Free The Sword of Bheleu by Lawrence Watt-Evans Page B

do the same, and appraise the exact situation before taking any direct action, but a blinding wave of fury drowned all such logic. He reached up and grabbed the hilt of the great sword and pulled it from its sheath.
    â€œHuman scum!” he bellowed. “You dare defy me?” The sword came free, and he swung it over his head.
    The sun, low in the western sky, vanished behind a cloud at that moment, and the glow of the jewel was visible to friend and foe alike.
    â€œI am Bheleu, bringer of destruction!” Garth cried. “Who dares stand against me?”
    Two dull snaps sounded, and two more bolts sped toward him; he spun the sword and somehow met both in mid-air, striking sparks as their barbed heads hit the steel of the sword’s blade. The quarrels flew harmlessly aside; one left a trail of smoke in the air.
    As it moved the sword shone silver, then white, as if the blade were now glowing as well as the gem. Garth laughed. “Flee, humans! Flee before the wrath of a god!”
    Clouds had gathered overhead with incredible speed, and a distant roll of thunder answered him.
    No more crossbows were fired. The guardsmen, already terrified at facing three times their number in overmen, did as they were told and fled. None of them cared to face this supernatural being who could knock arrows out of the air with his glowing sword. The cover provided by the crumbling wall and heaped rubble suddenly seemed hopelessly inadequate; when the last to arrive, who had not yet had time to conceal himself, turned and ran, the others were quick to follow.
    The overmen watched in amazed confusion as their foe, who had appeared from nowhere, vanished with equal speed, while Garth raved and did mysterious things with his strange sword.
    As suddenly as it had come, the spell departed, and Garth found himself holding the sword awkwardly above his head while men newly visible were running southward into the town. That was not what he wanted; he wanted to negotiate peacefully. The show of force was to have been just that, a show; he had no desire to risk starting the Racial Wars anew. “No!” he called, “they mustn’t flee!”
    Behind him, someone overheard him and misinterpreted his intent. “After them!” he called.
    Before Garth could recover sufficiently to countermand, his troops were surging forward, yelling and cheering. They poured over the broken remnants of the wall and into the town, pursuing the running guardsmen.
    Galt and Garth were both shouting, trying to stop the forward rush, but neither could be heard above the clamor. The warriors of Ordunin were on the offensive for the first time in three hundred years, and enjoying it.
    Garth quickly realized that he could accomplish nothing where he was. The other overmen were getting further away and more scattered with each passing second; he would have to head them off. He ordered Koros forward, along the roadway and through the gate. Galt followed his lead; Kyrith trailed behind.
    Garth reached one of his warriors, grabbed the overman by the shoulder, and bellowed in his ear, “Let them go! Form up on the road!” Before the warrior could acknowledge the command, Garth was on to the next.
    Moving in a straight line and mounted as he was, he quickly passed all the infantry; the warbeasts, fortunately, had not joined in the headlong dash after the fleeing humans. He had collared half a dozen of his troops, and they were now gathering on the road as he had ordered, but looking none too pleased about it. He turned and bellowed, “Hold! Let them go!”
    Another half-dozen overmen stopped and looked at him.
    â€œGet back in formation on the road!”
    Reluctantly, those who heard him obeyed; the clump of warriors on the road grew. Galt, too, was gathering them in.
    A few moments later Garth had to turn and head off a few who had wandered well off to one side. When he came back with them in tow, he found that Galt had managed to