The End of the Game (76 page)

“How did you get out of the Bright Demesne?” I demanded of Mavin, hugging Jinian to me. “Huldra left half her army there, and all the shadows.”

Mavin shook her head, making a face. “The shadows were not following Huldra. No. There were Oracles there. At least I suppose they were Oracles, for they looked as Jinian described.”

Jinian gaped. “What did you do?”

Mavin laughed uncomfortably and described the technique she had developed to control Bryan. “A kind of basket,” she said, making a face. “Baskets were used for discipline back in the place I grew up. The only way to control a Shifter, really, though I never appreciated that fact until your son came along, Peter. At any rate, when Bryan misbehaves, I make a basket of myself, scoop him up, squeeze him into his own shape, and then hold him till he settles down.” She jiggled the baby, he crowing at her. Evidently he bore no ill will for having been basketed.

“And that’s what you did to the . . . Oracles?”

“Basketed and squeezed, yes. Only this time rather smaller than their natural shape. I’m afraid they were quite squashed. I buried everything under the tent to cause mystery and confusion among the troops. Evidently it worked.” She told us a few more details of what had happened at the Bright Demesne, concluding, “The shadows fell into disarray, and Himaggery managed the rest.” She spoke with a kind of weary pride, and I knew that despite everything, she continued to love Himaggery. Those two! I had never understood them.

“I wish it had been the real Oracle,” whispered Jinian. “Though I’m afraid they were only followers.”

“Well, there are two fewer followers now,” Mavin said, hugging her. I was struck, not for the first time, by how well these two seemed to get along.

Evidently there had been enough time for Huldra to regroup, for we heard trumpet and drum sounds from her lines, and everyone behind the stone became suddenly very busy.

The oldest member of the seven, Murzemire, materialized at my elbow and suggested in a kindly voice that I go with Jinian up to the caverns. “We’ve put everything in place already, everything a seven can do, Peter. Jinian’ll not be needed here for a while, at least. Your mother, too. I’m sure she’s tired from the journey”-not seeing or perhaps purposely not noticing Mavin’s outraged face at this presumption—”and there are more comfortable quarters up there.”

We were rather a cynosure at the moment, and I could understand her wanting us out of the way. Mertyn was shouting commands. Great pillars of flame had erupted from Huldra’s lines, fire elementals, as Murzy said in a horrified voice. “I really didn’t think she’d dare.”

“It’s all right,” said the one with braids, Cat. “We’ve prepared for it with water elementals of our own. Do get out of the way, Jinian.”

So we went up the hill, hand in hand, through the Immutable lines, on to the caverns.

13
JINIAN’S STORY: WITCH AND BASILISK

After all my longing and agony, Peter’s escape was almost anticlimactic. He simply showed up, wearing some kind of lounging robe, having escaped when the Immutable came near the tent, then hidden when the Immutable left again. Mavin, it seemed, had suggested that refinement of my original plan, and she told us about it in a chuckling voice as she followed us up to the Ice Caverns.

“Immutables,” she mused while Bryan burbled and chortled at her. “Now that’s the answer for you, grandson. You may try to gorble all you like, but with Immutables around, it won’t work. I think a few days spent among the Immutables would train you very nicely, and all the Gamelords know I’m tired of basketing you.” She sounded lively and jolly, rather more contented than I had ever thought of Mavin as being. Seeing her face as she played with Bryan, I realized she must have enjoyed Peter when he was a babe. And I thought I knew why, too. That time must have been the only time in her life when she did not Shift, was not Shifter, did not think about Shifterish things, but merely was, womanlike, rejoicing in the flow of life through her and on. Seeing her, my eyes teared up, and I thought again of bearing Peter’s children. If there should ever be time.

There was a jostling on my shoulders. The turnips had tired of my pack and were trying to get out, so I let them loose at the entrance to the caverns, introducing them to both Peter and Mavin. Both these Shifters had seen many strange things in their lives, but they stood there with their mouths open when they were introduced to Big-blue and Molly-my-dear. Both turnips were in full flower, much given to nodding their tops at one another in an obviously lubricious way. I was a little embarrassed, frankly, but Peter and Mavin seemed to pay no attention to that.

“Shadow-eaters?” Mavin asked. “Really, Jinian? Have you seen them do it?”

I told her that I had.

