Garth shrugged again.
"So you intend to continue to blindly serve him?"
"I am not sure."
"Oh?"
"I am not sure I still want the fame I sought."
"Oh. But you still believe the old man could make it happen?"
"Yes."
Saram abruptly rose. "I'm going to get some more ale." He strode away, mail clinking faintly. Garth watched him go, then turned to the Forgotten King.
"You still will not say why you wanted the basilisk?" The old man said nothing.
"Then what of my goal?"
"I have not yet decided upon your next task."
"Nor have I decided that I wish to accept it."
"What of your bargain?"
"I begin to doubt it."
"You doubt I can grant your desire?"
"No; I doubt whether I truly desire it, and at the price asked."
"Is the price too high?"
"It may be. It may be that I asked the Wise Women of Ordunin the wrong questions; it may also be that the deaths of a dozen men are more than I wish to pay."
"Yet, already, from this first errand, your name is known in Mormoreth and throughout Skelleth."
"Known as the name of a murderer."
"Nonetheless, it is known. You made no provision as to how you wished to be remembered. You merely wished that your name be known until the end of the world, and I can promise that if you serve me successfully, you shall have that."
"I wanted fame, not notoriety!"
"You made no such specification"
Garth could feel a cold rage growing inside him. He felt betrayed, both by the Forgotten King and by the Wise Women who had sent him to Skelleth. He had trusted them; most particularly, he had trusted the King solely because the Wise Women had said he should, and trusted him to the point of killing for him. He said nothing, but merely glared at the ragged yellow cowl. Then, abruptly, he rose.
"Sit down."
The hideous voice could not be ignored; Garth hesitated, then sat, silent with fury.
"You would wish, then, not merely to have your name known, but to have it honored?"
Garth could not bring himself to speak; he nodded.
"I have no objection to altering our bargain to that effect."
His rage subsided in sudden confusion. "What?"
"You are from Ordunin."
"Yes." Garth was now completely bewildered.
"It is a poor city."
"Yes."
"Yet you have wealth. There is gold to be mined, fish in abundance, rich furs to be trapped. Why, then, are you poor?"
The overman made no reply at first. When the old man said nothing and the silence began to grow, Garth said, "Because we must trade away our wealth for food. An overman cannot live on fish alone, nor can every overman spend his time fishing, for someone must work the mines."
"Where do you trade?"
"At Lagur, ten days sail southeast."
"Why?"
Comprehension was seeping in as Garth replied, "Because trade overland was impossible, we thought. The Racial Wars made it so. And we know of no other ports."
As he spoke, Saram resumed his seat, a full mug sloshing in his hand. "What's due to the Racial Wars, did you say?"
Garth looked at the yellow-robed figure to see if he wished to explain and, seeing only a faint trace of a smile, said himself, "The impossibility of trade between Skelleth and Ordunin-and in fact, between all Eramma and all the Northern Waste."
"Well, the Racial Wars are long ended, it seems, yet there's still no trade, is there?" Saram gulped his ale. "I don't suppose Skelleth has anything you'd want up there. You've got ice and hay of your own."
"But you, here in Skelleth, can trade with the south."
"So?" Saram did not yet see Garth's point.
The Forgotten King interrupted before Garth could speak. "Saram, why is Skelleth dying?"
"Because we haven't got anything to eat or trade."
"And what if you had gold, and furs, and other valuable goods to trade with the south?"
Saram looked at the old man, then turned to Garth. "You mine gold up there?"