did want only to die, and that all your other claims were merely to entice me to aid you-but the Wise Women of Ordunin told me that if I served you, my name could live until the end of time, which did not fit such a hypothesis.
'Now, you say that you seek simply your own death; how can this have such mighty repercussions? How can my aiding you ensure my eternal fame? I do not understand. Further, you say that you care nothing for the gods, yet there was no mistaking the Dыsarran priest's description; you are the one he described as the high priest of the Final God.'
'I was,' the Forgotten King answered.
'Were? Have you forsaken the service of the deathgod?'
The old man did not answer.
Garth sat silently for a moment, then said slowly, 'I think I begin to see. The Dыsarran said that it was in the nature of your service to the god of death that you, yourself, cannot die. You wish to die, though; you have lived more than four ages, he said, and now you grow weary. Yet you cannot die so long as you serve The God Whose Name Is Not Spoken. You have therefore forsaken your service-or sought to. You did not die when you met the gaze of the basilisk; your immortality is still strong. Death has not accepted you, the god has not accepted your renunciation of him.'
The old man nodded very slightly.
'Then is it that you mean to force the gods to acknowledge your resignation, so that you may die? Do you intend to invoke the gods themselves?'
The Forgotten King did not answer.
'That must be it; you will bring The God Whose Name Is Not Spoken into our own world, so that you may end your pact with him. Such a conjuring would indeed be a feat worthy of eternal fame, a thing unequalled in history.'
The yellow-robed figure shifted slightly. 'Not `unequalled in history,' Garth. I did it once, when I first made my pact.'
'I can see, too, how you could offer me immortality; I could be presented to the god as your replacement. Such an eternal life does not appeal to me.'
The King shrugged.
'This conjuring-how is it to be done?'
'I have not said that I plan any such thing,' the old man answered.
'You keep up your air of mystery, but what else can you intend? You do not deny it, do you?'
Again, the sagging shoulders rose and dropped.
Garth sat back and considered. His chair creaked beneath his weight. The Forgotten King would not confirm it, but his theory made sense; it hung together neatly and fit all the known facts, as well as the old man's previous statements. Why, then, did the King not admit it? There must be possible consequences that he thought would displease Garth and discourage any further aid. Such consequences must be fairly easy to discover, too; if they were in the least esoteric, it would be simple enough to keep Garth from learning of them.
He thought the matter over. Bringing The God Whose Name Is Not Spoken into the mortal realm-what would that entail? The god sometimes demanded human sacrifices; could that be it? It could, indeed. Further, the invocation itself surely would involve the speaking aloud of the unspeakable name, whatever it was-that was supposed to mean certain death. Obviously, it would not kill the Forgotten King, but what of those around him? What of Garth himself? What would the presence of personified Death do to the surrounding area?
He had no way of knowing what would be involved. Probably no one knew except the Forgotten King.
'What will happen to those around you, if you are successful in whatever magic you intend to perform in order that you may die?'
The old man shrugged once again.
'Do you mean that you do not know, or is it merely a matter of indifference to you?'
'I do not know exactly.'
Garth paused, phrasing his next question carefully.
'Have you reason to believe that the magic which will permit you to die will also bring about other deaths?'
After a moment of silence, the King replied, 'Yes.'
'How many other deaths?'
'I don't know.'
'One? A few? Many?'
'Many.'
That was it, then; that was why the old man had been so reluctant to say what he was after. Furthermore, it was the reason Garth would not serve him any longer and would not turn over the booty he had brought from Dыsarra.
At least, that was what Garth told himself. Then he reconsidered and asked, 'Is it possible that there might be some other way in which you could die, some way that would harm no one else?'
The old man answered, 'I do not know of any such possibility; I have sought one for centuries without success. The basilisk was very nearly my last hope for such a death.'
Very nearly his last hope, Garth thought-not absolutely. There was a chance, then. He would not aid in the Forgotten King's scheme to loose The God Whose Name Is Not Spoken, but he might be willing to help out in other ways. He might not win eternal glory by helping the old man to die, but it would be something worth doing. He would not assist in bringing the gods down from the heavens, but he would put an end to an immortal and kill the high priest of Death. That was something that would be noteworthy and significant. He did not feel that he owed the King anything, but there was no reason he shouldn't take pity on him.
That being the case, he did not wish to antagonize the ancient wizard-priest. However, he also was hesitant to turn over the Dыsarran loot. He sat, debating with himself what he should do next.
'You said you had brought me things; let me see them.' The dry, deathly voice cut through his meditating.
'Forgive me, O King, but I am reluctant to give you what I brought, lest you perform your magic and cause these many deaths we spoke of.'
'I asked only to see them.'
He could hardly refuse such a request, under the circumstances. Perhaps the old wizard could tell him what some of the items were, what magic they possessed.
'First,' he said, 'there is the sword. I pulled it from a burning altar in a ruined temple, apparently dedicated to Bheleu, god of destruction. It appears to have great power-or at least, some power.' He remembered the seeming ease with which the King had turned the blood-red gem black and decided to forego guesses as to relative magical might.
'It is the Sword of Bheleu, true token of the god,' the Forgotten King said.
Garth was startled; the old man rarely volunteered information. He looked at the shadowed eyes and thought he might have seen a glint. Was the ancient actually showing signs of excitement?
Interested now himself, the overman reached down and lifted the sack onto the table, then thrust a hand into it.
The first item he brought out was wrapped in cloth. 'This is the gem from the altar of Tema, the goddess of the night,' he explained. 'I keep it concealed because it has hypnotic properties that can snare the unwary.' He placed the head-sized bundle on the table beside the sword.
At the other table, Frima sucked in her breath.
'What is it?' Saram whispered.
'He robbed Tema! That's sacrilege!'
'It is?'
'Of course it is!'
Saram would have said something further, but Garth was bringing a second stone out of the bag. This one was unwrapped and gleaming black, apparently a faceted and polished chunk of obsidian.
'This,' the overman said, 'came from the altar of the god of darkness and of the blind; I don't recall his
