Sheri S. Tepper - The True Game 2 - Necromancer Nine

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NECROMANCER NINE
Sheri S. Tepper
[18 jul 2001 – proofread and re-released for #bookz]
1 – Necromancer Nine
I had decided to change myself into a Dragon and go looking for my mother despite all argument to
the contrary.
Himaggery the Wizard and old Windlow the Seer were determined otherwise. They had been after
me for almost a year, ever since the great battle at Bannerwell. Having seen what I did there, they had
decided that my "Talent" could not be wasted, and between them they had thought of at least a dozen
things they wanted done with it. I, on the other hand, simply wanted to forget the whole thing. I wanted to
forget I had become the owner—can I say "owner" ?—of the Gamesmen of Barish, forget I had ever
called upon the terrible Talents of those Gamesmen. I'd only done it to save my life, or so I told myself,
and I wanted to forget about it.
Himaggery and Windlow wouldn't let me.
We were in one of the shining rooms at the Bright Demesne, a room full of the fragrance of
blossoms and ubiquitous wisps of mist. Old Windlow was looking at me pathetically, eyes three-quarters
buried in delicate wrinkles and mouth turned down in that expression of sweet reproach. Gamelords!
One would think he was my mother. No. My own mother would not have been guilty of that expression,
not that wildly eccentric person. Himaggery was as bad, stalking the floor as he often did, hands rooting
his hair up into devil's horns, spiky with irritation.
"I don't understand you, boy," he said in that plaintive thunder of his. "We're at the edge of a new
age. Change rushes upon us. Great things are about to happen; Justice is to be had at last. We invite you
to help, to participate, to plan with us. You won't. You go hide in the orchards. You mope and slope
about like some halfwitted pawn of a groom, and then when I twit you a bit for behaving like a perennial
adolescent, you merely say you will change into a Dragon and go off to find Mavin Manyshaped. Why?
We need you. Why won't you help us?"
I readied my answers for the tenth time. I behave as an adolescent, I would say, because I am
one—barely sixteen and puzzled over things which would puzzle men twice my age. I mope because I
am apprehensive. I hide in orchards because I am tired of argument. I got ready to say these things.
"And why," he thundered at me unexpectedly, "go as a Dragon?"
The question caught me totally by surprise. "I thought it would be rather fun," I said, weakly.
"Fun!" He shrugged this away as the trifle it was.
"Well, all right," I answered with some heat. "Then it would be quick. And likely no one would
bother me."
"Wrong on both counts," he said. "You go flying off across the purlieus and demesnes as a Dragon,
and every stripling Firedrake or baby Armiger able to get three man-heights off the ground will be
challenging you to Games of Two. You'll spend more time dueling than looking for Mavin Manyshaped,
and from what your thalan, Mertyn, tells me, she will take a good bit of finding." He made a gesture of
frustrated annoyance, oddly compassionate.
"You have others," I muttered. "You have thousands of followers here. Armigers ready to fly
through the air on your missions. Elators ready to flick themselves across the lands if you raise an
eyebrow at them. Demons ready to Read the thoughts of any who come within leagues of the Bright
Demesne. You don't need me. Can't you let one young person find out something about himself before
you eat him up in your plots
Windlow said, "If you were just any young person, we'd let you alone, my boy. You aren't just any
young person. You know that. Himaggery knows it. I know it. Isn't that right?"
"I don't care," I said, trying not to sound merely contentious.
"You should care. You have a Talent such as any in the world might envy. Talents, I should say.
Why, there's almost nothing you can't do, or cause, or bring into being
"I can't," I shouted at them. "Himaggery, Windlow, I can't. It isn't me who does all those things."
I pulled the pouch from my belt and emptied it upon the table between us, the tiny carved
Gamesmen rolling out onto the oiled wood in clattering profusion. I set two of them upon their bases, the
taller ones, a black Necromancer and a white Queen, Dorn and Trandilar. They sat there, like stone or
wood, giving no hint of the powers and wonders which would come from them if I gripped them in my
hand. "I tried to give them to you once, Himaggery. Remember? You wouldn't take them. You said, 'No,
Peter, they came to you. They belong to you, Peter.' Well, they're mine, Himaggery, but they aren't mine.
