The Seven Altars of Dusarra

CHAPTER THREE

As Garth rounded the last corner and came in sight of the marketplace, he saw Galt standing talking to someone. His fellow overman towered over the surrounding crowd, readily distinguishable, but at first Garth could not see who it was he was speaking with; then, as he began threading his way into the throng, he caught the glint of sunlight on a steel helmet and realized that Herrenmer had returned, presumably bearing the Baron's decision. He hastened his pace; the villagers, awed by his size and terrified by his face, parted before him, so that a brief moment later he was at Galt's side.

"Ah, Garth, it would seem that the local government wishes to speak with you and you alone. I offered myself as your representative, but was refused." Galt spoke smoothly and quickly, in a light tone, but Garth recognized a note of tension in his voice and saw that Herrenmer's hand was on his sword hilt. Behind their captain stood a full dozen guardsmen and, though no weapons were actually drawn, it was plain that a confrontation had been brewing.

"Oh? I apologize for my absence, Captain Herrenmer, but one of your townsmen wished to speak with me in private."

"The Baron also wishes to speak with you, overman; immediately." The man's voice shook slightly.

"I will oblige him momentarily. Larth, I leave you in charge. Galt, you come with me, in case we need to discuss business." The other overmen nodded; Garth took a step toward the mansion, but was halted by Herrenmer's hand raised in restraint.

"Wait a minute; I was told to bring you, not this other monster."

"But Galt is the business manager for our party. Should we need to discuss exact terms I will want his advice."

"If it will ease your mind, Captain, I will promise not to speak unless spoken to." Galt's voice was honeysmooth.

Herrenmer looked from one hideous face to the other, from Garth's crimson eyes to Galt's golden ones, and at last shrugged and led the way across the square.

The Baron's audience chamber was much as Garth remembered it, a fairly spacious room hung with old tapestries, with three small windows high in the northern wall behind the Baron's seat providing the only light. The Baron's seat was a simple oaken chair, and the Baron himself sat slouching in it, a small, slender man wearing a richly embroidered scarlet robe, with a circlet of gold on his brow. He fingered his thin black beard for a moment, then spoke.

"So it's true; you have returned."

This being self-evident, no reply seemed necessary, but Garth did not care to antagonize the Baron further with insolent silence; he replied simply, "Yes."

"I had not thought you would have had the gall to do so, despite your boast to that scum Saram, yet here you are. You have even brought others of your filthy race."

"We have come on a peaceful trading mission."

"So I am told. Are you aware that you are under sentence of death here, on charges of trespass, espionage, and crimes against the state? And that all your stinking species are enemy aliens?"

"I was aware that you were not eager to have us here. I hope to convince you that it would be to your advantage to welcome us."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"In two stages: firstly, I will convince you that a regular trade between Skelleth and the Northern Waste will be very much in your own interests; and secondly, that killing me or otherwise thwarting me would make that trade impossible."

"Very well, then, I will listen. Why should I allow you monsters to trade on my lands?"

"Because we have much gold, from hidden mines in the northern mountains, with which to pay for what we want. Surely, much of this gold will find its way to you, in the form of taxes and tariffs. You told me once that you were not happy with your inheritance and hoped to improve your lot by war and plunder; would it not be equally satisfying to make yourself rich by peaceful means? Or even if it is the blood and glory of war you seek, will not our gold help to finance such an ambition? The terms of our former agreement, which you apparently feel I violated but which I feel I merely interpreted differently from yourself, included a statement that all overmen crossing your lands would pay what tribute you might rightfully demand; we will honor that, so long as such tribute does not make our trade prohibitively expensive. Surely you cannot refuse such an opportunity!"

"Dare not tell me what I can or cannot refuse, overman! Still, you make it sound very tempting. If your gold is as plentiful as you imply, I could indeed find uses for it." The Baron mused for a moment and then went on, "But then, to your second point, your own life; why should I not accept trade arrangements with your people, but still put you to death? I could easily demand your life as the necessary tribute; would not overmen give up a single life for a new trade route?"

