"It would seem we are defeated before we have begun," Derelind said.
"We must try, at the very least," Veyel replied.
"We must and we will. We will try each of these twelve spells the book led us to. It may be that the book is not infallible and has overestimated the power of the sword; it may be that Garth is not yet fully attuned to the sword's power. We still have a chance."
"Attuned?" Karag snorted. "The overman can summon storms from a clear sky and steer the lightning! How much more control over the sword's magic can he possess?"
"Much more, Karag. The sword's power is virtually limitless."
Kubal shuddered at that.
The discussion broke down after that into several groups of two or three, each working on one or two of the long-range spells. One by one, the death-spells were worked, amid strange chants, evil-smelling smoke, eerie lights, and other by-products of magic. The golden light vanished completely, and lanterns were found to replace it. Several of the councilors had become hungry, and Deriam used the book to locate a bottomless purse that could be made to produce an unlimited supply of biscuits and cakes and a wine flask that never ran dry.
"This is a very useful thing," he remarked as he gulped down the red wine, "though it's hardly a great vintage. I wonder why it was sealed away here?"
Shandiph was watching the last death-spell being worked, which involved an elaborate dance with a very sharp knife. Chalkara was the dancer. He answered absentmindedly, "Someone must have thought it was dangerous."
"How could a wine flask be dangerous?"
"Oh, easily enough, I think."
"How?"
"You could drown someone, I suppose," Amarda the Blood-Drinker suggested, "or flood out a place." She was nursing cuts on her palms from the spell she had helped with and licking off the blood with disconcerting relish. Deriam glanced at her, then quickly looked away again.
"I hadn't thought of that," he admitted.
At that moment the Baron of Therin distracted Shandiph from the dance. "I have news from Kholis," he said.
The Chairman turned and asked, "What is it?"
"An embassy from Skelleth has arrived and is at this moment speaking with the High King; my other self has just entered the audience chamber to hear what they have to say."
"What are they saying?"
Dor paused for a moment, as if listening, then answered, "They say that Skelleth has been burned and many of its people slain as a result of the dead Baron's madness. They say that a peaceful trade mission of overmen was attacked by the Baron's guards without cause, and the ensuing battle ended with the guardsmen and the Baron all dead, and many others as well."
"That is not what the Seer of Weideth said had happened."
Dor shrugged. "The ambassador is undoubtedly lying. Now he is explaining that the overmen stayed to aid in the rebuilding, and that a man named Saram, once a lieutenant in the Baron's guard, organized the survivors."
Shandiph glanced at where Chalkara was whirling, her knife glinting in the lantern light, and then looked about "Where is the Seer?"
The man from Weideth made his presence known from somewhere behind the Chairman.
"Ah, there you are. Can you say anything of the truth or falsehood of what Lord Dor is telling us?"
"Lord Dor speaks the truth as he knows it, my lord; but of course, that is to be expected, and says nothing about the truthfulness of the ambassador from Skelleth. I cannot know what is true at secondhand, like this."
"You said that the Baron of Skelleth was murdered."
"Oh, yes, he was! I tested that by three separate divinations; he was stabbed from behind without warning, by the Sword of Bheleu, while unarmed"
"Then this ambassador is lying."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"What is he saying now, Dor?"
"He is explaining that Skelleth hasn't enough wood or food to last the winter and asking that the High King send aid and name a new baron, so that the town will flourish as before, despite this unfortunate incident."
"Skelleth hasn't flourished in two hundred years!" Deriam said.
"True enough," Dor agreed. "I merely repeat what I hear."
"Now what's happening?"
"Barach of Sland has interrupted the ambassador's speech; he says that the man is obviously a lying blackguard, and asks that the High King send him to Skelleth to learn the truth of the matter."
"The Baron of Sland wants to go to Skelleth?" Thetheru was plainly astonished. He could not imagine anyone wanting to go to such a place.
"That's no surprise," Karag replied. "He has always liked the idea of acquiring a second barony, and was rather annoyed when Skelleth went to someone else-when was it?-twenty-three, twenty-four years ago."
"Even if we do dispose of the overman, it appears that we may have to settle other matters regarding Skelleth," Shandiph observed.
"I would say so," Dor agreed. "The High King has just said that he sees no reason to disbelieve the ambassador and will send what aid he can. He is naming this man Saram as the new Baron of Skelleth, pending his formal presentation at Kholis for confirmation. Barach is raging mad. He's storming out now, calling for his men."
"We will have to patch up this quarrel when time allows," Shandiph said.
"Shouldn't we see to it immediately, before anyone does anything foolish?" Deriam asked.
"No," Shandiph answered, "I think we should tend to what we've begun first and deal with the overman. He's the more dangerous problem." He gestured at Chalkara, who was nearing the end of her ritual. "If these spells have worked, any of them, we should be in plenty of time. If they haven't, then it's all the more important that we handle Garth immediately."
Chalkara completed her dance with a final flourish and flung the dagger to the floor between her feet. According to the book that contained the spell, the blade was supposed to penetrate any floor, even stone, easily and draw blood. The blood would be that of the intended victim.
The knife struck, ringing, and stuck into the stone floor as intended, but only the tip had penetrated; no blood flowed.
"I don't think it worked," Kubal said.
"It may be that the overman was already dead," Derelind said. "After all, we have tried to kill him a dozen times over. We have burned him, choked him, stabbed him, flayed him, smothered him, poisoned him, and sent birds to tear him to pieces."
"I hope that's it," Shandiph said. He leaned on the reading stand and asked the guidebook, "Is Garth of Ordunin dead?"
Pages turned, and he read aloud. "This book is not a true oracle, and answers only questions about magic and arcane information known to the Council of the Most High at the close of the Twelfth Age."
"Try your scrying glass, Kala," someone said.