The True Game

by Sheri S. Tepper

  "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 ew 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.

  "They will not ordinarily grow this far north, " he told us. "Except that they find eternal summer among these mists. We have fruit when others have none, power when others have none. If we can find our way into the heart of life-within the Game or, likely, out of it-we may build a great people from this place."

  I think I started at this heresy, not sure I wanted to hear it, but he pretended not to notice, grinning at me over his beard, blue eyes glittering with humor and understanding. He went on.

  "And you, Healer. Are you ready to admit that your presence does nothing to help Dazzle, indeed, only makes her worse?"

  "Lord, certainly I make her no better."

  "Did you know this lad saw her?" Silkhands turned a shocked face to mine, was convinced by the expression she found there.

  "But how? None can. Except you, Lord, and I."

  "He can," said Himaggery, "though I cannot think why. Well, life is full of such mysteries, but it were better for you, boy, if you forgot this one. Am I right that you saw through my eyes? I thought so. Well then, it may be emerging talent of some kind, and no point in worrying about it."

  "How did she…why is she…I…"I couldn't get the question out.

  "Why is she a hideously maimed person? Why does no one know it? Why? Ah, boy, it's one of those mysteries I spoke of. But, I don't think Silkhands will mind my telling you." He looked to her for permission, and she nodded, eyes fixed upon her twisting hands. He patted her shoulder and told me the story. "There were two children of Fuller the Seer and his loved wife, a Tragamor woman out of the east: Silkhands, here, and her full brother, Borold, born two years apart. When they were still children, their mother died, and Finler took another woman, a Tragamor from Guiles whose name was Tilde. They had a daughter, some six years younger than Silkhands. Dazzle. "Silkhands and Borold manifested talent quite young, when they were about fifteen. Silkhands, being a Healer, was much respected in the place they lived as Healers often are, whether they merit it or not, though from everything I have learned I would judge that Silkhands merited it more than most. Borold showed flying early, and then moving, and was named Sentinel. Dazzle was a beauty, even as a tiny thing, and grew more beautiful than any in the place had ever seen. But she was not fond of Silkhands…"

  "It was Tilde's fault, somewhat, " interjected Silkhands. "She resented my mother even though mother was long dead. She was jealous of her reputation in the town, and of the fact that I, her daughter, was a Healer. We cannot blame Dazzle…"

  "Be that as it may, " the Wizard went on, "Dazzle deeply resented her half sister. And, when at last she manifested a talent of her own, it was along the lines she had first laid down, glamor, beguilement, powerholding, and fire-the measure of a Priestess or Witch. Because she was a power-holder, Silkhands sought her help in healing, for Dazzle could have carried power with which Silkhands could have healed many…"

  "She wouldn't, " cried Silkhands. "She would not do it. She would not carry power for anything except her own amusement and delight. If there were sick, she would turn away saying, "They are nothing to me. They stink, besides. It is better if they die."

  The Wizard nodded. "So. And Borold fell under the spell of the girl and turned away from Silkhands and would not help her in healing, though at one time he had carried her through the air in search of the sick and wounded. He stopped that and flew only for Dazzle's amusement."

  "Then came a Game," said Silkhands in a monotone, as though reciting scripture. "A very great Game, the armies of it massing near the place we lived. And the Tragamors of that Game rained stones upon the opposing armies directed by the Seers and Demons of that Game, but something went awry and the stones fell upon the town and upon our house and upon us. "And my father died, at once. And Tilde lay with her legs beneath a stone, screaming. And the Game had pulled all the power so that I had none with which to heal her, so I called to Dazzle, as Borold and I tried to roll the stone away. 'Dazzle, your mother is sorely hurt. Give me power to heal her or she'll die." But Dazzle said, "I'm old enough to need no Mother now. I need my power for myself, to keep me safe,. "and she cowered in the corner weaving a beguilement for herself, about herself, that she was safe…

  "Then another stone came, shattering the roof, and a huge tile of the roof came down like a knife, shearing her face. Borold did not see. I saw and screamed at the horror of it. Her mind was not touched, only her face, and I begged her for power to heal her, but she only said, 'Don't try your tricks on me, Silkhands, I'm all right. Let me be. Don't try to get my juice for that old woman. And she went on weaving the glamor around her with all her power so that Borold could not see the wound and she herself could not see it when she sought her mirror, and so has she woven since. Tilde died. I could do nothing but ease the pain a little. It was very cold. Shortly the Game was over and help came, but it was too late. And Dazzle went on beguiling…"

  "Then she doesn't even know?" I asked, astonished.

  Himaggery made a sour face. "She does not know. She leches after me from time to time and is in perpetual annoyance that I do not return her lusts, but I cannot. Would not, even were she whole, for there is a deeper maiming there than the face."

  "Can't she be truly healed, here, where so much power is?"

