The Sword of Bheleu by Lawrence Watt-Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

is?”
    â€œOf course it is!”
    Saram would have said something further, but Garth was bringing a second stone out of the bag. This one was unwrapped and gleaming black, apparently a faceted and polished chunk of obsidian.
    â€œThis,” the overman said, “came from the altar of the god of darkness and of the blind; I don’t recall his names offhand.” He plunged his hand in again and pulled out a small pouch.
    â€œThe altar of P’hul was empty, save for dust; I brought you some of the dust.” He tossed the pouch beside the two stones, and dragged out a larger and obviously much heavier pouch. He opened it and poured coins out on the table top. They were all gold, but encrusted with something dark brown and powdery.
    â€œThis is what I found on the altar of Aghad; the stains are dried blood.” A bitter note crept into his voice as he added, “At least two people died while I visited that temple, for no reason but to amuse the Aghadites.”
    Firma interjected, “You slew their high priest, though.”
    He turned, reminded of her presence. “I would prefer that I had slain the entire cult, as I did Bheleu’s. Come here, girl.” He beckoned.
    Hesitantly, Frima got to her feet and stepped up beside the Forgotten King’s table. Garth placed a hand on her shoulder. “This,” he said, “is what I found on the altar of Sai, goddess of pain. However, lest she not be what you had in mind, I also took what I was told the pain-worshippers customarily kept on their altar.” He dumped the almost-empty sack out, revealing a coiled whip and a narrow-bladed dagger.
    â€œWas there nothing else?” the King asked.
    â€œI am afraid I didn’t think to bring the ropes they used to bind their sacrifice.”
    â€œThat is not what I meant. This is junk for the most part, Garth. The stones are the true pieces, but their power was largely spent long ago. The sword—that is worthwhile. The rest is nothing, mere trash. This whip is a false imitation; the true token of Sai is shod with silver. The token of Aghad is a golden dagger. P’hul’s tool is a ring, now in the possession of a council of wizards.”
    â€œThis is what I found on the altars,” Garth replied. He was amazed at the King’s loquaciousness.
    â€œWhat of the seventh altar?”
    Garth hesitated. “I took nothing from the altar of Death,” he replied.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI did not trust you; I feared what you might do should it prove as powerful a force for death as the sword is a force for destruction.”
    â€œThe book was there, though?”
    Startled, Garth stared at the King. “What book?” he asked.
    â€œThere was no book?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen what was on the altar?”
    He could see no harm in telling the truth. “There was a horned skull, from no species I have ever heard of.”
    There was a moment of silence. Then the King said, “Did you move it?”
    â€œNo, I left it there. It was attached to the altar, and I thought better of separating it.”
    â€œOf course it was attached, you idiot! It’s part of the altar! Was there nothing else?”
    It was the first time Garth had ever heard the old man raise his voice; it was not a pleasant experience. Though still not loud, the sound seemed to bite through him.
    â€œNo, nothing else. The top of the altar was empty. Oh, there was slime all over it, from the monster...”
    â€œI care nothing about slime! I need that book!”
    â€œThere was no book there, I am quite certain.”
    â€œBegone with you, then! Keep your trinkets and leave me in peace; I must consider this.” With that, the old man rose, wrapped his cloak more tightly about him, and moved around the table and up the stairs.
    Garth watched him go in open-mouthed astonishment; then a glimmer of light caught his eye, and he turned to see that the stone in the pommel