Part 28 (1/2)

”In your case, you need only conquer this bezander with your caitiff, then march the arch-priestess forward to confront the serpent, and the game is yours.”

”Never mind all that!” snapped Vuwas. ”How might I win?”

”Is it not obvious? These mord.y.k.es stand in your way. Strike them aside with your ghost, like this, whereupon your caitiffs have the freedom of the board.”

”Ingenious,” said Vus the mottled green gryph. ”Those moves, however, are considered improper on the world Pharsad. Further, you have called the pieces by their wrong names, and also you have disarranged the board!”

”No matter,” said s.h.i.+mrod. ”Simply replay the game, and now I must be on my way.”

”Not so fast!” cried out Vuwas. ”There is still a small task to be accomplished!”

”We were not born yesterday,” stated Vus. ”Prepare for death.”

s.h.i.+mrod put the reed baskets on the table. Vuwas the dark red gryph asked suspiciously: ”What is in the baskets?”

”They contain honeycakes,” said s.h.i.+mrod. ”One of the cakes is somewhat larger and more tasty then the other.”

”Aha!” said Vus. ”Which is which?”

”You must open the baskets,” said s.h.i.+mrod. ”The larger cake is for whichever of you is the most deserving.”

”Indeed!”

s.h.i.+mrod sauntered off across the forecourt. For a moment there was silence behind him, then a mutter, then a sharp remark, an equally sharp retort, followed by a sudden outburst of horrid snarls, bellows, thuds and tearing sounds.

Traversing the forecourt, s.h.i.+mrod climbed three steps to a stone porch. Stone columns framed an alcove and a ponderous black iron door, twice his height and wider than his arms could span. Black iron faces looked through festoons of black iron vines; black iron eyes watched s.h.i.+mrod with sardonic curiosity. s.h.i.+mrod touched a stud; the door swung open to the grinding of iron on iron. He stepped through the opening, into a high-ceilinged entry hail. To right and left pedestals supported a pair of stone statues, of exaggerated attenuation, robed and cowled so that the gaunt faces remained in shadow. No servitor appeared; s.h.i.+mrod expected none. Murgen's servitors were more often than not invisible.

The way was familiar to s.h.i.+mrod. He pa.s.sed through the entry hall into a long gallery. At regular intervals, tail portals opened into chambers serving a variety of functions. There was no one to be seen nor any sound to be heard; an almost unnatural stillness held Swer Smod.

s.h.i.+mrod walked along the gallery without haste, looking into the chambers on either side to discover what changes had been made since his last visit. Often the chambers were dark, and usually empty. Some served conventional purposes; others were dedicated to a use less ordinary. In one of these chambers s.h.i.+mrod discovered a tall woman standing before an easel, back turned to the doorway. She wore a long gown of gray-blue linen; cloud-white hair was gathered at the nape of her neck by a ribbon, then hung down her back. The easel supported a panel; using brushes and pigments from a dozen clay pots, the woman worked to create an image on the surface of the panel.

s.h.i.+mrod watched a moment, but could not clearly define the nature of the image. He entered the chamber, that he might observe at closer range and perhaps with better understanding, but had no great success. The pigments looked to be an identical heavy black, allowing the woman small scope for contrast, or so it seemed to s.h.i.+mrod. He moved a step closer, then another. At last he was able to perceive that each pigment, anomalous and strange to his eyes, quivered with a particular subtle l.u.s.ter unique to itself. He studied the panel; the shapes formed by the black oozes swam before his vision; neither their definition nor their pattern were at all obvious.

The woman turned her head; with blank white eyes she looked at s.h.i.+mrod. Her expression remained vague; s.h.i.+mrod was not sure that she saw him, but it could not be that she was blind! The case would be self-contradictory!

s.h.i.+mrod smiled politely. ”It is an interesting work that you do,” he said. ”The composition, however, is not quite clear to me.”

The woman made no response, and s.h.i.+mrod wondered if she might also be deaf. In a somber mood he left the chamber and continued along the gallery to the Great Hall. Again, no foot man or other servitor stood on hand to announce him; s.h.i.+mrod pa.s.sed through the portal, into a chamber so high that the ceiling was lost among the shadows. A line of narrow windows halfway down one of the walls admitted pale light from the north; flames in the fireplace provided a more cheerful illumination. The walls were panelled with oak but bare of decoration. A heavy table occupied the center of the room. Cabinets along the far wall displayed books, curios and miscellaneous oddments; to the side of the mantelpiece a gla.s.s globe, charged with glowing green plasma, hung by a silver wire from the ceiling; within huddled the curled skeleton of a weasel, skull peering through high haunches.

Murgen stood by the table, looking down into the fire: a man of early maturity, well-proportioned but of no particular distinction. Such was his ordinary semblance, in which he felt most comfortable. He acknowledged s.h.i.+mrod's presence with a glance and casual wave of the hand.

”Sit,” said Murgen. ”I am glad that you are here; in fact, I was about to summon you, that you might deal with a moth.”

s.h.i.+mrod seated himself by the fire. He looked around the chamber. ”I am here, but I see no moth.”

”It has disappeared,” said Murgen. ”How was your journey?”

”Well enough. I came by way of Castle Sarris and Lyonesse Town, in company with Prince Dhrun.”

Murgen settled into a chair beside s.h.i.+mrod. ”Will you eat or drink?”