The Gathered Waters were calm and glittering, a smiling face which gave no indication of the storms which often troubled it. Chance reminded me of our last traveling by water, fleeing before the wind and from a ship full of pawners sent by Mandor of Bannerwell to capture me.
“I don’t want to think about that,” I told him. “And of that time.”
“I thought you was rather fond of that girl,” he said. “That Immutable girl.”
“Tossa. Yes. I was fond of her, Chance, but she died. I was fond of Mandor, too, once, and he is as good as dead, locked up in Bannerwell for all he is Prince of the place. It seems the people I am fond of do not profit by it much.”
“Ahh, that’s nonsense, lad. You’re fond of Silkhands, and she’s Gamesmistress down in Xammer now, far better off than when you met her. Windlow, too. You helped him away from the High King, Prionde, and I’d say that’s better off. It was the luck of the Game did Tossa, and I’m sorry for it. She was a pretty thing.”
“She was. But that was most of a year ago, Chance. I grieved over her, but that’s done now. Time to go on to something else.”
“Well, you speak the truth there. It’s always time for something new.”
So we rode along, engaged at times in such desultory conversation, other times silent. This was country I had not seen before. When I had come from Bannerwell to the Bright Demesne after the battle, it had been across the purlieus rather than by the long road. In any case, I had not been paying attention then.
We came to the River Banner very late on the third day of travel, found no inn there but did find a ferrymaster willing to have us sleep in the shed where the ferries were kept. We hauled across at first light, spent that night camped above a tiny hamlet no bigger than my fist, and rode into Schooltown the following noon.
Somehow I had expected it to be changed, but it was exactly the same: little houses humped up the hills, shops and Festival halls hulking along the streets, cobbles and walls and crooked roofs, chimneys twisting up to breathe smoke into the hazy sky, and the School Houses on the ridge above. Havad’s House, where Mandor had been Gamesmaster. Dorcan’s House across the way. Bilme’s House, where it was said Wizards were taught. Mertyn’s House where my thalan was chief Gamesmaster, where I had grown up in the nurseries to be bullied by Karl Pig-face and to love Mandor and to depart. A sick, sweet feeling went through me, half nausea, half delight, together with the crazy idea that I would ask Mertyn to let me stay at the House, be a student again. Most students did not leave until they were twenty-five. I could have almost a decade here, in the peace of Schooltown. I came to myself to find Chance clutching my horse’s bridle and staring at me in concern.
“What is it, boy? You look as though you’d been ghost bit.”
“Nothing.” I laughed, a bit unsteadily. “A crazy idea, Brother Chance.”
“You haven’t called me that since we left here.”
“No. But we’re back, now, aren’t we? Don’t worry, Chance. I’m all right.” We turned the horses over to a stable pawn and went in through the small side door beside the kitchens. It was second nature to do so, habit, habit to remove my hat, to go off along the corridor behind Chance, habit to hear a familiar voice rise tauntingly behind me.
“Why, if it isn’t old Fat Chance and Prissy Pete, come back to go to School with us again.”
I stopped dead in savage delight. So, Karl Pig-face was still here. Of course he was still here, along with all his fellow tormentors. He had not seen my face. Slowly I put the broad black hat upon my head, turned to face them where they hovered in the side corridor, lips wet and slack with anticipation of another bullying. I was only a shadow to them where I stood. I shook Chance’s restraining hand from my shoulder, moved toward the lantern which hung always just at that turning.