“Wind’s Gate,” called Queynt from the wagon seat. “A great and marvelous sight, gentlemen, Healer, where the highlands slope into the lowlands and the wind travels that same road. Oh, many a traveler’s tale could be told of the Wind’s Gate, many a marvelous story woven. See how Yittleby and Yattleby stride lorth, eager to see their kindred upon the heights. Oh, you will be amazed, sirs, Healer, at the wonders which await you there.”
There was no real reason for King Kelver to accompany us, now that Jinian was gone. Some spirit of devilment in me called him to account for his presence.
“It was courteous of you, King, to accompany us thus far in our journey. We understand that it was courtesy offered to young Jinian, promised to you as she was, and that you might feel reluctant to withdraw that courtesy now that she is gone. However, may I express all our thanks and willingness that you feel no obligation to continue. Indeed, sir, you have done enough and more than one might expect.” There, I thought. That’s out-Queynting Queynt himself, and find an answer to that, Mirrorman.
He hemmed and hawed, reminding me of the way Riddle had fumed and fussed when I had called him to account similarly. “Not at all, Gamesman,” he finally managed to say. “I am led by curiosity now. Having come so far, I will not go home again without having seen the heights.” And he smiled a sick, false smile at me which I returned as falsely. Devil take him.
When we started into the notch, Chance told me to watch to the rear with my Shifter’s eyes. “They have to bring the real King along near,” he said. “They couldn’t try to bring him anyway but by this road — there is no way save this road unless they fly. So you look back there for dust. That’ll tell us how far they are behind.”
We had gone on for several hours before I saw it, far behind, just then turning at the fork. I could not have seen it had the land not sloped down behind us so that we looked upon the road already traveled. Even then, no eyes but a Shifter’s would have seen it. I did not make any great matter out of peering and spying. It was well enough to know that the true King was probably behind us several hours upon the road, which distance would likely be decreased under cover of dark.
So when evening came we built our separate fire once more, and Chance and I made much noise about weariness, how we had not slept the night before out of worry over Jinian and how we must now go early into our blankets. I made up a convincing bundle and slipped away into the dark. Behind me Chance conversed with my blankets. Once away from the light I Shifted into fustigar shape and ate the leagues with my feet, carrying with me only one thing I thought I might need.
I found them without any trouble at all. There were two of them and a closed wagon, not unlike that which Queynt drove. One of the men was an Elator, a cloak thrown over his close leathers against the night’s chill. The other was Mirrorman, right enough, got up in King’s robes and a feathered hat like Kelver’s.
The wagon was shut tight. I had no doubt Kelver was in it. I would learn all I needed by waiting for the other Mirrorman, the false Kelver, to return to his allies. I lay behind a rock and watched the two as they ate and drank, belched and scratched themselves. Finally the false Kelver arrived, riding in out of the darkness, and they unlocked the wagon. I saw where the key was kept, crept close behind them to peer through the crack of the door. The true King was bound and gagged, lying upon a cot. When they took the gag from his mouth, he swayed, obviously drugged. He could not bestir himself to anger, mumbling only.
“You are dishonorable, Gamesmen. Your Game is dishonored. Who Games against me?”
One of the Mirrormen struck him sharply upon the legs with a stick he carried. “Silence, King. Our master cares not for your honor or dishonor, for rules and forbiddings. You may keep your life, perhaps, if you cause us no trouble. Or you may lose your life, certainly, in Hell’s Maw.”
I had heard Hell’s Maw mentioned a time or two, by Mertyn, by Mavin, both with deep distaste and horror. I knelt close to the door crack, not to miss a word.
“Hell’s Maw,” the King mumbled. “What has Hell’s Maw to do with me?”
“Hell’s Maw has to do with the world,” said the Elator. “Our Master, Huld, moves from the mastery of Hell’s Maw to the mastery of the world. You are in the world. Therefore, you are in his Game. Now be silent.”
The first Mirrorman took up his position before the true King, stared at him long and long. I saw his flesh ripple and change. When he turned, his was the King’s face, but reversed and strange. Now the second Mirrorman, the false King, stared at the first in his turn, the flesh shifting slightly along the jaw, around the eyes. What had been a blurred, sick looking image became slightly better, not unlike King Kelver. Still, while all who knew the King would have accepted this face, they would have thought the King very ill, for it was not the face of health and character which friends who knew the King knew well. They gagged Kelver once more and left him there. I saw where they put the key.
They talked, then, of Hell’s Maw. I learned much I would rather not have known, of Laggy Nap and Prionde, of many powerful Princes from the north. I heard of the bone pits and the cellars, the dungeons and bottomless holes. These three talked of all this with weary relish, as though they had been promised some great reward when the ultimate day arrived. Finally the Elator flicked away, was gone a short time, then returned. There were a few further instructions for the false King. He was to signal the Elator if Peter left the others, signal if anything was discovered. The Mirrorman mounted and rode away toward the camp he had left some hours before. Only then did I move after him to take him unaware in the darkness. When a Mirrorman meets a pombi there is no contest between them. The pombi always wins.
I returned then to the Mirrormen’s camp, the false King trailing behind me, obedient to the little cap I had brought with me. I had said to him, “You are King Kelver, the true King Kelver. You will hear no other voice but mine. You will lie quiet in the wagon, drugged and quiet. You will say nothing at all. You are the true King Kelver, you will hear no voice but mine.” Then I laid him behind a stone to wait while the other two drank themselves to sleep.
Then it was only quiet sneaking to get the key, to open the wagon, untie the King, hush his mumbling. “You must be silent! Hush, now, or I’ll leave you here tied like a zeller for the spit!” At which he subsided, still drooling impotent anger into his beard. I put the false Kelver in his place, cap fastened tight under the feathered hat the King wore. Before we left, I reinforced his orders once more. I intended to come back the following night, perhaps, to take the cap from him before he lapsed into emptiness as the Invigilator had done in Xammer.
When we had come the weary way back to camp, the night was past its depth and swimming up to morning. I took him straight to Silkhands and told her all the story, after which it was only a little time until she had the poison out of him and he sputtering by the fire, angry as a muzzled grole.
“The Elator will probably spy on us,” I said. “We must decide how to keep them from knowing.”
“They will know in any case,” said the King. “When I do not return tomorrow for my reflection.”
I snapped at him. “Nonsense. Of course you will return. They will expect to see a Mirrorman come in the likeness of the King, and you will come in the likeness of the King. If you do not, I must, and that is too many Kelvers entirely even for this group.” He seemed to be chewing on this, so I gave him reason. “The false Kelver will simply lie there, thinking he is you. The other Mirrorman will do what Mirrormen do, no different. Surely you have guile enough for this? To keep them unsuspecting? To feed information back to Hell’s Maw which may be to our liking? If for no other reason, to work vengeance upon them for what they would have done to Jinian.”