"Perhaps they would under certain circumstances, but they will not give up my life, for I am the hereditary Prince of Ordunin, and the life of a reigning prince is not within your rights to demand." Garth was relying on the Baron's ignorance of the culture of the overmen of the Northern Waste in this, for in fact the title he claimed, though genuine, was strictly a ceremonial honor with no real significance beyond the privilege of speaking first in the City Council; a privilege it was customary to waive.

There was a moment of silence as the Baron considered this. Then he shifted his gaze to Galt and demanded, "You! Who are you?"

"I am Galt, my lord, a trader out of Ordunin."

"And who is this?" He pointed at Garth.

"That is Garth, Prince of Ordunin, a lord of the Overmen of the Northern Waste." Galt spoke casually, his pale blue cloak draped across one arm, his wide-brimmed hat shading his yellow eyes, looking completely at ease and unconcerned. Long years of experience had taught him that such a pose was most desirable in almost every sort of dealings with humans, be it trade, diplomacy, or less formal activities.

"You will swear to that?"

Galt blinked, and smiled a lipless smile. "If you wish."

"I do."

"I swear by my head that this overman is Garth, hereditary Prince of Ordunin, son of Karth and Tarith, known to me as such for many years and so recognized by all my people."

"There were more of you, were there not?"

"Yes."

"Will they so swear?"

"Undoubtedly. Larth is Garth's double-cousin, and Tand has known him since childhood."

The Baron turned back to Garth. "Why did you not let me know this before, that I might have treated you as your rank deserved?"

"Why should I tempt you with a prince's ransom?"

"Are you not doing so now?"

"No, for I am not alone this time, and furthermore my people are now aware that Skelleth is no longer the mighty fortress that repelled our ancestors' attacks. Even should you take all four of us captive, there would be no ransom but fire and sword. As you surely realize, paying out ransoms sets a bad precedent."

The Baron scowled and slumped back in his chair. After a thoughtful pause he said, "It seems that you have the better of me in this matter; to indulge my whims would be far too costly, so I must let you live and go free. However, if you are in truth the reigning Prince of Ordunin, then there are other demands I may make. You seek for your people the free use of roads and rights of way that I happen to have proprietary rights upon. Our two nations are technically still at war, however, so that I cannot under ordinary circumstances grant such permissions as you seek without being untrue to my own oaths as vassal to the High King at Kholis; this is true though it would obviously be of great advantage to me personally and to my realm, and though our war has been unfought these three hundred years. Had you considered this?"

"Not in detail," Garth replied; he hesitated, and then continued, "I am not fully conversant with the laws of Eramma and I assumed that reasonable beings such as ourselves could find some way around such an obstacle."

"And I think we shall, Garth, I think we shall." The Baron grinned. "There are conditions under which I may make a separate peace, without the intervention of the High King; specifically, I can accept your surrender and your oath of fealty to me as a vassal prince."

"What?" Garth's reply was startled from him.

"Yes. You see, that would finish off the war very neatly, and remove any obstacles it might create. Under the terms of my own commitment to the High King I cannot surrender myself to you unless defeated in battle, but there are no such constraints upon you. Were you my vassal and loyal servant, our two peoples would no longer be at war." The grin widened. "Furthermore, as my vassal, your underlings would of course have full access, free of tariff, to all my lands. They would of course be required to pay the customary taxes, and tolls for the use of some highways, but only at the same rates as my human subjects. In short, your goal of establishing open trade would be achieved."

Garth was too shocked to speak. After a pause, the Baron said, "Come, now, overman, is this so unreasonable? You offered any reasonable tribute; is a simple oath of fealty and the consequent obligation unreasonable? The hundred barons of Eramma do not think so."

