"Why do you stop me?" Garth was now sure that the old man did not want him to take the sword, but thought it unwise to admit his belief.

"Give me the Book of Silence." Again, even after so brief an interval, the King's voice was shockingly ugly.

Garth struggled to free his wrist; the old man gave no sign he was even aware of the overman's efforts. Finally, after several seconds of useless strain, Garth conceded defeat. "Take the book, then, if you want it," he said.

The Forgotten King rose, the tatters of his yellow mantle rustling. He reached out his free hand, plucked the volume from beneath Garth's arm, and held it before him, but did not loosen his grip on the overman's wrist.

"Release me," Garth said, mustering as much dignity as he could in so awkward and embarrassing a pose. To be held so easily by a mere human, even one as unique and powerful as the Forgotten King, shamed him.

"My reminder, Garth," the King warned. "Bheleu is insidious and powerful and can dominate you with ease, perhaps without letting you know he is doing so. Remember, though, that I can free you of his influence as easily as you can blink an eye. You must serve one of us. The choice of masters is yours. Now, take the sword, if you want it, but remember, I lend it, I do not give it." The bony grip was gone, and Garth watched as the old man, the great black book clutched in both hands, turned away and moved across the room and up the stairs.

When the Forgotten King had vanished into the gloom at the top of the stairs, Garth looked down at the sword.

It lay, untouched, on the table; the gem remained black and lifeless.

Had that, then, been the purpose of the King's actions-to remind Garth that he would never again be free while both the Sword of Bheleu and the King in Yellow existed?

But then, with the Book of Silence in the King's possession, how much longer would he exist? He sought his own destruction and needed the book to accomplish it. Perhaps Garth was wrong about the other elements required, and the old man was even now weaving his final spell, a spell that would destroy the cult of Aghad and perhaps all the world as well.

No, that could not be. The old man had not said it, but he had definitely implied that he would live for some while yet, long enough to require Garth's services. Furthermore, the overman was certain that either the Sword of Bheleu, the Pallid Mask, or both were needed. Other things might also be required; he recalled that the Forgotten King had made him swear, almost three years ago, that not only would he fetch the book but he would also aid in the final magic.

Garth shook his head, dismissing all such considerations as not immediately relevant. He had more important concerns than maybes. He had his wife's murder to avenge, Aghadites to kill, and a monster to dispose of.

He reached down and grasped the sword's hilt; as his fingers closed on the black grip, the gem blazed up a fiery blood-red, washing the overman in crimson light. Savage joy and a blinding fury burst into being within him, and somewhere mocking laughter sounded.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

At first the surge of emotion was too powerful to allow any conscious thought or awareness of the external world at all. For three long years Bheleu had been suppressed, held down, his control of his chosen mortal form cut off; now that he was free once more, he reveled in it. The sword crackled with eldritch energy, and the air around the overman's body glowed redly.

Garth's own consciousness was lost for a long moment. He felt himself cut off, drifting in a formless nowhere of red and black, and he struggled desperately to regain his body. He fought to contain the all-consuming bloodlust that possessed him. The initial wave of ecstasy, the emotional overflow from Bheleu's relief, passed away. Anger remained, but as he pushed his way to the surface, he managed to redirect it, to channel it against the usurping presence in his body and mind.

"Bheleu!" he tried to call. "Listen to me!"

He knew, even in his confused state, that the words had not been spoken, that his lips and tongue had not obeyed him; nevertheless, he heard his own voice, made terrible by the god's power, answer him.

"Why do you call me, Garth? You have taken up the sword again, of your own choice, and freed me from all restraint. Now you will serve me in destruction, as you were meant to serve me. What need is there of words?"

"I want to make a bargain," Garth managed to say-or at least to communicate, though he knew he had still not spoken aloud.

The god did not reply in words; instead, Garth felt a wave of contempt sweep over him, felt his consciousness slipping into darkness, and he struggled to retain what feeble control he had.

"No, wait! Bheleu, you are not free yet! There are terms to be set!"

"I am free," Bheleu replied.

"No!" Garth insisted. "You must meet my terms, or the Forgotten King will stop you again as he did before!"

There was a pause that seemed to stretch for hours, a timeless waiting while Garth's awareness drifted in nothingness and Bheleu considered.

"What are your terms?" Bheleu said at last.

Garth did not allow himself to feel relief yet, though he was sure that the god's willingness to listen at all proved that the point had been won, at least for the moment. "I took the sword back for a reason," he said. "I have enemies and I wish to destroy them." He felt a surge of hunger, of desire, as he said that. "They have the means of defying my own strength, so I need the sword and the power that goes with it."

"I am that power, " Bheleu said, fury and bloodlust seething.

"I know," Garth answered, struggling against the overwhelming force of the god's driving emotions. "And I'll allow you freedom to destroy my enemies, but no others."

"You would use me, the destroyer god, as a tool for your own vengeance?"

Garth was almost swept down into nonexistence by the god's wrath, but managed to answer, "I would use anything I found necessary. Were you not planning to use me for your own ends against my will?"

"I am a god, Garth; you are nothing."

"I am a nothing who knows how you can be stayed; I am the chosen of a god. Is not the freedom to destroy my foes better than no freedom at all?"

"What do you propose?"

"I propose that you leave me in control of my own body and my own mind; in exchange, I will allow you free rein to work your will upon my enemies. If you refuse, you will surely be restrained again."

There followed another timeless pause; then, abruptly, Garth found himself fully conscious once again, albeit dazed and awash in unreasoning anger. He stood in the King's Inn, the sword clutched in one hand, its blade dripping red fire. The floorboards were scorched beneath his feet, in a circle a yard across, and a line had been burned across the top of the King's table where the sword had rested, obscuring with char the line he had gouged with his broken sword before leaving for Ur-Dormulk.

He could detect no sign of Bheleu's presence save for the heat of the sword, burning without harming him, and the eerie flame that flickered from it. His thoughts seemed slow, but unnaturally clear; a fierce joy suffused him at the realization that he had won his argument, and righteous wrath filled him at the thought of Aghadites lurking somewhere in Skelleth waiting for him to come and kill them.

No one else was in the tavern; the innkeeper and the handful of other patrons had vanished while he debated with Bheleu. He did not concern himself with their whereabouts; they had, he told himself, undoubtedly fled before his manifest power.

He strode out the door, the sword's fiery aura gradually fading, and mounted his warbeast. With a word, he directed it back the way they had come, out toward the southwestern gate, hoping to find the three Aghadites. The Forgotten King had told him that the red-mist transporting spells were rare and precious; surely, then, the trio would not have wasted one, but would be moving on foot.