, flaring helmets. Most of them stood quite tall, taller than Garth or most other overmen of the Northern Waste. There were men as well, dressed similarly, and the oxen he had noticed before he now realized formed a line, drawing carts and wagons.
Tand's mission to the Yprian Coast had obviously been successful; he had brought back a full caravan. Garth's bitter gloom dissipated in pleased surprise; he had held little real hope for Tand's errand after his own plans had been shattered by the Sword of Bheleu, the City Council's disavowal of his actions, and the disastrous battles with the wizards. He had somehow assumed, after all that, that nothing could ever go right again.
Saram had spotted him and was calling and waving; Garth could not make out any words over the general hubbub, but it was plain that Saram wanted to speak with him. Accordingly, he shoved his way into the crowd, bellowing, 'Make way! Make way!'
Boots alternately sticking and sliding in the snow and mud underfoot, Garth finally managed to come within earshot of the acting Baron of Skelleth.
'Garth!' Saram called. 'Do you have any money?'
'What?'
It was Tand who replied. 'These people have brought stocks of food, furs, and other goods, but they demand to see payment before they will allow any to be unloaded. There is nothing in Skelleth they wish to trade for; I promised them gold, told them that Ordunin was rich in gold.'
'Aye!' a new voice said in a harsh and alien accent. 'The lad said there was gold to be had!'
'There is!' Garth called back. He turned back toward the King's Inn and bellowed at the top of his lungs, 'Ho! Koros!'
He had left the warbeast in an alley at one side of the Inn; there were still too few buildings under roof in Skelleth to permit the stables to be used for mere beasts rather than homeless humans. Koros answered with an audible growl and emerged into the light of the market's torches.
Garth called again, and the monstrous beast trotted forward. Disdaining the earthen ramps, it leaped down into the cellar pits and then out again on the market side and made its way across the square toward its master.
The crowd parted before it, and it walked in silent majesty down a broad aisle to Garth's side.
He took a sack from behind the saddle and pulled out a handful of Aghadite coins that glittered rich yellow in the firelight.
Somewhere someone in the crowd applauded loudly, and the faces of the Yprians, half-hidden beneath their curious helmets, broke into smiles.
'You see?' Tand said with perceptible relief, 'I did not lie.'
'You did not lie, little one,' agreed the Yprian spokesman. 'Let the bargaining begin!'
Garth lost track of what was happening for several minutes as the crowd gathered around the ox-drawn wagons with much loud talking. He made his way nearer; the presence of Koros at his heel meant that he need not fight the throng, which parted before the warbeast's fangs like snow before flame.
When he reached the caravan, he saw that the villagers were unloading grain, furs, and other goods from the wagons, with Yprian humans keeping careful tally of what was taken, and the Yprian overmen overseeing the operation, making certain that everything went smoothly and no pilferage occurred. As each cart or wagon was emptied of what the people of Skelleth wanted, the man who had been watching it brought the listing of what had been taken and what was left to the group by the warbeasts where Tand, Saram, and several Yprians took note and added the items to their own listings. Galt had made his way in from the other side of the crowd and was watching with evident interest.
Frima was shut out, being far too short to see above the shoulders of the traders; she came over, eyes shining in the torchlight, to speak to Garth.
'Isn't it wonderful?' she exclaimed.
'It is, indeed,' Garth agreed.
'There's enough here to last half the winter!'
Garth could not help wondering aloud, 'But what of the other half?'
'Oh, don't worry! We'll manage something! Saram won't let Skelleth starve.'
Garth noted where she put her trust. 'You seem pleased with Saram's company,' he remarked.
'Oh, I love him! He's so kind and gentle! Thank you, Garth, for rescuing me from Dыsarra and bringing me here!'
Garth found himself amused by her shift in loyalties, but before he could reply, Saram, Tand, and an Yprian suddenly drowned out other conversation, debating the value of Yprian wine in belligerent shouts. Saram, quickly outmatched by the superhuman bellowings of the two overmen, dropped out and tried to settle grain prices with another of the caravan's attendants.
Galt noticed Garth's presence and came over to speak.
When the debate died suddenly with Tand's concession that even such a poor vintage was worth a pennyweight of gold for every twenty skins to a starving village, Galt remarked, 'We are doing well. Our gold buys here seven times what it brought in Lagur.'
'Fortunate indeed, since my supply is not unlimited; Tand has just sworn away half a pound of gold on wine and spices, if I heard right.'
'Yours is not the only gold in Skelleth; we'll take up a collection when time permits. And do not think
