"I swear it," the King replied.

Garth looked at the shadows that hid the old man's eyes, and at the firm line of his mouth, set in dry, wrinkled skin above the thin white beard that trailed from his chin. He glanced at Frima, who was obviously waiting for him to accompany her in pursuit of revenge, and at Koros, still standing patiently, and finally at the Sword of Bheleu, which dangled from his right hand, its tip almost dragging in the dust of the market, the red gem in its pommel flickering faintly. He still did not know why the Forgotten King should volunteer such information. Perhaps, he thought, the old man was eager to get the sword back, lest it gain too strong a hold upon Garth; he would want the overman to go about his errand as quickly as possible, so that the sword's return would not be delayed. That would be in Garth's own interest as well.

"Very well," he said at last. "Then I will go to Dыsarra and I will destroy the cult of Aghad there. I swore I would and I will honor that oath. But I go alone."

"No!" Frima cried. "I'm coming with you!"

"I do not want to endanger you, Frima, and the journey will be very dangerous. You must stay in Skelleth." His major concern was that the Sword of Bheleu might usurp control of him and cause him to kill any traveling companions, but he did not care to explain that. It would be too much like admitting weakness to say that he feared he would be unable to control his own body.

"I have to avenge Saram! There's nothing I want in Skelleth. Besides, you'll need a guide; you don't know your way around Dыsarra as I do. I grew up there."

"No," Garth began, but before he could continue, Frima interrupted.

"Besides, do you think I'm safe here? You heard what the old man said; the Aghadites can strike anywhere, and they've just heard you say that you don't want me hurt. I'm a target now. If you don't take me with you, I'll follow you on my own."

The overman looked at the human's face and decided that she meant what she said. She had a good point about being in danger in Skelleth, and also about her utility as a guide. She would certainly be safer guarded by Koros and himself than trying to traverse Nekutta on her own.

"Very well," he said. "We will go by way of Ur-Dormulk, however; I have something I must do there." The monster had waited too long already. Garth found himself wondering how he could have delayed so long.

"All right," Frima agreed.

"We'll need supplies," Garth said, his practical instincts coming to the fore.

"We can forage on the way," Frima replied. "I don't want to wait."

"I will provide for your needs," the Forgotten King said.

Startled, Garth turned to look at him. "You will? From here?"

The old man moved his head to one side, then the other, in so brief and smooth a movement that it could hardly be described as shaking his head.

"I will come with you," he said.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

As the little party made its way toward Ur-Dormulk, Garth found himself feeling that he had been rushed into action against his will. He had not intended to dash so precipitously out of Skelleth. Within half an hour of discovering Saram's death, he had ridden out the southwestern gate, Frima perched behind him, the Forgotten King walking alongside.

He told himself that every minute saved meant that much less destruction the monster in Ur-Dormulk could cause, and that he had already wasted far too much time destroying empty ruins. Still, he felt unprepared and harried.

Thinking back, he wondered at his own willingness to delay in order to knock down buildings, compared with the insistent hurry of both his companions. He suspected that the sword had had something to do with his dawdling, and also with his eagerness to come to grips with the Aghadite assassins. Whatever the cause, he had behaved stupidly.

If he had not delayed, the cultists might not have bothered to kill Saram. He was sure that Saram had been alive when he slew the first two assassins. Had he left Skelleth immediately, the Aghadites might not have returned and the Baron might still be alive and well, his wife secure and happy at home, rather than perched on a warbeast seeking revenge. Instead of leaving, though, Garth had gone smashing about the ruins, wasting time and giving the worshippers of Aghad the chance to carry out another of their ghastly murders.

Could it be, he asked himself, that Bheleu had diverted him intentionally, to further the cause of his brother deity? Might Aghad himself have affected him somehow? Or had it just been the workings of chance?

Had the Forgotten King been involved? He had certainly appeared in the doorway at an opportune moment, with exactly the information that would send Garth and Frima on their way without hesitation.

The overman glanced to the left, where the yellow-clad figure strode along as smoothly and silently as the warbeast itself. The Book of Silence was still held under the old man's right arm, and Garth reminded himself that the totem was what enabled the King to travel freely. He would no longer need an overman to run his errands for him.

What benefit could the old man have gained from Saram's death? For that matter, what could Aghad or Bheleu gain from it? Garth would have gone to Dыsarra soon enough without this added impetus, and the King could have accompanied him or followed him. Saram's murder had increased his hatred of the cultists, if that was possible, and had impelled Frima to accompany him, but that was little enough. What good would it do anyone to have Saram's widow come along? How much difference could the increase in his fury make?

Garth could see no purpose in it and concluded, reluctantly, that it had been chance, rather than manipulation, that had led to the Baron's murder. That meant that his own weakness in yielding to the whim to search the ruins had been the indirect cause; he was at fault. Once again he had brought destruction, this time to an innocent friend.

The cult of Aghad would pay for that, he promised himself, and if he could ever contrive to accomplish it, the gods themselves, both Aghad and Bheleu, would suffer as well for what they had done to him.

He rode on, silently mulling this over.

Haggat watched the little group as best he could, trying desperately to think of some way of diverting them. He could not focus the scrying glass on Garth while the overman held the Sword of Bheleu, nor on the old man in yellow at all; he had to satisfy himself by following the warbeast's pawprints, or by close scrutiny, just barely possible despite the sword's influence, of the girl's face and the reflections in her eyes of the surrounding countryside.

The high priest had thought that Garth would be searching Skelleth for days, time which the cult could have used to lay false trails and arrange diversions; instead, he had set out immediately, and there could be little doubt that he was bound for Dыsarra.

Haggat did not understand what had happened. Something was interfering with his plans. He suspected that it was the mysterious old man. The overman had apparently spoken with him in the market and decided then and there to leave Skelleth without further delay.

Who, Haggat wondered, was the man? He could be glimpsed only briefly, and even then not clearly, in the glass; most of what Haggat knew of him came from the reports of spies or from his occasional reflection in windows and in the eyes of others. Once before he had become involved in the cult's affairs, when he had, put an end to the carefully contrived battle between Garth and the Council of the Most High, saving the lives of several councilors and taking the Sword of Bheleu away from the overman. That had apparently worked to the cult's benefit in the long run, though its followers had been slow to take advantage of it, by rendering Garth vulnerable and by allowing them to track down, rob, and murder several of the surviving wizards.