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Fool’s Fate
Robin Hobb
'Fantasy as it ought to be written' George R.R. MartinThe thrilling conclusion to Robin Hobb’s Tawny Man trilogy.Kingdoms will stand or fall on the beat of a dragon’s wings, or a Fool’s heart.Prince Dutiful has been charged with a quest to the Outisland to take the head of the black dragon Icefyre. Only then will his betrothed marry him and cement the alliance between their warring kingdoms.But is Icefyre just a legend? Or does he truly slumber beneath the glaciers? Fitz has prevented his friend the Fool from accompanying them the Fool has foreseen his own death if he ever sets foot on the isle of the black dragon. But as their ship draws in towards Aslevjal a lone figure awaits them…






Copyright (#ulink_91d9ef8b-cabe-5fa0-be41-ad143fe1bfab)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2003
Copyright © Robin Hobb 2003
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014
Illustration © Jackie Morris. Calligraphy by Stephen Raw
Robin Hobb asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library
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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780007588978
Ebook Edition © JULY 2014 ISBN: 9780007370467
Version: 2018-11-09

Dedication (#ulink_f7429ae8-cd5d-51f8-82b7-50b7b17522df)
To Pi.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u41ba9b3c-466d-5b2c-bdb7-2b3985a7b7de)
Title Page (#ud3f88507-9efc-5be1-b10b-366dd3aa500c)
Copyright (#ud5818bd9-70e6-5218-944d-cbe57f9b8707)
Dedication (#u1877b647-e3db-5b03-9268-f2822b8fbd66)
Map (#u7e92baa4-72c5-586c-9495-01d208480357)
Prologue: Battling Fate (#ufb82a6aa-1b95-577c-b452-a40a5460f8a6)
One: Lizards (#u678023e1-9481-53d5-9700-aee39a7da570)
Two: Sons (#u81551200-b753-5c75-a157-6d06a9ca40d2)
Three: Trepidation (#uc0237144-ca70-588f-991a-33e864225035)
Four: An Exchange of Weapons (#u27dffe79-448c-5843-9588-808ad35b3738)
Five: Departures (#ua6084c2d-9ace-557e-b631-fffdfdbe9b90)
Six: Voyage of Dreams (#ud6ed8b35-e23a-5fb0-84e0-1082f2115ed3)
Seven: Voyage (#u33f740c9-0ec6-5225-87c4-cf218e808b24)
Eight: The Hetgurd (#ufda19468-9f0f-535c-ab85-19e049429636)
Nine: Mothershouse (#udf8b2505-1a55-5b0b-b4a6-c7be6f801cae)
Ten: The Narcheska (#ub54594b8-9415-57dd-94c3-10124a0f2911)
Eleven: Wuislington (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve: Cousins (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen: Aslevjal (#litres_trial_promo)
Fourteen: The Black Man (#litres_trial_promo)
Fifteen: Civil (#litres_trial_promo)
Sixteen: Elfbark (#litres_trial_promo)
Seventeen: Icefyre (#litres_trial_promo)
Eighteen: Ice (#litres_trial_promo)
Nineteen: Below the Ice (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty: Corridors (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-One: In the Realm of the Pale Woman (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Two: Reunion (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Three: Mind of a Dragon (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Four: Tintaglia’s Command (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Five: Dragons (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Six: Healings (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Seven: Doors (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Eight: Catalyst (#litres_trial_promo)
Twenty-Nine: Feathers in a Fool’s Cap (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty: Whole (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty-One: Dragon’s Head (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty-Two: Through Stones (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty-Three: Family (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty-Four: Commitments (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty-Five: Resumption (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty-Six: Harvest Fest (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirty-Seven: Ever After (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract from Fool’s Assassin (#litres_trial_promo)
The Liveship Traders
The Rain Wild Chronicles
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By Robin Hobb (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)



PROLOGUE (#ulink_56778157-b19a-569c-bfa3-8fc0befec343)
Battling Fate (#ulink_56778157-b19a-569c-bfa3-8fc0befec343)
The White Prophet’s premise seems simple. He wished to set the world in a different path than the one it had rolled on through so many circuits of time. According to him, time always repeats itself, and in every repetition, people make most of the same foolish mistakes they’ve always made. They live from day to day, giving in to appetites and desires, convinced that what they do does not matter in the larger scheme of things.
According to the White Prophet, nothing could be further from the truth. Every small, unselfish action nudges the world into a better path. An accumulation of small acts can change the world. The fate of the world can pivot on one man’s death. Or turn a different way because of his survival. And who was I to the White Prophet? I was his Catalyst. The Changer. I was the stone he would set to bump time’s wheel out of its rut. A small pebble can turn a wheel out of its path, he told me, but warned me that it was seldom a pleasant experience for the pebble.
The White Prophet claimed that he had seen, not just the future, but many possible futures, and most of them were drearily similar. But in a very few cases, there was a difference, and that difference led to a shining realm of new possibilities.
The first difference was the existence of a Farseer heir, one who survived. That was me. Forcing me to survive, dragging me away from the deaths that constantly tried to eliminate me so that time’s wheels could jolt back into their comfortable ruts, became his life’s work. Death and near-death swallowed me, time after time, and each time he dragged me, battered and bruised, back from the brink to follow him again. He used me relentlessly, but not without regret.
And he succeeded in diverting fate from its pre-ordained path into one that would better the world. So he said. But there were people who did not share his opinion, people who envisioned a future without a Farseer heir and without dragons. One of them decided to ensure that future by ridding herself of the fool who stood in her way.

ONE (#ulink_0990f879-767e-5d7c-87ac-1712a6df7725)
Lizards (#ulink_0990f879-767e-5d7c-87ac-1712a6df7725)
Sometimes it seems unfair that events so old can reach forward through the years, sinking claws into one’s life and twisting all that follows it. Yet perhaps that is the ultimate justice: we are the sum of all we have done added to the sum of all that has been done to us. There is no escaping that, not for any of us.
So it was that everything that the Fool had ever said to me and all the things he’d left unsaid combined. And the sum was that I betrayed him. Yet I believed that I acted in his best interests, and mine. He had foretold that if we went to Aslevjal Island, he would die and Death might make another snap of his jaws at me. He promised to do all in his power to see that I survived, for his grand scheme to change the future required it. But with my latest brush with death still fresh in my memory, I found his promises more threatening than reassuring. He had also blithely informed me that once we were on the island, I would have to choose between our friendship and my loyalty to Prince Dutiful.
Perhaps I could have faced one of those things and stood strong before it, but I doubt it. Any one of those things was enough to unman me, and facing the sum of them was simply beyond my strength.
So I went to Chade. I told him what the Fool had said. And my old mentor arranged that when we sailed for the Out Islands, the Fool would not go with us.
Spring had come to Buckkeep Castle. The grim black stone edifice still crouched suspiciously on the steep cliffs above Buckkeep Town, but on the rolling hills behind the keep, new green grass was pushing optimistically up through the standing brown straw of last year’s growth. The bare-limbed forests were hazed with tiny green leaves unfurling on every tree branch. The wintry mounds of dead kelp on the black beaches at the foot of the cliffs had been swept away by the tides. Migratory birds had returned, and their songs rang challenges in the forested hills and along the beaches where sea birds battled for choice nesting nooks in the cliffs. Spring had even invaded the dim halls and high-ceilinged chambers of the keep, for blossoming branches and early blooming flowers graced every alcove and framed the entries of the gathering rooms.
The warmer winds seemed to sweep my gloom away. None of my problems and concerns had vanished, but spring can dismiss a multitude of worries. My physical state had improved; I felt more youthful than I had in my twenties. Not only was I building flesh and muscle again, but I suddenly possessed the body that a fit man of my years should have. The harsh healing I had undergone at the inexperienced hands of the coterie had inadvertently undone old damage as well. Abuse I had suffered at Galen’s hands in the course of his teaching me the Skill, injuries I had taken as a warrior, and the deep scars from my torture in Regal’s dungeons had been erased. My headaches had nearly ceased, my vision no longer blurred when I was weary, and I did not ache in the chill of early morning. I lived now in the body of a strong and healthy animal. Few things are so exhilarating as good health on a clear spring morning.
