“She didn’t arrive until twenty days ago,” drawled Chance. “And when I twitted her for being a slow-grole on the road, she flounced me.”
“Her manner was odd,” agreed Beedie. “And it’s continued to be.”
“Now, Beed,” said Roges.
“Don’t now Beed me,” she said. “The girl was very pleasant on the way down from Fangel, after we all escaped from the Duke. Very well spoken. Excitable, but reasonable. Now she’s . . . well, she’s different.”
I, too, thought it curious that it had taken Sylbie so long to arrive but did not pursue the matter just then. “Where have you put her?” I asked, wondering why I had not heard the baby.
Himaggery made an embarrassed face. “We put her in the little gatehouse, Peter. Her and the baby. That baby—well, it’s got this habit of changing into a howling something-or-other, which it does whenever it’s peevish or doesn’t get fed on time. It happens less frequently if it’s kept quietly off to itself where Sylbie can devote her full time to it. Not that she’s fond of the isolation, but she does understand the problem. Being under siege from inside as well. Last time, we almost lost the gate guards and the Demesne. I must confess, I didn’t realize Shifter babies manifested Talent quite that early. Or so violently.”
“They don’t,” I said. “This one is exceptional. There was some prenatal interference, you’ll remember.”
“Ah,” he murmured. “Of course. It seems the little creature needs discipline, but none of us here are capable of arranging it. Thank heaven it always changes back to baby shape when it gets hungry enough, or the whole matter would be quite hopeless. I kept thinking Mavin would show up, or that Thandbar would come back from his trip—he went off just before the siege, he, Trandilar, and Dorn, to set a guard over the cavern where the frozen Gamesmen are, and don’t mention it, Peter. I don’t want anyone to know. At any rate, there’s no one here to provide guidance for the baby. Something he much needs.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised, privately thinking that it would take Mavin or Thandbar or more likely both to do what needed doing. Nonetheless, I did want to find out what Sylbie had been doing on the road for so long, so I trotted through the pear orchard and one of the smaller vineyards to the gatehouse, taking along some fresh fruit tarts from the kitchen, which I thought she and the baby might enjoy. High over the walls of the Demesne the sky showed blue and gray, a patchwork of shadow and clear air between the meshes of fire. It looked safe, but depressing. We couldn’t stay penned up here forever. I put it out of my mind for the moment and knocked on her door.
She had Bryan in her arms, and he came to me in a moment, babbling on about something or other, getting his face all covered with berry juice as he happily gobbled tarts. She smiled and smiled, exclaiming over the tarts, telling me they’d go so well with tea. While she went to get it, I jiggled the baby on my knee, commenting loudly at how much he’d grown since Fangel. He seemed happy enough, though if the tarts gave him bellyache, I supposed we might be in for a haunting. After a time Sylbie was back, bearing a steaming pot with various accouterments, and we sat comfortably on either side of the fire while Bryan finished his share of tarts on the rug.
The little gatehouse is actually set into the wall of the Demesne, or rather into the bases of two great buttresses of those walls. There is a small gate that opens from the gatehouse—from the room in which I sat—through the wall itself, though it is always kept heavily barred from the inside. I noticed the heavy chains across it and nodded to myself, thinking that she and the baby were secure enough here while still being private. There were parapets upon the buttresses and Sentinels keeping watch not more than two or three manheights above that door.
“However did you get through the siege, Peter?” she wanted to know, peering up at me from under her lashes. Since I didn’t want to talk about the spy just yet, I equivocated and said I’d come in on the lakeside, leaving her with the impression I’d done it in a boat. Though Sylbie knew I was a Shifter, I’d learned she didn’t like to think about it. She did not think of me in any shape but my own.
She wanted to know if I had “seen anyone” on my way south. It seemed an odd question.
“Who do you mean by anyone, Sylbie? There were lots of people about, as a matter of fact. I had supper with a farmer and his wife just a night or two ago.”
“Oh, Peter, that’s not what I mean. Anyone you know? Umm. Your thalan? Or your mother, for example? Have you seen Mavin?”
