"What other things?" Karag demanded.
Shandiph sighed. "I was afraid this would happen sometime. A need was bound to arise."
"What in the name of the seven Lords of Eir are you talking about?" someone asked. The Seer was surprised to see that it was Chalkara; he would have guessed that she was privy to all the Chairman's secrets.
"Have none of you ever wondered at how little power our magic has? Haven't you all heard the tales of the great magicks used in the wars of the Twelfth Age and wondered what became of them?"
The other magicians were all staring at Shandiph now.
"They're just stories," someone said.
"No, I'm afraid they aren't."
"You mean that Llarimuir the Great really did move mountains? That he created the overmen on a whim? That Quellimour raised a city overnight and then sent it sailing in the clouds?" Karag's voice was openly sarcastic.
"Yes, they probably did just what you say," Shandiph replied mildly.
"Then what happened?" Miloshir asked.
"It was at the end of the Twelfth Age," Shandiph explained. "The world had been in a constant state of war for over a thousand years, probably more than two thousand-the wars destroyed all the records, so we can't be sure. The wizards of that age fought in those wars, using all the magic at their command; reading their descriptions, I find it miraculous that anyone survived at all. The seers and oracles helped by giving military counsel to the generals and warlords."
"But that's forbidden!" the Seer burst out.
"It is now, yes; it wasn't then. As I was saying, magicks mightier than any we can imagine were common and were employed without any compunction, not only in genuine wars, but in looting and pillaging at whim. The wizards themselves were among the most feared of the warlords. It was only the balance of power, the fact that each side could recruit and use equal amounts of magic, that kept the wars going-and it was probably that balance that kept most of the population alive. Each wizard, you see, defended his subjects, and there were protective spells as powerful as the destructive spells.
"At any rate, this continued throughout the Twelfth Age; but about three centuries ago, the surviving wizards grew tired of the constant conflict and gathered in council to arrange a peace. That was the beginning of the Council of the Most High. You've all probably heard that the wizards were advisors to the warlords, and some were, but most were the warlords themselves. It was agreed that all wars would stop at once, whether the other lords wanted them to or not; the Ring of P'hul was used to end the Orunian War and the Racial Wars, and lesser magicks dealt with the lesser conflicts. It was then decided, when it was seen what the Ring and the other spells had done, that such powers were too dangerous to keep in use, and they were sealed away in a spot known only to the first Chairman of the Council."
"And I suppose the secret has been passed on from chairman to chairman, down to you?" Karag said.
"No, not exactly; not the secret itself, but only the means of obtaining it. I didn't know until an hour ago where the great magicks were, only that a certain spell would inform me. I used it when I first heard Derelind's message, before calling this meeting. The old magicks, those that survived, are in the crypts beneath Ur-Dormulk."
"They are?" Deriam exclaimed.
"Yes, they are," Shandiph replied.
"What of it?" Karag asked.
"Comrades, I think we could debate on this for hours or even days, but Miloshir tells us that time is precious, that the overman draws greater power from the Sword of Bheleu with every passing moment. Therefore, I would like to put this proposal to an immediate vote: that we should without any further delay send a party to Ur-Dormulk to acquire these ancient powers, whatever they may include, and then use them to end the threat posed by Garth of Ordunin and the Sword of Bheleu, thereby averting the coming Age of Destruction. If the vote does not show a clear consensus, I will open debate, but I hope that it won't be necessary."
It wasn't. There were three dissenting voices, for a total of only four votes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
For three days Garth had tried to burn out the sword's power with storms and earthquakes, but had succeeded only in exhausting himself and disrupting the reconstruction of Skelleth. Finally, when the gem still glowed as brightly as ever at the end of the third day, he admitted defeat.
At least, he admitted temporary defeat; he had not yet abandoned hope, but only convinced himself that he could not exhaust the sword in such displays. He suspected that he might manage to free himself by allowing the sword a surfeit of killing, but that was not a method he cared to employ; it was to avoid unnecessary killing that he wanted to dispose of the thing.
He spent the following day sitting in the King's Inn, drinking and talking with Scram. The reconstruction was continuing, but only slowly; the cold had made work difficult, and materials were running love-stone excepted. The embassy had been sent to Kholis, as planned. The petrified thief had been set up in the center of the marketplace on an elaborate pedestal of stone blocks from the Baron's dungeon. Galt, Garth, and the other overmen considered this to be a mistake, but Scram and Frima insisted that the pitiful figure was appropriate and admirable.
Another petrified villager had been found in a ruin nearby; apparently someone had had the misfortune to look out a window while the basilisk was being moved through the streets. This figure was not to become a public statue; even had it not broken in half when the house it was in collapsed in flames around it, it was much less attractive. The person in question had been a plump matron, bent over to peer around a shutter.
No one had known that this second petrification had occurred until the rubble had been cleared from the house. The victim had been a recluse, little liked by those who knew her at all. Garth still thought it odd that her absence could have gone unnoticed for the intervening months.
"I had hoped," he remarked to Saram, "that the death of the basilisk would remove the spell that it had cast upon its victims."
"It would seem that magic is not as transitory as some tales would have it," Saram replied.
"I suppose that if it were, then Shang's death would have ended the usefulness of his charms, and thereby freed the basilisk from my control."
"And if that had happened, you might be a statue now yourself."
"But on the other hand, these two, innocents would not."
"Oh, you can't be sure; what if the basilisk had begun roaming, once freed, and eventually reached Skelleth?"
"That seems extremely unlikely."
"Yes, it does. But then, the very existence of such a creature seems unlikely."
"It does, doesn't it? Everything that's happened to me since I first came south seems unlikely. One strange event has followed another, almost as if they were planned."
"Perhaps they were."
"Perhaps they were, but by whom and how? Is it all a scheme of the Forgotten King's contrivance? If so, how did he influence me to ask the Wise Women of Ordunin the questions that would send me to him in the first place? If not he, then who? Have I become a pawn of the god of destruction? Is there some other power manipulating us all?"
"Perhaps it's fate; or destiny."
"The Wise Women mentioned fate when last I spoke with them, fate and chance; I have never believed in fate, but only in chance."
"Yet now you say that events don't appear to be shaped by chance. That would seem to leave fate, if your oracle's words were complete."