Its magical power aside, the sword was truly a beautiful and impressive weapon, and he would regret parting with it. The blade was six feet of gleaming steel; the hilt was made of some black, polished substance he couldn't identify, the pommel was a silver claw clutching that immense red jewel. It looked like a ruby, though it was hard to believe a ruby could be that large. Whatever it was, it was the color of fresh blood, and he was relieved to see, glancing back, that though it sparkled in the afternoon sun at the moment, it did not appear to be glowing.
He would definitely have to get rid of the thing. It might even have been wise to dispose of it before speaking with the Baron, but he could not bring himself to do so. That would have left him virtually unarmed, and he wanted every advantage when confronting Doran of Skelleth.
His first sight of the Baron had been as the man presided over the execution of the guardsman whose negligence had allowed Garth to enter Skelleth unannounced the first time he came south; the townspeople had blamed Garth for the man's death. The Baron had demanded at swordpoint that Garth turn over to him the basilisk that he had just gone to great trouble to fetch. Garth had come out ahead in that encounter by stealing the basilisk back and later killing it before the Baron could recover it-but that had so annoyed the Baron that, when Garth returned as a trader, he was systematically insulted, humiliated, and forced to swear the oath he now hoped to have revoked.
They were well into the inhabited area now, but there were no people to be seen; Garth guessed that they had been warned by the guards and had taken shelter. He caught sight of someone on the street ahead, making hand signals to someone else Garth could not see before the signaler vanished around a corner. Whatever other advantages the overmen might have, they would not have the element of surprise.
They didn't need it, Garth told himself. An overman could easily handle any two humans, and a warbeast half a dozen; and Skelleth's entire military was comprised of about three dozen guards-perhaps not quite that many, since the Baron had executed Amer and dismissed Saram as a result of Garth's earlier visits and might not have replaced them yet. His company could deal with the guards easily, should it become necessary.
If the civilian population were to attack them, though, there might be a real problem. Garth had no idea what Skelleth's population was; he doubted anyone knew. It didn't matter, he assured himself. This was to be a peaceful demonstration, not a battle.
The streets remained deserted, save for occasional figures ahead who vanished as soon as they signaled that the overmen were approaching. Garth spotted three of these before he led his party into the northwest corner of the marketplace.
The square was not deserted. There were no merchants, no farmers, none of the ordinary villagers going about their business; instead, there were two dozen guardsmen lined up neatly in front of the Baron's mansion, along the north side of the market. They were divided into two equal groups, one on either side of the central door, with each group arranged three deep and four abreast. Every man wore a shoddy mail tunic and held a drawn short sword; every head wore a leather helmet, and every belt bore a dagger. Four of the helmets were studded with iron, indicating that their wearers were lieutenants; these men were located in the center of each block.
This pitiful squad, Garth realized, represented the armed might of Skelleth, the once-great fortress from which his people had cowered in fear for three hundred years. He suppressed an urge to laugh in their faces as he marched his own force into the center of the square, swinging around to the south to come to a halt in some semblance of formation, directly facing the human soldiers. In this half-circuit of the market, he and his troops got their first good look at the civilian population of Skelleth; the people were crowded into every street that entered the square, except for the one the overmen had marched on. They watched with varied emotions the arrival of their traditional foes. None stepped across the invisible line dividing the market from the rest of the village.
Whispers, rustles, and shuffling feet were audible, but no one spoke aloud until Garth bellowed, "We have come to speak with the Baron of Skelleth!"
The sounds shifted subtly; fewer feet scraped the dirt, more voices whispered. From the corners of his eyes Garth could see the mouths of two streets; both were full of people, all ragged and dirty, and almost all thin and unhealthy. These were the invincible warriors his ancestors had feared. A surge of fury fountained up within him; how could he and his people have taken so long to discover their foe's weakness? It was not fitting that overmen should have feared such creatures.
The door of the Baron's mansion opened, and the whisperings faded in anticipation.
It was not the Baron who emerged; the whispering flourished anew as Garth recognized the man who stepped out into the square and stood between the two groups of guardsmen. Tall for a human, dark of hair and eye, wearing the steel helmet that was his badge of rank, Herrenmer, captain of the Baron's guard and Skelleth's military commander, faced the overmen.
"The Baron is not well," Herrenmer said. "I have just come from his bedside. Perhaps I can serve in his place."
Only the Baron could free Garth from his oath, so Garth's reply was immediate. "We have come to see the Baron on matters that cannot be left to underlings. We have come peacefully seeking an audience, despite the assault upon us by your men, and we will remain here in this square until that audience is granted."
"Very well; I will inform the Baron of what you have said and see if he feels well enough to deal with you himself." Herrenmer turned and re-entered the mansion.
Garth and the overmen waited, sitting astride their warbeasts or standing where they were. Garth remained as motionless as he could; the sinking sun was hot on his left cheek, and there was an unpleasant itch below his left arm. Even had he been able to scratch it through his armor, to do so would have ruined the dignity of his appearance. Instead he sat, waiting for Herrenmer's return or the Baron's emergence, growing steadily more irritated as the whispering in the watching crowd ebbed and flowed.
Beside him, Galt and Kyrith also sat still; but behind them, the other overmen were less restrained. They were in unfamiliar territory and looked about themselves with interest.
The poverty and decay of the town were plain on all sides; the only building not in obvious need of repair was the Baron's mansion. Shutters were missing or broken, roofs sagged, doors failed to fit their twisted frames. It appeared that little had been done to maintain the town in the three centuries since overmen had last seen it. For the most part, the warriors thought very little of the place.
The mansion's door opened again, and again the whispers hushed; this time Herrenmer pushed the doors wide and latched them open, then stood to one side. A moment later the Baron of Skelleth emerged, shuffling forward uncertainly. He was clad in a black robe embroidered with red and wore a circlet of gold on his brow; his hair and sparse beard were black. He was small and thin and seemed even smaller as he was hunched over slightly; his right hand appeared to tremble slightly as he raised it and said, "Greetings, overmen."