Arner's speech was suddenly cut short. In response to a gesture from the Baron, the executioner clapped a hand across the prisoner's mouth. Beside him, the lord of Skelleth was visibly trembling.

Bringing himself under control, the Baron announced, "The right of the condemned to speak does not allow him to commit further crimes. I will allow Arner to speak further if he will refrain from seditious slander. Although it is not my place to debate with criminals, I must insist that I am not in league with evil gods, and I will not permit it to be said that I am. Furthermore, it was not I who permitted an overman to enter Skelleth unescorted, but Arner himself. Otherwise he would not be here. Arner, you may continue."

Arner ceased struggling, and the executioner removed his hand. The condemned man looked around, across the crowd, and seemed to sag. "I have nothing more to say."

"Then let the sentence be carried out" The Baron turned and left the platform. Garth watched, appalled, as Arner was bent over the block. The axe fell.

The executioner knew his job; there was but a single stroke, and a single gout of blood, and it was done.

The overman, meanwhile, was mulling over the Baron's final remarks. How was he involved in Arner's death? Had the post Arner deserted been at the North Gate? If so, it was bad luck on Arner's part that he had happened along when he did. Still, the man had deserted his post, and such a crime was punished by death among humans.

The crowd was beginning to disperse. Garth paid little attention, but stood where he was, waiting for the square to empty sufficiently to allow him to cross, bent over to hide his height and with his face and armor hidden beneath his makeshift cloak as best he could manage in the shadows.

A man cast him a suspicious glance, then moved on. Another paused and looked at the large figure crouched in the gutter. His eyes were sharper than those of the first man, apparently, for he raised a cry.

"The overman is here! The overman is skulking about our streets again!"

The crowd, which had been quiet, began to mutter as the townspeople turned toward this new attraction.

"Silence, man, or you die." Garth hissed his words through his teeth as his hand fell to his sword hilt.

"What do you want here, monster?" It was someone new who spoke. Already a dozen men had ringed Garth in.

"Why do you pollute our village?"

"Are you a creature of the Baron?"

"Why did you want Arner dead?"

Garth realized he had no chance of dispersing this gathering quietly. He stood straight and flung aside his hood and cloak, making sure his sword and armor were visible.

"I meant no harm. It was no doing of mine that Arner died. I did not know of his existence until today, when I heard the noise here and came to investigate. As for my business in Skelleth, it is my own; it has nothing to do with the Baron nor with any of you. Now, let me pass."

"You're not welcome here, monster."

"Go back where you belong."

A lump of mud was flung from somewhere; it flew past Garth's ear and splattered against a wall. This was a bad sign, the overman knew. Words would not harm him, but once the step was taken from words to action it became very easy for matters to get entirely out of hand.

"I want no trouble. Let me go about my business in peace."

A voice came from several rows back. Most of the crowd were now watching the overman. "I've heard it said that overmen have no gods, but I think that's a lie. You serve the Lords of Dыs, don't you?"

"I serve no gods."

A second mudball flew by, missing Garth's shoulder by inches; a third splattered messily against his breastplate. He drew his sword. The front row of hecklers tried to step back but was unable to; the crowd pressed too close.

"If you will not let me pass in peace, I go in war. Would you start again the Racial Wars?" Garth spoke in his most booming and impressive tones.

"You make empty threats. Who are you that your death will start a war? Your life for Arner's!" A rock bounced harmlessly from his armor, and he began to wonder who it was who wished him so ill; the same voice had accused him of evil-worship and, he thought, of wanting Arner dead.

"I am Garth of Ordunin, and mighty among overmen. Who are you that taunts from behind others?"

There was no answer except another rock; this one ricocheted ringingly from his helmet. Another dollop of mud stained his armor, then another.

"If you wish my death, I would know your name, so that your fellows will know who to blame when Skelleth is smoking ruin in vengeance for this harassment."

"Monster, you will not be avenged. There are not enough overmen left to harm Skelleth. Perhaps you are the last of your race. Is that why you have fled your homeland?"

"You know nothing of what you speak. Come and face me." Garth thought he had spotted the speaker, a dour old man wearing dark red. His answer brought nothing but more mudballs, however, this time a veritable shower of them. Reluctantly, he prepared to hack his way to safety. Shielding his eyes with his left arm, he raised his sword.

"I give you a final warning, humans. Let me go, or many of you will die." There was a movement in the crowd. Garth thought he saw helmets. Had the men-at-arms joined the mob?

"Put up your sword, overman! And you people, go home!" The shout came from a man in a steel helmet. Garth recognized him as the captain of the guard who had confronted him on his first arrival. He did not obey, however; the man was still well back in the crowd, and Garth had no desire to get killed before assistance could reach him.

"Go on, go home!" It was a new voice, and Garth saw that a dozen guards were attempting to break up the mob, pulling people away and sending them off.

"With your permission, Captain, I will retain my sword at ready for the moment. But I will use the flat if it becomes necessary to strike."

"Very well. Come on, you, move along!" Garth could see that the guardsmen were also making use of their swords to swat reluctant villagers. In a moment the crowd had diminished by half, and the guards were gathering in a ring around the overman.

"I thank you for your protection, men."

"Don't thank us yet. The Baron sent us to fetch you when he heard the disturbance."

"Oh."

"I trust you have no objections."

"I am not in a position to object."

"Good. Come on." The captain led the way toward the Baron's mansion. The remnants of the crowd parted reluctantly before the dozen swords that ringed the overman. They had crossed perhaps half the square when a clod of mud struck Garth's helmet.

"Monster!" The crowd had not been cowed for long.

"Stop that!" The captain sounded genuinely angry.

"Herrenmer, don't you care that that monster is responsible for Arner's death?"

"Arner deserted his post, Darsen. The overman didn't kill him." The captain's voice was cold as he answered the red-garbed old man. The taunter wasn't easily stopped, however.

"What about you, Tarl? Why are you protecting the monster?"

"To get my pay, Darsen." That got a laugh from the crowd. Garth was glad that the mood seemed to be lightened somewhat. No more mud flew, and he and his escort reached the elegantly carved door of the mansion without further incident. The captain opened it, and Garth stepped in. The captain and two others followed, while the remainder stayed on guard outside.

The antechamber was pleasant enough, though small; it was hung with woolen tapestries done in very few colors, with no gold or silver, and floor, ceiling, and walls were all of wood. Skelleth was not wealthy enough to have numerous dyes, nor to waste rare metals on ornaments, nor to import marble or other stones. Granite and basalt suitable for building could be found in the hills to the north, however, and Garth was slightly startled that none had been used for the floor.