Sheri S. Tepper - Shapeshifter 03 - Wizard's Eleven

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Wizard's Eleven – True Game 03

Sheri S. Tepper

Table of Contents

Book 3 - Wizard's Eleven

A Few Helpful Hints

Chapter 1 - Wizard's Eleven

Chapter 2 - Xammer

Chapter 3 - Dindindaroo

Chapter 4 - TheGreat North Road

Chapter 5 - Three Knob

Chapter 6 - The Grole Hills

Chapter 7 - Reavebridge

Chapter 8 - Hell's Maw

Chapter 9 - Nuts, Groles, and Mirrormen

Chapter 10 - Wind's Eye

Chapter 11 - The Gamesmen of Barish

Chapter 12 - The Bonedancers of Huld

Chapter 13 - Talent Thirteen

A FEW HELPFUL NOTES

The Gamesmen of Barish

1. Dorn, Necromancer Talent: Deadraising

2. Trandilar, Ruler Talent: Beguilement

3. Shattnir, Sorcerer Talent: Power Holding

4. Wafnor, Tragamor Talent: Moving

5. Didir, Demon Talent: Mind Reading

6. Dealpas, Healer Talent: Healing

7. Tamor, Armiger Talent: Flying

8. Hafnor, Elator Talent: Traveling

9. Buinel, Sentinel Talent: Firestarting

10. Sorah, Seer Talent: Seeing the Future

11. Thandbar, Shifter Talent: Shapechanging

In addition, the Immutables were reckoned to have Talent Twelve, and Peter was

found to have Talent Thirteen. The Talent of Wizards is never specified.

"Strange are the Talents of Wizards."

Notes on the Fauna of the World of the True Game

The animals, birds, and water creatures originally native to the world of the

True Game lack a backbone and have evolved from a vaguely starfishshaped

creature. The basic skeleton is in the form of a jointed pentacle, or star,

often elongated, with the limbs and head at the points of the star. Despite this

very different evolutionary pattern, the bioengineers among the magicians

succeeded in meshing the genetic material of the new world and that from which

they came. Among the creatures now native to the world of the True Game are:

BUNWITS: Any of a variety of herbivorous animals with long hind legs and flat,

surprised-looking faces under erect, triangular ears. Like all animals native to

the world, bunwits are tailless. They eat young grasses and the leaves of

webwillows.

FLITCHHAWKS: Swift, high-flying birds which prey mostly upon bunwits of the

smaller varieties. Noted for their keen eyes.

FUSTIGARS: Pack-hunting predators, some varieties of which have been extensively

inbred and domesticated.

GNARLIBARS: A huge animal which lives in the high wastes below theDorborRange.

It feeds upon anything it can catch, including old or ailing krylobos. The

gnarlibar has a ground-shaking roar which has earned it the name of "avalanche

animal." Gnarlibars always pack in fours, two females and two males; females

always bear twins, one male and one female. A set of Gnarlibars is called a

"leat" or crossroads, because of their invariable habit of attacking from four

directions at once. It is thought that the gnarlibar is the descendant of a

prehistoric race of animals so prodigious in size as to be considered mythical.

GROLE: A long, blind, legless animal with multiple rows of teeth which lives by

burrowing into soil, stone, or other inorganic materials, utilizing the light

metals in its metabolism. The teeth are of adamant and can be used as grinding

tools. The so-called "sausage groles" are not related to rockeater groles but

are smaller creatures of similar configuration which eat only organic materials,

notably the meat of the ground nut.

KRYLOBOS: A giant, flightless bird with well-developed wing fingers, capable of

very high running speeds. The krylobos dance contests are among the most

exciting of spectacles for adventurous zoologists, as the birds are extremely

agile and powerful.

POMBIS: Carnivores distinguished by clawed feet and the ability to climb tall

trees or nest in virtually inaccessible locations. Pombis are irritable and have

a reputation for unprovoked belligerence.

THRISPAT: A small omnivore which bears its young alive, lives in trees or upon

precipitous mountain slopes, and mimics the calls of other animals and the human

voice. Small thrispats are favorite pets in the jungle cities where breeders vie

in extending the vocabularies of their animals. A good thrispat can speak up to

a hundred words and phrases with some indication of understanding their meaning.

Thrispats are particularly fond of ripe thrilps, whence the name.