“By all the old gods. How marvelous. Oh, how I wish I’d had some of these that time long ago when I brought Himaggery down from the north in the shape of a singlehorn and the shadows tracked us, league on league. What a wonder. I’d been wondering how we’d—well, from what Peter has said, it seems likely there will be a force to oppose us when we reach Old South Road City. A shadow force, likely. It’s not something I was eager to face.” And I saw in her expression again that woman longing, that desire to be at peace, playing with the baby, if only for a time, rather than risking her life as we all risked ours in some great endeavor. She shook her head, repeating firmly, “From my prior experience . . .

I shuddered. From my own prior experience, a shadow force would be unopposable. The best one could do was hide from it, and little construction got done while builders cowered in caves or huts. “I know,” I said. “That’s why we brought them. There are more on the ridge out there, watching the battle.”

At the word “battle,” Big-blue cried in an excited voice, “Snakes. Snakes and fire and trumpets. Tara tara.”

“Taratta tara,” echoed Molly-my-dear, waving her root-legs. “And people feet.”

“Settle down,” I said. “If you’ll plant yourselves here by the door, I’ll take you back down when I leave.”

The Gardener was already by the cavern entrance, peering out in his dispirited way at the fireworks in the valley. “How goes the battle?” he asked as though it did not matter.

“As well as can be expected,” I said, and he nodded gloomily as we went on into the hum and babble inside and through that to the distant, twisty little room off the tunnel where we had slept.

“I remember this place,” said Mavin, staring about with eves full of recollection. “You and I were here, Peter. In this very place. Gamelords, that seems long and long ago. . . .

“We had just saved Himaggery, remember? We came into the cavern through that tunnel, there. It goes back and back into the mountain and out to that Base place.” She touched Peter’s face with a tender gesture, patting him, flushing a little, then wandering off to disappear with Bryan behind a pillar, obviously intent upon reminiscences she did not intend to share.

Peter looked after her, his face sober. “She’s right. We were here. I remember all too well. The fool Magicians, without any idea what they were doing, had set off some kind of infernal device which was going to blow the mountains up. Mavin and I were trying to escape, with Himaggery. The resurrection machine had failed when we tried to put Windlow back together. I had his blue in my pocket with the other blues, the Gamesmen of Barish. We came on the railway, through that tunnel.” He pointed down the twisty way, shaking his head at the memory, musing for a time as we moved deeper into the room. “Huld was out there in the cavern. He had some kind of firebolt shooter. If it hadn’t been for the Gamesmen of Barish, I’d have been cooked.” He stared at nothing, remembering. I came close and took his hand as he went on, “The entrances were all sealed. I used Shattnir the Sorcerer to clear a way to the sky. Tamor the Armiger helped me fly out, carrying Himaggery. Then the mountain fell in. We thought Huld was dead.” There was a long, long pause.

“But Huld wasn’t dead,” I said, prompting him.

“No, he wasn’t,” said a deadly voice. “Not then.”

We spun around, disbelieving, all our safety, all our peace riven by that voice. She stood blocking the entrance to the little room with Dedrina close beside her and a scatter of Elators behind them. Huldra. She had figured it out, then. She knew about the Immutables, and while the seven were kept busy down below, believing they were fighting her, she had come into our stronghold to take us.

“Destruction of the caverns can wait,” she whispered, pointing one bony finger at Peter. It was a foul, slimy whisper that clung in the ears like swamp muck. “You I will have, and then we will see to the caverns.”

“Those who sent you to destroy the caverns are dead,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and indifferent and get her attention off Peter. Mavin was behind the rock pillar. They might not know she was there. “Storm Grower is dead. Eaten out by your Sending, Huldra, which she swallowed down like a thrilp seed. Dream Miner is dead, poisoned by a yellow crystal. They are dead, Huldra.”

“They were only the Oracle’s dupes,” sneered Huldra. “The one who wanted  you dead is still alive, Wizard. The Oracle is still alive and kicking about the world. Storm Grower is no more, but enmity remains.”

“Mine, Wizard,” hissed Dedrina. She was already half-transformed into her Basilisk shape, her dirty yellow claws scraping the tunnel floor. “Storm Grower may have ruled the caverns, but you are my meat, Jinian Dangle-wit, murderer of my child. Perhaps my daughter was too young and impressionable when she faced you. Perhaps you played unGamely, Dangle-wit. Perhaps she did not have her wits about her. But I have mine, Eller’s daughter. It was I who found the old tunnel down into these caverns; I who told the Witch where you might be found.”