I wish you'd understand."
"Explain it to me," he said, blank faced.
I tried. "When I first took the figure of Dora into my hand, there in the caves under Bannerwell,
Dora came into my mind. He was.., is an old man, Himaggery. Very wise. Very powerful. His mind has
sharp edges; he has seen strange things, and his mind echoes with them—resonates to them. He can do
strange, very marvelous things. It is he who does them. I am only a kind of. .
"Host," suggested Windlow. "Housing? Vehicle?"
I laughed without humor. They knew so much but understood so little. "Perhaps. Later, I took
Queen Trandilar, Mistress of Beguilement. First of all the Rulers. Younger than Dorn, but still, far older
than I am. She had lived. . . fully. She had understanding I did not of. . . erotic things. She does
wonderful things, too, but it is she who does them." I pointed to the other Gamesmen on the table. "There
are nine other types there. Dealpas, eidolon of Healers. Sorah, mightiest of Seers. Shattnir, most
powerful of Sorcerers. I suppose I could take them all into myself, become a kind of... inn, hotel for
them. If that is all I am to be. Ever."
Windlow was looking out the winDorn, his face sad. He began to chant, a child's rhyme, one used
for jump rope. "Night-dark, dust-old, bony Dora, grave-cold; Flesh-queen, love-star, lust-pale,
Trandilar; Shifted, fetched, sent-far, trickiest is Thandbar." He turned to Himaggery and shook his head
slowly, side to side. "Let the boy alone," he said.
Himaggery met the stare, held it, finally flushed and looked away. "Very well, old man. I have said
everything! can say. If Peter will not, he will not. Better he do as he will, if that will content him."
Windlow tottered over to me and patted my shoulder. He had to reach up to do it. I had been
growing rather a lot. "It may be you will make these Talents your own someday, boy. It may be you
cannot wield a Talent well unless it is your own. In time, you may make Dorn's Talent yours, and
Trandilar's as well."
I did not think that likely, but did not say so.
Himaggery said, "When you go, keep your ears open. Perhaps you can learn something about the
disappearances which will help us."
"What disappearances?" I asked guardedly.
"The ones we have been discussing for a season," he said. "The disappearances which have been
happening for decades now. A vanishment of Wizards. Disappearances of Kings. They go, as into
nothing. No one knows how, or where, or why. Among those who go, too many were our allies."
"You're trying to make me curious," I accused. "Trying to make me stay."
He flushed angrily. "Of course I want you to stay, boy. I've begged you. Of course I wish you were
curious enough to offer your help. But if you won't, you won't. If Windlow says not to badger you, I
won't. Go find your mother. Though why you should want to do so is beyond me and his voice faded
away under Windlow's quelling glare.
I gathered the Gamesmen, the taller ones no longer than my littlest finger, delicate as lace,
incorruptible as stone. I could have told him why I wanted to find Mavin, but I chose not to. I had seen
her only once since infancy, only once, under conditions of terror and high drama. She had said nothing
personal to me, and yet there was something in her manner, in her strangeness, which was attractive to
me. As though, perhaps, she had answers to questions. But it was all equivocal, flimsy. There were no
hard reasons which Himaggery would accept.
"Let it be only that I have a need," I whispered. "A need which is Peter's, not Darn's, not
Trandilar's. I have a Talent which is mine, also, inherited from her. I am the son of Mavin Manyshaped,
and I want to see her. Leave it at that."
"So be it, boy. So I will leave it."
He was as good as his word. He said not another word to me about staying. He took time from his
meetings and plottings to pick horses for me from his own stables and to see I was well outfitted for the
trip north to Schooltown. If I was to find Mavin, the search would begin with Mertyn, her brother, my
thalan. Once Himaggery had taken care of these details, he ignored me. Perversely, this annoyed me. It
was obvious that no one was going to blow trumpets for me when I left, and this hurt my feelings. As I
had done since I was four or five years old, I went down to the kitchens to complain to Brother Chance.
"Well, boy, you didn't expect a testimony dinner, did you? Those are both wise-old heads, and they
wouldn't call attention to you wandering off. Too dangerous for you, and they know it.''
This shamed me. They had been thinking of me after all. I changed the subject. "I thought of going
as a Dragon."