Garth stammered, then fell silent. He gathered his wits and replied, "I cannot give you an immediate answer. I cannot make such a commitment without consulting my City Council." His initial astonishment was fading, to be replaced with a growing outrage; how dare this mere human even consider making himself lord over overmen? Still, it would be well to remain diplomatic; perhaps some lip service could be paid to such an arrangement briefly, until a more sensible agreement could be worked out. It was a matter that did, indeed, warrant the consideration of the City Council.

"Oh? Your Council? Very well. I had hoped to conclude this matter here and now, but I suppose I can tolerate some delay. Where is this Council?"

"In Ordunin." Garth stopped himself from adding, "Of course."

"Of course. In that case, it seems to me that the sooner you are on the way back to Ordunin, the better. I will give you twenty-four hours to be out of Skelleth on the Wasteland Road, and I will have you swear, here and now, that you will present my proposal to this Council as soon as you reach Ordunin, and that you will present it fairly and reasonably, as I have presented it to you. Agree to these terms, and your companions may remain and trade in peace."

Garth suppressed an impulse to lash out in rage. His expression, as always, remained blank and calm. It required an effort, though, for him to say, "I do so swear that I will present your proposal fairly to the City Council immediately upon my return to Ordunin."

"Good! I think our business is done then; begone! I would talk to this trader." The Baron waved him away peremptorily.

Garth bowed, giving no sign of his fury, and departed, the Baron's guards stepping quickly out of his way.

The Baron watched him go and smiled to himself. The overman would meet his terms, he was sure; he would swear the oath of fealty, thinking that he was committing himself to a few demeaning ceremonies and light taxation, service in name more than fact. It would be thoroughly delightful then to spring upon him the actual reason for his oath-an oath that included the obligation to provide his lord with all the military force at his disposal. It would be a simpler matter to pick a fight with that half-wit lord of Ur-Dormulk, who would march his army to Skelleth expecting an easy victory only to be met, not by three dozen half-trained farmers, but by warbeasts and overmen. Never again would that fat fool laugh at Doran of Skelleth! Never again would he be ignored and ridiculed, seated at the foot of the High King's table at the decennial meetings in Kholis!

A hundred overmen in full armor, a hundred warbeasts, would make him the most powerful baron in Eramma. That was the tribute he intended to exact from this absurd commerce!

When the door had closed Garth away from sight, he bestirred himself from his daydreams of power and glory and waved Herrenmer up to his side. He whispered a few words in his captain's ear, then turned his attention to Galt.

"So, trader, you seek to bring wealth to our two lands. What would you consider a fair tax upon your receipts?"

As Galt roused himself to begin negotiations, Herrenmer slipped from the room; the overman paid him no heed.

A moment later Garth was halfway across the market square, returning to his two companions, when he heard the clink of mail and the thudding of booted feet running behind him. He turned to see Herrenmer hurrying after him.

"Did you seek me?"

The guardsman caught his breath, then replied, "Yes. I am to accompany you until you are outside the walls."

"I have twenty-four hours."

"I know; nonetheless, I am not to let you out of my sight until you leave Skelleth."

Overmen do not show anger in their facial expressions, a natural concealment that is ordinarily an aid to survival, since it permits them to utilize the element of surprise more readily even in a state of unreasoning fury. Perhaps the only drawback is that it leaves them inexperienced in reading the faces of other species, such as humans. It was definitely for the best at this particular moment that Herrenmer took Garth's impassive expression for a mild contemplation of the situation; had he known the seething rage that was building he would have had his sword drawn and been calling for reinforcements. Instead he shrugged, and looked away from the overman's hideous face, preferring to watch the ragged farmers and peasants rather than gaze at that leather-hided skull.