I stood on the top of a tower and looked out over the wrinkling sea. Behind me, tubs of earth, freshly manured, held small fruit trees arrayed in blossoms of white and pale pink. Smaller pots held vines with swelling leaf buds. The long green leaves of bulb-flowers thrust up like scouts sent to test the air. In some pots, only bare brown stalks showed, but the promise was there, each plant awaiting the return of warmer days. Interspersed with the pots were artfully arranged statuary and beckoning benches. Shielded candles awaited mellow summer nights to send their glow into the darkness. Queen Kettricken had restored the Queen’s Garden to its former glory. This high retreat was her private territory. Its present simplicity reflected her Mountain roots, but its existence was a much older Buckkeep tradition. I paced a restless turn around its perimeter path, and then forced myself to stand still. The boy was not late. I was early. That the minutes dragged was not his fault. Anticipation warred with reluctance as I awaited my first private meeting with Swift, Burrich’s son. My queen had given me responsibility for Swift’s instruction in both letters and weaponry. I dreaded the task. Not only was the boy Witted, but he was undeniably headstrong. Those two things, coupled with his intelligence, could carry him quickly into trouble. The Queen had decreed that the Witted must be treated with respect, but many still believed that the best cure for beast-magic was a noose, a knife and a fire.
I understood the Queen’s motive in entrusting Swift to me. His father, Burrich, had turned him out of his home when the boy would not give up the Wit. Yet the same Burrich had devoted years to raising me when I was a lad and abandoned by my royal father as a bastard that he dared not claim. It was fitting that I now do the same for Burrich’s son, even if I could never let the boy know that I had once been FitzChivalry and his father’s ward. So it was that I awaited Swift, a skinny lad of ten summers, as nervously as if I faced the boy’s father. I took a deep breath of the cool morning air. The scent of the fruit tree blossoms balmed it. I reminded myself that my task would not last long. Very soon, I would accompany the Prince on his quest to Aslevjal in the Out Islands. Surely I could endure being the lad’s instructor until then.
The Wit-magic makes one aware of other life, and so I turned even before Swift pushed open the heavy door. He shut it quietly behind him. Despite his long climb up the steep stone stairs, he was not breathing hard. I remained partially concealed by screening blossoms and studied him. He was dressed in Buckkeep blue, in simple garments befitting a page. Chade was right. He would make a fine axe-man. The boy was thin, in the way of active boys of that age, but the knobs of shoulders under his jerkin promised his father’s brawn. I doubted he would be tall, but he would be wide enough to make up for it. Swift had his father’s black eyes and dark curling hair, but there was something of Molly in the line of his jaw and the set of his eyes. Molly, my lost love and Burrich’s wife. I took a long, deep breath. This might be more difficult than I had imagined.
I saw him become aware of me. I stood still, letting his eyes seek me out. For a time we both stood, unspeaking. Then he threaded his way through the meandering paths until he stood before me. His bow was too carefully practised to be graceful.
‘My lord, I am Swift Witted. I was told to report to you, and so I present myself.’
I could see he had made an effort to learn his court courtesies. Yet his blatant inclusion of his beast-magic in how he named himself seemed almost a rude challenge, as if he tested whether the Queen’s protection of the Witted would hold here, alone with me. He met my gaze in a forthright way that most nobles would have found presumptuous. Then again, I reminded myself, I was not a noble. I told him so. ‘I am not “my lord” to anyone, lad. I’m Tom Badgerlock, a man-at-arms in the Queen’s Guard. You may call me Master Badgerlock, and I shall call you Swift. Is that agreed?’
He blinked twice and then nodded. Abruptly, he recalled that that was not correct. ‘It is, sir. Master Badgerlock.’
‘Very well. Swift, do you know why you were sent to me?’
He bit his upper lip twice, swift successive nibbles, then took a deep breath and spoke, eyes lowered. ‘I suppose I’ve displeased someone.’ Then he flashed his gaze up to mine again. ‘But I don’t know what I did, or to whom.’ Almost defiantly, he added, ‘I cannot help what I am. If it is because I am Witted, well, then, it isn’t fair. Our queen has said that my magic should not make any difference in how I am treated.’
My breath caught in my throat. His father looked at me from those dark eyes. The uncompromising honesty and the determination to speak the truth was all Burrich’s. And yet, in his intemperate haste, I heard Molly’s quick temper. For a moment, I was at a loss for words.
The boy interpreted my silence as displeasure and lowered his eyes. But the set of his shoulders was still square; he did not know of any fault he had committed, and he would not show any repentance until he did.
‘You did not displease anyone, Swift. And you will find that to some at Buckkeep, your Wit matters not at all. That is not why we separated you from the other children. Rather, this change is for your benefit. Your knowledge of letters surpasses the other children of your age. We did not wish to thrust you into a group of youths much older than you. It was also decided that you could benefit from instruction in the use of a battle-axe. That, I believe, is why I was chosen to mentor you.’
His head jerked and he looked up at me in confusion and dismay. ‘A battle-axe?’
I nodded, both to him and to myself. Chade was up to his old tricks again. Plainly the boy had not been asked if he had any interest in learning to wield such a weapon. I put a smile on my face. ‘Certainly a battle-axe. Buckkeep’s men-at-arms recall that your father fought excellently with the axe. As you inherit his build as well as his looks, it seems natural that his weapon of choice should be yours.’
‘I’m nothing like my father. Sir.’
I nearly laughed aloud, not from joy, but because the boy had never looked more like Burrich than he did at that moment. It felt odd to look down at someone giving me his black scowl. But such an attitude was not appropriate to a boy of his years, so I coldly said, ‘You’re like enough, in the Queen’s and Councillor Chade’s opinions. Do you dispute what they have decided for you?’
It all hovered in the balance. I saw the instant when he made his decision, and almost read the workings of his mind. He could refuse. Then he might be seen as ungrateful and sent back home to his father. Better to bow his head to a distasteful task and stay. And so he said, voice lowered, ‘No, sir. I accept what they have decided.’
‘That’s good,’ I said with false heartiness.
But before I could continue, he informed me, ‘But I have a skill with a weapon already. The bow, sir. I had not spoken of it before, because I did not think it would be of interest to anyone. But if I’m to train as a fighter as well as a page, I already have a weapon of choice.’
Interesting. I regarded him in silence for a moment. I’d seen enough of Burrich in him to suspect he would not idly boast of a skill he didn’t possess. ‘Very well, then. You may show me your skills with a bow. But this time is set aside for other lessons. To that end, we’ve been given permission to use scrolls from the Buckkeep library. That’s quite an honour for both of us.’ I waited for a response.
He bobbed a nod, and then recalling his manners, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Then meet me here tomorrow. We’ll have an hour of scrolls and writing, and then we’ll go down to the weapons court.’ Again I awaited his reply.
‘Yes, sir. Sir?’
‘What is it?’
‘I’m a good horseman, sir. I’m a bit rusty now. My father refused to let me be around his horses for the last year. But I’m a good horseman, as well.’
‘That’s good to know, Swift.’ I knew what he had hoped. I watched his face, and saw the light in it dim at my neutral response. I had reacted almost reflexively. A boy of his age shouldn’t be considering bonding with an animal. Yet as he lowered his head in disappointment, I felt my old loneliness echo down the years. So, too, had Burrich done all he could to protect me from bonding with a beast. Knowing the wisdom of it now didn’t still the memory of my thrumming isolation. I cleared my throat and tried to keep my voice smoothly assured when I spoke. ‘Very well, then, Swift. Report to me here tomorrow. Oh, and wear your old clothes tomorrow. We’ll be getting dirty and sweaty.’
He looked stricken.
‘Well? What is it, lad?’
‘I … sir, I can’t. I, that is, I don’t have my old clothes any more. Only the two sets the Queen gave me.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘I … I burned them, sir.’ He suddenly sounded defiant. He met my eyes, jaw jutting.