"Fool thing to do," Chance commented. "Can't think of anything more gomerous than that. What
you want is all that fire and speed and the feel of wind on your wings. All that power and swooping
about. Well, that might last half a day, if you was lucky." He grimaced at me to show what he thought of
the notion, as though his words had not conveyed quite enough. I flinched. I had learned to deal with
Himaggery and Windlow, even to some extent with Mertyn, who had taught me and arranged for my
care and protection by setting Chance to look after me, but I had never succeeded in dealing with
Chance himself. Every time I began to take myself seriously, he let me know how small a vegetable I was
in his particular stew. Whenever he spoke to me it brought back the feel of the kitchen and his horny
hands pressing cookies into mine. Well. No one liked the Dragon idea but me.
"Well, fetch-it, Chance. I am a Shifter."
"Well, fetch-it, yourself, boy. Shift into something sensible. If you're going to go find your mama, we
got to go all the way to Schooltown to ask Mertyn where to look, don't we? Change yourself into a
baggage horse. That'll be useful." He went on with our packing, interrupting himself to suggest, "You got
the Talent of that there Dorn. Why not use him. Go as a Necromancer?
"Why Dorn?" I asked and shivered. "Why not Trandilar?" Of the two, she was the more
comfortable, though that says little for comfort.
"Because if you go traveling around as a Prince or King or any one of the Rulers, you'll catch
followers like a net catches fish, and you'll be up to your gullet in Games before we get to the River. You
got three Talents, boy. You can Shift, but you don't want to Shift into something in-con-spic-u-ous. You
can Rule, but that's dangerous, being a Prince or a King. Or you can, well, Necromancers travel all over
all the time and nobody bothers them. They don't need to use the Talent. Just have it is enough."
In the end he had his way. I wore the black, broad-brimmed hat, the full cloak, the gauze mask
smeared with the death's head. It was no more uncomfortable than any other guise, but it put a weight
upon my heart. Windlow may have guessed that, for he came tottering down from his tower in the chill
mowing to tell us good-bye. "You are not pretty, my boy, but you will travel with fewer complications
this way."
"I know, Old One. Thank you for coming down to wave me away."
"Oh, I came for more than that, lad. A message for your thalan, Mertyn. Tell him we will need his
help soon, and he will have word from the Bright Demesne." There was still that awful, pathetic look in
his eyes.
"What do you mean, Windlow? Why will you need his help?"
"There, boy. There isn't time to explain. You would have known more or less if you'd been paying
attention to what's been going on. Now is no time to become interested. Journey well." He turned and
went away without my farewell kiss, which made me grumpy. All at once, having gained my own way, I
was not sure I wanted it.
We stopped for a moment before turning onto the high road. Away to the south a Traders' train
made a plume of dust in the early sky, a line of wagons approaching the Bright Demesne.
"Traders." Chance snorted. "As though Himaggery didn't have enough problems."
It was true that Traders seemed to take up more time than their merchandise was worth, and true
that Himaggery seemed to spend a great deal of time talking with them. I wasn't thinking of that,
however, but of the choice of routes which confronted us. We could go up the eastern side of the Middle
River, through the forests east of the Gathered Waters and the lands of the Immutables. Chance and I
had come that way before, though not intentionally. This time I chose the western side of the River,
through farmlands and meadowlands wet with spring floods and over a hundred hump-backed, clattering
bridges. There was little traffic in any direction; woodwagons moving from forest to village, water oxen
shuffling from mire to meadow, a gooseherd keeping his hissing flock in order with a long; blossomy
wand. Along the ditches webwillows whispered a note of sharp gold against the dark woodlands, their
downy kit- tens ready to burst into bloom. Rain breathed across windrows of dried leaves, greening now
with upthrust grasses and the greeny-bronze of curled fern. There was no hurry in our going. I was sure
Himaggery had sent an Elator to let Mertyn know I was on the way.
