"Where are the others?" he managed to ask.
"I don't know," she replied. "That...that whatever-it-was said it was sending us home; perhaps the others are in their own homes now."
"They aren't all dead?"
"No, no. They're not. I saw that many still lived."
"That's good." His head fell back on the cushion she had slid beneath it.
"Shandi...who was that? How could he do all that?"
"I think it was the King in Yellow," Shandiph answered.
"He has the sword now."
Shandiph shook his head slightly. "He can't use it. Only the god's chosen one can use it."
"Then it's all over?"
He nodded, weakly.
A servant appeared in the doorway, staring in astonishment.
"Don't just stand there," Chalkara snapped, "Go find a physician!"
The girl nodded and vanished, her running footsteps echoing in the stone corridor.
Chalkara remained, kneeling over Shandiph's body, praying to the Lords of Eir that he wouldn't die.
There was shouting outside his door; Karag dropped the last splintered fragment of the Great Staff and worked the latch.
Servants and guardsmen were hurrying past; he reached out a soot-blackened hand and stopped a rushing housemaid.
"What's happening?" he croaked.
"Oh, my lord wizard, you're back!"
"Yes, I'm back. What's going on?"
"The Baron has just returned from Kholis, my lord, and they say he's angrier than anyone has ever seen him! The High King has again denied him the Barony of Skelleth, he says, and kidnapped his wizard-he means you! Oh, you had better go and see him at once!"
Karag nodded. "I will go immediately." He released the woman's arm, and she ran off.
He looked down at himself. He was filthy, his cloak was in tatters, but he was unhurt; the staff had protected him. Then that great burst of light had shattered the staff, and he had been certain he was about to die. He remembered that.
Kubal had crept up behind the overman, as his plan called for, while Chalkara drew the pentagram, and he had used the transporting spell, but it hadn't worked; the sword had absorbed it somehow. The overman had laughed; Karag remembered that with painful clarity. The overman had laughed at his scheme.
Then there had been a stranger in a ragged yellow cloak at the overman's side, taking the sword from him-and then he was here, in his own room.
It didn't seem to make much sense.
There was more shouting somewhere, and he decided against taking time to clean himself up. The Baron would be mad enough with him as it was. He joined the hurrying crowd in the passageway and made his way down to the great hall.
As he walked in the door, the Baron, standing on the dais, immediately caught sight of him.
"There you are, traitor! Have you returned to beg my forgiveness?"
"What have I done, my lord? How did I come here?" He had decided instantly upon his approach; he would claim to remember nothing of the last few days. Let the Baron think he had been kidnapped.
The Baron glared at him for a long moment, then said, "All right, I will accept you back, and you will tell me later what became of you. Right now I have more important matters to attend to. I have abrogated the covenant and declared war upon the Baron of Kholis, who calls himself King. My men are preparing to march even now, and the messengers I sent back from the false king's castle have had siege engines built. You, wizard, will aid me in this war with your spells."
Karag stared up at his master in dismay.
Garth sat quietly at the Forgotten King's table in the King's Inn, staring at his mug of ale. He and the old man had travelled all night and half the following morning to return to Skelleth, and Garth had then slept away the rest of the day. When he awoke, the King was back in his corner as if nothing had happened. There was no sign of the sword.
Garth had gotten his ale and seated himself, but neither had spoken.
Finally, the overman said, "It would seem that the Age of Destruction is averted; what does that do to the reckoning of time?"
"Lessened, not averted," the old man replied
"Only lessened?"
"Yes. Already the Kingdom of Eramma is destroyed by civil war."
"It is?"
The old man nodded.
Garth wondered at that. He saw no sign of any war, and no news of one had reached him since his return to Skelleth. Still, he knew that the Forgotten King had knowledge beyond the ordinary.
"That's unfortunate. Wars are wasteful and unnecessary."
The King did not reply.
There was a moment of silence, and then Garth asked, "Who were those wizards? Why did they attack me?"
"The Council of the Most High, as they call themselves, is sworn to preserve peace," the old man answered.
"Will they stop the war, then?"
"They will try and fail."
"Might they not attack me again-or you?"
"No. They have no magic powerful enough and are scattered and weakened."
"They seemed powerful to me"
"They drew upon the vault where their ancestors stored away much of their power. I have sealed the vault against them."
"Might they be able to stop the war, if they had this old magic?"
The Forgotten King shrugged.
Garth sipped his ale, then asked, "When will you send me after the Book of Silence?"
"When I remember where it is."
"When you remember? Then you knew once?"
The King nodded.
Garth sipped ale again, and asked, "Have you any idea how long it will take you to remember?"
The King replied, "I know that it was I who moved the book from its place in Dыsarra, because no one save you and I can carry it and live. That is all I know. I may recall where I left it tomorrow, or not for thirty years. Until I do, do not bother me. You are free to do as you please, so long as you do not leave Skelleth for any extended period of time, until I remember. Now go away."
Garth kept his face impassive as he picked up his mug and moved to another table. When he was sure that the old man could not see him, he allowed himself a bitter smile.
The King had made an unusually long speech and an unusually careless one. He had failed to say what an extended period of time was, and Garth found no problem in thinking a year or two would not be excessive. The old man himself had freed Garth from much of the restraint his oath would have placed upon him; no one need know he was forsworn for some time yet.
Anything might happen before the Forgotten King remembered; he might die, Garth might die, or the oath might be renounced. Garth's false semblance of honor might be retained for years, perhaps even for the rest of his life.
He knew it to be a false semblance, for he had given his oath in bad faith. He gulped down the rest of his ale and signed to the innkeeper for another.
He wondered whether there might not be a higher honor in sacrificing his name and good word for the lives of others.
No, he told himself, he would not delude himself with such false excuses.
The innkeeper approached with a fresh mug, but before he could place it on the table a sudden loud noise drew the attention of both overman and servitor. There was a burst of shouting and much rattling and thumping somewhere outside the King's Inn.
After a moment of ongoing racket, the unmistakable roar of a warbeast sounded, and the taverner dropped the mug in surprise, denting the pewter vessel and spattering cold ale across the floor and Garth's legs. The overman paid no attention; he shoved back his chair, rose, and strode to the door to see what was happening, while behind him the innkeeper wiped at the floor with his apron.