The Gamesman who rode beside me, one I could not identify — gold tunic embroidered with cobweb pattern, magpie helm and gray cloak — began to talk of the ones who floated behind.
“Young Yvery and even younger Yniod,” he said, “both having conceived a passion for the Seer, Yillen of Pouws, and having studied the madness of courtly love (much studied by them and some other few fools in Himaggery’s realm) did each claim the other had insulted the lady. She, having been in trance this seven month, could not intervene. So was challenge uttered, and by none could they be dissuaded. Himaggery demands that all may have free choice, and so did this occur.”
I found my voice somewhere beneath my giblets and got it out. “Which of them did the Seer love?”
“Neither. She knew neither of them. They had only seen her sleeping.”
“What is this courtly love you speak of?”
The Gamesman gestured to Silkhands. “Ask your Healer friend, she knows.”
Silkhands turned a miserable, shamed face to me. “Oh, yes, the Rancelman is right. I know. It is some factitious wickedness which Dazzle thought up and spread among the impressionable young. She may have read of it in some ancient book or come upon it in amusements for herself, and none will do unless there is combat and ill feeling. That is why we were banished to the ruin. Three times we have lived in the Bright Demesne, and each time Dazzle has started up some such foolishness. It does nothing but cause trouble, dueling, death, stupidity. Each time Himaggery has sent her away…”
“Her? Not you?”
“No.” She seemed almost angry that I had asked. “Not I. Not Borold. But we cannot let her live alone…”
“I would,” snorted Yarrel. Of course, he had not seen Dazzle. “So long as she has you to comfort her, why should she mend her behavior?”
“So says Himaggery,” she admitted. “But this last thing must have started ages ago. Dazzle could not have begun any new mischief. There has not been time.”
I mumbled something intended for comfort. We went on through the fringe of forest and out into the clear, blue shining of the lake’s edge. For a moment I did not understand what I saw rising from the earth. Fogs spiraled from steaming springs which fed the waters. The town was scattered among these mists, and I knew why Himaggery had taken the Lake of Yost and how it was that thousands could gather here.
“There is power here,” I said as I felt the heat.
“Yes,” Silkhands agreed. “There is plenty of power here, and not much is needed here. There is none out there, and that is where it is always needed. It is never here I need it!” Her voice rose in a pained cry.
I said, “It hurts you! When you need to heal and have not the power, it hurts you!” The idea was quite new to me.
“Yes. That is true for all Healers. And for all Seers, and all Demons, too. We who are the children of Gamesmother Didir have this pain.”
She was speaking of the legendary grandmother of our race. Didir was progenitress of the mental powers, Gamesfather Tamor the progenitor of the material ones. Religion has it that all of us are descended from these two. I was not thinking so much of that, however, as of the idea of pain. When Tossa had been wounded, I had felt her pain, felt her death. When Silkhands had felt pain, I, too, had felt it. What did this pattern mean? Understand, for boys of my age — and, I suppose, for girls too, though I had no way of knowing — the most important thing is to know what name, what talent we will have. We search for signs of it, hints, even for auspices. We beg Seers to look ahead for us (they never will, it is forbidden). What did this mean? Was I a Demon emergent, reading the feelings of others? But, no, this was foolishness. Tossa could not have been read in this fashion. It spun in my head endlessly, so I tried not to think about it.
So, we were given food and water and proper amenities and brushed up to be presented to Himaggery in his audience hall as soon as might be. I heard water under the floor, the warmth of the stones telling their own tale of power. Dazzle was there, and the pawner. When they had been heard, Chance took our let-pass from his breast and gave it to the Wizard who perused it.
“All right, lad,” the Wizard said. “You’ve heard the pawner say he was hired to find you, hired by a Demon and paid well for his work. You’ve heard Silkhands say you played a forbidden game to get a Healer to a wounded Immutable, something anyone could have told you wouldn’t work. I’ve heard complaining from Dazzle, as usual, but you merit no punishment on that account. Now, let me hear from you. Why does this Demon want you?”
“I do not know, sir. I have met only one Demon in my life, at the last Festival, and I don’t even remember his name.”
“Well, easy tested by a Demon of my own.” He gestured to a tall Demon who stood at his left, and that one fixed his eyes upon me. There was a tickling in my head, a fleeting kaleidoscope of colors and smells, quickly gone. The Demon shook his head and said to Himaggery:
“He speaks only truth. He is only what he seems, a student, a boy, nothing more.”
“Ah. So. Well then, why did you try to kill this pawner? He was, after all, in my protection.”
“He killed Tossa,” I grated. “He killed her or had her killed. What had she done to him? Nothing. Nothing! And he killed her.”
The pawner squirmed. “An accident, Lord. A…misunderstanding. It was not my intent to kill anyone, but one of the men in my train…he was caught up in he chase…”
The Wizard said, “It seems to be explained. The boy has committed no wrong except for a bit of forbidden disguise. The pawner, however, has killed the governor’s daughter, an Immutable. It is likely he won’t live long to regret that. We’ll cry you to them, pawner. I’ll not have blame laid on me or mine.”
“But, Lord…”
“Be still. If you anger me more, I’ll give you to them rather than merely cry you to them. As for you, Silkhands, you’ve done nothing ill except exercise poor choice in certain matters we’ve discussed before. And Dazzle is with us again …”
He had stepped close to me as he spoke, putting his hand on my shoulder. I felt the solid weight of it, smelled the mixed leather and herb scent of his clothing, and followed his glance to the window where Dazzle was posing like some exotic bird or silken cat. I saw her, then saw her again and turned sick with horror. One eye socket gaped empty. One side of her nose was gone, eaten away. From her jaw jagged splinters of bone and tooth jabbed through multiple scars, all as though one half of her face had been chewed away by some monster. I choked. Himaggery removed his hand, and the horror was abruptly gone. I reached out to him for support, and the vision returned. He saw the sick terror on my face, stooped toward me to whisper, “You saw?” then drew away, eyes narrowed in thought as I nodded, unable to speak.
“Say nothing,” he whispered. “Be still.” He caught curious glances around us. “Tell them I am forbidding you to pretend to Necromancy.” Then he left me tottering there. I could not leave the room quickly enough to suit me. Even in my own room, I retched and was sick. When I had settled myself somewhat, I went out onto the little balcony and sat there, hunched against the wall, trying not to think of anything. I saw the pawner in the courtyard below me with some other men. In a few moments they mounted and rode away, turning south along the lake shore. At the moment it meant nothing to me. Later I was to wonder, why south? The Gathered Waters and the pawner’s ship lay north of us. I had not long to brood over anything, for Silkhands came to fetch me to the Wizard.
We found him in his own rooms, out of dress, Wizardly costume laid aside in favor of a soft shirt and trousers which could have clad anyone. He was examining a fruit tree in the enclosed garden.