I thought of asking him why. I didn’t need to. It was obvious from his stance. He had made a show for himself of destroying all things that bound him to his past. I wondered if I should make him admit that aloud, then decided that nothing would be gained by it. Surely such a waste of useful garments was something that should shame him. I wondered how bitterly his differences with his father had run. Suddenly the day seemed a little less brightly blue. I shrugged, dismissing the matter. ‘Wear what you have, then,’ I said abruptly, and hoped I did not sound too harsh.
He stood there, staring at me, and I realized that I hadn’t dismissed him. ‘You can go now, Swift. I will see you tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, Master Badgerlock.’ He bowed, jerkily correct, and then hesitated again. ‘Sir? May I ask you a last question?’
‘Certainly.’
He looked all around us, almost suspiciously. ‘Why do we meet up here?’
‘It’s quiet. It’s pleasant. When I was your age, I hated to be kept indoors on a spring day.’
That brought a hesitant smile to his face. ‘So do I, sir. Nor do I like to be kept so isolated from animals. That is my magic calling me, I suppose.’
I wished he had let it rest. ‘Perhaps it is. And perhaps you should think well before you answer it.’ This time I intended that he hear the rebuke in my voice.
He flinched, then looked indignant. ‘The Queen said that my magic was not to make a difference to anyone. That no one can treat me poorly because of it.’
‘That’s true. But neither will people treat you well because of it. I counsel you to keep your magic a private matter, Swift. Do not parade it before people until you know them. If you wish to know how to best handle your Wit, I suggest you spend time with Web the Witted, when he tells his tales before the hearth in the evenings.’
He was scowling before I was finished. I dismissed him curtly and he went. I thought I had read him well enough. His possession of the Wit had been the battle line drawn between him and his father. He had successfully defied Burrich and fled to Buckkeep, determined to live openly as a Witted one in Queen Kettricken’s tolerant court. But if the boy thought that being Witted was all he needed to earn his place, well, I’d soon clear that cobweb from his mind. I’d not try to deprive him of his magic. But his flaunting of it, as one might shake a rag at a terrier to see what reaction he would win, distressed me. Sooner or later, he’d encounter a young noble happy to challenge him over the despised beast-magic. The tolerance was a mandated thing, grudgingly given by many who still adhered to the old distaste for our gift. Swift’s attitude made me doubly determined that he should not discover I was Witted. Bad enough that he cockily flaunted his own magic; I wouldn’t have him betraying mine.
I gazed out once more over the wide spectacle of sea and sky. It was an exhilarating view, at once breathtaking and yet reassuringly familiar. And then I forced myself to stare down, over the low wall that stood between me and a plummet to my sure death below. Once, battered both physically and mentally by Galen the Skillmaster, I had tried to make that plunge from this very parapet. It had been Burrich’s hand that had drawn me back. He had carried me down to his own rooms, treated my injuries, and then avenged them upon the Skillmaster. I still owed him for that. Perhaps teaching his son and keeping him safe at court would be the only repayment I could ever offer him. I fixed that thought in my heart to prop up my sagging enthusiasm for the task and left the tower top. I had another meeting to hasten to, and the sun told me that I was already nearly late for it.
Chade had let it be known that he was now instructing the young prince in his heritage Skill-magic. I was both grateful and chagrined at this turn of events. The announcement meant that Prince Dutiful and Chade no longer had to meet secretly for that purpose. That the Prince took his half-wit servant with him to those lessons was regarded as a sort of eccentricity. No one in the court would have guessed that Thick was the Prince’s fellow student, and far stronger in the Farseer’s ancestral magic than any currently living Farseer. The chagrin came from the fact that I, the true Skill-instructor, was the only one who still had to conceal his comings and goings from those meetings. Tom Badgerlock was who I was now, and that humble guardsman had no business knowing anything of the Farseer’s magic.
So it was that I descended the steps from the Queen’s Garden, and then hastened through the keep. From the servants’ areas there were six possible entry points to the hidden spy labyrinth that meandered through the entrails of Buckkeep Castle. I took care that every day I used a different entry from the day before. Today I selected the one near the cook’s larder. I waited until there was no one in the corridor before I entered the storeroom. I pushed my way through three racks of dangling sausages before dragging the panel open and stepping through into now familiar darkness.
I didn’t waste time waiting for my eyes to adjust. This part of the maze had no illumination of any kind. The first few times I’d explored it, I carried a candle. Today I judged that I knew it well enough to traverse it in the dark. I counted my steps, then groped my way into a narrow staircase. At the top of it, I made a sharp right and saw thin fingers of spring sunlight filtering into the dusty corridor. Stooped, I hastened along it and soon reached a more familiar part of the warren. In a short time, I emerged from the side of the hearth in the Seawatch Tower. I pushed the panel back into place, then froze as I heard someone lifting the door-latch. I barely had time to seek flimsy shelter in the long curtains that draped the tower windows before someone entered.
I held my breath, but it was only Chade, Dutiful and Thick arriving for their lessons. I waited until the door was firmly closed behind them before stepping out into the room. I startled Thick, but Chade only observed, ‘You’ve cobwebs down your left cheek. Did you know?’
I wiped away the clinging stuff. ‘I’m surprised that it’s only on my left cheek. Spring seems to have wakened a legion of spiders.’
Chade nodded gravely to my observation. ‘I used to carry a feather duster with me, waving it before me as I went. It helped. Somewhat. Of course, in those days, it little mattered what I looked like when I arrived at my destination. I just didn’t care for the sensation of little legs down the back of my neck.’
Prince Dutiful smirked at the idea of the immaculately attired and coiffed Queen’s councillor scuttling through the corridors. There had been a time when Lord Chade was a hidden resident of Buckkeep Castle, the royal assassin only, a man who concealed his pocked face and carried out the King’s justice in the shadows. No longer. Now he strode majestically through the hallways, openly lauded as both diplomat and trusted advisor to the Queen. His elegant garb in shades of blue and green reflected that status, as did the gems that graced his throat and earlobes. His snowy hair and piercing green eyes seemed like carefully chosen accoutrements to his wardrobe. The scars that had so distressed him had faded with his years. I neither envied nor begrudged him his finery. Let the old man make up now for the deprivations of his youth. It harmed no one, and those who were dazzled by it often overlooked the rapier mind that was his real weapon.
In contrast, the Prince was garbed nearly as simply as I was. I attributed it to Queen Kettricken’s austere Mountain Kingdom traditions and her innate thrift. At fifteen, Dutiful was shooting up. What sense was there in creating fine garments for everyday wear when he either outgrew them or tore out the shoulders while practising on the weapons court? I studied the young man who stood grinning before me. His dark eyes and curling black hair mirrored his father’s, but both his height and his developing jawline reminded me more of my father Chivalry’s portrait.
The squat man accompanying him was a complete contrast. I estimated Thick to be in his late twenties. He had the small tight ears and protruding tongue of a simpleton. The Prince had garbed him in a blue tunic and leggings which matched his own, right down to the buck crest on the breast, but the tunic strained across the little man’s pot belly and the hose sagged comically at his knees and ankles. He cut an odd figure, both amusing and slightly repulsive, to those who could not sense, as I did, the Skill-magic that burned in him like a smith’s forge-fire. He was learning to control the Skill-music that served him in place of an ordinary man’s thoughts. It was less pervasive and hence less annoying than it had once been, yet the strength of his magic meant that he shared it with all of us, constantly. I could block it, but that meant also blocking my sensitivity to most of the Skill, including Chade’s and Dutiful’s weaker sendings. I could not block him and still teach them, so for now I endured Thick’s music.
Today it was made from the snickings of scissors and the clack of a loom, with the high-pitched giggle of a woman winding through it. ‘So. Had another fitting this morning, did you?’ I asked the Prince.
He was not dazzled. He knew how I had deduced it. He nodded with weary tolerance. ‘Both Thick and I. It was a long morning.’
Thick nodded emphatically. ‘Stand on the stool. Don’t scratch. Don’t move. While they poke Thick with pins.’ He added the last severely, with a rebuking look at the Prince.
