"Uh...we were just going," one of the villagers said. He rose and backed cautiously away. His companion sat and stared.

Saram escorted Frima into the vacated place, then tapped the lingering human on the shoulder. "Excuse me, friend, but would you mind moving to another table?"

The man looked up, startled. "Hah? Oh...no, no, of course not." He got awkwardly to his feet and followed his companion, backing away from the table and finding an empty chair elsewhere.

Saram seated himself and remarked, "That's better." He raised an arm and called, "Innkeeper, where's that ale?"

Galt remarked, "Garth, you really don't know much about dealing with humans. You don't want to make speeches to a crowd like this; just convince them that you belong. Actions are far more convincing than words."

"A truth I had forgotten momentarily," Saram agreed.

The other patrons were beginning to lose interest and turn away. The innkeeper was approaching with a tray bearing ale. Garth glanced around the room, realized the crisis was over, and allowed himself to relax. He also noted in passing that the Forgotten King was at his customary table, as if nothing had happened.

"Now, Garth," Galt said, "we would like to hear your explanation for your behavior."

"One moment." The ale had arrived, and Garth downed his in a few quick gulps. He handed back the empty mug and said, "Keep refilling this until I tell you to stop."

The innkeeper nodded. "Yes, my lord."

The other four were not hasty in their drinking; the man departed with earth's mug while they sipped their ale.

"Where shall I begin?" earth asked.

"Wherever you please," Galt replied.

"At the beginning," Saram said.

Kyrith nodded in agreement.

"What beginning?" earth asked.

"We thought your behavior odd when you first ventured south from the Northern Waste," Galt replied. "Why not begin by explaining how that came to pass?"

"I am not certain where the beginning of that was," Garth said. "Last winter, I suppose, though I cannot name a date; it seemed to grow gradually."

"Start with that," Galt told him.

"Very well. You all know how the winters in our lands can wear on one-save perhaps Frima, who is not from these northern realms. The shortness of the days, the paleness of the light, the cold, the snow, the ice-all oppress the mind and the senses. This past winter seemed to affect me more than usual, though it was not an especially harsh one. I found myself depressed and bored; each day I told myself that it would pass, but each day I seemed to sink further into gloom. I could think of nothing but death and despair, and the futility of our lives, struggling to live in the Waste, able to do little more than survive. Every event seemed to contribute to my melancholy; when the hundred and forty-fourth anniversary of my birth arrived, all I could think of was that I must now be more than halfway to my death. It seemed that I had done nothing of any importance in that half of my life. I had won a few inconsequential battles with pirates and raiders, I had fathered a few children, and I had spoken in the City Council on such matters as rebuilding wharves and buying arms. The pirates and raiders survived and will doubtlessly return; my children will grow old and die; my speeches will be forgotten. What was worse, I saw no prospect of anything better in the future. I would grow old and die without ever having done anything to make a mark upon the world. In a century or two, no one would remember that I had ever existed. I did not want that to come about, but I could think of no way to avoid it."

"No one looks forward to death," Galt said.

Garth glanced in the direction of the Forgotten King, but did not deny Galt's statement. Instead, he said, "I know, I know, it is the way of things. I was not satisfied with that, however, and resolved to change it, if it could be changed. I went to the Wise Women of Ordunin and asked, first, whether there was anything I could do that would alter this way of things, some act of cosmic significance I could perform that would change the nature of life. They told me that was beyond the power of mortals. I had expected that. I then asked if there was any way that I could be remembered forever, so that, if I had to die, at least my memory might survive."

The innkeeper arrived with Garth's second ale; he drank it and handed back the mug. Before he could resume his narrative, Saram asked, "Who are the Wise Women of Ordunin? You have mentioned an oracle of some sort, but you never told me much about them."

"Ao and Ta are sisters who live in a cave near Ordunin; both are ancient and deformed overwomen," Galt told him. "They have been there at least since the city was built during the Racial Wars. They will speak with certain people, but avoid all others by hiding in the depths of their cave. They answer questions. Although no one has ever known them to lie or to be wrong, they are fond of evasive and confusing answers."

"You trust them?"

"They have never been wrong and have never lied," Garth said. "I trusted them last winter. I am not certain I will trust them in the future."

"Go on, then, with your story," Galt said.

"When I asked the Wise Women how I might be remembered until the end of time, Ao told me that I must go to Skelleth, find the Forgotten King, and serve him without fail. She told me the name of this inn, and that he could be found here wearing yellow rags. I was sufficiently caught up in my search for eternal fame that I immediately gathered together supplies, armed myself, and came south on Koros-though I had not yet named it then; it was simply my warbeast. I told no one what I planned because I considered it wholly my own affair and did not want it known that I was coming to Skelleth. I feared that the City Council might consider such a venture potentially dangerous, since at that time we all still believed Skelleth to be a mighty fortress, from whence the humans might attack us at any time. I could not then truly explain why I was suddenly so concerned with being remembered, why I was obsessed with death, or what had brought on my depression; I still cannot. Whatever the reason, knowing I would be remembered seemed the most important thing imaginable.

"I knew nothing about Skelleth, of course, save for the old tales from the wars, and not much more about humans. When I saw that the walls were in ruins, I thought that the fortress must be deserted; therefore, I rode directly in, making no attempt at stealth. When I came upon people, it was too late to change my approach, so I continued on openly and asked directions to the King's Inn.

"Here I found the Forgotten King, exactly matching the description I had been given; he told me he could, indeed, guarantee that my name would be known until the end of time if I were to serve him, and if he were successful in some great feat of magic he had planned. I agreed to undertake an errand for him as a trial of sorts; I was to go to the city of Mormoreth, southeast of here, and bring back the first living thing I found in the crypts beneath the city. I did as he asked, but I was not pleased with the outcome. The only living thing in the crypts was a basilisk, a magical and incredibly poisonous creature, so venomous that its slightest touch or even its gaze was fatal. To capture it, I had to kill several bandits and a wizard, which I had no wish to do."

"In the course of attempting to deliver it, I encountered further difficulties; the Baron of Skelleth learned of the creature's existence, and desired it for use as a weapon of war. He took possession of it briefly, but I recaptured it and delivered it to the King. I didn't know what he wanted with it, or what he did with it, but it did not serve his purpose. When he had finished with it, I killed it, rather than let so dangerous a creature fall into the hands of the mad Baron."