The True Game by Sheri S. Tepper part one

“But, my boy, I know the place,” he exclaimed. “Or, I should say, I’ve heard of it. It is the city of Betand, between the upper reaches of the Banner and … what is the name of that river?… well, another river to the west. I will go with you almost that far. My business will take me east at the wilderness pass.”

“Why is it called a city which fears the unborn?”

“It seems to me I heard the story, but I’ve forgotten the details of it. Something to do with a haunting, some mischance by a wandering Necromancer. Your Talent is not generally loved, Peter, though I can see that it may be useful.”

He was being kind, and I helped him by changing the subject. I was glad enough of his company, gladder still when he proved to be a better cook than Chance and almost as good a companion as my friend Yarrel had been when we were friends. On the road we talked of a thousand things, most of them things I had wondered at for years.

One of the things that became apparent was that the Immutables cared little for Gamesmen. Riddle’s toleration of me and of a few others such as Himaggery was not typical. I asked him why they let Gamesmen exercise Talents at all, feeling as they did.

“We are not numerous enough to do otherwise,” he said. “There are fewer Immutables than there are Gamesmen, many fewer. We do not bear many children, our numbers remain small and our own skills remain unchanging through time. Immutable, as you would say. Each of us can suppress the Talent of any Gamesman for some distance around us. I can be safe from Demons Reading my thoughts or Armigers Flying from above, but I am not safe from an arrow shot from a distance or a flung spear, as you well know.”

I nodded. Tossa had died from an arrow wound.

“So. Those of us with the ability find it safer to band together in towns and enclaves with our own farms and crafters. Thus we can protect ourselves and our families from any danger save force of simple arms, and this we can oppose with arms of our own. We could be overrun, I suppose, if any group of Gamesmen chose to do so, but Gamesmen depend too much upon their Talents. Without the Talent of Beguilement, few if any of their Rulers would be able to lead men into battle. And, of course, the pawns will not fight us. They turn to us for help from time to time.”

“I would think all pawns would flock to you for protection.”

“We could not protect them. We are too few.”

“What do they want, you want, Riddle? The Immutables?”

“We want what any people want, Peter. We want to feel secure, to live. We want to be free to admire the work of our own hands. Even Gamesmen do the same. Why else their ‘schools’ and their ‘festivals’? The Gamesmen depend upon the pawns for labor, for the production of grain, fruit, meat. If we were numerous enough to protect the pawns, and if they came to us, then … then the Gamesmen would fight, even without their help.”

“They could till the soil themselves,” I offered, somewhat doubtfully.

“Would they?” asked Riddle. Both he and I knew the answer to that. Some few would. Some few probably did, out of preference. As for the others in their hundreds of thousands, they would rather die in battle than engage in “pawnish” behavior.

So we rode together, I in the circle of his protection, he in the circle of fear which came with the Necromancer’s garb. No one bothered us. There was little traffic upon the road in any case, and those we encountered left a long distance between themselves and us.

“The things you found in Bannerwell,” I asked. “Why are you so curious about them?”

“I am curious about anything subtle and secret, Peter. It is difficult to keep secrets among Gamesmen. A powerful Demon can learn almost anything one knows, can dig out thoughts one does not know one has. How then are secrets kept? You would not deny that they are kept?”