Dutiful sighed. ‘That was an accident, Thick. She told you to stand still.’
‘She’s mean,’ Thick ventured in an undertone, and I suspected he was close to the truth. Many of his nobles found it difficult to accept the Prince’s friendship with Thick. For some reason, it affronted some servants even more. Some of them found small ways to vent that displeasure.
‘It’s all done now, Thick,’ Dutiful consoled him.
We took our customary places around the immense table. Since Chade had announced that he and the Prince were beginning Skill-lessons together, this room of the Seawatch Tower had been furnished well. Long curtains framed the tall windows, now unshuttered to admit a pleasant breeze. The stone walls and floor of the chamber had been well scrubbed and the table and chairs oiled and polished. There were proper scroll-racks to hold Chade’s small library as well as a stoutly locked cabinet for those he regarded as highly valuable or dangerous. A large writing desk offered inkpots and freshly cut pens and a generous supply of both paper and vellum. There was also a sideboard with bottles of wine, glasses and other necessities for the Prince’s comfort. It had become a comfortable, even an indulgent room which reflected Chade’s taste more than Prince Dutiful’s.
I enjoyed the change.
I surveyed the faces around me. Dutiful was looking at me alertly. Thick was pursuing something inside his left nostril. Chade was sitting bolt upright, fairly shivering with energy. Whatever he had taken to bring him back to alertness had done nothing for the threads of blood in his eyes. The contrast with his green gaze was unsettling.
‘What I’d like to do today … Thick. Please stop that.’
He looked at me blankly, his finger still wedged in his nose. ‘Can’t. It’s poking me in there.’
Chade rubbed his brow, looking aside. ‘Give him a handkerchief,’ he suggested to no one in particular.
Prince Dutiful was closest. ‘Here, blow your nose. Maybe it will come out.’
He handed Thick a square of embroidered linen. Thick regarded it doubtfully for several seconds, and then took it. Over the deafening sounds of his attempts to clear his nose, I asked, ‘Last night, each of us was to try Skill-walking in our dreams.’ I had been nervous about suggesting this, but I had felt both Dutiful and Chade were ready to attempt it. Thick routinely forgot what he was to do in the evenings, so I’d had small concern for him. When one Skill-walked, one could leave one’s own body and for a short time experience life through someone else. I had managed it several times, most often by accident. The Skill-scrolls had suggested that it was not only a good way to gather information but also to locate those who were open enough to be used as King’s Men, sources of strength to a Skill-user. Those sufficiently open sometimes proved to possess the Skill themselves. Chade had been enthused yesterday, but a glance at him today showed none of the triumph he would have displayed if he had managed the feat. Dutiful likewise looked gloomy. ‘So. No success?’
‘I did it!’ Thick exulted.
‘You Skill-walked?’ I was astounded.
‘No-o-o. I got it out. See?’ He displayed his greenish trophy trapped in the middle of the Prince’s handkerchief. Chade turned aside with an exclamation of disgust.
Dutiful, being fifteen, laughed aloud. ‘Impressive, Thick. That’s a big one. Looks like an old green salamander.’
‘Yah,’ Thick agreed with satisfaction. His mouth sagged wide with pleasure. ‘I dreamed a big blue lizard last night. Bigger than this!’ His laughter, like a dog’s huffy panting, joined the Prince’s.
‘My prince and future monarch,’ I reminded Dutiful sternly. ‘We have work to do.’ In reality, I was struggling to keep a straight face. It was good to see Dutiful laugh freely, even over something puerile. Since I had first met the boy, he had always seemed weighted by his station and his perpetual duties. This was the first time I had seen him acting like a youngster in springtime; I regretted my rebuke when the smile faded so abruptly from his face. With a gravity that far exceeded my own, he turned to Thick, seized the handkerchief and balled it up.
‘No, Thick. Stop. Listen to me. You dreamed a big blue lizard? How big?’
The intensity of the Prince’s question drew Chade’s glance. But Thick was confused and offended by how quickly Dutiful’s tone and attitude towards him had changed. His brow furrowed and both bottom lip and tongue jutted as a sulk settled onto his face. ‘That wasn’t nice.’
I recognized the phrase. We’d been working on Thick’s table manners. If he was to accompany us on the trip to Aslevjal, he had to learn at least a modicum of courtesy. Unfortunately, he seemed to recall the rules only when he could rebuke someone else with them.
‘I’m sorry, Thick. You’re right. Grabbing isn’t nice. Now tell me about the big lizard you dreamed.’
The Prince was smiling earnestly at Thick, but the change of topic was too fast for the little man. Thick shook his heavy head and turned away. He folded his stubby arms on his chest. ‘Na,’ he declined gruffly.
‘Please, Thick,’ Dutiful began, but Chade interrupted. ‘Can’t this wait, Dutiful? We’ve not that many days before we sail, and we still have so much ground to cover if we are to function as a Skill-coterie.’ I knew the old man’s anxiety. I shared it. The Skill might be essential to the Prince’s success. Neither of us put much weight on him truly slaying some buried ice-dragon. The true value of the Skill would be that Chade and I could gather information and convey it to Dutiful to smooth the path for his wedding negotiations.
‘No. This is important, Chade. I think. Well, it might be. Because I dreamed a big blue lizard last night, too. Actually, the creature I dreamed was a dragon.’
A moment of silence held as we considered this. Then Chade hesitantly attempted, ‘Well, it should not surprise us if you and Thick share the same dream. You are so often Skill-linked throughout the day, why shouldn’t it bleed over into the night?’
‘Because I don’t think I was asleep when it happened. I was trying to do the Skill-walking. Fi— Tom says it was easiest for him to bridge over to it from a light sleep. So I was in my bed, trying to be asleep but not too asleep, while reaching out with the Skill. And then I felt it.’
‘What?’ Chade asked.
‘I felt it looking for me. With its great big whirly silver eyes.’ Thick was the one who answered.
‘Yes,’ the Prince confirmed slowly.
My heart sank.
‘I don’t understand,’ Chade said irritably. ‘Start at the beginning and report it properly.’ This was addressed to Dutiful. I understood the double prong of Chade’s anger. Once again, the three of them had attempted an exercise, and both Thick and Dutiful had experienced some success while Chade had failed. Underscoring that was the mention of a dragon. There had been too many mentions of dragons lately: a frozen dragon for Dutiful to unearth and behead, the dragons the Bingtown contingent had bragged about (supposedly at the beck and call of the Bingtown Traders) and now a dragon intruding into our Skill-exercise. We knew far too little about any of them. We dared not dismiss them as legends and lies; too well we recalled the stone dragons that had rallied to the Six Duchies’ defence sixteen years ago, yet we knew little about any of them.
‘There’s scarcely enough to report it,’ Dutiful replied. He took a breath, and despite his own words, began in the orderly way in which Chade had schooled both of us. ‘I had retired to my chambers, exactly as if I were going to sleep for the night. I was in my bed. There was a low fire in the hearth, and I was watching it, unfocusing my mind in a way that I hoped would both invite sleep and yet leave me aware enough to reach out with the Skill. Twice I dozed off. Each time, I roused myself and tried to approach the exercise again. The third time, I tried reversing the process. I reached out with the Skill, held myself in readiness and then tried to sink down into sleep.’ He cleared his throat and looked around at us. ‘Then I felt something big. Really big.’ He looked at me. ‘Like that time on the beach.’
Thick was following the tale with his jaw ajar and his small round eyes bunched with thought. ‘A big fat blue lizard,’ he hazarded.
‘No, Thick,’ Dutiful patiently kept his voice soft. ‘Not at first. At first, there was just this immense … presence. And I longed to go towards it, and yet I feared to go towards it. Not because of any deliberate threat from it. On the contrary, it seemed … infinitely benign. Restful and safe. I was afraid to touch it for fear that … I’d lose any desire to come back. It seemed like the end of something. An edge, or a place where something different begins. No. Like something that lives in a place where something different begins.’ The Prince’s voice trickled away.
‘I don’t understand. Talk sense,’ Chade demanded.
