"Yes," he said at last, "I agree. Tell me where I may find the Book of Silence, and I will bring it to you."

"I left it in the royal chapel of my palace in Hastur. That palace is now a part of the crypts beneath Ur-Dormulk. Signs and portents will be sufficient to lead you to it." Something like glee was in the old man's tone.

"Will you provide me no further guidance?"

"You need none."

Garth found himself growing wary. He was beginning to realize that he was again trusting himself to the Forgotten King, again agreeing to perform an errand for the old man. Always before, such errands had had unwanted and unpleasant results. Even his journey to Orgul, just completed that day, had ended in Kyrith's death.

An idea occurred to him, a strange idea. Always before he had set out alone, while the King stayed in Skelleth and awaited his return. Garth had been a messenger, a servant. What if the King were to accompany him this time? The old man's magic could protect them both from whatever difficulties they might encounter; they would travel as equals, rather than Garth's assuming the inferior's role again.

"O King," he said, "will you come with me?"

Behind him, Saram and Frima stared. The King was silent for a moment before replying, "No."

"Why not?" Garth demanded. "Why must I act on your behalf?"

"I cannot venture far from Skelleth. My power is centered here."

The old man's tone was final, but Garth was in no mood to be put off. "Why?" he persisted. "Because you have lived here for so long? Is it possible that you do not wish to discomfit yourself ?"

"No," the King said, with perhaps a trace of anger in his voice.

"Then why? Why did you come to Skelleth in the first place? How did you become trapped here? Explain yourself!"

"This place is the center of power in this time, as Hastur was of old; the world's energies have shifted with the ages. I had no choice in my dwelling place once I had given up the book and the mask, but was compelled to live wherever the power's heart might be. Had I the book once more, I could go where I pleased."

"You left the village once, when I gave you the sword."

"Only a few leagues, and yet that was near my limit."

"What would happen to you, then, if you were to leave?"

"Garth, this is not your concern."

"What would happen?" the overman insisted.

"I cannot leave."

"What if I were to carry you?"

With apparent reluctance, the King admitted, "I would lose my strength, both physical and metaphysical. I would have no more power than a corpse, yet I would still live."

"You mean that you would be unable to work magic?"

"I would be unable to move or speak or see or breathe; I would be in appearance as ancient as I am in truth."

That explained, of course, why so powerful a being dwelt in this miserable border town and needed an ordinary overman to run his errands. For that reason, if for no other, Garth was willing to accept the King's explanation, at least for the present. He still hoped, however, to have some sort of further aid.

"Then can you give me no protection against the cult's magic?" he asked.

"No."

"You might loan me the sword now." That, of course, would be ideal; he could then simply renege on his agreement.

The King did not bother to answer. Garth knew that, quite aside from his own present trustworthiness, once he was beyond the King's power it might not be Garth but Bheleu who occupied Garth's body; no oath or power would be able to restrain the god or bring him back to Skelleth against his will, if the King's power were in truth limited to the immediate area.

"They have powerful magic," he said, as a last resort.

The King shifted slightly, but said nothing.

"The image of the god, for example. What am I to do if they attack me with such things?"

"That was a simple messenger image; it could not even speak until ordered to."

"What of the spell that shattered my sword?"

"A warding spell against metal, useless for any other purpose."

"The red mist that caused the Aghadite and Kyrith's body to vanish, then."

"A teleportation device taken from a dead wizard; they have few more and will not waste them."

"Surely, though, they have other magic and will not hesitate to use it against me. Can you do nothing to protect me?"

"Have you turned coward, then?" The King lifted his head, and though his eyes were still hidden in shadow Garth thought he saw a glint of light. The springtime warmth seemed to fade from the air of the tavern, replaced with a clammy chill. "Regardless of what magic they may possess, did they not say that you would see all those you care for die before your own time came to perish? They will not harm you directly, then, until they have carried out their threat. Now go! Fetch me the Book of Silence, and trouble me no more until you have it!"

Disconcerted by the King's sudden coldness, Garth nodded and rose to depart. Saram and Frima rose as well. The Baron began to speak, to make one more attempt at dissuading the overman, but Garth ignored him and stalked out into the marketplace, where a thin rain had begun to fall.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The eastern gate of the ancient walled city of Ur-Dormulk stood between two massive stone towers, set in a gap in the ridge that supported the eastern ramparts; the great valves themselves were carved from two immense sheets of ebony, bound in the brown-black hide of some extinct monster. There was no shining metal or bright paint anywhere on the gate or the somber gray walls to either side. The tower walls, Garth saw, were carven from roadbed to battlement with spidery runes of a tongue that he had never seen before.

Some of the runes seemed to have an odd familiarity about them that Garth could not explain to himself; he wondered idly what language they represented, and what they said. Perhaps they gave a history of the city's founding, he thought, or were protective incantations of some kind.

He was quite sure from the very first that they were not Eramman or anything like it. As a child, he had come across other, older languages, all dead, and this strange script was none of them.

Of course, he told himself, Ur-Dormulk was very old. It had stood, much as it was now, before Eramma became a nation half a millennium ago. There had been plenty of time for the builders' native tongue to die out.

The whole matter was irrelevant, he told himself. He had an errand to perform. Despite the protests of the Baron and Baroness, and the arguments Galt had made when he had been informed of the situation, Garth intended to find the Book of Silence and return to Skelleth with it.

He was not completely certain as to exactly what he would do then, save that he would somehow pursue his vengeance against Aghad's followers. He was not sure whether he would give the Forgotten King the book or whether he would take the Sword of Bheleu, but he had not cared to say anything that might cause anyone to doubt his intention of honoring his agreement with the King.

Saram had gone so far in his concern for the overman as to offer to accompany him on his journey; Frima had protested, and Garth had turned him down. Saram had a barony to run, and could not go haring off on adventures without warning. Garth had no commitments, save his vows to fetch the Book of Silence and to destroy the cult and temple of Aghad. He did not want to involve anyone else in either of these.

As a compromise of sorts, he had accepted a letter of introduction to the overlord of Ur-Dormulk, signed by both Saram and Galt. That had been his only concession, and it was a practical one. If he was going to search the city looking for signs and portents, he would very much prefer not to have to worry about explaining himself to guardsmen or homeowners while doing so.