“Say nothing,” he whispered. “Be still.” He caught curious glances around us. “Tell them I am forbidding you to pretend to Necromancy.” Then he left me tottering there. I could not leave the room quickly enough to suit me. Even in my own room, I retched and was sick. When I had settled myself somewhat, I went out onto the little balcony and sat there, hunched against the wall, trying not to think of anything. I saw the pawner in the courtyard below me with some other men. In a few moments they mounted and rode away, turning south along the lake shore. At the moment it meant nothing to me. Later I was to wonder, why south? The Gathered Waters and the pawner’s ship lay north of us. I had not long to brood over anything, for Silkhands came to fetch me to the Wizard.
We found him in his own rooms, out of dress, Wizardly costume laid aside in favor of a soft shirt and trousers which could have clad anyone. He was examining a fruit tree in the enclosed garden.
“They will not ordinarily grow this far north,” he told us. “Except that they find eternal summer among these mists. We have fruit when others have none, power when others have none. If we can find our way into the heart of life¾within the Game or, likely, out of it¾we may build a great people from this place.”
I think I started at this heresy, not sure I wanted to hear it, but he pretended not to notice, grinning at me over his beard, blue eyes glittering with humor and understanding. He went on.
“And you, Healer. Are you ready to admit that your presence does nothing to help Dazzle, indeed, only makes her worse?”
“Lord, certainly I make her no better.”
“Did you know this lad saw her?” Silkhands turned a shocked face to mine, was convinced by the expression she found there.
“But how? None can. Except you, Lord, and I.”
“He can,” said Himaggery, “though I cannot think why. Well, life is full of such mysteries, but it were better for you, boy, if you forgot this one. Am I right that you saw through my eyes? I thought so. Well then, it may be emerging talent of some kind, and no point in worrying about it.”
“How did she…why is she…I…” I couldn’t get the question out.
“Why is she a hideously maimed person? Why does no one know it? Why? Ah, boy, it’s one of those mysteries I spoke of. But, I don’t think Silkhands will mind my telling you.” He looked to her for permission, and she nodded, eyes fixed upon her twisting hands. He patted her shoulder and told me the story. “There were two children of Fuller the Seer and his loved wife, a Tragamor woman out of the east: Silkhands, here, and her full brother, Borold, born two years apart. When they were still children, their mother died, and Finler took another woman, a Tragamor from Guiles whose name was Tilde. They had a daughter, some six years younger than Silkhands… Dazzle.
“Silkhands and Borold manifested talent quite young, when they were about fifteen. Silkhands, being a Healer, was much respected in the place they lived as Healers often are, whether they merit it or not, though from everything I have learned I would judge that Silkhands merited it more than most. Borold showed flying early, and then moving, and was named Sentinel. Dazzle was a beauty, even as a tiny thing, and grew more beautiful than any in the place had ever seen. But she was not fond of Silkhands…”
“It was Tilde’s fault, somewhat,” interjected Silkhands. “She resented my mother even though mother was long dead. She was jealous of her reputation in the town, and of the fact that I, her daughter, was a Healer. We cannot blame Dazzle…”
“Be that as it may,” the Wizard went on, “Dazzle deeply resented her half sister. And, when at last she manifested a talent of her own, it was along the lines she had first laid down, glamor, beguilement, powerholding, and fire¾the measure of a Priestess or Witch. Because she was a power-holder, Silkhands sought her help in healing, for Dazzle could have carried power with which Silkhands could have healed many…”