The True Game by Sheri S. Tepper part two

“Queynt,” I replied, “I will do so, but I tell you that you talk too much.”

“But on what topics, Gamesman? Ask yourself that? On what subjects do I talk not at all?” He smiled at me and went away. In a little time Kelver and Silkhands and the Dragons rode away toward Learner. Queynt opened the wagon door at the back of the vehicle, and we brought Jinian to be lifted in. It was a well-fitted place, almost a small house, with arrangements for food and sanitation. “A technish toilet,” said Queynt. “Something I obtained from the magicians long ago, when I used to trade with them.” He greeted my incredulous stare with equanimity. Jinian took his words at face value.

“Thank you, Queynt,” she said. “I will treat your property with respect. If I may lie up within for a few days, we can perhaps discover who means us ill.” She gave him her hand, and he bowed over it, eyes fixed sardonically on me. I left them, hoping she would have sense to shut the door in time. I need not have worried. When Silkhands and the others rode back from their expedition to the orchards, the wagon was shut tight. Silkhands, however, was in a fury. She came to visit me and Chance.

“That little fool Jinian. The King tells me she has left us! Without a word to me! Mendost may Game against me, or against the House in Xammer because of this. She did not even tell me goodbye.”

Chance blinked at me like an owl and went on stirring as I feigned surprise. “King Kelver told you this? When was that?”

“This morning. Queynt suggested we might like to see the grole sausage made, so we rode over to the orchards. We had gone no distance at all when the King told me she had gone. Gone! It seems she told him she did not like the bargain she had assented to and intended to return to her brother’s Demesne.”

“The King must be mightily disappointed,” I said carefully. “He looks very ill over it.”

“I know.” She dabbed at her eyes where tears leaked out. “He does look ill. I reached out to help him, Heal him, and he struck my hand away as though I had been a beggar. He is very angry.”

“Ah, the King did not want you to help him.” I cast another long look at Chance who returned it with a slow, meaningful wink. “I will tell the King we share his distress,” I said, rising and walking off to the other fire.

Once there, I bowed to the King where he sat over his breakfast, the bowl largely untouched before him. I murmured condolences in a courteous manner, all the time looking him over carefully beneath my lashes. Oh, he did indeed look very unwell. The crisp curl of his beard was gone, the hard, masculine edges of his countenance were blurred, the lip did not curl, the sparkling eyes were dim. The man who sat there might have been Kelver’s elder and dissolute brother.

I returned to our fire, comforted Silkhands as best I could, and waited until she rejoined Queynt upon the wagon seat before saying to Chance, “It isn’t Kelver.”

“Shifter?” he asked.

“No, I think not. Few Shifters can take the form of other Gamesmen. Mavin can, of course. I can. Most of Mavin’s kindred probably can. It isn’t easy, but those of us who can do it at all can do it better than it has been done here.”

“Perhaps someone less Talented than Mavin’s kindred, but more Talented than most Shifters?”

“I think not,” I said. “Instinct tells me not. Is there not some other answer?”

Chance nodded, chewing on his cheeks as he did when greatly troubled. “Oh, yes, lad, there’s another way it could be done right enough. I like it less than Shifters, though, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well? Don’t make me beg for answers like some child, Chance. What is it?”

“Mirrormen,” he said. “Never was a Mirrorman did anything for honorable reason, either. When you find Mirrormen, you find nastiness afoot, evil doings, covert Game, rule breaking. That’s always the way with Mirrormen.”