Bannerwell who has it from a Pursuivant I have stationed there. The boy is imprisoned. He has been harshly treated, but he is not seriously hurt. Which is not to say he rnay not be hurt at some future time, though the
Seers of this Demesne think not. Windlow thinks not,
Mertyn. "
"Windlow? Here? Oh, how did he come here? How did he manage to escape from Prionde? How wonderful. I wish to see him, Wizard, soon. What a wonderful thing.,. "
And see him he did. Do not think that they were all careless of me, but they were not willing to take impetuous action which might endanger me further. They knew where I was, that I was watched hour on hour, and that I was in great despair, but they knew I wouldn't die of it. Each of them had been equally despairing at one time or another, and each of them had survived it. So, while they plotted and planned to come to Bannerwell for my sake, they plotted and planned for other reasons as well.
"Whether Peter were held by Mandor or not, it would still be necessary to wage Great Game against him,
Mertyn. " So said Windlow. "We have learned from his mind and from Peter's that the Prince is thinking of linkages... "
Mertyn looked thoughtful and curious at once, nodding for the Wizard to say on.
"Mandor believes he can get himself a new body through some use of linkages. So my spies Read. He has in mind a linkage of Demon and Shapechanger. He has not thought it through. He has not studied or read, for which we may be grateful. Instinct guides him, and it guides him too far. If he had thought more, he would have included a Healer in the group as the Talent most likely to manipulate the tissues of a brain to accommodate him. We are grateful that he has net thought, King.
He has as yet had no success. Even a small success may show him how limited his imagination has been. "
"I seem to remember that you mentioned linkages to me long and long ago, " Mertyn said to Windlow. "It was something you believed was possible... "
"It is something I know is possible, " the old man replied. "Himaggery has done it. You should have seen it, Mertyn. It was quite wonderful. Demon linked to
Pursuivant linked to Elator-with a few Rancelmen mixed in for flavor. They found Peter in Bannerwell in two days. If we had not allowed ourselves to be misled by a few false handmarks, we would have found him in one day. Truly remarkable. And it is only one of an infinite number of things we can do... "
"Only one of many things which are possible, " corrected Himaggery. "We have done only a few. The possibilities are wide, as Windlow says, and terrifying. Half the things I dream up frighten me out of my wits. But I trust me more than I trust this Mandor, though that, too, is terrifying. "
"Believe me, " said Mertyn, "you are wise to do so. I have known of Prince Mandor since he was a child. If there was a simple way to do a thing which would not hurt or kill, he would eschew it in favor of some complex scheme which would maim and mutilate. If there was an honorable thing to do, he would do the opposite. He so conducted himself in the Games of his youth that he had a dozen sworn enemies of great power by the time he was twenty-seven. They were ready to descend upon
Bannerwell, to obliterate it forever, with all its long history and the tombs of its lineage. Then Mandor's thalan,
Huld, a Demon of good reputation, a Gamesman of honor, prevailed upon the young Prince to go into the
Schooltown as a Gamesmaster for a time. It was thought that this sequestering of the young man in a place where he was honor bound not to use his Talent would allow matters time to cool, insults to be forgotten, enemies to become merely un-friends rather than rabid warriors.
So it might have done.
"But Mandor could not occupy the post of
Gamesmaster with honor, or even patience, though it was needful to save his life. He behaved toward Peter as he had always behaved, as he will always behave. There is something warped in him... " Mertyn sighed.
"There is nothing more warped in him than in many, " said Himaggery heatedly. "Any Gamesman who eats up a dozen pawns during an evening's Game has no more honor than Mandor... "
Mertyn nodded. "You say it. I might say it. Windlow, you, I know, would say it. Does the world say it? No.
Pawns are pawns for the eating. That is what the world says. "
"I am in my own world, " said Himaggery. "You,
Mertyn, may follow the outer world, but I will make my own. And the knowledge of what can be done with linkages must not come into Mandor's hands. So. It is necessary that Great Game be called. He must be distracted from this obsession. If necessary, he must be destroyed. "
"And how will you mount Game against him? He is in his home place. Undoubtedly his battle ovens are erected, his fuel wagons running to and fro from dawn to dawn. You will be far from your home, far from this source of power. He will have an advantage. "
"/ will have the advantage, " whispered Himaggery.
"And I will use only a hundredth of it. If I were to use it all, the world could not stand against me. "
" 'Ware, Himaggery, " said Windlow, sternly.
"'Ware the demands of pride. "
"Oh, I am safe enough, old one. For now, at least. "
He laughed, a little bitterly. "Though you may need to watch me in the future. "
Then it was that Himaggery, Windlow, and the King began their work. From all the surrounding area
Gamesmen were summoned by Elators to attend upon the Bright Demesne. The Tragamors and Sorcerers who came were many, more than King Mertyn had ever seen in one place.