  Silkhands answered sadly, "The power of healing works through the mind, Peter, as all our powers do. If an old wound is long healed, the mind accepts it and will not help me fight it. I am no Necromancer to raise dead tissue to a mockery of life."

  "So, boy," said Himaggery.
"I will appoint you judge of this matter. Sometimes we do this in the Bright Demesne-appoint a pawn judge of some issue or other.."

  "But, no." I exclaimed. "Such a one would not know the rules."

  "Exactly. You have the heart of the matter there. Well, since you do not know the rules, what would you rule in this case? I believe Silkhands should go away, that staying with Dazzle only makes matters worse. What say you?"

  Since there were no rules, I could only use what sense I had. Though Chance had never thought me overburdened in that respect, I had sometimes resented his opinion so did my best. I thought of the young Dragon and the young Cold Drake, dead because of Dazzle's machinations. I thought of Mandor as I had last seen him, full of envy, ready to destroy me because, of it. I thought of Silkhands and her pain that she could not heal more…and I said,

  "She should go away. If Dazzle is like one I have known, she will not hesitate to destroy you, Silkhands. If you are gone away, then part of the cause of her anger will be gone."

  "Exactly!" Himaggery beamed at me. "I need her to carry a message for me; she needs to go away. You need company upon the road, so does she, you go the same place. See how neatly it works out." He turned to her.

  "I want you to go with the lad to the High Demesne at Evenor. He is not half healed yet, and you can rid him of those scars along the way."

  "Why me?" she muttered, wiping tears."Because you'll be welcome there; Healers always are. Because if I sent a Seer or Demon they would think I sent a spy. Because you are to go to an old friend of mine who needs your help and care; I hope to bring him back here with you. The High King will not want to let him go, and you must use all your wiles as honestly as you can-which you will, because you are honest and cannot think thoughts which would seem treasonable. Are those enough reasons?"

  She cried, and he comforted, and I listened, and the hours went by while they talked of other things. They talked of heterotelics (I wrote it down) and an animal in the wastes of Bleer which makes scazonic attacks (I wrote that down, too) and of great Gamesmen of the past-Dodir of the Seven Hands, the Greatest Tragamor ever known, and Mavin Manyshaped. That name seemed familiar to me, but I could not remember where I had heard it before. And they talked more of that one to whom she was being sent, an old man, a Gamesmaster, but something more or other than that as well. They talked long, and I fell asleep. When I woke, Himaggery was brooding by the fire and Silkhands had gone.

  I was moved to thank him. The occasion demanded something from me, something more than mere words. I took the pouch from my belt and placed it in his hands, saying, "I have nothing worth giving you, Lord, except perhaps these things I found. If they please you, will you keep them with my thanks for your kindness?"

  When he opened the pouch, his face went drear and empty, and he took one of the pieces in his hand as though it were made of fire. He asked me where I had come by them, and when I had answered him, he said, "There, in a place I would not go because of her I had sent there. So, they were not meant for me, and it does no good to think about them.

  "Boy, I would have given the Bright Demesne for these if. I could have found them myself. However, they did not come to my hand and they are not to be given way. I may not tell you what they are-indeed, it may be I do not truly know. I may not take them from you. I can say to you take them, put them under your clothes, keep them safe, keep them secret. I will remember you kindly without the gift, "

  I wanted to ask him…plead with him to tell me something, anything, but his face forbade it. The next morning we left the Bright Demesne, and only then did I realize how strange a place it was. There had been no Gaming while I had been there. I had not seen a single pile of bones. I had no idea what talent the Wizard held. "Strange talents make the Wizard" they say, but his were not merely. strange, they were undetectable. Later, of course, I wondered what talent enabled him to see Dazzle as she was. Later, of course, I wondered what talent enabled me to see through his eyes.

  4

  The Road to Evenor

  Just before we left the Bright Demesne, Dazzle saw fit to throw an unpleasant scene during which she accused Silkhands of every evil she could think of-of being Himaggery's leman, of being his treasonous servant, of plotting against her and Borold, of abandoning one whom she had been unable to compete with because her powers were pulish and weak, of being envious--childish, evil, acid words. Neither Dazzle nor Borold saw us off, though Himaggery did. Silkhands was drawn and tired, looking years older than herself, and she only bit her lip when Himaggery told her to put it out of her mind, that he would take care of Dazzle. So, we rode off mired and surrounded in Silkhand's pain. I could feel it. The others could see it well enough. As I could feel her pain, so I could feel Yarrel's joy.

  We were mounted on tall, red horses from Himaggery's stable, and Yarrel beamed as though he had sired them himself. As for me, Silkhands bade me leave the bandages off, and as we rode she held my hand and led me to think myself unmarred once more. There was one deep wound which could not be healed, a puckered mark on my brow. Silkhands said my mind held to the spot for a remembrance. Certainly, I did not want to forget what had happened in Schooltown.

