Sheri Tepper - Wizard’s Eleven

HE MAY NOT HAVE BEEN CONCERNED enough about Jinian, but his concern knew no bounds for Silkhands. When I quoted to all of them the words I had heard from the mouth of the Elator concerning Huld and his desire to master the world, Silkhands turned away retching. Kelver went to her, held her, and she cried between saying that Huld had come to her often while she was captive in Bannerwell, had threatened her, invaded her mind, set such fear in her that she had not dared think of it again. Now she was drowning in that same terror. King Kelver began to burn, hot as fire, swearing vengeance against those who had hurt her, mirrored him, Gamed against any of us. “Your enemy is mine,” he swore, putting his hand on mine. “We stand allies against those foul beasts.”

I had heard more of the Elator’s talk than he had, more than I had repeated to any of them. I was glad of any who would stand against terrors I was uncertain I could face myself. We put Silkhands in the wagon with Jinian to let them comfort one another as to what had been misunderstood between them. I needed no further proof that Kelver was no longer interested in Jinian or that Silkhands would never be more than my friend. So I drank with the King and shared objurgations of all enemies with him until we slept at last from inability to do anything else.

On the morning we climbed farther to the endless chattering of the krylobos. Queynt clucked at them indulgently. I asked if he feared to return to the place he had found them, and he shook his head. “It is impossible to say. It was all so very long ago.”

“How long ago?” I asked.

“Ummm.” He grimaced. “A very long time ago. I was searching for a place. There had been a great catastrophe, and my maps proved useless. You have heard of the cataclysm, flood and wind, storm and ruin? It caused great destruction the length of the River Reave.”

“The same catastrophe which destroyed Dindindaroo,” I said. “I have been told that was flood and windstorm. Do you know what caused it?”

“Most certainly. When we come to the top, you will see for yourself. A moonlet fell from the heavens, blazing with the light of a little sun. It thrust into the top of this tableland like a flaming spear, causing the ground to shatter for a hundred leagues in all directions, breaking natural dams and letting loose the pent floods of a thousand thousand years, sending forth a hot, dry wind which spread from this center to blow forests into kindling. You may see the destruction in Learner yet, in certain places.

“Many ancient things were uncovered. And perhaps many other ancient things were covered past discovery.” He was quiet then for a little time, loquacity forgotten, before he said, “Perhaps it is only that the signs were lost, the trails thinned…”

If he had been attempting to astonish me, he succeeded. “I have heard a song sung to that effect,” I managed to choke.

“Ah, young sir, so have I. It was that song brought me all the way south almost to the Phoenix Demesne searching for a Healer and a Gamesman to whom that song might mean something.”

“Our meeting was no accident then,” said Silkhands, entering the conversation from her wagon seat. “No accident at all!”

He flushed a little, only a touch of rose at the lobes of his ears. “No, my dear. Not totally accident. But intended for no evil purpose for all that.”

It was too much. I was not assured of his honesty and could not fence with him further. I waited until Chance came up to me, then spent a league of our journey complaining about mysteries, Gamesmen in general, an education which had ill fitted me for the present circumstances, and other assorted miseries including a case of saddle chafe.

Chance ignored me, cutting to the heart of my discomfort. “He’s a one, that Queynt,” he said. “Says more than he cares about and knows more than he says.”

“Spare me the epigrams,” I begged him. “Can I trust the man? That’s all that matters now. He has not seemed to hurt us in any respect, but he has been far from honest with us…”

“As we have been with him,” said Chance. “I suppose he’s wondering if he can trust us. I would if I was him.”

My own honor and trustworthiness was not a topic I chose to think upon. Not then. I could only go on with the journey by not thinking of it, and so I whipped my horse up and rode ahead of all the rest to the top of the notch, seeing the monstrous bone forms edging the rimrock on every side so that I dismounted to stand in amazement while the others caught up to me.

Queynt jumped from the wagon seat to stretch and bend himself, puffing a little in the high air. “They were not here,” he said, “these bone forms were not here before the cataclysm. They were buried deep, buried well, buried for a thousand thousand years. When the moonlet fell, the soil which covered them was blown outward to fall upon the orchards of Nutland or was carried by the wild winds to the edges of the world.”

The huge shapes were all around us, north, south, west as far as we could see. They were indeed like the skeletons of unimaginably prodigious beasts, pombis or fustigars perhaps. Here and there the shapes were pentagonal, star shaped, like the skeleton of any of our tailless animals, so like a pombi’s that I could not believe them wind carved. They felt and sounded, when struck, like stone. Jinian came out of the wagon to lay her small square hands beside my own. The spies were far behind. She could risk this brief escape from the wagon. We remained there, staring, for a long time before turning away.

The King came to us with the Dragons. I had seen them conferring together as they rode, and now he came to ask my advice. “I have two Dragons here who can be sent as messengers. Would you have any thoughts about that?”

I had been worrying the thought of taking Hafnor in my hand and Porting to the Bright Demesne to ask for help. I had not done because I was not sure I could return, not sure I could visualize clearly enough the surroundings where we traveled. This offer was welcome, and I thanked him for it, suddenly wishing most heartily for Mavin and Himaggery, but most of all for Himaggery’s host.

“If and when word reaches Huld that we have found what he is seeking,” I said, “he will come. We could give up the search and go away. But Huld would move against the world and us, sooner or later. We may find what we may find and keep it secret. But Huld will come, sooner or later. The Elator who follows us says that there are bone pits outside Hell’s Maw piled so deep that no man knows where the bottom of them lies. Huld will come with Bonedancers and Ghouls and Princes of the North who share his ambitions. He will come in might with a horrible host. If that host could be met and conquered in this wasteland …”

“Or even delayed,” whispered Jinian. “Fewer would suffer.”

“Except ourselves,” said the King.

“Except ourselves,” I agreed. “So while we hope for powerful allies before us, let us call upon whatever others we may.”

King Kelver examined me narrowly. “What allies before us, Gamesman? I have not been told of any … formally.”

I flushed and turned from him. Had Silkhands hinted to him? Hoped with him? Well, probably. Behind me, Jinian said, “There may be none, King Kelver. We hope, that is all.”

He laughed, not with any great humor, and made some remark about fools living on hope. Well, that was true. Fools did. My hope was in Mavin.

So it was that one scarlet Dragon sped northeast, trailing fire and pennants of smoke to make himself even more conspicuous while another, slate gray with wings of jet, fled south close upon the mountaintop, unseen, to the far off mists of the Bright Demesne. He carried a message from me which said, without any circumlocution, “Help!” Meantime Jinian dressed herself in the Dragon’s cloak and brave plumed helm to ride alongside the wagon. If the Elator got a look at us, we were precisely as we should have been: one King, one Queynt, one Chance; one Silkhands, one Dragon, one Peter. One Jinian, gone, eaten by groles. One Dragon gone, flown back to the Dragon’s Fire Purlieu with much noise and fire.