Garth had been annoyed by the Baron's apparent ingratitude in response to the promise of vast wealth he had done nothing to earn; he had been further irritated by his lack of trust in demanding that Galt-Galt, and not Garth-swear to Garth's identity and title; he had been appalled and infuriated at the suggestion that he swear fealty to this petty human tyrant, and disgusted that the Baron was so insistent upon haste. He had stood for it all and resisted the temptation to fling the dagger in his boot through the man's heart, or simply to tear him limb from limb, only to have this final insult thrust upon him. He was to be escorted from the town like an outlaw or some other undesirable!

It robbed him of all privacy and dignity, and as such it was the pebble that sank the barge. He could not quietly accept this!

He would not go slinking back to Ordunin like this, cast out of Skelleth until he declared himself servant to a scurvy madman, sworn to beg the City Council for permission to degrade himself and his people! He would defy the Baron, somehow.

Unfortunately, it would not do for him to do so openly; the Baron was essential to the development of peaceful trade. If Garth killed him or otherwise seriously harmed him, it might well bring down the wrath of all Eramma upon not just himself, but all overmen, as untrustworthy brigands. It might even be enough of an incident to start up the long-dead Racial Wars again. A subtle poisoning might escape detection and do no harm to the prospects of peaceful trade-but it would also be thoroughly unsatisfying. He wanted the Baron to know what his effrontery had done.

Was there perhaps some way he could exploit the Baron's madness? As he had seen on his previous venture, and as all Skelleth knew, the Baron periodically lapsed into fits of depression so intense that he was unable to move himself at all, even to eat, so that he had to be carefully tended, like an infant, until the spell passed. Between these depressions his moods ranged from the alert intelligence he had displayed today to surly silence or screaming rage; Garth had seen all these moods, though not enough to see whether there was any pattern to them. He had also heard it said that there was an annual cycle, and that the Baron was at his worst in the spring.

He considered all this as he continued across the square to where Larth and Tand sat; Herrenmer stayed at his side, but said nothing. He stood over his seated companions, who were engaged in quiet conversation, having no customers at the moment.

"I have been ordered to return to Ordunin; there are matters I am to present to the Council there."

The two looked up, startled. After a second's pause Larth asked, "Should we pack up, then?"

"No; the Baron requires no departure save my own. You two and Galt will stay until you have completed the disposal of these goods and the arrangements for future caravans. I leave Galt in charge; Larth, you will handle my share of the goods and proceeds and deliver it to Kyrith."

"Kyrith? Your wife? Will you not be in Ordunin?"

Garth glanced at Herrenmer, standing well within earshot. "Do not concern yourself with my whereabouts."

"Are you to leave immediately?" Larth asked.

"I have until tomorrow, but there are other matters I must attend to, and I will be home by year's end, most likely."

He actually had no idea when he would be home, but as it was still summer and the year was reckoned to end with the vernal equinox, it would almost certainly be before that. He had as yet no idea where he was going; he only knew that it would not be Ordunin. The Baron had required him to leave Skelleth, and to swear that he would speak to the Council immediately upon reaching Ordunin-but neglected to make sure that he would in fact go to Ordunin.

Garth had no intention of going back to Ordunin under the present circumstances; another annoyance to be credited to the Baron. He would have said as much, and explained the entire situation to his companions, had Herrenmer not been so close at hand, spying for his master.

He stood for a moment longer but thought of nothing more worth saying, and neither Larth nor Tand volunteered any more questions; then he spun on his heel and strode off toward the King's Inn at a pace that left Herrenmer half-running after him.

At first he did not seek out the Forgotten King's table, but merely sat alone near the front window, gazing out at the garbage that lined the alley and the back wall of the Baron's mansion while he poured mug after mug of good cold ale down his throat. Herrenmer attempted to sit at the same table, but Garth picked him up by the neck with one hand and forcibly seated him elsewhere, despite his protests. The captain did not care to argue further, and instead sat where he had been placed, glowering at the overman. He was joined by Saram, who had still been at the shadowy table in the back corner, and the two men discussed that morning's events, Herrenmer providing the facts of the overman's audience with the Baron while Saram embellished them with comments on the Baron's crafty nature and underlying insanity, and the probable benefits of allowing northern gold into the village.