‘It’s as much sense as you can apply to it,’ I interceded quietly. ‘I know the sort of being, or feeling, or place that the Prince is speaking about. I’ve encountered such, a time or two. Once, one helped us. But I had the feeling that one was an exception. Perhaps another one of them might have absorbed us and not even noticed. It’s an incredibly attractive force, Chade. Warm and accepting, gentle as a mother’s love.’
The Prince frowned slightly and shook his head. ‘This one was strong. Protective and wise. Like a father,’ said Dutiful.
I held my tongue. I had long ago decided that those forces presented to us whatever it was that we most hungered for. My mother had given me up when I was very small. Dutiful had never known his father. Such things leave large gaps in a man.
‘Why haven’t you spoken of this before?’ Chade asked testily.
Why, indeed? Because that encounter had seemed too personal to share. But now I excused myself, saying, ‘Because you would only have said to me what you just said. Talk sense. It’s a phenomenon I can’t explain. Perhaps even what I’ve said is just my rationalization of what I experienced. Recounting a dream; that’s what it is like. Trying to make a story out of a series of events that defy logic.’
Chade subsided, but he did not look content. I resigned myself to being wrung for more facts, thoughts and impressions later.
‘I want to tell about the big lizard,’ Thick observed sullenly to no one at all. He had reached a point at which he sometimes enjoyed being the centre of attention. Obviously he felt that the Prince’s tale had stolen his stage.
‘Go ahead, Thick. You tell what you dreamed, and then I’ll tell what I did.’ The Prince ceded him all attention.
Chade sat back in his chair with a noisy sigh. I turned my attention to Thick and watched his face brighten. He gave a wiggle like a stroked puppy, squinted thoughtfully, and then in a painstaking imitation of how he had frequently heard Dutiful and me report to Chade, began his account. ‘I went to bed last night. And I had my red blanket. Then, Thick was being almost asleep, going into the music. Then, I knew Dutiful was there. Sometimes Thick follows him to dreams. He has lots of good dreams, girl dreams …’
Thick’s voice trailed off for a moment as he breathed through his open mouth, pondering.
The Prince looked acutely uncomfortable, but both Chade and I managed to retain blandly interested expressions.
Thick abruptly resumed his tale. ‘Then, I thought, where is he? Maybe it’s a game. He’s hiding from Thick. So I go, “Prince” and he goes, “be quiet”. So I am and Thick is small, and the music goes around and around me. Like hiding in the curtains. Then I peep, just a tiny peep. And it’s a big fat lizard, blue, blue like my shirt, but shiny when she moves, like the knives in the kitchen. Then she says, “come out, come out. We can play a game.” But Prince says, “sh, no, don’t” so I don’t, and then she gets mad and gets bigger. Her eyes go shiny and whirl round and round like that saucer I dropped. And then Thick thinks, “but she’s on the dream side. I’ll go on the other side.” So I made the music get bigger and I woke up. And there wasn’t a lizard but my red blanket was on the floor.’
He finished his telling with a great gasp, having run out of breath and looked from one of us to the other. I found myself giving Chade the tiniest of Skill-pokes. He glanced at me, but contrived to make it seem a chance thing. I felt tremendous pride in the old man when he said, ‘An excellent report, Thick. You’ve given me much to consider. Let us hear the Prince now and then I’ll see if I have any questions for you.’
Thick sat taller in his chair and his chest swelled with such pride that the fabric of his shirt strained across his round belly. His tongue still stuck out of his wide froggy grin, but his little eyes danced as he looked from Dutiful to me to be sure we had noticed his triumph. I wondered when impressing Chade had become so important to him, and then realized that this, too, was an imitation of his prince.
Dutiful wisely allowed Thick a moment or two to bask in our attention. ‘Thick has told you most of the story, but let me add a bit. I told you of a great presence. I was – well, not watching – I was experiencing her, or it I suppose, and being slowly drawn closer and closer. It wasn’t frightening. I knew it was dangerous, but it was hard to care that I might be absorbed and lost forever. It just didn’t seem to matter. Then the presence began to recede. I wanted to pursue it, but at that moment I became aware of something else watching me. And it did not feel so benign. My sensation was that while I’d been contemplating that presence, this other being had crept up on me.
‘I looked around and saw that I was at the edge of a milky river, on a very small clay beach. A great forest of immense trees stood at my back. They were taller than towers and shaded the day to dusk. I didn’t see anything else at first. Then I noticed a tiny creature, like a lizard, only plumper. It was on the wide leaf of a tree, watching me. Yet once I saw it, it began to grow. Or perhaps I shrank. I’m not sure. The forest grew bigger as well, until when the animal stepped down onto the clay, it was a dragon. Blue and silver, immense and beautiful. And she spoke to me, saying, “So. You’ve seen me. Well, I don’t care. But you will. You’re one of his. Tell me. What do you know of a black dragon?” Then, and this part was very odd, I couldn’t find myself. It was as if I had looked at her too hard and forgotten to remember that I existed. And then I decided I would be behind a tree, and I was.’
‘This doesn’t sound like the Skill,’ Chade interrupted irritably. ‘It sounds like a dream.’
‘Exactly. And so I dismissed it when I awoke. I knew I had Skilled briefly, but I thought that then sleep had crept upon me, and all that followed was a dream. So, in this dream, in the odd way that dreams have, Thick was suddenly with me. I didn’t know if he had seen the dragon, so I reached for him and told him to be quiet and hide from her. So we were hiding, and she became very angry, I think because she knew we were still there but hiding. Then suddenly Thick was gone. And it startled me so much that I opened my eyes.’ The Prince shrugged. ‘I was in my bedroom. I thought it had just been a very vivid dream.’
‘So it could have been, one that you and Thick shared,’ Chade replied. ‘I think we can leave this now and settle to our real business here.’
‘I think not,’ I said. Something in Chade’s easy dismissal warned me that the old man did not want us to speak of this but I was willing to sacrifice part of my secret to discover his. ‘I think the dragon is real. Moreover, I think we have heard of her before. Tintaglia, the Bingtown dragon. The one that masked boy spoke of.’
‘Selden Vestrit.’ Dutiful supplied his name quietly. ‘Can dragons Skill, then? Why would she demand to know what we knew of a black dragon? Does she mean Icefyre?’
‘Almost certainly she does. But that is the only one of your questions that I can answer.’ I turned reluctantly to face Chade’s scowl. ‘She has touched my dreams before. With the same demand, that I tell her what I knew of a black dragon and an island. She knows of our quest, most likely from the Bingtown contingent that came to invite us so cordially to their war with Chalced. But I think that she only knows as much as they did. That there is a dragon trapped in ice, and that Dutiful goes to slay him.’
Chade made a sound almost like a growl. ‘Then she’ll know the name of the island as well. Aslevjal. It is only a matter of time before she discovers where that is. The Bingtown Traders are famous for doing just that: trading. If they want a chart that shows the way to Aslevjal, they’ll obtain one.’
I spread my hands, displaying a calm I didn’t feel. ‘There is nothing we can do about that, Chade. We’ll have to deal with whatever develops.’
He pushed back his chair. ‘Well, I could deal with it better if I knew enough to expect it,’ he said. His voice rose as he did. He stalked to the window and stared out over the sea. Then he turned his head to glare at me over his shoulder. ‘What else have you not told me?’
Had we been alone then, I might have told him about how the dragon had threatened Nettle and how she had dismissed the creature. But I did not wish to speak of my daughter in Dutiful’s presence, so I only shook my head. He turned back to gaze out over the sea.
‘So we may have another enemy to face, besides the cold and ice of Aslevjal. Well. At least tell me how big is this creature? How strong?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve only seen her in dreams, and in my dreams, she shifted her size. I don’t think we can be sure of anything she has shown us in dreams.’
‘Oh, well that’s useful,’ Chade replied, discouraged. He came back to the table and dropped into his chair. ‘Did you sense anything of this dragon last night?’ he suddenly asked me.
‘No. I didn’t.’
‘But you did Skill-walk.’
‘Briefly.’ I’d visited Nettle. I wasn’t going to discuss that here. He didn’t seem to notice my reticence.
