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 names offhand." He plunged his hand in again and pulled out a small pouch.
"The altar of P'hul was empty, save for dust; I brought you some of the dust." He tossed the pouch beside the two stones-and dragged out a larger and obviously much heavier pouch. He opened it and poured coins out on the table top. They were all gold, but encrusted with something dark brown and powdery.
"This is what I found on the altar of Aghad; the stains are dried blood." A bitter note crept into his voice as he added, "At least two people died while I visited that temple, for no reason but to amuse the Aghadites."
Firma interjected, "You slew their high priest, though."
He turned, reminded of her presence. "I would prefer that I had slain the entire cult, as I did Bheleu's. Come here, girl." He beckoned.
Hesitantly, Frima got to her feet and stepped up beside the Forgotten King's table. Garth placed a hand on her shoulder. "This," he said, "is what I found on the altar of Sai, goddess of pain. However, lest she not be what you had in mind, I also took what I was told the painworshippers customarily kept on their altar." He dumped the almost-empty sack out, revealing a coiled whip and a narrow-bladed dagger.
"Was there nothing else?" the King asked.
"I am afraid I didn't think to bring the ropes they used to bind their sacrifice."
"That is not what I meant. This is junk for the most part, Garth. The stones are the true pieces, but their power was largely spent long ago. The sword-that is worthwhile. The rest is nothing, mere trash. This whip is a false imitation; the true token of Sai is shod with silver. The token of Aghad is a golden dagger. P'hul's tool is a ring in the possession of a council of wizards."
"This is what I found on the altars," Garth replied. He was amazed at the King's loquaciousness.
"What of the seventh altar?"
Garth hesitated. "I took nothing from the altar of Death," he replied.
"Why?"
"I did not trust you; I feared what you might do should it prove as powerful a force for death as the sword is a force for destruction."
"The book was there, though?"
Startled, Garth stared at the King. "What book?" he asked.
"There was no book?"
"No."
"Then what was on the altar?"
He could see no harm in telling the truth. "There was a horned skull, from no species I have ever heard of."
There was a moment of silence. Then the King said, "Did you move it?"
"No, I left it there. It was attached to the altar, and I thought better of separating it."
"Of course it was attached, you idiot! It's part of the altar! Was there nothing else?"
It was the first time Garth had ever heard the old man raise his voice; it was not a pleasant experience. Though still not loud, the sound seemed to bite through him.
"No, nothing else. The top of the altar was empty. Oh, there was slime all over it, from the monster..."
"I care nothing about slime! I need that book!"
"There was no book there, I am quite certain."
"Begone with you, then! Keep your trinkets and leave me in peace; I must consider this." With that, the old man rose, wrapped his cloak more tightly about him, and moved around the table and up the stairs.
Garth watched him go in open-mouthed astonishment; then a glimmer of light caught his eye, and he turned to see that the stone in the pommel of the Sword of Bheleu was red once more and flickering with a fitful, uneven glow. He felt a moment of horror as the familiar suffocating blur of anger and confusion closed on him; the horror faded with the death of the mental clarity sufficient to recall what he had lost.
CHAPTER FOUR
Saram was the first to speak after the Forgotten King's abrupt departure. "What was that all about?" he asked.
"I don't know," Garth replied. His thoughts seemed muddy and vague and laced with a lingering annoyance.
"What happens now?" Frima asked.
The overman had been staring at the steps the old man had just ascended; at the sound of the girl's voice he turned to face her.
"It would seem," he said, "that you're free now. As I told you, I have no use for you; I brought you here only because the old man told me to bring whatever I found on the altars, and you were on Sai's altar. I thought that my taking him literally might convince him to be less cryptic in the future. It appears it hasn't quite worked-but that's not your concern. I delivered you to him, and he rejected you, so I have no further need for you. You're free to do as you please."