It was well after noon when Garth finally made his decision; he would not undertake to swear his allegiance to any master, but he had no doubt that the Forgotten King's service would be less galling than that of the Baron. He would, accordingly, arrange a new bargain with the old man, the fulfillment of which would undoubtedly take him off to some foreign realm and provide him with something to do other than return to Ordunin. Something might come up that would show him a satisfactory solution to his current quandary.

As time had slipped past, sunlight had crept across the floor and slanted into the depths of the fireplace in the eastern wall, and several other patrons had drifted in, to find themselves congenial company and comfortable seats or merely to drink a pint and drift out once again. Garth paid none of them any heed as he rose and made his way to the corner where the old man still sat, unmoving, as if mere seconds had passed since the overman had departed, and not half a day.

Herrenmer saw his charge rise, and rose himself to follow. He found, to his astonishment, that his feet refused to obey him; he could stand, and move freely to either side, but when he attempted to take a step toward the overman's retreating form, it was as if his boots were glued to the floor's ancient planking.

He stared at Garth's back, then looked beyond to the yellow-cowled figure that sat, still unmoving, in the corner. A tattered edge of the old man's hood flapped, though there was no wind in the tavern, nor any open door or window that might admit a breeze; Herrenmer caught a glimpse of light glinting from a hidden eye. He could not see the eye itself, but only that single fleeting sparkle in the shadowed socket; he felt a chill sweep him from head to toe, and he told himself that he really had no interest in approaching the strange old fellow. He reseated himself at his table; after all, he reassured himself, there was only the one door. He could keep an eye on Garth perfectly well from where he was, and need not worry about him slipping out another way.

An involuntary shudder ran through him, and he decided that he would just as soon not even watch the overman's conversation; he would watch the door. He turned his attention back to Saram, who had watched the whole brief byplay with intense interest, but now resumed regaling his former superior with the unlikely tale about his current mistress that Garth's move had interrupted.

Neither Saram nor Herrenmer noticed that someone else had also observed the captain's curious hesitation, and now watched with interest the overman's conversation with the mysterious yellow-clad figure. A dour old man wearing clothes the color of drying blood, this observer sat near the fireplace, ostensibly drinking his luncheon; his eyes, however, flicked swiftly about, missing nothing that happened in the taproom, but always returning to the mismatched pair in the back corner, their conversation just within range of his hearing.

Garth himself was oblivious to the whole thing; he had been facing the wrong direction. He seated himself across from the Forgotten King and gazed for a moment at the ragged hood that shaded the ancient face; its color was scarcely visible in the sheltered gloom, and the overman wondered how yellow could look so dark. From where he sat he saw no motion, no glint of light, but only shadows and the old man's wispy beard trailing from his withered chin.

"Greetings, O King," he said.

"Greetings, Garth." As always, the hideous voice was an unpleasant surprise.

"I have considered your proposed bargain."

The old man made no reply, but Garth thought he might have nodded slightly.

"I would know more about what services you would require of me."

There was a contemplative silence for a few seconds, then the old man replied, "I require certain items. I do not at present recall exactly which."

Garth, not yet over his anger at the Baron, felt a twinge of annoyance at the old man's vague reply. "Listen, I do not care to waste my time prying words from you. I will not bind myself to your service, but at present I seek a way to divert myself while I consider what manner of reply to make to your Baron of Skelleth. What are these items, and where are they to be found? Would you have me fetch them?"

The King was again silent for a moment, and Garth's irritation grew; finally, the old man said, "You are to bring me whatsoever you find upon the seven high altars of the seven temples in Dыsarra."

"Dыsarra?" The name was unfamiliar.

"A city in Nekutta, far to the west."

"And will I find upon these altars that which you need for your mysterious cosmic purpose?"

