Garth's wrist was twisted painfully, and his sore knuckles scraped as well.
The pain added to his fury, and he lost control, blurting out the truth. 'I have no intention of fulfilling my oath, foul deceiver. You extorted my agreement, knowing I had no choice. I would rather die in disgrace than aid you.'
Behind him, he heard Frima gasp, and Saram draw breath.
The King lifted his head slightly and murmured, 'Your word is not good? Your sworn vow means nothing?'
Feeling cornered, his fury subsiding as he realized his mistake, Garth replied, 'No.'
'The vow you swore in this place not an hour ago is meaningless?' The old man's voice was a low grating that tore at Garth's nerves.
Rage flowered anew, and Garth said, 'I did not say that! I will destroy the cult of Aghad.'
'Can one oath be binding and another meaningless, sworn by the same tongue?'
Garth, trapped, said nothing, and a moment of tense silence ensued. Saram and Frima dared not speak.
'Garth,' the old man said at last, his voice more nearly normal, but with a trace of either sorrow or sarcasm in it, 'I regret to hear this. If you are not bound by your oath, then I must propose a new bargain. You want the Sword of Bheleu so that you may destroy the followers of the god of hatred and those responsible for the death of your wife. I want the Book of Silence so that I may perform a certain magic that will cause many deaths, my own among them. I will not give you the Sword of Bheleu at present, but we both may yet have what we want. You want the Aghadites dead. I want to complete a spell that will kill them.'
He paused, and Garth said, 'What?'
The King lowered his head again and said nothing.
'Do you mean that your magic will destroy the cult?'
The old man nodded.
'Are you sure?'
The King shrugged.
Garth tried to think; it was difficult, for his mind was full of anger and confusion.
It had never occurred to him that the King's final magic might be guided, that the King might have some control over who died when it was performed. Garth had assumed that the spell would involve conjuring The God Whose Name Is Not Spoken into the mortal world and that, thus freed, the god would kill all those in the immediate area.
Perhaps this was not the case at all. Perhaps the god would demand a certain number of deaths, but this summoner could choose who would be sacrificed in order to banish him again. That seemed to be what the King was implying. There was no reason to assume that a god would be limited by distance or even by time; weren't gods supposed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once?
He did not trust the King, however.
Furthermore, there seemed to be something unsatisfying about the solution the King proposed. Garth wanted to kill the Aghadites himself, to see the color of their blood, to watch them die.
'I...' he began, then stopped. 'I am not sure.'
'Another bargain, then. Bring me the Book of Silence, and I will loan you the Sword of Bheleu. I must require it back from you eventually, but I am sure you will not object to being freed of the god's control.'
Garth turned that proposal over in his mind and, awash in fury as he was, could see nothing wrong with it at first. He would have the Sword of Bheleu, and with it he could destroy the cult of Aghad. He dismissed without thought the fact that he would be giving himself over to the god of destruction rather than simply wielding a weapon; it did not occur to him that Bheleu might not be satisfied with killing only Aghadites.
He did, however, realize that he would be delivering the Book of Silence to the Forgotten King, and after planning for three years to avoid that, he was reluctant to give in so quickly simply because the King now claimed that the other victims of his magic would be Aghadites.
The old man might be telling the truth; it might be that delivering the Book of Silence to him would do no Harm to innocents. Although Garth had been fooled in the past by partial truths and things left unsaid, the King had never, so far as he knew, told an outright lie.
This was a matter that deserved more than a moment's thought, but there was no time to waste, he felt, in his pursuit of his wife's murderers.
That pursuit would go nowhere, however, without the Sword of Bheleu.
If he accepted the King's offer, he would be in possession, at least temporarily, of either the sword or the book, and it was his belief that both were required for the final magic. If he remained unconvinced of the King's intentions, he could always withhold whichever totem he had at the time; after all, he was already forsworn, in his heart, and had no more honor to lose by such treachery. It would, he thought, be a just repayment for the King's own deceptions and manipulations.
'Yes,' he said at last, 'I agree. Tell me where I may find the Book of Silence, and I will bring it to you.'
'I left it in the royal chapel of my palace in Hastur. That palace is now a part of the crypts beneath Ur- Dormulk. Signs and portents will be sufficient to lead you to it.' Something like glee was in the old man's tone.
'Will you provide me no further guidance?'
'You need none.'
Garth found himself growing wary. He was beginning to realize that he was again trusting himself to the Forgotten King, again agreeing to perform an errand for the old man. Always before, such errands had had unwanted and unpleasant results. Even his journey to Orgul, just completed that day, had ended in Kyrith's death.
An idea occurred to him, a strange idea. Always before he had set out alone, while the King stayed in Skelleth and awaited his return. Garth had been a messenger, a servant. What if the King were to accompany him this time? The old man's magic could protect them both from whatever difficulties they might encounter; they would travel as equals, rather than Garth's assuming the inferior's role again.
'O King,' he said, 'will you come with me?'
Behind him, Saram and Frima stared. The King was silent for a moment before replying, 'No.'
'Why not?' Garth demanded. 'Why must I act on your behalf?'
'I cannot venture far from Skelleth. My power is centered here.'
The old man's tone was final, but Garth was in no mood to be put off. 'Why?' he persisted. 'Because you have lived here for so long? Is it possible that you do not wish to discomfit yourself ?'
'No,' the King said, with perhaps a trace of anger in his voice.
'Then why? Why did you come to Skelleth in the first place? How did you become trapped here? Explain yourself!'
'This place is the center of power in this time, as Hastur was of old; the world's energies have shifted with the ages. I had no choice in my dwelling place once I had given up the book and the mask, but was compelled to live wherever the power's heart might be. Had I the book once more, I could go where I pleased.'
'You left the village once, when I gave you the sword.'
'Only a few leagues, and yet that was near my limit.'
'What would happen to you, then, if you were to leave?'
'Garth, this is not your concern.'
'What would happen?' the overman insisted.
'I cannot leave.'
'What if I were to carry you?'
With apparent reluctance, the King admitted, 'I would lose my strength, both physical and metaphysical. I would have no more power than a corpse, yet I would still live.'
'You mean that you would be unable to work magic?'
'I would be unable to move or speak or see or breathe; I would be in appearance as ancient as I am in truth.'
That explained, of course, why so powerful a being dwelt in this miserable border town and needed an
