Garth did not wait to watch the archer's death; he was already pointing out another to Kyrith's warbeast. When that animal had leaped for its target, he turned back to Galt's, and then started on the first row of five.

Not all the warbeasts were as successful as Koros; one missed the roof it was aiming for and tried to scramble up the wall, its claws tearing out chunks of wood and plaster. Another made its leap perfectly, but landed on a thatched roof that was unable to support its weight; the beast and the archer it pursued both vanished into the building's upper floor, amid growls and screams.

Not all the bowmen were on rooftops; some were behind upper-floor windows too small for the huge animals to fit through. The warbeasts, direct and simple creatures, dealt with this by ripping out the wall around each window.

When he had sent warbeasts after every archer he could locate, leaving four of the animals in the middle of the square, Garth turned his attention back to the fighting in front of the mansion. His troops appeared to have the situation in hand. Outnumbering the humans two to one, even after the casualties inflicted by the archers, the overmen seemed to have their main problem in avoiding their own fellows. The twenty-five guards had been reduced to a knot of half a dozen, clustered in front of the open doors around the burning body of their lord.

The civilian population of the town had done nothing yet except to produce a great deal of noise; no one had ventured into the square. The crowds seemed smaller; probably, Garth thought, many had fled and taken shelter wherever they could. Those who remained merely watched, yelling.

Garth dismissed them from consideration for the moment and strode forward to aid his warriors in dealing with the surviving guardsmen.

"Hold!" he called. "Stand back!"

Reluctantly, the overmen obeyed. The remaining humans stood, swords bristling, and waited.

"There is no need to continue the fight! Surrender and we will allow you to live."

Herrenmer was one of the survivors. It was he who answered, "Never, monster! We saw how well we could trust you when you slew the Baron!"

Garth fought down a surge of anger. "Have not enough of your men died, Herrenmer? We outnumber you now by almost ten to one and we have our warbeasts as well. You have fought bravely and well on behalf of your dead lord, but you have lost; give up and we will let you live. I swear it."

"Hah! This for your sworn word!" He flung his short sword at Garth, much as Garth had flung the Sword of Bheleu at the Baron.

Garth, however, ducked; the sword flew over his head and landed rattling on the hard ground beyond.

Several of the overmen growled, but made no aggressive move; this was between Garth and the human.

"Herrenmer, don't be a fool. Now you've even lost your sword; you can't fight anymore. Say that you surrender, and no harm will come to you."

Herrenmer did not answer; instead he looked about in desperation for a weapon to replace the one he had lost. He found one; whirling, he dove for the hilt of the Sword of Bheleu.

Garth could not allow that. He knew how dangerous the great sword could be. He could not let a human, particularly one already almost berserk, get hold of it. He dove after Herrenmer.

The guardsman was much closer; before Garth had covered half the intervening distance, the man's hands closed on the hilt. He screamed and immediately released it again, his palms smoking; the stench of burning flesh reached Garth's nostrils. It was too late to halt his own lunge, however, and he, too, grabbed the hilt.

He felt no pain, though the hilt was hot in his grasp. Instead, a wave of strength surged through him, filling him with fiery exultation. The red gem glowed more brightly than the dying flames of the Baron's garments, more vividly red than the blood that was pooled on the mansion's threshold.

Garth stood, the sword clutched in both hands; around him were the five remaining guardsmen, while Herrenmer lay crying at Garth's feet, the man's scorched hands held out before him. A foot or two away lay the smoking remains of the Baron. The sight of the dead enemy seemed a very good thing to Garth at that moment. He laughed in triumph. He had conquered! He was master of the village and could do with it whatever he pleased. He could destroy it all if he chose-and that was exactly what he chose!

Still laughing, he whirled, sword held out before him, and cut down the remaining humans. The blade sheared through armor and flesh and bone as easily as through air, leaving a trail of sparks behind. When he had completed the circuit, slicing open all five bellies before anyone could react, he plunged the point through Herrenmer's chest.

The captain gasped and twitched, then lay still; the other five took a few seconds longer to die. Garth pulled the sword free and looked about him.

The overmen-his overmen-were staring at him openmouthed with surprise. They did not understand who led them, he realized. He cried out to them, "I am Bheleu, god of destruction! Death and desolation are my companions, woe and hatred my tools! Follow me now to glory such as you have never imagined!"

Some of the overmen still seemed uncertain; he lifted the sword above his head, blood dripping from the blade, so that the light of the jewel could shine on them. "Skelleth is ours," he cried. "Ours to destroy! These humans have fought us, defied us; let us teach them the consequences of their defiance!"

The uncertainties were fading; enthusiasm flickered in the circle of the overmen's red eyes.

"Burn the village!" Bheleu called through Garth's mouth.

"Burn the village!" a few of the warriors answered.

"Slaughter the humans!"

"Kill the humans!"

They were with him now; the overman-god laughed, and the sword flamed over his head. He plunged it down, slamming the point into the threshold of the Baron's mansion; the stone step exploded into red-hot splinters, spraying up around him, but leaving him unscathed. The shards that landed inside the building set a dozen small fires on the wooden floor.

"Go, then! Kill and burn!"

The answering shout was wordless; the overmen turned away and ran with drawn weapons at the dwindling crowds in the surrounding streets. Garth laughed again, raised the sword, and swept it in an arc through the air; wherever it pointed, flame erupted. In seconds every building around the marketplace was ablaze. He strode forward into the square; behind him, the mansion flared up suddenly. He turned and gestured with the sword; the Baron's home was lost in a roaring curtain of flame. In moments it collapsed inward, falling into its own cellars; behind it, through the flames, Garth could see the King's Inn, where the so-called Forgotten King dwelt. He flung the fiery might of the sword outward toward it, as he had toward the other structures, but nothing happened. Again he tried, calling aloud, "I am Bheleu!"

The inn remained unharmed. He made a third and final attempt, willing all the god's available power to flow along the blade and strike at this resistance.

The tavern still remained untouched. Reluctantly, Garth gave up. He turned back to the buildings around the square; those, at least, behaved properly, flaring up like lit torches at his slightest whim. He laughed, and marched out into the village, spreading fire and destruction, but his dark joy was marred by his strange failure with the King's Inn.

The villagers scattered and hid before the onslaught of the overmen. Most took refuge in their homes or in the ruins that ringed the village.. A few fled into the wilderness beyond the walls. None managed to put up an organized defense. Some found weapons; many barricaded their doors and windows. None had the foresight and ability to gather the townsmen so that their greater numbers could be of use against the overmen.