WARNETS: A stinging, flying insect of minuscule size and legendary bad temper,

which lives in hordes. Called "saber-tail" by some. It is said that krylobos

will take warnet nests and drop them into the nests of gnarlibars during

territorial disputes.

Native Peoples

At least two peoples are known to occupy the lands around the area of the True

Game.

SHADOWPEOPLE: Small, carnivorous (omnivorous when necessary) nocturnal people

delighting in music and song. They are extremely fond of festivals, dance

contests, song contests and the like and have been seen to assemble by hundreds

within sound of the annual contests at the Minchery in Learner. While

Shadowpeople eat bunwits of any size, it is notable that they do not attack

krylobos and are not attacked by pombis, gnarlibars, or warnets.

EESTIES: A people said by some to be aloof and withdrawn, by others to be

friendly and helpful. Seen most often as solitary individuals. Native language

unknown. Habits unknown. In appearance, star-shaped, moving as Armigers do or

rolling upon the extremities.

Wizard's Eleven

MAVIN MANYSHAPED, my mother, had told me that when a Shapeshifter is not

Shifting-that is, when he is not involved in a Game-it is considered polite for

the Shifter to wear real clothing and act, insofar as is possible, like any

normal Demon or Necromancer or Tragamor. I like to humor Mavin when I can. The

proper dress of a Shifter includes a beast-head helm and a fur cloak, so I had

had a pombi-head helm made up, all lolloping red tongue and glittering eyes,

with huge jowls and ears-fake, of course. A real pombi head would have weighed

like lead. My fur mantle was real enough, however, and welcome for warmth on the

chill day which found me midway between the Bright Demesne and the town of

Xammer. I was mounted on a tall black horse I had picked for myself from

Himaggery's stables, and Chance sulked along behind on something less

ostentatious. We were on our way to visit Silkhands the Healer, not at her

invitation and not because of any idea of mine.

Chance was sulking because he had recently learned of a large exotic beast said

to live in the farNorthernLands, and he wanted me to Shift into one so that he

might ride me through the town ofThispnear the Bright Demesne. It seemed there

was a widow there ...

I had said no, no, too undignified, and wasn't Chance the one who had always

urged me to be inconspicuous? To which he had made a bad-tempered reply to do

with ungrateful brats.

"If she had seen you mounted on a gnarlibar, Chance, she would never have let

you in her house again. She would have felt you too proud, too puissant for a

plumpish widow."

" 'Twould not be too warlike for that one, Peter. She's widow of an Armiger and

daughter of another. Great high ones, too, from the telling of it."

"But she has no Talent, Chance."

"Well. That's as may be. Boys don't know everything." And he went back to his

sulks.

Whoops, Peter, I said to myself. Chance is in love and you have been

uncooperative. Thinking upon the bouncy widow, I could imagine what Talents she

might have which Chance would value. I sighed. My own history, brief though it

was, was mainly of love unrequited. I resolved to make it up to him. Somehow.

Later. Certainly not before I found out what a gnarlibar might look like. This

rumination was interrupted by more muttering from Chance to the effect that he

couldn't see why we were going to Xammer anyhow, there being nothing whatever in

Xammer of any interest.

"Silkhands is there, Chance." I didn't mention the blues which were the

ostensible reason for my trip.

"Well, except for her there's nothing."

Right enough. Except for her there was probably little, but between the blues

and old Windlow the Seer, I had reason for going.

The Bright Demesne had been like a nest of warnets since Mavin, Himaggery, and I

had returned from the place of the magicians in the north. Those two and Mertyn

had great deeds aflight, and all the coming and going in pursuit of them was

dizzying. They had been horrified to learn of the bodies of great Gamesmen

stacked in their thousands in the icy caverns of the north and had resolved to

reunite those bodies with the personalities which had once occupied them,

personalities now scattered among the lands and Demesnes in the form of blues,

tiny Games-pieces used in the School Houses in the instruction of students.

Mavin had appointed herself in charge of locating all the blues and bringing

them to the Bright Demesne, though how she planned to reunite them with the

bodies was unknown unless she was depending upon the last of the magicians,

Quench, to make it possible. In any case, uncertainty was not standing in the

way of action. Pursuivants were dashing about, Elators were flicking in and out

like whipcracks; the place was fairly screaming with arrivals and departures.