"You will find the solution to your problems with Doran of Skelleth; let that suffice for the present."

"What? Will one of these altar objects provide some magical means of dealing with that madman? You are being deliberately vague."

The old man shrugged.

Garth sat for a long moment, thinking. It was plain that he would coax no further explanation out of the Forgotten King, and the task set was exasperatingly cryptic. Still, such a quest would undoubtedly be an interesting diversion, and the old man had said it would provide a solution to his problems-presumably some means of coercing the Baron into behaving reasonably, or else a means of carrying out a satisfactory vengeance without destroying the fledgling trade. He had never caught the old man in an actual lie, and there could be no doubt he had knowledge beyond what was natural.

And what else was he to do? He could not return to Ordunin under the present circumstances. Until he could come up with some way out of his oath to the Baron he had nothing better to do and nowhere better to go. Running some fool errand halfway across the world would be a welcome distraction. That was all he had expected until the King had made his final statement, and he had thought it sufficient; the old man's words, curious as they were, could only make it more tempting.

However, they also somehow made Garth uneasy.

"I will do it," he said. "I will find this city you speak of, and rob these seven altars, and we will see whether my problems are solved thereby."

The Forgotten King smiled behind his beard.

Beside the fireplace, the old man wearing dark red nodded to himself.

Three days later, in a windowless chamber bright with golden tapestries and gleaming lamps somewhere in the black-walled city of Dыsarra, the high priest of Aghad sat, sipping bitter red wine and studying an ancient text. With a rustle of draperies and robes one of his subordinates entered, and stood waiting until such time as her exalted master should deign to notice her.

The wait was brief; the high priest lowered his book and demanded, "Yes, child?"

"Darsen of Skelleth sends a message." The underling held up a narrow strip of parchment such as could be wrapped on the leg of a carrier pigeon.

The high priest held out his hand, and the acolyte surrendered the note. He read it, then crushed it in one great brown hand.

"We must see this prospective visitor. Go tell Haggat to ready his scrying glass."

The acolyte bowed and vanished through the curtains with another swift rustle; the high priest picked up his book once again, glanced at the page, placed a thin strip of embroidered velvet upon it to serve as a bookmark, then closed it and slid it onto a shelf beside a dozen others.

Fifteen minutes later the priest strode into another windowless room; this one was draped in black and deep red, its somber gloom scarcely softened by the light of a single immense candle. A plump middle-aged man in a loose black robe stood within, holding a great crystal sphere in his hands; the acolyte knelt beside him, her face hidden in the shadow of her hood.

"She has told you what I wish to-see?"

The man nodded, and held out the sphere.

The high priest reached out and took it; he cradled it in his hands and gazed into it. The other two maintained a complete silence.

Deep within the globe's interior, the flickering reflection of the single candle's flame twisted and shaped itself into the form of a sunlit path, a narrow road through grassy countryside; as the high priest watched, a figure appeared, riding down this golden strip of light. Mounted on a huge catlike black beast, clad in helmet, breastplate, and flowing brown cloak, the figure was that of a red-eyed overman.

The priest studied this vision for long minutes, then handed the sphere back to its master.

"This overman may be useful, perhaps very useful indeed. You; Haggat, will inform me of everything you can learn relating to him. You may have this acolyte as your personal property, to aid you in this and as your reward. Understood?"

The man nodded; one hand fell and pulled aside the acolyte's hood, then stroked her night-black hair possessively. The other hand balanced the crystal sphere, which flashed and glittered strangely. Despite the dim and uneven light, fear was plain on the girl's face as she looked up at her new master.

The high priest turned and left, thinking intently; although not the focus of his contemplation, he found himself aware that he considered Haggat to be very pleasant company. A man with his tongue cut out could not chatter on aimlessly as so many did.

He pulled his mind away from such distractions, and considered seriously what would be done with this thieving impertinent overman.