I chose to answer only the last question, replying honestly enough that I had not.
“Jinian told me Mavin would especially want to see her grandson.” Sylbie sighed. “But she isn’t here. No one seems to know where she is. Do you know, Peter?”
I shook my head, distracted by Bryan’s antics. He had finished with the tarts and was now trying to share my tea. He was very strong for his size, which was fairly large for his age. I wasn’t paying too much attention to Sylbie, wondering rather if there were some progenitor back in my line or Sylbie’s who would account for the baby’s stalwart build. “Was your father large?” I asked, to her surprise.
“Not very, no.”
I mused on this. Himaggery was sizable, of course, though I would not have called him a really big man.
“Do you know where Jinian is, Peter?” It was a sweet little voice uttering harmless words, not words to have drawn my close attention except for the repetition of the question.
I looked at her, scrutinizing her for the first time, to surprise something sly in her expression, something covert. It was only a fleeting thing, and I didn’t let my perception of it show. “No,” I answered. “I really don’t. I left her in the northlands. She was going off somewhere at the time, and I honestly don’t know where.” Her questions were odd enough to remind me why I had come in the first place. “Sylbie, Himaggery says you didn’t arrive here until long after the others, though you left only a few days later. Did you have trouble on the road?” I watched her, waiting for any sign of confusion or embarrassment. Instead, I saw her stamp her foot in anger.
“Trouble on the road? Indeed I did have trouble on the road, and no thanks to your Jinian, who sent me off alone in that way. I had to leave the farmer she sent me with, for good-enough reason. And then it took time to find another wagon coming this way. It’s a wonder I got here at all!” She turned away with a petulant moue, while I made sympathetic noises. It was all very likely, and she sounded genuinely angry about the whole thing.
It took her a while to settle down. She was quiet for a time, thinking something over. “I wanted to meet that Trandilar. They say she’s gone away, however. I wonder where she went?”
I knew well enough where she had gone. Himaggery had been quite clear about it and had asked me not to mention it. By now they were at the cavern of the hundred thousand, being welcomed by those working there. I didn’t say so. Instead, I lied. “Trandilar’s gone off south, Sylbie. With one or two others.”
“Someone said they saw them headed west.” This in an annoyed voice.
“Oh, only far enough to confuse any possible watchers,” I said off-handedly. “Then they turned south. There are settled areas along the Southern Sea they had never seen. A short journey of exploration. I’m sure they’ll be back.”
I was beginning to suspect what it was that made Sylbie act in this odd manner. Jealousy. Here she was with the baby, off to herself, in a Demesne under siege, not having any fun at all—and as I recalled the Sylbie I had known so briefly in Betand, she had talked a good deal about her enjoyment of clothes and balls and splendid court events—while the rest of the world went on without her. She had no lover, no suitor, and so her thoughts had tended back to me. Which is why she wanted to know where Jinian was, and where Mavin was, and where others might be who might have some influence on me. So I thought, not without some degree of preening satisfaction. Oh, I knew well enough it was Trandilar’s skill at lovemaking that had confused Sylbie about me, Peter, but still I did n
ot totally discount my own considerable charms.
She nodded, not quite satisfied. “I suppose your thalan is still at Schooltown?”
I nodded, playing with Bryan, not looking at her. “Where else would he be? He certainly can’t visit here with a siege on.” Another question about someone close to me. Was she making some kind of plans? Did she intend to try to woo me away from Jinian? Or try to get Mavin to do it? It was all most curious and quite uncomfortable.
As soon as I could, I got away from there, giving Bryan a pat as I left. He was sleepily contented on the rug and didn’t mind my going. I got back to Himaggery and Barish as quickly as I might.
We talked over plans for locating spies, plans for rebuilding morale among the men, plans for countermoves against Huldra. They had some plan for some Wizardly contrivance that might be used against the shadow. All the time I was wondering what Sylbie was really up to and how I would handle it when she finally came out with it. I wished for Mavin, or Jinian, knowing either of them would handle it—whatever it was—better than I.
