Huld waved an impatient hand. “Churchman, then. Churchmen have both Fire and Beguilement. I do not intend to search the Index to find what combination of Gamesmen he is, or what obscure name is given to such a combination. He may be called Shadowmaster for all I care. Enough to know that now we know it, he will not escape me again. No, he will lead us as the arrow flies to that place we want to go, to obtain that which we want to obtain…”
“Which you believe is …”
“Barish, King Prionde. Barish of the ancient times. Barish with his knowledge of the old machines, the old weapons, before which the knowledge of the magicians is as nothing. Barish who lies there in the northlands somewhere. Where we have not been able to find him, but where Peter can lead us.”
“And how do you know all this, Demon? Whose head have you rummaged it out of?”
Huld chortled, a nastiness of tongue and mouth as though eating something foully delicious. “No person’s head, King. I have put it together out of books, old books, books which lay unread in the tunnels of the magicians. Out of books, legends, and common talk. Out of things Nitch told me before he died, his intellect o’er leaping his pain to find things to tell me. I had an advantage Nitch had not. I saw the machine. I saw how the tiny Gamesmen are made! I saw the bodies stored away in caverns like so many blocks of ice. Well, they will not come to life again. The machine which could have brought them to life once more is dead and broken and blown to atoms.”
“Assuming you are correct, then how will Barish be brought to life again? If the machine is gone, buried under the mountains?”
“I think the machine beneath the mountains was not the only one. There will be another, alike or similar, where Barish lies.”
“And what is it makes you think Peter will guide you there? What is he that he should do this thing? What interest has he? His aim, what Game?”
“Only that he was mind-led by the old Seer of yours, King. Windlow the Seer was searching for the same thing I have been searching for, I’m convinced of it. He’d found something. He knew something, or had a Vision of something. Why else does Peter go north now, into the lands of mysteries?” He laughed, a victorious crow. “Why else does he go north, now, in company with my man? Mine!”
“Nothing more than that? It is all so indefinite and misty, Demon. I would hesitate to commit my men on such a Game had I nothing more than what you have told me. Perhaps it is not Barish who lies hidden in the north. Perhaps it is the Council.”
Huld mocked. “There is no Council save ours, King Prionde. When I had worked my way into the confidence of old Manacle, the fool, and his lick-heels, I asked how long it had been since they had heard directly from this Council. Not for seasons, he told me. The machine which brought the words of the Council no longer spoke. And so I told them I brought messages from the Council, and they believed me. So judge for yourself.”
“You think if the Council still existed, it would not have let its communication be interrupted. Nor would your representations have gone so unquestioned.”
“Exactly. Whoever, or whatever, the Council was, its last member has gone, or died, or found something else to play with. No, we are the Council, Prionde. I regret only that we have no more magicians to do our work for us. I found only those few tens of techs, scattered among the valleys.” Huld gestured at a far wall where a few forms huddled in sleep. “I would like to find the one who led them, Quench. He knew things others did not. I would not have been surprised to learn that he knew of Barish, that his many times great forefather had passed some such knowledge along to him. Well, we may find him in time…
“And meantime we build terror, Prionde, and utter despair. And when Peter has led us where we want to go, we will descend upon him in horrible power. I do not think he will withstand us. Even a twinned Talent is not immortal.”