  She led me to think of Tossa and speak of her until that hurt began to heal as well. I learned that what I had felt was not love. It was some deeper thing than that, some fascination which reaches toward a particular one, toward a dream and thus toward all who manifest that dream. She made me talk of the earliest memories I had, before Mertyn's House (though until that moment I had not known of any memories before Mertyn's House) and I found memory there: scents, feelings, the movement of graceful arms in the sun, light on a fall of yellow hair. So, Tossa had been more than I knew, and less. Even as I grieved at her loss, I grieved that I could not remember who the one had been so long ago, before Mertyn's House. I could not have been more than two or three. I tried desperately, but there were only pictures without words. Tossa had matched an inexplicable creation, an unnamed past.

  As well as being Healer, Silkhands became Schoolmistress. Believing Yarrel and I had been too long without study, she began to drill us in the Index as we rode, day by day. It was something to do to while the leagues passed, so we learned.

  "Seer, " she would say. "Give me the Index for Seer."

  Obediently, I would begin. "The dress of a Seer is gray, the mask gray gauze, patterned with moth wings, the head covered with a hood. The move of a Seer is the future or some distant place brought near. The Demesne absolute of a Seer is small, a few paces across, and the power use is erratic. Seers are classified among the lesser durables; they may be solitary or oath bound to some larger Game…" Then she would ask another.

  "The form of the Dragon is winged…breathing fire…and the move is flight through a wide Demesne. Dragons are among the greater ephemera…the dress of a Sentinel is red…of a Demon is silver, halfhelmed…of a Tragamor is black, helmed with fangs…of a Sorcerer is white and red, with a spiked crown…" and so and so and so. Some of the names she knew I had never heard of. What was an Orieiromancer, a Keratinor, a Hierophant? What was a Dervish? I didn't know. Silkhands knew, however, the dress, the form, the move, the Demesne, the Power, the classification.

  "When I was a child, " she said, "there was little enough to do in the village. But there were books, some, an Index among them. I learned it by heart for want of anything else to do. I think many of the names I learned are very rare. Some I have never seen anywhere in life." Still, she kept me at it.

  "Of a Rancelman is cobwebbed gold, magpie helmed…of an Elator is blue, with herons'wings…of an Armiger is black and rust, armed with spear and bow…of a King is true gold, with a jeweled crown…"

  "And Shapeshifter, " she said. "What is the Index of a Shapeshifter?"

  I said I did not know, did not care, was too hungry to go one pace further. She let us stop for food but continued teaching even as we ate.

  "The Shapeshifter is garbed in fur when in its own shape. Otherwise, of course, it is clad in the fo
rm it takes. The Demesne of a Shifter is very small but very intense, and it goes away quickly. It takes little power to make the change and almost none to maintain it. They are classified among the most durable of all Gamesmen, almost impossible to kill. They are rare, and terrible, and the most famous of all is Mavin Manyshaped."

  "Why Manyshaped?" asked Yarrel. "Can she be more than one thing at a time?"

  "No. But she can become many different things, unlike most shifters who can take one other shape, or two, three at most. But Mavin-it is said she can become anything, even other Gamesmen. That, of course, is impossible. It couldn't happen."

  When we had eaten, we went on again, silent for a time while we digested. Yarrel stopped us several times to examine tracks on the road before us. "A party of horsemen, " he said, "some four or five. Not far ahead of us." For the first time I thought of the pawner who had ridden away south.

  "How far ahead?" I asked. I did not want the man near me and was suddenly sorry I had not asked Himaggery to hold him or send him back to his ship under guard. "How far?"

  "A day. We will not ride onto their tails, Peter. You think the pawner rides ahead?"

  "I think, somehow, he knew where we were going."

  "We made no secret of it."

  "Perhaps we should have done." I was depressed at my own ignorance and naiveté. Why had I thought the man had given up? All our ruminations were interrupted, however, by a blast of chill from above. Silkhands threw one glance behind her, cried "Afrit, " and rode madly for the timber, we after her in our seemingly permanent state of confusion.

  "Is it looking for us?" I asked. She shook her head. Another blast of chill came from another direction. She frowned.

  "What is going on up there?" She led us toward rising land from which we might see the countryside around. We found a rocky knuckle at last and climbed it to peer away across a wide valley. Our way led there, straight across, to a notch in the hills at the other side. It was not a way we would take. Drawn up upon the meadows were the serried ranks of a monstrous Game, files of Sorcerers and Warlocks standing at either side, glowing with stored power. Wagons full of wood lined the areas of command where pawns struggled beneath the whip to erect heavy sections of great war ovens. Above the command posts Armigers stood in the air, erect, their war capes billowing about them, rising and falling like spiders upon silk as they reported to those below.