“She wouldn’t,” cried Silkhands. “She would not do it. She would not carry power for anything except her own amusement and delight. If there were sick, she would turn away saying, ‘They are nothing to me. They stink, besides. It is better if they die.’”
The Wizard nodded. “So. And Borold fell under the spell of the girl and turned away from Silkhands and would not help her in healing, though at one time he had carried her through the air in search of the sick and wounded. He stopped that and flew only for Dazzle’s amusement.”
“Then came a Game,” said Silkhands in a monotone, as though reciting scripture. “A very great Game, the armies of it massing near the place we lived. And the Tragamors of that Game rained stones upon the opposing armies directed by the Seers and Demons of that Game, but something went awry and the stones fell upon the town and upon our house and upon us.
“And my father died, at once. And Tilde lay with her legs beneath a stone, screaming. And the Game had pulled all the power so that I had none with which to heal her, so I called to Dazzle, as Borold and I tried to roll the stone away. ‘Dazzle, your mother is sorely hurt. Give me power to heal her or she’ll die.’ But Dazzle said, ‘I’m old enough to need no Mother now. I need my power for myself, to keep me safe…’ and she cowered in the corner weaving a beguilement for herself, about herself, that she was safe…
“Then another stone came, shattering the roof, and a huge tile of the roof came down like a knife, shearing her face. Borold did not see. I saw and screamed at the horror of it. Her mind was not touched, only her face, and I begged her for power to heal her, but she only said, ‘Don’t try your tricks on me, Silkhands, I’m all right. Let me be. Don’t try to get my juice for that old woman.’ And she went on weaving the glamor around her with all her power so that Borold could not see the wound and she herself could not see it when she sought her mirror, and so has she woven since. Tilde died. I could do nothing but ease the pain a little. It was very cold. Shortly the Game was over and help came, but it was too late. And Dazzle went on beguiling…”
“Then she doesn’t even know?” I asked, astonished.
Himaggery made a sour face. “She does not know. She leches after me from time to time and is in perpetual annoyance that I do not return her lusts, but I cannot. Would not, even were she whole, for there is a deeper maiming there than the face.”
“Can’t she be truly healed, here, where so much power is?”
Silkhands answered sadly, “The power of healing works through the mind, Peter, as all our powers do. If an old wound is long healed, the mind accepts it and will not help me fight it. I am no Necromancer to raise dead tissue to a mockery of life.”
“So, boy,” said Himaggery. “I will appoint you judge of this matter. Sometimes we do this in the Bright Demesne¾appoint a pawn judge of some issue or other…”
“But, no,” I exclaimed. “Such a one would not know the rules.”
“Exactly. You have the heart of the matter there. Well, since you do not know the rules, what would you rule in this case? I believe Silkhands should go away, that staying with Dazzle only makes matters worse. What say you?”
Since there were no rules, I could only use what sense I had. Though Chance had never thought me overburdened in that respect, I had sometimes resented his opinion so did my best. I thought of the young Dragon and the young Cold Drake, dead because of Dazzle’s machinations. I thought of Mandor as I had last seen him, full of envy, ready to destroy me because of it. I thought of Silkhands and her pain that she could not heal more…and I said:
“She should go away. If Dazzle is like one I have known, she will not hesitate to destroy you, Silkhands. If you are gone away, then part of the cause of her anger will be gone.”