"Why Tragamors?" he asked. "I can understand
Sorcerers, but most Games of this kind depend more heavily upon Armigers than upon Tragamors... "
"We will Save Armigers when we need them, "
Himaggery replied in a grim voice. "But we do not need them here. They go toward Bannerwell even now, in small groups, within the forest. As do other Tragamors than those you see here and other Sorcerers, as well.
Every one I have been able to recruit during the last decade. "
"I did not know your Demesne counted so many
Gamesmen among its followers. "
"It were better that none knew, and well that as few were aware as possible. For that reason, we have had no panoply, no Gamely exercises. What we have learned to do, we have learned in private, and only those safe from the needs of pride have learned with us. It would take only one braggart in a Festival town to have given our secret to the world. "
"What is it you have learned?"
"You will see soon enough. It is easier to see than to explain. We have not yet had enough practice at any part of it. I have been at some pains to keep triflers and troublemakers far from this Demesne. Some, like
Dazzle and Borold, two I tolerated out of affection for
Silkhands, were sent away on errands of one kind or another if they insisted upon attaching themselves to me.
Others I have sent on long journeys. Still, I have always had the fear we would be betrayed. "
"And where is Dazzle now?" asked Windlow.
"Gone; Gone after Silkhands, still seeking to do harm to her who would only have wished her well. I should have stopped her, should have... well. I was thinking of other things. "
And he went on thinking of other things, though not for long, for on that afternoon, the eighteenth of my captivity, an Elator arrived from Bannerwell to tell them that Silkhands had been taken prisoner after being denounced by Dazzle and Borold. And on the day after that, stilt another messenger arrived to say that Chance and Yarrel had fled from Bannerwell, but that
Silkhands was still held there.
It was on that day that Himaggery's legions began the march to Bannerwell, though it was like no march
Mertyn had seen before. There was a monstrous wagon piled with many huge, curved shields of metal, polished to a mirror gleam. And there were all those Tragamors in the train. And the way was always starting and stopping, with a curved shield taken off the wagon each place the march stopped, each with a
Sorcerer to attend it and at least two Tragamors, though in places there were three or even four. In each spot was a wait while the shield was "tested" while Mertyn fretted and old
Windlow lay in his wagon, soft pillowed in quilts, watching the sky. This testing seemed to take eternities, and Mertyn grumbled and sweated, furious that
Himaggery would not tell him what was being done.
"I cannot, " said Himaggery. "You might well think about it if I told you, and Mandor may have Demons
Reading the road. "
"Aren't you thinking about it?"
Himaggery laughed. "Does the stonemason think of cutting stone as he does so? His hands know what to do.
He thinks of his dinner or of going fishing. That's what I think of. Going fishing. "
It was true that all those in the train seemed well practiced at what they did. Their road lay straight across the
Middle River, with the first stop made across the lake from the Bright Demesne. Then, each successive stop was in a straight line from the previous one. Where there were hills, a mirror was placed atop each. The nineteenth day of my captivity passed (for I still counted " the captivity as I later numbered it for all the time I was in Bannerwell), and the twentieth, and the twenty-first.
During all this time the legions of Himaggery drew closer to Bannerwell, but slowly, a crawling pace which wearied and fretted all within the train. On each morning and evening came a messenger from Bannerwell to say that the ovens were built, that the wood wagons thundered in across the bridge, that the fortress was furnished against siege, that Armigers, Sorcerers, Elators, and Tragamors were assembled with more still coming
"in. And still Himaggery did not hurry, did not increase his pace. They went on, the shield wagon growing less and less heavily laden, the vast number of Sorcerers and
Tragamors dwindling day by day.
And on the evening of the twenty-second day of my captivity, word arrived at Himaggery's tent that
Silkhands was to be given to the Divulgers but that she had thwarted Mandor by disappearing.
"I should think, " Windlow told them thoughtfully,
"that Peter is involved in this. Though my Talent grows dim with age and faulty with time, I seem to See something of that boy in this whole affair. He is all mixed up somehow with Divulgers and manure piles, but the feel of him is still unmistakably Peter, moving about in
Bannerwell or beneath it. I am sure of it. "
Himaggery laughed silently until tears came to his eyes. "You would advise: us not to worry?"
"Oh, worry by all means, " said Windlow. "By all means. Yes. It sharpens the wits. A good worry does wonders for the defensive capabilities of the brain.
However, I should not advise you to do without sleep. "
Mertyn said, "Somehow, that doesn't help, old
. teacher. I think it will affect my ability to sleep... "
To which Windlow replied, "I think I have an herb here somewhere which will... " And so they slept that night, not overlong, but well.
