A footman opened the door into the back corridor, then ran ahead to the black iron door of the execution chamber. The overlord entered the room, waited as the wizards and the archivist were brought in, then waved imperiously at the guards and servant. "Begone," he said.

The seven vanished, and he looked about for somewhere to sit. The room was empty, save for the black stone platform in the center and the great block of ebony that stood upon it. The walls and floor were rough, black stone; the ceiling was blackveined red marble, arched and vaulted. It was a thoroughly uncomfortable place, he decided as he settled on the edge of the platform.

The three counselors stood awkwardly, facing him, unsure whether to prostrate themselves, to bow, or just to stand there.

"Now," the overlord said, "what is it that's so urgent?"

"O Prince," Shandiph replied, "you must prevent Garth from. taking the Book of Silence!"

"Garth? The overman?" The overlord was puzzled. "Why?"

"O Prince," Chalkara said, "the Book of Silence is perhaps the most deadly object ever to exist. It is linked with the higher gods, the gods of life and death and even Dagha himself, it seems. Its arcane power is so great that ordinary wizards cannot use it, for to speak a single word from its pages would be instantly fatal." She paused to catch her breath.

The overlord remarked, "That would seem to make it one of the most useless of objects."

Shandiph demurred. "I fear not, my lord. As Chalkara has said, no ordinary wizard can use it, but Garth of Ordunin serves one who is not an ordinary wizard. The book was created to be used by a single individual, the immortal high priest of The God Whose Name Is Not Spoken. That is whom Garth intends to deliver it to."

"How do you know this?"

Shandiph asked, "Which part, O Prince?"

"How do you know whom the overman plans to give the book to? He mentioned a wizard, not a priest."

"We know him, Chalkara and I, from a previous encounter. We know that he is associated with the King in Yellow, as the high priest of Death was known of old, and with no other wizards. He admitted as much to us when we spoke with him just now."

"The King in Yellow?" The overlord looked at Silda. "I believe you've mentioned an ancient legend about someone with that description."

"Yes, my prince."

The overlord saw that the archivist had no intention of elaborating, and did not pursue the matter.

"Well, then, what if the overman does take this book to this priest? How will that harm us here in Ur-Dormulk?"

Shandiph answered, "We believe it will bring about the start of the Fifteenth Age, the Age of Death."

"You fear that? Are not the ages preordained and unchangeable?"

Shandiph hesitated, and Chalkara answered for him. "We do not know, O Prince. It may be that they are not."

"We are only in the third year of the Fourteenth Age; it seems to me that any worry, about the next age is premature."

"We do not know how long the Fourteenth Age is to be," Chalkara said.

The overlord nodded; he had heard the court astrologer bewailing that uncertainty. "Still," he said, "I cannot believe it will be so brief as that."

"We think that it may be," Chalkara insisted.

The overlord leaned back on his hands and looked at the three scholars. "I think," he said, "that you have all managed to frighten one another with old myths and vague suppositions until you have convinced yourselves that we are all in mortal peril, when in truth we are in no more danger from this mad overman than from the Emperor of Yesh." He held up a hand to forestall any protest. "Furthermore, I think you're missing a few essential facts in your worrying."

He shifted, leaned forward again, and held up a finger. "First, the danger you envision may not exist at all. Second, if it does, this overman may have nothing to do with it. Third, whatever else he may be, the overman is a representative of the Baron of Skelleth. You may not realize just how dependent we are upon Skelleth in these unsettled times. You may take seriously my magnificent titles and the splendor of this palace, but I know better; I may call myself a prince and be known throughout Eramma by the title of overlord, but the hard truth is that I'm nothing more than an Eramman baron. Those lesser lords in my court who give me the claim to be an overlord have no power at all; they are worth no more to me than the officers of my guard-probably less, actually.

"Maybe in ancient times Ur-Dormulk was a real nation unto itself and a power to be reckoned with; maybe Alar and Hastur and those other lands I claim really existed; I don't know and I don't care. All I rule is a walled city, a few miles of lakes and mountains, and a good-sized piece of plain that's totally impossible to defend, should one of my neighbors decide to invade. One of those neighbors is the Baron of Skelleth, and right now he's the only one who isn't at war somewhere and the only one conducting any trade at all. We haven't had a caravan in from Therin or Kholis in eighteen months; have you noticed what fresh fruit costs in the markets and shops these days? And what there is, is all our own, at that; I haven't seen a date or an orange in over a year, and if any were available in the city, I'd know it, I promise you.

"That may not mean much to you, but if we lost the trade with Skelleth, you'd know it and you'd feel it. I don't know where the goods are coming from, but we've been getting better furs and wool than we had in times of peace, pickled fish at half what we used to pay, and ivory and gold and a dozen other things-more than a dozen-scores, or hundreds! From Skelleth, which used to sell nothing but ice and hay! It was a gift from the gods that the new Baron began selling to us just about the time the other routes started to be cut, and I don't dare jeopardize that. The Barony of Skelleth covers half our borders, to the north and northeast, and if this Saram can bring us caravans out of nowhere, he might be able to bring armies with equal ease. Now he's sent us a representative, and an overman at that-where in all the world did he find an overman? I thought they were extinct, despite the stories we heard from the traders out of Skelleth. I was wrong. What's more, the gatekeeper tells me that the overman arrived riding a monster twenty feet long with fangs the size of a man's fingers.

"And now you ask me to throw away the goodwill of this overman, and with it the goodwill of the Baron of Skelleth, because of a vague legend. You ask me to risk losing our only remaining trade route, the richest I've ever seen. You ask me to risk an invasion, perhaps led by overmen on monsterback, like those in the tales of the Racial Wars. Why? Because you don't want a magical book no one can read to be taken to a mysterious wizard.

"And that brings me to my fourth, and most important, point. What makes you think that this overman will find this Book of Death, or whatever it is? He says that it's in the royal chapel of some palace. What palace? The only palace in Ur-Dormulk is this one, and I promise you all, on my soul and the shades of my ancestors, that there is no royal chapel here containing a mystical book no one can read! If this book exists at all, it must be in the crypts somewhere. Have you ever been in the crypts, any of you?"

The three advisers nodded in unison, like chastised children.

"All of you. Then you should know that you can't find anything in the crypts unless you know exactly where it is! They go on forever, in a maze, like a mass of worms tied in knots.

"So do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to let this overman wander about the city all he likes, and if he wants to get himself lost in the crypts, I'll allow that, too. I'll even give him a guide, if he asks, one who will lead him in nice, large circles through the more familiar corridors. If he persists I'll let him wander all he wants. He can go explore the ruins between the lakes. He can kill a few Aghadite priests, if he does it quietly, and I won't do a thing about it. If he does find the book, or anything else of real value, I'll know it, I promise you. If that happens-if it happens-then I'll talk to you again, and maybe have it taken away from him if you can convince me it's really that important. That's what I'm going to do about this overman, and I hope it satisfies you, because I am not going to offend the Baron of Skelleth unless I really have to, for my own safety and for the safety of Ur-Dormulk. Is that clear?"