That first day we saw only a few pawns plowing in the fields, making the diagonal ward-of-evil sign
when they saw me but willing enough to sell Chance fresh eggs and greens for all that. The second day
we caught up to a party of merchants and trailed just behind them into Vestertown where they and we
spent the night at the same inn. They no more than the pawns were joyed to see me, but they were
traveled men and made no larger matter of my presence among them. Had they known it, they had less
to fear from me than from Chance. I would take nothing from them but their courtesy, but Chance would
get them gambling if he could. They were poorer next day for their night's recreation, and Chance was
humming a victory song as we went along the lake in the morning light.
The Gathered Waters were calm and glittering, a smiling face which gave no indication of the storms
which often troubled it. Chance reminded me of our last traveling by water, fleeing before the wind and
from a ship full of pawners sent by Mandor of Bannerweli to capture me.
"I don't want to think about that," I told him. "And of that time."
"I thought you was rather fond of that girl," he said. "That Immutable girl."
"Tossa. Yes. I was fond of her, Chance, but she died. I was fond of Mandor, too, once, and he is
as good as dead, locked up in Bannerwell for all he is Prince of the place. It seems the people I am fond
of do not profit by it much."
"Ahh, that's nonsense, lad. You're fond of Silkhands, and she's Gaxnesmistress down in Xammer
now, far better off than when you met her. Windlow, too. You helped him away from the High King,
Prionde, and I'd say that's better off. It was the luck of the Game did Tossa, and I'm sorry for it. She was
a pretty thing."
"She was. But that was most of a year ago, Chance. I grieved over her, but that's done now. Time
to go on to something else."
"Well, you speak the truth there. It's always time for something new."
So we rode along, engaged at times in such desultory conversation, other times silent. This was
country I had not seen before. When I had come from Bannerwell to the Bright Demesne after the battle,
it had been across the purlieus rather than by the long road. In any case, I had not been paying attention
then.
We came to the River Banner very late on the third day of travel, found no inn there but did find a
ferrymaster willing to have us sleep in the shed where the femes were kept. We hauled across at first
light, spent that night camped above a tiny hamlet no bigger than my fist, and rode into Schooltown the
following noon.
Somehow I had expected it to be changed, but it was exactly the same: little houses humped up the
hills, shops and Festival halls hulking along the streets, cobbles and walls and crooked roofs, chimneys
twisting up to breathe smoke into the hazy sky, and the School Houses on the ridge above. Havad's
House, where Mandor had been Gamesmaster. Dorcan's House across the way. Bilme's House, where it
was said Wizards, were taught. Mertyn's House where my thalan was chief Gamesmaster, where I had
grown up in the nurseries to be bullied; by Karl Pig-face and to love Mandor and to depart. A sick,
sweet feeling went through me, half nausea, half delight, together with the crazy idea that I would ask
Mertyn to let me stay at the House, be a student again. Most students did not leave until they were
twenty-five. I could have almost a decade here, in the peace of Schooltown. I came to myself to find
Chance clutching my horse's bridle and staring at me in concern.
"What is it, boy? You look as though you'd been ghost bit."
"Nothing." I laughed, a bit unsteadily. "A crazy idea, Brother Chance."
"You haven't called me that since we left here."
"No. But we're back, now, aren't we? Don't worry, Chance. I'm all right." We turned the horses
over to a stable pawn and went in through the small side door beside the kitchens. It was second nature
to do so, habit, habit to remove my hat, to go off along the corridor behind Chance, habit to hear a
familiar voice rise tauntingly behind me.
"Why, if it isn't old Fat Chance and Prissy Pete, come back to go to School with us again."
I stopped dead in savage delight. So, Karl Pig-face was still here. Of course he was still here, along
with all his fellow tormentors. He had not seen my face. Slowly I put the broad black bat upon my head,
turned to face them where they hovered in the side corridor, lips wet and slack with anticipation of
another bullying. I was only a shadow to them where I stood. I shook Chance's restraining hand from my
shoulder, moved toward the lantern which hung always just at that turning.
"Yes, Karl," I whispered in Dora's voice. "It is Peter come to School again, but not with you."
Stepping into the light on the last word, letting them see the death's-head mask, hearing the indrawn
breath, the retching gulp which was all Karl could get out. Then they were gone, yelping away like
whipped pups, away to the corridors and attics. I laughed silently, overcome.
"That wasn't nice," said Chance sanctimoniously.