Eventually, I left the two Wizards, tired of’ it all. Jinian and I had been doing a great deal of sneaking and slying recently, fleeing from Oracles and dodging Sendings and generally creeping about like the bottom side of a mudsnake. Out of sheer frustration I was working myself up to a face-to-face battle with almost anyone, something trumpety and overt, even though that might be very unwise. I felt the same annoyance I had always felt at the Bright Demesne. Other people were making all the decisions, telling me to be patient when patience was the last thing I wanted. I wanted action. I wanted to know what was happening in the northlands, what was happening at the cavern. I wanted Jinian.
There was a small, walled orchard high above the lake which had always been a special favorite of mine. I went there and lay down upon the grasses to smell the blossoms and pretend Jinian was beside me. Speaking to her made it seem more real.
“I miss you,” I told her, my eyes shut, visualizing her as I had seen her last. “I miss the lines you get between your eyes, Jinian Footseer, when you are concentrating upon some problem. I miss your peevishness when we stumbling men say something particularly egregious. I miss the way you smile at me when you forget to keep me at a distance. Oh, Jinian, I wish the time of your oath were over and you here beside me.”
“Very pretty,” said the tree I was under.
I leapt to my feet, claws forming on both hands, fangs halfway to my chin. . . .
“Very, very pretty,” said the tree, turning itself slowly into my mother. Mavin. Mavin Manyshaped.
I retracted the fangs. “When did you get here?” I snarled. There was simply no privacy in this place. “No one knew where you were. Mertyn said he couldn’t find you.”
“Actually,” she said, stretching, “I never left. I simply grew weary of the constant arguments and decided to take a rest. Trees are an excellent vacation. Birds are good, too, of course, but trees have an elemental quality which is restorative.” She chucked me under the chin with one hand, as I suppose she had done when I was an infant before turning me over to Mertyn’s to raise. “What’s going on, love? I take it Jinian’s not with you? Or have you had a lovers’ quarrel?”
“We have not had a lovers’ quarrel,” I said impatiently, almost angrily. “She’s somewhere in the Great Maze, being shepherded by Ganver the Eesty, who’s trying to save her life. The Oracle is after her. And I’m here because she sent me here, and I don’t like being separated from her one bit. And, a little thing you wouldn’t know because you’ve been so occupied with treeishness, the Demesne is under siege.”
“It is?” She sounded interested but not at all distressed. “Who? Let me see. It would be Huldra, wouldn’t it. It would have to be Huldra. Tosh. I should have done her in long, long ago when I was only a log she sat upon. Have I told you of that time, Peter?” She had, of course, more than once. It was long ago, when Mertyn was only a child. She went on. “I could have Shifted long, long teeth and eaten her, bottom first. Shame that I didn’t. An opportunity lost. Ah, well, I suppose we shall have to get out of it somehow.
“And you haven’t had a lovers’ quarrel? Ah, Peter, Peter. I’m so sorry, child. I didn’t mean to tease. Come now. Sit back down and tell me all about it.” She plumped herself down on the grasses. “Have some fruit. I seem to have shed a good deal.”
It was true. She had shed fruit widely over the orchard grass, and it smelled like all the honeycombs of the forest, rich as perfume. So we sat eating Mavin fruit while I told her everything, including all the things I had not mentioned to Himaggery—being careful to say I had not. “If we get out of here,” I told her, “we must head straight for the Old South Road City, not to the Ice Caverns. Things are already moving well there, and I don’t think they need help. But the Old South Road City must be rebuilt.” We talked about this for some time, she nodding and nodding, seeming to understand exactly what was needed. Well, she had seen the Shadow Tower, after all. When we had finished, she brushed off her skirt and told me to go along. “I want you to go fetch your son,” she said. “Tell his mama you are taking him for a walk. To get better acquainted. Then bring him straight to me. What nonsense, trying to rear a Shifter child somewhere other than behind a p’natti. Though, I must remember, you turned out well-enough reared elsewhere though you were.”
