'I don't know where they are,' Garth replied, 'but I will find them.'
'We will find them.'
Garth could not think of any good way to deal with this. He turned from the intense, fixed stare that Frima was giving him and watched as the workers freed Saram's other wrist.
They stood for a moment holding their lord's body, uncertain what to do next.
'Take him inside,' Garth said. 'The housekeeper will find a place for him.'
Two of the men earned the corpse out of sight while the third closed the doors.
Reluctant to meet Frima's gaze again, Garth looked about and realized that the market was still crowded with onlookers. A surge of irrational anger at their gawking boiled up within him.
'Go home, you people!' he called. 'There is nothing more to see!'
He was answered with muffled voices and shuffling feet, but the villagers seemed reluctant to depart.
'Go away, I said!' he bellowed, raising the Sword of Bheleu in one hand. The blade glowed white, crackling with chained energy, and the crowd melted away rapidly before the implied threat. In a moment the square was empty of all save the overman, the new widow, and the warbeast that waited at the northwest corner.
Garth glanced about again, trying to decide what to do with Frima; he did not think it would be wise to send her home, into the house where her husband's mangled corpse waited. He was unsure how humans dealt with the deaths of those they loved.
'Are there any rites you must perform?' he asked.
'No,' she replied. 'We don't bother with fancy funerals in Dыsarra. When the other cults kill someone, the body usually isn't found; we grieve, but hold no ceremonies. The people of Skelleth can attend to the ceremonies. We have to go avenge him.' She looked about the square and noticed Koros, waiting patiently, at ease now that the keening had stopped. Without hesitation, she slipped from under Garth's hand and began walking unsteadily across the marketplace toward the warbeast.
Garth followed. He could easily have stopped her, but was not sure how she would react.
Halfway across the square, she stumbled; he lunged forward and caught her before she fell. They stood for a moment while she regained her balance.
'Garth,' someone called, in a hideous dry croak.
The voice was instantly recognizable. Garth turned, astonished, and saw the Forgotten King standing in the doorway of the King's Inn, the Book of Silence tucked under one arm.
'There are no worshippers of Aghad in Skelleth,' the old man said. 'Their transporting spells are not affected by distance; they have been striking directly from their temple in Dыsarra.'
Garth stood dumbfounded by this unexpected speech. He knew that the Forgotten King never volunteered information without a reason.
'Then we have to go to Dыsarra,' Frima said calmly.
The Forgotten King nodded, moving his head very slightly beneath the concealing hood of his robe.
'Why are you telling us this?' Garth asked.
'So that you will not waste time.'
'Will you swear it to be true, by The God Whose Name Is Not Spoken, at the cost of all oaths I have made to you if you lie?' Garth could think of nothing more binding; he knew that the old man would not be eager to give up the vows Garth had sworn. He was startled by his own cleverness in coming up with such a promise so readily; his thoughts had not been very clear of late.
'I swear it,' the King replied.
Garth looked at the shadows that hid the old man's eyes, and at the firm line of his mouth, set in dry, wrinkled skin above the thin white beard that trailed from his chin. He glanced at Frima, who was obviously waiting for him to accompany her in pursuit of revenge, and at Koros, still standing patiently, and finally at the Sword of Bheleu, which dangled from his right hand, its tip almost dragging in the dust of the market, the red gem in its pommel flickering faintly. He still did not know why the Forgotten King should volunteer such information. Perhaps, he thought, the old man was eager to get the sword back, lest it gain too strong a hold upon Garth; he would want the overman to go about his errand as quickly as possible, so that the sword's return would not be delayed. That would be in Garth's own interest as well.
'Very well,' he said at last. 'Then I will go to Dыsarra and I will destroy the cult of Aghad there. I swore I would and I will honor that oath. But I go alone.'
'No!' Frima cried. 'I'm coming with you!'
'I do not want to endanger you, Frima, and the journey will be very dangerous. You must stay in Skelleth.' His major concern was that the Sword of Bheleu might usurp control of him and cause him to kill any traveling companions, but he did not care to explain that. It would be too much like admitting weakness to say that he feared he would be unable to control his own body.
'I have to avenge Saram! There's nothing I want in Skelleth. Besides, you'll need a guide; you don't know your way around Dыsarra as I do. I grew up there.'
'No,' Garth began, but before he could continue, Frima interrupted.
'Besides, do you think I'm safe here? You heard what the old man said; the Aghadites can strike anywhere, and they've just heard you say that you don't want me hurt. I'm a target now. If you don't take me with you, I'll follow you on my own.'
The overman looked at the human's face and decided that she meant what she said. She had a good point about being in danger in Skelleth, and also about her utility as a guide. She would certainly be safer guarded by Koros and himself than trying to traverse Nekutta on her own.
'Very well,' he said. 'We will go by way of Ur-Dormulk, however; I have something I must do there.' The monster had waited too long already. Garth found himself wondering how he could have delayed so long.
'All right,' Frima agreed.
'We'll need supplies,' Garth said, his practical instincts coming to the fore.
'We can forage on the way,' Frima replied. 'I don't want to wait.'
'I will provide for your needs,' the Forgotten King said.
Startled, Garth turned to look at him. 'You will? From here?'
The old man moved his head to one side, then the other, in so brief and smooth a movement that it could hardly be described as shaking his head.
'I will come with you,' he said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As the little party made its way toward Ur-Dormulk, Garth found himself feeling that he had been rushed into action against his will. He had not intended to dash so precipitously out of Skelleth. Within half an hour of discovering Saram's death, he had ridden out the southwestern gate, Frima perched behind him, the Forgotten King walking alongside.
He told himself that every minute saved meant that much less destruction the monster in Ur-Dormulk could cause, and that he had already wasted far too much time destroying empty ruins. Still, he felt unprepared and harried.
Thinking back, he wondered at his own willingness to delay in order to knock down buildings, compared with the insistent hurry of both his companions. He suspected that the sword had had something to do with his dawdling, and also with his eagerness to come to grips with the Aghadite assassins. Whatever the cause, he had behaved stupidly.
If he had not delayed, the cultists might not have bothered to kill Saram. He was sure that Saram had been alive when he slew the first two assassins. Had he left Skelleth immediately, the Aghadites might not have returned and the Baron might still be alive and well, his wife secure and happy at home, rather than perched on a warbeast seeking revenge. Instead of leaving, though, Garth had gone smashing about the ruins, wasting time and giving the worshippers of Aghad the chance to carry out another of their ghastly murders.
Could it be, he asked himself, that Bheleu had diverted him intentionally, to further the cause of his