"Aaah, Chance." I poked him in his purse, where the merchants' coins still clinked fulsomely. "We
have our little failings, don't we? It was you who told me to travel as a Necromancer, Chance. I cannot
help it if it scares small boys witless." My feelings of sick sweet nostalgia had turned to ones of delighted
vengeance. Karl might think twice before bullying a smaller boy again. I planned how, before I left, I
might drive the point home.
In order to reach Mertyn's tower room we had to climb past the schoolrooms, the rooms of the
other Masters. Gamesmaster Gervaise met us on the landing outside his own classroom, and he knew me
at once, seeming totally unawed by the mask.
"Peter, my boy. Mertyn said you'd be coming to visit. He's down in the garden, talking to a
tradesman just now. Come in and have wine with me while you wait for him. Come in, Chance. I have
some of your favorite here to drown the dust of the road. I remember we had trouble keeping it when
you were here, Chance. No less trouble now, but it's I who drink it." He led us through the cold
classroom where the Gamemodel swam in its haze of blue to his own sitting room, warm with firelight and
sun. "Brrrr." He shivered as he shut the door. "The older I get, the harder it becomes to bear the cold of
the game model. But you remember. All you boys have chapped hands and faces from it."
I shivered in sympathy and remembrance, accepting the wine he poured. "You always had us work
with the model when it was snowing out, Master Gervaise. And in the heat of summer, we never did."
"Well, that seems perverse, doesn't it? It wasn't for that reason, of course. In the summer it's simply
too difficult to keep the models cold. We lock them away down in the ice cellar. It will soon be too warm
this year. Not like last season where winter went on almost to midsummer." He poured wine for himself,
sat before the fire. "Now, tell me what you've been doing since Bannerwell. Mertyn told me all about
that." He shook his head regretfully. "Pity about Mandor. Never trusted him, though. Too pretty."
I swirled my glass, watching the wine swirl into a spiral and climb the edges. "I haven't been doing
much."
"No Games?" He seemed surprised.
"No, sir. There is very little Gaming in the Bright Demesne."
"Well, that comes with consorting with Wizards. I told Mertyn you should get out, travel a bit, try
your Talent. But it seems you're doing that." He nodded and sipped. "Strange are the Talents of Wizards.
That's an old saying, you know. I have never known one well, myself. Is Himaggery easy to work with?"
"Yes, sir. I think he is. Very open. Very honest."
"Ah." He laid a finger along his nose and winked. "Open and honest covers a world of strategy, no
doubt. Well. Who would have thought a year ago you would manifest such a Talent as Necromancy.
Rare. Very rare. We have not had a student here in the last twenty years who manifested Necromancy."
"There are Talents I would have preferred," I said. Chance was looking modestly at his feet, saying
nothing. This fact more than anything else made me cautious. I had been going to say that Necromancy
was not my own or only Talent, but decided to leave the subject alone.
"I don't think I even have a Gamespiece of a Necromancer," he said, brow furrowed. "Let me see
whether I do. He was up, through the door into the classroom. I followed him as seemed courteous. He
was rooting about in the cold chest which housed the Gamespieces, itself covered with frost and
humming as its internal mechanism labored to retain the cold. "Armigers," he said. "Plenty of Armigers.
Seers, Shifters, Rancelmen, Pursuivants, quite an array here. Minor pieces; Totem, Talisman, Fetish.
Here's an Afrit, forgotten I had that. Here's a whole set of air serpents, Dragon, Firedrake, Colddrake,
all in one box. Well. No Necromancer. I didn't think I had one."
I picked up a handful of the little Gamespieces, dropped them quickly as their chill bit my fingers.
They were the same size as the ones I carried so secretly, perhaps less detailed. Under the frost, I
couldn't be sure. "Gamesmaster Gervaise," I asked, "where do you get them? I never thought to ask
when I was a student, but where do they come from?"
"The Gamespieces? Oh, there's a Demesne of magicians, I think, off to the west somewhere, where
they are fashioned. Traders bring them. Most of them are give-aways, lagniappe when we buy supplies. I
got that set of air serpents when I bought some tools for the stables. Give-aways, as I said."
"But how can they give them away? To just anyone? How could they be kept cold?"