“You didn’t like it behind the p’natti much yourself!” A p’natti, according to Mavin, was a kind of ritual obstacle course the Shifters used during their holidays.
“I didn’t like Danderbat Keep, my boy. I didn’t like Danderbat of the Old Shuffle, that’s the truth. But Battlefox the Bright Day was a good place for Swolwys and Dolwys.” She was speaking of my cousins. “And there’s Bothercat the Rude Rock and Fretowl and Dark Wood, and Watchhawk Keep and Fustigar Mountain Keep as well as a half hundred others. But I wasn’t thinking of that. I was only going to look him over, for now. From what you tell me, we’ve no time to be running weanlings off to a Shifter keep. There’s too much else to do.”
I went off to collect Bryan, finding Sylbie still full of questions about where people were but quite willing to have the baby gone for a while. I took him down to the orchard and left him there with Mavin for a time while I went back to see what Himaggery and Barish had decided. I didn’t tell them Mavin was back—or that she had never left. She preferred not, so she said. I have never understood my mother or her relationship with my father. I thought I was unlikely to understand it in my lifetime and would be wise to give up trying. Better to leave it alone, which I did.
7
JINIAN’S STORY: FURTHER LESSONS
We two came out on a hill overlooking a long, fertile valley, Ganver whirling as we came into the place, whirling us into other shapes, other sizes. When Ganver had done, we began to walk down the winding road, Ganver in the guise of a statuesque woman clad in an Elator’s dress and I a page, smaller than myself, with a face I knew was changed though I could not see it.
“Do you think the Oracle will follow us here?”
“I think not. The Oracle will cool, in time. It will stop this flapping pursuit and start to think. It will not consider this place. Why would it seek meaning in what it thinks merely symbolic?”
The bitterness in Ganver’s voice was deep and harsh, but I knew it was not directed at me. “Watch and learn,” it said to me again, so I turned face forward and watched where I was going. Evidently there were more lessons in store. More lessons that would make no sense and from which I would draw no meaning. Who had said that? The Oracle. In the giants’ stronghold. The Oracle had looked at my unconscious body and mocked the meaning of star-eye. Remembering it infuriated me. I resolved to find meaning or die, then set that resolution aside as I saw what awaited us.
Two fortresses stood on opposite sides of the road, tall and strong with mighty walls, facing one another like two Gamesmen in the lists during a contest of skill.
“Watch,” said Ganver again. “And learn.”
As we
approached the two fortresses, Armigers detached themselves from the opposing walls and stalked toward us, one from each side like fighting birds in a pit, plumes high and spurs glittering, a yellow-clad one on the left, a black-dressed one from the right. Ganver stopped. “My name is—well, what should it be, Jinian, Dervish Daughter?”
It—she looked very militant, and I bethought me of Gamemistress Joumerie at Vorbold’s House back in Xammer a time that seemed long ago indeed. `Joumerie,” I said, giving Ganver my old gamemistress’ name. “You are, ah—you are Gameswoman Elator Joumerie.”
“Very well,” she said. “Now keep a modest face on you.”
The Armigers stalked, pace on pace, posing and posturing, lifting their feet high, plumes nodding on their helms, keeping in step with one another until they came up on us at either side. The one from the left-hand fortress spoke first, leaving the other fuming a bit, red in the face.
“What business have you here?”
“None at all,” said Ganver. “We but pass through on our way north.”
“Your names and station?” demanded the other.
“I am Gameswoman Elator Joumerie,” it—she said. “Passing quietly with one servant, opposing none, asking no Game.”
Left hand sneered. “We accept none such in this valley, Gameswoman. You must choose left or right, right or left, the fortress of Zyle or the fortress of Zale.”
“I have heard of two brothers styled Zyle and Zale,” said Ganver in a mild voice. “Could these be they?”
“Who or what they are is no business of yours. You have only to choose which you will follow.”
“And if I choose to follow neither?”
“Then you will go no farther on this road.”
“Then we will return the way we came.”
“You will neither go forward nor return.”
The End of the Game Page 53