On the morning came yet another messenger to tell them the most astonishing news. The trumpets and drums of Bannerwell beat summons to air, to move, because upon the surrounding hills had come a mighty host to call Great Game upon Bannerwell, no other than the followers of the High Demesne and the High King himself. It was those same drums and trumpets which I heard as I drove Silkhands out of the caves in a fury. The
High King had come to Bannerwell. And why?
Why, he had come to take Windlow back with him, for he believed the old man was held captive in the,
Bannerwell dungeons.
What followed was something Silkhands saw from her place on Malplace Mountain, watching the Game as
Mavin had suggested, crying to herself, and talking, as she watched.
You must see Bannerwell as she saw it. Below
Malplace Mountain the river curves down from the north, swoops into a graceful loop before swinging north once more, then turning eastward through
Havajor Dike and across the fertile plains to the
Gathered Waters. In that loop of river stands a low, curved cliff upon which the walls of the fortress are built to follow the same line, so that cliff and wall are one. On the west the Tower rises from the wall in one unbroken height, on the south the green of the orchard close feathers the walltop with the roofs and spires behind it.
From her place on Malplace Mountain, Silkhands could look down into the courtyard to see it packed full of
Gamesmen with more upon the walls and the roofs. On the north, hidden by the bulk of the castle, was the shield wall and bridge, and outside that the moat which extended from the Banner on one side to the Banner on the other side, across the whole neck of the looped river. The bridge was up, the gate was down. Any further messages would be carried by Heralds; there was no further need for a bridge.
Then, see upon the hills to the north of Bannerwell a great host of Gamesmen and horses and machines centered upon a cluster of tents with a high, red tent in the midst of them. Here was the High King among his people. Between the moat and the hills was another host under the banner of some tributary Prince to the High
King, and still more allies were assembled between these multitudes and the stony dike. This great host had come upon Bannerwell from the north, an unexpected direction, and waited now as Game was called upon
Prince Mandor. The trumpets were still shivering when
Silkhands came onto the ledge.
It is part of the Talent of a Herald to Move the air about him in such a way that all within the Demesne may hear each word which is spoken. So Silkhands, even at that distance, could hear plainly when the
Herald of the High King rode to the edge of the moat and cried:
"All within reach of my voice pay heed, all within reach of my voice give ear, for I speak for the High
King, he of the High Demesne, most puissant, most terrible, who comes now in might to call Great Game against Mandor, styled Prince of Bannerwell, who has in most unprincely fashion given sanctuary to traitorous and miscreant pawns, abductors of the old, holders for base ransom the valued friend of Prionde, High King.
"I speak of Windlow the Seer, formerly of Windlow's
House, Schoolhouse to the High Demesne.
"So says the High King: That Windlow shall be sent forth with honor and in good array, that those who abducted him shall be put forth, dishonored and bound, and that Mandor, styled Prince, shall pay the cost of all the array here massed against him and his Demesne, else shall Great Game proceed... "
"Gamelords, " whispered Silkhands. "It's Borold with Mandor. " She could see Mandor on the battlement, three figures beside him. Huld, Borold, and
Dazzle. Now the trumpets of Mandor sounded and Borold rose higher than the tower to look down upon the High
King's host as he cried the response of Bannerwell.
"All within sound of my voice pay heed, all within reach of my voice give ear, for I speak for Prince
Mandor of Bannerwell. My Prince is not unwilling to meet Great Game with those who have challenged him or those whom he has taken pains to offend. But he begs of the High King an indulgence, that they may speak together with their attendant Demons in order that the
High King be sure of the grounds of his offense e'er
Game is called... "
Then was a long silence during which the Herald of the High Demesne spoke with the High King, as did others of his train, until at last the drums on the hills beat thrice, "thawum, thawum, thawum, " and were answered from the castle, "bom, bom, bom. " The bridge rattled down, raising a cloud of dust as it struck the far edge of the moat. The gates went up with a creaking clatter of chains, and Mandor rode forth, Huld at his side, Dazzle just behind them. Before them floating in air, went Borold, stately, just at the level of the heads of the horses. "Oh, Borold, " lamented Silkhands. "How silly. How silly you are. "
From her place Silkhands could hear nothing of what went on be
tween Mandor and the High King. She saw it all. She saw Huld salute the Demon of the High King, saw Dazzle summoned forward to bow and pose and talk and gesture. Even from that great distance the whole was unmistakable. She could even have put the words into their mouths, the suspicious whine of the
High King, the assertion by Mandor that Windlow was not in Bannerwell, the testimony of Dazzle that the old man was in the Bright Demesne, that some of the culprits who had taken him were possibly even now on their way to challenge Bannerwell while another of them was probably hiding in the caves beneath the fortress. Smile, smile, pose, pose. The Demons frowned, spoke, spoke again.