The words hit me as though I had been struck with a hand, moving me to fury. Peter squeezed my hand, bringing me to myself. Of course the creature wanted me angry. Angry and unthinking. “Lizard,” snarled Peter. “Foul words are all the dirtier when they come from a filthy mouth.” His voice was full of fury, and his neck  flushed. So much for self-control.

Still, it had given me a split moment in which to think. Huldra had spoken of the Oracle. I remembered my first meeting with the Oracle. It had been angry at the Basilisks. Angry enough to steal the Dagger from them. The Dagger the Oracle itself had created and given them long before. And the Oracle had set that Dagger in my hands. Playing with me. Well, let the play go on!

I was standing behind Peter, slightly to his left, holding his left hand in my right. Keeping his hand fast between our bodies, I slipped my hand into the slit in my pocket and pulled the Dagger of Daggerhawk from its scabbard strapped to my thigh. He knew what it was when I pressed it into his palm. I hoped he understood why I gave it to him. He had no art with which to fight Huldra. I could not fight Dedrina and use the art at the same time. He would have to do it for me. His anger would make the Dagger lethal.

Huldra made an imperious gesture, turning our faces toward hers as she stared at us with voracious eyes. “Let me tell you what is in store for you. For you, Jinian, the Basilisk’s claws and the long, slow dying they bring while the flesh falls away from filthy wounds that no Healer can help,” she sneered, mocking, drawing her hands up and down in a pantomime of raking claws. “And for Peter, a thousand years or so of sleep, to lie paralyzed, motionless, like ice in these caverns among those of the hundred thousand who remain here today, For when we have done with you, we will do with the caverns, not for the sake of the giants, but for our own amusement. . . .”

I heard her. I knew she would have that paralysis spell ready for immediate use. I would have had, in her shoes. Just as I had The Net of Enlees, which the other six Wize-ards had insisted be set upon me, invocable with one word. And the paralysis spell might not be the only one!

It was well I was thinking of preset spells. Dedrina was scratching at the floor, and my eyes wanted to watch her, but Murzy’s words of warning rang in my head. Peter would have to take care of Dedrina. I stared hard at Huldra, catching the gesture of binding before it was half-made. No, the paralysis spell hadn’t been the only one.

“———” I shouted, seeing for an instant a green net of fire fall around me. I wasn’t even sure it had worked, but Huldra was. She screamed in fury, then turned to make the same gesture at Peter. If she couldn’t bind me, she would paralyze him, eliminating at least one possible opponent. I couldn’t let her do that. Peter was backed against a wall, the Dagger in one hand. The sleeves of that stupid robe were too long for him. They covered the hilt of the Dagger. Ridiculously, I wanted to laugh. The Basilisk literally did not know what weapon she faced, but I had no time to gloat over that.

Instead, I bowled a ball of Witch fire at Huldra’s head. She threw up a hand to ward it away, breaking the gesture she had aimed at Peter, twisting it to send a knot of boiling black cloud at my face, spitting lightning. I ducked and came up with a water spell half-done, completing it with a quick whirl to my left. As I came around, I saw Peter lunge at Dedrina, missing her by a finger width, then saw Huldra again, soaking wet. It hadn’t been a very good water spell. I’d really wanted to drown her.

There weren’t all that many things that could be done without paraphernalia! Missiles of various kinds. Fire, water, earth. Earth. I muttered a quick buried-in-earth spell, then changed it to water halfway. I was hoping for quicksand, but the best I got was a mud puddle. Still, she was in it up to her neck.

And out of it just as quickly, both hands weaving, weaving. What was she up to? I muttered ice at her, under her feet, and saw the weaving change frantically to a grope for the wall as she slipped and lost her balance. Screams from my right. Don’t look. If Peter’s dead, he’s dead, but don’t look!

I couldn’t help myself. One quick glance. Peter was still on his feet. I couldn’t tell about Dedrina. Back to Huldra, too late. Something slimy plastered itself over my eyes.

I gargled out the water spell once again, receiving a deluge. That washed the sliminess away but left me floundering. Something was happening at the top of the cave. I couldn’t look up. Dedrina screamed. I remembered the sound of that kind of scream, that kind of breathless agony with a note of terrible surprise in it. So Dedrina-Lucir had sounded when she had been touched by the Dagger. If Peter had touched Dreadeve, if he had been angry when he touched her, then she was dead. Dead and gone. And he had been angry enough, I knew.