‘I did neither. Despite my best efforts.’ His voice was as anguished as an injured child’s. I met his eyes and saw, not just frustration there, but pain. He looked at me as if I had excluded him from some precious secret or wonderful adventure.
‘Chade. It will come in time. Sometimes I think you try too hard.’ I spoke the words, but I wasn’t sure of them. Yet I could not bring myself to say what I secretly suspected: that he had come to these lessons too late, and would never master the magic so long denied him.
‘So you keep saying,’ he said hollowly.
And there seemed nothing to reply to that. For the remainder of our session, we worked through several exercises from one of the scrolls, but with limited success. Chade’s discouragement seemed to have damped all his ability that day. With hands linked, he could receive the images and words I sent him, but when we separated and moved to different parts of the room, I could not reach him, nor could he touch minds with Dutiful or Thick. His growing frustration disrupted all of us. When Dutiful and Thick departed to their day’s tasks, we had not only made no progress, but had failed to equal the previous day’s level of Skill.
‘Another day spent, and we are no closer to having a working coterie,’ Chade observed bitterly to me when we were alone in the room. He walked over to the sideboard and poured brandy for himself. When he gestured questioningly at me, I shook my head.
‘No, thank you. I’ve not even broken my fast yet.’
‘Nor I.’
‘Chade, you look exhausted. I think an hour or two of rest and a solid meal would do you better than brandy.’
‘Find me two empty hours in my day, and I’ll be happy to sleep,’ he offered without rancour. Chade walked to the window with his cup and gazed out over the water. ‘It all closes in on me, Fitz. We must have this alliance with the Out Islands. With Chalced and Bingtown warring, our trade to the south has dwindled to a trickle. If Chalced defeats Bingtown, as it well may, it will next turn its swords against us. We must ally with the Out Islands before Chalced does.
‘Yet it isn’t just the preparations for the journey. It’s all the safeguards I must put in place to be sure Buckkeep runs smoothly while I am gone.’ He sipped from his cup then added, ‘In twelve days we depart for Aslevjal. Twelve days, when six weeks would scarcely be enough time for all I must arrange so that things will run smoothly in my absence.’
I knew he was not speaking of things like Buckkeep’s provisions and taxes and the training of the guard. There were others who routinely administered all such systems and reported directly to the Queen. Chade worried about his network of spies and informants. No one was certain how long our diplomatic mission to the Out Islands would take; let alone how much time would be consumed by the Prince’s quest to Aslevjal. I still harboured a fading hope that his ‘slaying of the dragon’ would be some strange Outislander ritual, but Chade was convinced there was an actual dragon carcass encased in glacial ice and that Dutiful would have to uncover it enough to sever the head and publicly present it to the Narcheska.
‘Surely your apprentice can handle those matters in your absence.’ I kept my voice level. I had never confronted Chade over his choice of apprentice. I was still not ready to trust Lady Rosemary as a member of the Queen’s court, let alone as an apprentice assassin. As a child, she had been Regal’s tool, and the Pretender had used her ruthlessly against us. But now would be a poor time to reveal to Chade that I had discovered who his new apprentice was. His spirits were already low.
He shook his head irritably. ‘Some of my contacts trust only me. They will report to no one else. And the truth is that half of my knack is that I know when to ask more questions and which rumours to follow. No, Fitz, I must resign myself that though my apprentice will attempt to handle my affairs, there will be gaps in my knowledge-gathering when I return.’
‘You left Buckkeep Castle once before, during the Red Ship War. How did you manage then?’
‘Ah, that was a very different situation. Then, I followed the threat, pursuing the intrigues to their hearts. This time, in truth, I will be present for a very critical negotiation. But there is still much happening here at Buckkeep that needs to be watched.’
‘The Piebalds,’ I filled in.
‘Exactly. Among others. But they are still the ones I fear most, though they have been quiescent of late.’
I knew what he meant. The absence of Piebald activity was not reassuring. I had killed the head of their organization, but I feared another would rise to take Laudwine’s place. We had gone far to gain the respect and co-operation of the Witted community. Perhaps that mellowing would leech away the anger and hatred that the extremist Piebalds throve on. Our strategy had been that by offering amnesty to the Witted, we might steal the force that drove the Piebalds. If the Witted were welcomed by the Farseer Queen into common society, welcomed and even encouraged to declare their magic openly, then they would have less interest in overthrowing the Farseer reign. So we had hoped, and so it seemed to be working. But if it did not, then they might still move against the Prince, and attempt to discredit him with his own nobles by showing that he was Witted. A royal proclamation that the Wit-magic was no longer to be considered a taint could not undo generations of prejudice and mistrust. That, we hoped, would fall before the benign presence of Witted ones in the Queen’s own court. Not just boys such as Swift, but men such as Web the Witted.
Chade still gazed out over the water, his eyes troubled.
I winced as I said them, but could not keep the words back. ‘Is there anything I could do to help?’
He swung his gaze to meet mine. ‘Do you offer that sincerely?’
His tone warned me. ‘I think I do. Why? What would you ask of me?’
‘Let me send for Nettle. You needn’t acknowledge her as your daughter. Just let me approach Burrich again about bringing her to court, and teaching her the Skill. I think there is still enough of his old oath to the Farseers left in his heart that if I told him she was needed by her prince, he’d let her come. And surely it would be a comfort to Swift, to have his sister close by.’
‘Oh, Chade.’ I shook my head. ‘Ask me anything else. Only leave my child in peace.’
He shook his head and held his silence. For a time longer I stood by his side, but finally I accepted that silence as a dismissal. I left him standing there, staring out over the water, looking east and north, to the Out Islands.

TWO (#ulink_ea9f03b1-166a-59d6-905e-950130810d61)
Sons (#ulink_ea9f03b1-166a-59d6-905e-950130810d61)
Taker was the first man to call himself a king at Buckkeep Castle. He came to these shores from the Out Islands, a raider and looter, as so many others had come before him. He saw in the timbered fort upon the cliffs that overlooked the river an ideal location to establish a permanent foothold in the land. So some say. Others tell it that he was a cold, wet, and queasy sailor, anxious to be off the ocean’s heaving belly and onto shore again. Whatever his initial motivation might have been, he successfully attacked and seized the wooden castle on its ancient stone foundation and became the first Farseer king at Buckkeep. He burned his way in; henceforth, he built all his further fortifications of Buckkeep from the black stone so plentiful there. Thus, from the earliest days, the Six Duchies ruling family has roots that reach back to the Out Islands. They are not, of course, alone in this. Six Duchies and Outislander folk have mingled blood as often as they have shed one another’s.
Venturn’s Histories
With only five days remaining until our departure date, the journey began to seem real to me. Up to that point, I had been able to push it out of my mind and consider it an abstract thing. I had prepared for it, but only as an eventuality. I had studied their writing symbols, and spent many of my evenings in a tavern frequented by Outislander traders and sailors. There I had worked on learning as much of the language as I could. Listening was my best technique for that. Outislander shared many roots with our own tongue, and after a number of evenings, it no longer rang so strange against my ears. I could not speak it well, but I could make myself understood, and more importantly, understand most of what I heard. I hoped that would be enough.
My lessons with Swift had progressed well. In some ways, I would miss the boy when we sailed. In others, I’d be just as glad to be free of him. True to his word, he was a superb bowman, for a boy of ten. Once I’d alerted Cresswell to this, the Weaponsmaster had been very glad to take him in hand. ‘He’s got a feel for it. He isn’t one to stand and take a long and careful aim. With this lad, the arrow flies from his eye as much as from his bow. He’d be wasted on the axe. Let’s build his strength instead, and move him into a longer and more powerful bow as he grows.’ So Cresswell evaluated him, and when I passed on his words to Chade, the old assassin agreed in part.
‘We’ll start him on the axe as well,’ Chade directed me. ‘It cannot hurt him.’
Less time with the boy was more of a relief than I cared to admit. He was a bright lad, and pleasant to deal with in all ways save two: he reminded me far too much of both Molly and Burrich, and he could not leave the topic of his magic alone. No matter what lesson I began with, he found a way to transform it to a discussion of the Wit. The depth of his ignorance appalled me, and yet I was not comfortable correcting his misconceptions. I decided to consult with Web about him.