Gervaise shook his head at me. "No, no, my boy. They don't give Gamespieces to anyone but
Gamesmasters. Who else would want them? They do it to solicit custom. They give other things to other
people. Some merchants I know receive nice gifts of spices, things from the northern jungles. All to solicit
custom." He patted the cold chest and led the way back to Chance. The level of wine in the bottle was
considerably lower, and I smiled. He gave me that blank, "Who, me?" stare, but I smiled nonetheless.
"I hear Mertyn's tread on the stairs," I said. "I take leave of you, Gamesmaster Gervaise. We will
talk again before I leave." And we bowed ourselves out, onto the stair. I said to Chance, "You were very
silent."
"Gervaise is very talkative among his colleagues, among the tradesmen in the town, among farmers.
. . ." Chance said. "You may be sure anything you said to him will be repeated thrice tomorrow."
"Ah," I said. "Well, we gave him little enough to talk of."
"That's so," he agreed owlishly. "As is often best. You go up to Mertyn, lad. I'm for the kitchens to
see what can be scratched up for our lunch."
So it was I knocked on Mertyn's door and was admitted to his rooms by Mertyn himself. I did not
know quite what to say. It was the first time I had seen him in this place since I had learned we were
thalan. I have heard that in distant places there are some people who care greatly about their fathers. It is
true here among some of the pawns. My friend Yarrel, for example. Well, among Gamesmen, that
emotion is between thalan, between male children and mother's full brother; between female children and
mother's full sister. Here is it such a bond that women who have no siblings may choose from among their
intimate friends those who will stand in such stead. But our relationship, Mertyn's and mine, had never
been acknowledged within this house.
He solved it all for me. "Thalan," he said, embracing me and taking the cloak from my shoulders.
"Here, give me your hood, your mask. Pfah! What an ugly get-up. Still, very wise to wear it. Chance's
choice, no doubt? He was always a wary one. I did better than I knew when I set him to watch over
you."
I was suddenly happy, contented, able to smile full in his face without worrying what he would say
or think when I told him why I came. "Why did you pick Chance?" I asked.
"Oh, he was a rascal of a sailor, left here by a boat which plied up and down the lakes and rivers to
the Southern Seas. I liked him. No nonsense about him and much about survival. So, I said, you stay
here in this House as cook or groom or what you will, but your job is to watch over this little one and see
he grows well."
"He did that," I said.
"He did that. Fed you cookies until your eyes bulged. Stood you up against the bullies and let you
fight it out. Speaking of which, I recall you often had a bit of trouble with Karl? Had a habit of finding
whatever would hurt the most, didn't he?"
"Oh," I said and laughed bitterly, "he did, indeed. Probably still does."
"Does, yes. Early Talent showing there. Something to do with digging out secrets, finding hidden
things. Unpleasant boy. Will be no less unpleasant in the True Game I should think. Well, Chance stood
you up to him."
"I'm grateful to you for Chance," I said. "I . . . I understand why you did not call me thalan before."
"I didn't want to endanger you, Peter. If it had been known you were my full sister's son, some oaf
would have tried to use you against me. Some oaf did it anyhow, though unwittingly." He sat silent for a
moment. "Well, lad, what brings you back to Mertyn's House? I had word you were coming, but no
word of the reason."
"I want to find Mavin."
"Ah. Are you quite sure that is what you want to do?"
"Quite sure."
"I'll help you then, if I can. You understand that I do not know where she is?"
I nodded, though until that moment I had hoped he would tell me where to find her. Still.
He went on, "If I knew where she was, any Demon who wanted to find her could simply Read her
whereabouts in my head and pass the word along to whatever Gamesman might be wanting to challenge
her. No. She's too secret an animal for that. She gives me sets of directions from time to time. That's all.
If I need to find her, I have to try to decipher them."
"But you'll tell me what they are?"
"Oh, I've written down a copy for you. She gave them to me outside Bannerwell, where we were
camped on Havajor Dike. You remember the place? Well, she came to my tent that night, after the
battle, and gave them to me. Then she pointed away north—which is important to remember, Peter,
north—and then she vanished."
"Vanished?"
"Went. Away. Slipped out of the tent and was gone. Took the shape of an owl and flew away, for
all I know. Vanished."