Coincident with all this was a quiet search for my enemy, Huld. We were all

eager to find him, accounting him a great danger loose in the world and

ourselves unable to rest in safety until he was in some deep dungeon or safely

dead.

And, of course, there was still much conjecture and looking into the matter of

that mysterious Council which was rumored to be managing or mismanaging our

affairs from some far, hidden place of power. Anyone not otherwise occupied was

trying to solve that enigma. Meantime, I traveled about, collected blues, spent

little time at the Bright Demesne. Standing about under the eyes of an eccentric

mother, a father who kept looking at me like a gander who has hatched a

flitchhawk chick, and of my thalan, Mertyn, who persisted in treating me like a

schoolboy, made me short-tempered and openly rebellious in a few short days. I

said as much to the three of them, but I don't think they heard me. They

considered me a treasure beyond price until it came time to listen to me, and

then I might as well have been a froglet going oh-ab, oh-ab, oh-ab in the

ditches. I would like to have been involved at the center of things, but-well.

It would have done no good to talk to Mavin about it. She was a tricksy one, my

mother, and though I would have trusted her implicitly with my life, I could not

trust her at all with my sanity. Matchless in times of trouble, as a day-to-day

companion she had remarkable quirks. Himaggery and Mertyn were preoccupied.

Chance was courting the widow in Thisp. There were no other young people at the

Bright Demesne-all locked up in School Houses. What was there to do?

Given the state of my pockets, I had decided to go swimming. During my travels

in Schlaizy Noithn, I had learned to do without clothing most of the time,

growing pockets in my hide for the things I really wanted to carry about. When

one can grow fangs and claws at will, it is remarkable how few things one really

needs. Well, pockets in one's skin sound all very well, but they accumulate

flurb just as ordinary pockets do, and accumulated flurb itches. A good cure for

this is to empty the pockets, turn them inside out and go swimming in one of the

hot pools with the mists winding back and forth overhead and the wind breathing

fragrance from the orchards. All very calm and pastoral and sweetly melancholy.

Well, enough of that was enough of that in short order. I sat on the grassy bank

with the contents of my pockets spread out, sorting through them as one does,

deciding what to do with a strange coin or an odd-shaped stone. While I was at

it, I dumped out the little leather pouch which held the Gamesmen of Barish.

There had been thirty-two of the little figures when I had found them. Only

eleven had been "real." The others were merely copies and carvings made by some

excellent craftsman in a long ago time in order to fill out a set of

Gamespieces. The ones which were only carvings were in my room. The eleven real

ones were becoming as familiar to me as the lines in my own hand.

There was Dorn, the Necromancer, death's-head mask in one hand, dark visaged and

lean. I could almost hear his voice, insinuating, dry, full of cold humor, an

actorish voice. There was voluptuous Trandilar, Great Ruler, silver-blonde and

sensual, lips endlessly pursed in erotic suggestion. There was Didir, face half

hidden beneath the Demon's helm, one hand extended in concentration, the feel of

her like a knife blade worn thin as paper, able to cut to inmost thoughts and

Read the minds of others.

There was stocky Wafnor the Tragamor, clear-eyed and smiling, his very shape

expressing the strength with which he could Move things-mountains, if necessary.

He had done that once for me. There was Shattnir, androgynous, cold, menacing,

challenging, the most competitive of them all, the spikes of her Sorcerer's

crown alive with power. Beside her lay the robed form of Dealpas the Healer,

tragic face hidden, consumed with suffering, her they called "Broken leaf." And,

last of those I knew well, Tamor the Armiger, Towering Tamor, poised upon the

balls of his feet as though about to take flight, Grandfather Tamor, strong and

dependable, quick in judgment, instant in action. I knew these seven, knew the

feel of their minds in mine, the sound of their voices, the touch of their

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摘要：

Wizard'sEleven–TrueGame03 SheriS.Tepper TableofContents Book3-Wizard'sEleven AFewHelpfulHints Chapter1-Wizard'sEleven Chapter2-Xammer Chapter3-Dindindaroo Chapter4-TheGreatNorthRoad Chapter5-ThreeKnob Chapter6-TheGroleHills Chapter7-Reavebridge Chapter8-Hell'sMaw Chapter9-Nuts,Groles,andMirr...

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Sheri S. Tepper - Shapeshifter 03 - Wizard's Eleven

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