Finding Web alone was the initial difficulty. Since he had first arrived at the Buckkeep court as a speaker and advocate for his people and their maligned magic, he had gained the respect of many who had once despised the Wit and those who practised it. He was often referred to now as ‘the Witmaster’. The title that had once been a mockery of the Queen’s acceptance of the outlawed magic was rapidly becoming an accepted honorific. Many sought his advice now, and not just on matters relating to his magic or his Old Blood people. Web was an affable man, interested in everyone and able to converse animatedly on almost any topic; but for all that he was not so much garrulous as an active listener. Folk react well to a man who hangs on their words. Even if he had not been our unofficial ambassador from the Witted folk of the realm, I think he would have become a court favourite. But this odd connection put him even more in regard, for if one wished to demonstrate to the Queen that one shared her politics about the Witted, how better than to invite Web to dine or partake of other amusement? Many nobles sought to curry the Queen’s favour this way. I am sure that nothing in Web’s previous experience had prepared him to be such a social novelty, and yet he took it in stride, as he seemed to do all things. Nor did it change him that I could tell. He was still as enraptured by the chatter of a serving girl as by the sophisticated discussions of the most elevated noble. I seldom saw him alone.
But there are still a few places where polite society does not follow a man. I was waiting for Web when he emerged from a backhouse. I greeted him and added, ‘I’d like to ask your advice on something. Have you time for a word or two, and a quiet stroll about the Women’s Gardens?’
He raised one greying eyebrow in curiosity, then nodded. Without a word, he followed me as I led the way, easily matching his rolling sailor’s gait to my stride. I’d always enjoyed the Women’s Gardens, ever since I was a boy. They supply much of the herbs and fresh greens for Buckkeep’s kitchens in summer, but are arranged to be a pleasure to stroll in as well as yielding a practical bounty. They are called the Women’s Gardens for no other reason than that they are mostly tended by women; no one would look askance at our being there. I plucked several leafy new fronds of copper fennel as we passed and offered one to Web. Above us, a birch tree was uncurling its leaves. There were beds of rhubarb around the bench that we chose. Fat red nubs thrust through the earth. On a few plants, the crinkling leaves were opening to the light. The plants would need boxing soon, if the stems were to grow long enough to be useful. I mentioned this to Web.
He scratched his trimmed grey beard thoughtfully. There was a touch of merriment in his pale eyes as he asked me, ‘And rhubarb was what you wished to consult me about?’ He put the end of the fennel stem between his teeth and nibbled at it as he waited for me to answer.
‘No, of course not. And I know you are a busy man, so I will not keep you any longer than I must. I’m concerned about a boy who has been placed in my care for lessons and weapons training. His name is Swift, and he is the son of a man who was once the Stablemaster here at Buckkeep, Burrich. But he has parted ways with his father in a dispute over Swift’s use of the Wit, and so calls himself Swift Witted now.’
‘Ah!’ Web gave a great nod. ‘Yes, I know the lad. He often comes to the edge of the circle when I am telling tales at night, yet I do not recall that he has ever spoken to me.’
‘I see. Well, I have urged him, not just to listen to you, but to talk with you as well. I am troubled over how he sees his magic. And how he speaks of it. He is untrained in it, as his father did not approve of the Wit at all. Yet his ignorance does not make him cautious, but reckless. He reveals his Wit to all he meets, thrusting it under their noses and insisting they acknowledge it. I have warned him that, Queen’s decree or no, there are many folk in Buckkeep who still find the Wit distasteful. He does not seem to grasp that a change in a law cannot force a change in people’s hearts. He flaunts his Wit in a way that may be a danger to him. And soon I must leave him on his own, when I depart with the Prince. I have five days left in which to instil some caution in him.’
I ran out of breath and Web commiserated, ‘I can see where that would make you very uncomfortable.’
It was not the comment I would have expected, and for a moment I was taken aback. ‘It isn’t just that I feel he endangers himself when he reveals his magic,’ I excused myself. ‘There is more to it. He speaks openly of choosing an animal to bond with, and soon. He has sought my aid in this, asking if I would take him through the stables. I’ve told him I don’t think that is the proper way of doing it, that there must be more to such a bond than that, but he does not listen. He brushes me off, telling me that if I had the Wit-magic, I’d understand better his need to end his isolation.’ I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice as I added this last.
Web gave a small cough and a wry smile. ‘And I can see why that would be very galling to you as well.’
His words sent a shivering across my back. They were freighted with a weight of unspoken knowledge. I tried to ignore it. ‘That’s why I’ve come to you, Web. Will you speak to him? I think you could best teach him how to accept his magic without letting it overwhelm him. You could speak to him about why he should wait to bond, and why he should be more conservative in how swiftly he shares the information that he is Witted. In short, you could teach him to carry his magic as a man would, with dignity and privacy.’
Web leaned back on the bench. The fronds of his fennel danced as he chewed the stem thoughtfully. Then he said quietly, ‘All of those things, FitzChivalry, you could teach him as well as I, if you have a mind to.’ He regarded me steadily, and on this bright spring day, blue seemed to predominate over the grey in his eyes. His look was not cold and yet I felt pierced by ice. I took a slow and steadying breath. I kept still, hoping not to betray myself as I pondered how he could know. Who had told him? Chade? Kettricken? Dutiful?
His logic was relentless as he added, ‘Of course, your words would only carry weight with him if you told him that you, too, are Witted. And they would have the most effect if you told him your true name, as well, and your relationship to his father. Yet he might be a bit young to share that secret fully.’
For two breaths longer, he regarded me, and then looked aside. I thought it was a mercy until he added, ‘Your wolf still looks out of your eyes. You think that if you stand perfectly still, no one will see you. That won’t work with me, young man.’
I rose. I longed to deny my name, yet his certainty was such that I knew I’d only look a fool in his eyes if I did so. And I did not want Master Web to consider me foolish. ‘I scarcely think myself a young man,’ I rebuked him. ‘And perhaps you are right. I shall speak to Swift myself.’
‘You’re younger than I am,’ Web said to my retreating back. ‘And in more ways than years, Master Badgerlock.’ I paused and glanced back at him. ‘Swift is not the only one who needs to be instructed in his magic,’ he said in a voice pitched for my ears alone. ‘But I will not teach anyone who does not come to me and ask for it. Tell that to the lad, too. That he must come to me and ask. I will not impose learning on him.’
I knew I was dismissed and again I walked away from him. Then I heard his voice lifted again, as if in casual observation. ‘Holly would love a day such as this. Clear skies and a light wind. How her hawk would soar!’
And there was the answer given to my unasked question, and I surmised that was a true show of mercy. He would not let me wonder who at Buckkeep had betrayed my secret, but told me plain that my true name had come to him from another source. Holly, widow to Black Rolf, who had tried to teach me the Wit so many years ago. I continued walking as if his words were no more than a pleasantry, but now I had to wonder a more unsettling thing. Had Holly passed her knowledge directly to Web, or had it travelled from tongue to tongue to reach him? How many Witted also knew who I really was? How pointed a piece of knowledge was that? How could it be used against the Farseer throne?
I went about my tasks that day with a distracted air. I had weapons drill with my guard company, and my preoccupation meant that I came away from it with more bruises than usual. There was also a final fitting for the new uniform we all would wear. I had recently become a member of the newly created Prince’s Guard. Chade had arranged that not only was I accepted to this elite group, but that my lot had been drawn to accompany the Prince on his quest. The uniform of the Prince’s Guard was blue on blue, with the Farseer buck insignia on the breast. I hoped that mine would be finished in time for me to privately add the small extra pockets I would require. I had declared that I was no longer an assassin for the Farseer reign. That did not mean I had surrendered the tools of that trade.
I was fortunate that I had no meetings with Chade or Dutiful in the afternoon, for either one of them would have immediately sensed that something was amiss. I knew that I would tell Chade; it was information he definitely needed to have. But I did not wish to divulge it to him just yet. First, I would try to work it through in my mind, and see how it unfolded.