"Doesn't she ever stay? You must have grown up together as children?"
"Oh, well, by the time I was of an age to understand anything, she was almost grown, already
Talented. Still, I remember her as she was then. She was very lovely in her own person, very strange,
liking children, liking me, others my age. She did tricks and changes for us, things to make us laugh
"And she brought me to you?"
"Yes. When you were only a toddler. She said she had carried you unchanging, and nursed you,
unchanging, all those long months never changing, so that you would have something real to know and
love. But the time had come for you to be schooled, and she preferred for some reason not to do that
among Shifters. I never knew exactly why, except that she felt you would learn more and be safer here.
So, she brought you here to me, in Mertyn's House, and I lied to everyone. I said you were Festival-get
I'd found wrapped in a blanket on the doorstep. Then I tried never to think about you when there were
Demons about."
"And I never knew. No one ever knew."
"No. I was a good liar. But not a good Gamesman. I couldn't keep you away from Mandor."
"He beguiled me," I mused. "Why me? There were smarter boys, better-looking boys."
"He was clever. Perhaps he noticed something, some little indication of our relationship. Well. It
doesn't matter now. You're past all that. Mandor is shut up in Bannerwell, and you want to find Mavin
Manyshaped. It will be difficult. You'll have to go alone."
I had not considered that. I had assumed Chance would go with me wherever I went.
"No, you can't take Chance. Mavin may make it somewhat easier for you to find her, but she will
not trust anyone else. Here," he said and handed me a fold of parchment. "I've written out the directions."
Periplus of a city which fears the unborn.
Hear of a stupration incorporeal.
In that place a garment defiled
and an eyeless Seer.
Ask him the name of the place from which he came
and the way from it.
Go not that way.
Befriend the shadows and beware of friends.
Walk on fire but do not swim in water.
Seek Out sent-far's monument, but do not look upon it.
In looking away, find me.
"It makes no sense," I cried, outraged. "No sense at all!"
"Go to Havajor Dike," he said soothingly. "Then north from there. She would not have made the
directions too difficult for either of us, Peter. She does not want to be lost forever, only very difficult to
find. You'll be able to ravel it out, line by line. There is only one caution I must give you."
He waited until he saw that he had my full attention, then made his warning, several times. "Do not
go near Pfarb Durim. If you go to the north or northwest, do not go near that place, nor near the place
they call Poffle which is, in truth, known as Hell's Maw." He patted me on the shoulder, and when I
asked curious questions, as he must have known I would, said, "It is an evil place. It has been evil for
centuries. We thought it might change when old Blourbast was gone, but it remains evil today. Mavin
would not send you near it—simply avoid it!" And that was all he would say about that.
We went down into the kitchens, sat there in the warmth of that familiar place, eating grole sausage
and cheese with bread warm from the baking. It was a comforting time, a sweet time, and it lasted only a
little while. For Gervaise came bustling in, his iron-tipped staff making a clatter upon the stones.
"An Elator has come, Mertyn," he cried. "He demands to see you at once. He comes from the
Bright Demesne..."
So we went up as quickly as possible to find an Elator there, one I knew well, Himaggery's trusted
messenger.
"Gamesmaster," he said, "the Wizard Himaggery and the old Seer, Windlow, have vanished."
"Vanished?" It was an echo of my own voice saying that word, but this time we were not talking of
Shifters. Mertyn asked again, "What do you mean, vanished?"
"They went to Windlow's rooms after the evening meal, sir, asking that wine be sent to them there.
When the steward arrived, the room was disturbed but empty. We searched the Demesne, but they are
both gone
"Why have you come first to me?"
"Gamesmaster, I was told by the Wizard some time since that if anything untoward should happen, I
was to come to you."
"Windlow told me," I cried. "Just before I left. That's what he meant when he said they would need
your help soon. That word would reach you."
"I warned them," Mertyn grated. "I warned them they might be next if they went on with it."
"Next?" The word faltered in my throat.
"Next to disappear. Next to vanish. Next to be gone, as too many of our colleagues and allies now
are gone."
"I might have stopped it," I cried. "Himaggery told me he needed me, but I wouldn't listen.
He shook me, took me by my shoulders and shook me as though I had been seven or eight years
old. "This is no time for dramatics, my boy, or flights of guilt. Be still. Let me think."
