“Go to Havajor Dike,” he said soothingly. “Then north from there. She would not have made the directions too difficult for either of us, Peter. She does not want to be lost forever, only very difficult to find. You’ll be able to ravel it out, line by line. There is only one caution I must give you.”
He waited until he saw that he had my full attention, then made his warning, several times. “Do not go near Pfarb Durim. If you go to the north or northwest, do not go near that place, nor near the place they call Poffle which is, in truth, known as Hell’s Maw.” He patted me on the shoulder, and when I asked curious questions, as he must have known I would, said, “It is an evil place. It has been evil for centuries. We thought it might change when old Blourbast was gone, but it remains evil today. Mavin would not send you near it—simply avoid it!” And that was all he would say about that.
We went down into the kitchens, sat there in the warmth of that familiar place, eating grole sausage and cheese with bread warm from the baking. It was a comforting time, a sweet time, and it lasted only a little while. For Gervaise came bustling in, his iron-tipped staff making a clatter upon the stones.
“An Elator has come, Mertyn,” he cried. “He demands to see you at once. He comes from the Bright Demesne…”
So we went up as quickly as possible to find an Elator there, one I knew well, Himaggery’s trusted messenger.
“Gamesmaster,” he said, “the Wizard Himaggery and the old Seer, Windlow, have vanished.”
“Vanished?” It was an echo of my own voice saying that word, but this time we were not talking of Shifters. Mertyn asked again, “What do you mean, vanished?”
“They went to Windlow’s rooms after the evening meal, sir, asking that wine be sent to them there. When the steward arrived, the room was disturbed but empty. We searched the Demesne, but they are both gone.
“Why have you come first to me?”
“Gamesmaster, I was told by the Wizard some time since that if anything untoward should happen, I was to come to you.”
“Windlow told me,” I cried. “Just before I left. That’s what he meant when he said they would need your help soon. That word would reach you.”
“I warned them,” Mertyn grated. “I warned them they might be next if they went on with it.”
“Next?” The word faltered in my throat.
“Next to disappear. Next to vanish. Next to be gone, as too many of our colleagues and allies now are gone.”
“I might have stopped it,” I cried. “Himaggery told me he needed me, but I wouldn’t listen.”
He shook me, took me by my shoulders and shook me as though I had been seven or eight years old. “This is no time for dramatics, my boy, or flights of guilt. Be still. Let me think.”
So I was still, but it was a guilty stillness. If I had been there? If I had been willing to take up the Gamesmen of Barish and use them, use the Talents? Would Himaggery and Windlow still be there? I wanted to cry, but Mertyn’s grip on my shoulder did not loosen, so I stood silent and blamed myself for whatever it was that had happened.
The Skip-rope Chant
The Gamesmen of Barish, their Talents.
Mind’s mistress, moon’s wheel, Grandmother Didir, First Demon.
cobweb Didir, shadow-steel. Talent, Telepathy.
Mighty wing, lord of sky, Grandfather Tamor, First Armiger,
lofty Tamor. hover high. Talent, Levitation.
Night-dark. dust-old, Dorn, First Necromancer,
bony Dorn, grave-cold. Talent, Raising of Ghosts.
Flesh-queen, love-star, Trandilar, First Ruler,
lust-pale, Trandilar. Talent, Beguilement.
Pain’s maid, broken leaf, Dealpas, First Healer,
Dealpas, heart’s grief. Talent, Healing.
Cheer’s face, trust’s clasp, Wafnor, First Tragamor,
far and strong is Wafnors grasp. Talent, Telekinesis.
Far-eyed Sorah, worshipper, Sorah. First Seer,
many gods who never were. Talent, Clairvoyance.
Here and gone, flashing fast, Hafnor, First Elator,
Hafnor is Trusted last. Talent, Teleportation.
Chilly Shattnir, power’s store, Shattnir, First Sorcerer,
calling Game forevermore. Talent, Power storage.
Fire and smoke, horn and bell, Buinel, First Sentinel,
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