So I was still, but it was a guilty stillness. If I had been there? If I had been willing to take up the
Gamesmen of Barish and use them, use the Talents? Would Himaggery and Windlow still be there? I
wanted to cry, but Mertyn's grip on my shoulder did not loosen, so I stood silent and blamed myself for
whatever it was that had happened.
The Skip-rope Chant
Mind's mistress, moon's wheel, cobweb Didir, shadow-steel.
Mighty wing, lord of sky, lofty Tamor. hover high.
Night-dark. dust-old, bony Dorn, grave-cold.
Flesh-queen, love-star, lust-pale, Trandilar.
Pain's maid, broken leaf, Dealpas, heart's grief.
Cheer's face, trust's clasp, far and strong is Wafnors grasp.
Far-eyed Sorah, worshipper, many gods who never were.
Here and gone, flashing fast. Hatñor is Trusted last.
Chilly Shattnir, power's store, calling Game forevermore.
Fire and smoke, horn and bell. messages of Buinel.
Shifted, fetched, sent-far, trickiest is Thandbar.
When all time is past, eleven first, eleven last.
The Gamesunen of Barish, their Talents.
Grandmother Didir, First Demon. Talent, Telepathy.
Grandfather Tamor, First Armiger. Talent, Levitation.
Dorn, First Necromancer. Talent, Raising of Ghosts.
Trandilar, First Ruler. Talent, Beguilement.
Dealpas, First Healer. Talent, Healing.
Wafnor, First Tragamor. Talent, Telekinesis.
Sorah. First Seer. Talent, Clairvoyance.
Hafnor, First Elator. Talent, Teleportation.
Shattnir, First Sorcerer. Talent, Power storage.
Buinel, First Sentinel. Talent, Fire starting.
Thandbar, First Shifter. Talent, Shapeshafting.
The eleven represent the pantheon of elders, the "respected ones" of the religion of Gameworld.
NOTE: There are short verses for every Gamesman in some issues of the Index of Gamesmen,
over four thousand different titles. In some areas, skip-rope competitions are held during which young
men and women attempt the recitation of the entire Index. The last person to complete this task
successfully was Minery Mindcaster, in her eighteenth year, at the competition in Hilbervale.
2 – A City Which Fears the Unborn
At the end of the short time which followed, it was Mertyn who left me, not I who left him. I had
never seen him in this kind of flurry, this Kingly bustle with all the House at his command and no nonsense
about not using Talents in a Schooltown. He simply ordered and it was done, a horse, packing, certain
books from the library, foodstuffs, two Armigers and a young Demon to accompany him. I did nothing
but get in his way, each time trying to tell him that I would go back with him to the Bright Demesne to do
what I should have done in the first place. He would have none of it.
"For the love of Divine Didir, Peter, sit down and be still. If there were anything you could do, I
would have you do it in a moment. There is nothing. Believe me, nothing. Just now the most important
thing you can do is what you were intending to do anyhow, find Mavin and tell her what has happened
here. Give me a moment with these people and I'll talk to you about it.
So I sat and waited, with ill grace and badly concealed hurt. It was quite bad enough to remember
that I had come away when I was needed; it was worse now to be denied return when I was eager to
help. At last Mertyn had all his minions scattered to his satisfaction, and he came back to me, sitting
beside me to take my hand.
"Thalan, put your feelings aside. No—I know how you feel. You could not have failed to love old
Windlow. All who know him do. As for Himaggery, it is hard not to like him, admire him, even when he
is most infuriating. So, you want to help. You can. Hear me, and pay utmost attention.
"For some time there have been disappearances. Gamesmen of high rank. Wizards. Almost always
from among those we would call 'progressive.' Many have been Windlow's students over the years. It
摘要：

NECROMANCERNINESheriS.Tepper[18jul2001–proofreadandre-releasedfor#bookz]1–NecromancerNineIhaddecidedtochangemyselfintoaDragonandgolookingformymotherdespiteallargumenttothecontrary.HimaggerytheWizardandoldWindlowtheSeerweredeterminedotherwise.Theyhadbeenaftermeforalmostayear,eversincethegreatbattleat...

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