And the best way for me to do that, I knew, was to put my thoughts on other matters. When I went down to Buckkeep Town that evening, I decided to give myself a reprieve from the Outislander tavern and spend some time with Hap. I needed to tell my adopted son that I’d been ‘chosen’ to accompany the Prince, and to make an early farewell to him in case there was no time for a later one. I hadn’t seen the lad in some time, and there were few enough days left before I sailed that I decided I would be justified in begging a full evening of Hap’s company from Master Gindast. I had been very pleased with his progress on his training since he had settled into the apprentices’ quarters and earnestly devoted himself to his schooling. Master Gindast was one of the finest woodworkers in Buckkeep Town. I still counted myself fortunate that, with a nudge from Chade, he had agreed to apprentice Hap. If the boy acquitted himself well there, he had a bright future in any part of the Six Duchies where he chose to settle.
I arrived just as the apprentices were preparing for their evening meal. Master Gindast was not present, but one of the senior journeymen released Hap to me. I wondered at his surly granting of the wish, but put it down to some personal problem of his own. Yet Hap did not seem as delighted to see me as he might have. It took him a long time to fetch his cloak, and as we left, he walked silently beside me.
‘Hap, is all well?’ I asked him at last.
‘I think it is,’ he replied in a low voice. ‘But doubtless you will disagree. I have given Master Gindast my word that I would regulate myself in this matter. It insults me that he still thought he needed to send word for you to come and rebuke me as well.’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ I told him, striving to keep my voice level even as my heart sank into my boots. I could not help but think that I had to sail in only a few days. Was whatever-this-was something I could mend in such a short space? Disturbed, I blurted my news. ‘My name was chosen from among the guards. Soon I leave with the Prince, to accompany him on his mission to the Out Islands. I came to tell you that, and to spend an evening with you before I had to leave.’
He gave a snort of disgust, but I think it was aimed at himself. He had betrayed his problem to me, whereas if he had been a bit more circumspect, he could have kept it private. I think that outweighed any initial reaction to my news. I walked on beside him, waiting for him to speak. The streets of Buckkeep Town were fairly quiet tonight. The light had begun to linger longer at the end of the bright spring days, but folk were also rising earlier and putting in more hours, and hence more like to seek sleep while light was still in the sky. When Hap kept his silence, I finally offered, ‘The Dog and Whistle is down this way. It’s a pleasant place for food and good beer. Shall we go?’
His eyes didn’t meet mine as he countered me with, ‘I’d rather go to the Stuck Pig, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘It isn’t,’ I said in a determinedly pleasant voice. ‘It’s too close to Jinna’s house, and you know she goes there some evenings. You also know that she and I have come to a parting of the ways. I’d rather not encounter her tonight, if I can avoid it.’ The Stuck Pig, I had also belatedly discovered, was considered a gathering place for Witted folk, though no one made that accusation openly. It accounted for some of the tavern’s shoddy reputation; the rest of it was because it was, in truth, a rather dirty and poorly kept place.
‘Isn’t your objection actually that you know Svanja lives close by there?’ he asked me pointedly.
I suppressed a sigh. I turned my steps in the direction of the Stuck Pig. ‘I thought she had thrown you over for her sailor boy with his pretty gifts.’
He flinched, but kept his voice level when he replied. ‘So it seemed to me, also. But after Reften went back to sea, she was free to seek me out and speak the truth of it. Her parents arranged and approve of that match. That arrangement is why they so disliked me.’
‘Then they thought you knew she was promised, and continued to see her anyway?’
‘I suppose so.’ Again, that neutral voice.
‘A shame she never thought to tell her parents she was deceiving you. Or to tell you of this Reften.’
‘It wasn’t like that, Tom.’ A low growl of anger crept into his voice. ‘She didn’t set out to deceive anyone. She thought, at first, that we would be only friends, and so there was no reason to tell me she was spoken for. After we began to have feelings for one another, she was afraid to speak, for fear I might think her faithless to him. But in reality, she had never given her heart to him; all he had received was her parents’ word.’
‘And when he came back?’
He took a deep breath and refused to lose his temper. ‘It’s complicated, Tom. Her mother’s health is not good, and her heart is set on the match. Reften is the son of her childhood friend. And her father does not want to have to take back his word after he agreed to the marriage. He’s a proud man. So, when Reften came back to town, she thought it best to pretend that all was well for the brief time he was here.’
‘And now that he is gone, she’s come back to you.’
‘Yes.’ He bit the word off as if there were no more to say.
I set my hand to his shoulder as we walked. The muscles there were bunched, hard as stone. I asked the question that I had to ask. ‘And what will happen when he comes back to port again, with gifts and fond notions that she is his sweetheart?’
‘Then she’ll tell him that she loves me and is mine now,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Or I will.’ For a time we walked in silence. He did not relax under my hand but at least he did not shrug it off. ‘You think I’m foolish,’ he said at last as we turned down the street that went past the Stuck Pig. ‘You think she is toying with me, and that when Reften comes home, she will again throw me aside.’
I tried to make my voice say the hard words softly. ‘That does seem possible to me.’
He sighed and his shoulder slouched under my hand. ‘To me, also. But what am I to do, Tom? I love her. Svanja and no other. She is the other half of me, and when we are together, we make a whole that I cannot doubt. Walking with you now and telling you of it, I sound gullible, even to myself. So I voice doubts, like your own. But when I am with her and she looks into my eyes, I know she is telling me the truth.’
We tramped a bit farther in silence. Around us, the town was changing its pace, relaxing from the day’s labours into a time for shared meals and family companionship. Tradesmen were closing their shutters for the evening. Smells of cooking wafted out of homes. Taverns beckoned to such as Hap and me. I wished vainly that we were simply going to sit down to a hearty meal together. I had thought him in safe waters, and had comforted myself with that whenever I thought of leaving Buckkeep. I asked a question both inevitable and foolish. ‘Is there any chance that you could stop seeing her for a time?’
‘No.’ He answered without even drawing breath. He looked ahead as he spoke. ‘I can’t, Tom. I can no more put her aside than I could give up breath or water or food.’
Then I spoke my fear honestly. ‘I worry that while I am gone, you will get into trouble with this, Hap. Not just a fist-fight with Reften over the girl, though that would be bad enough. Master Hartshorn has no fondness for either of us. If he believes you have compromised his daughter, he may seek revenge on you.’
‘I can deal with her father,’ he said gruffly, and I felt his shoulders stiffen again.
‘How? Take a beating from him? Or beat him insensible? Remember, I’ve fought him, Hap. He’ll neither cry for mercy, nor grant it. If the City Guard had not intervened, our fight would have continued until one of us was unconscious, or dead. Yet even if it doesn’t come to that, there are other things he could do. He could go to Gindast and complain that his apprentice lacks morality. Gindast would take that seriously, would he not? From what you have said, your master is not well pleased with you just now. He could turn you out. Or Hartshorn could simply turn his own daughter out into the streets. Then what?’
‘Then I take her in,’ Hap replied grimly. ‘And I care for her.’
‘How?’
‘Somehow. I don’t know how, I just know that I would!’ The anger in his furious reply was not for me, but for himself, that he could not think of a way to refute the question. I judged that it was a good time to hold silence. My boy could not be dissuaded from his path. If I sought to do so, he’d only turn away from me to pursue her. We walked on, and as we drew closer to the Stuck Pig, I had to ask, ‘You don’t meet her openly, do you?’
‘No,’ he answered reluctantly. ‘I walk past her house. She watches for me, but we pretend not to notice one another. But if she sees me, she makes an excuse of some kind and slips out later in the evening to meet me.’
‘At the Stuck Pig?’
‘No, of course not. There’s a place we discovered, where we can be alone.’
And so I felt a part of their deception as I walked with Hap past Svanja’s house. I hadn’t known where she lived until now. As we passed the cottage, Svanja was sitting on the step with a small boy. I hadn’t realized that she had siblings. She immediately rose and went inside with the child, as if snubbing Hap and me. We walked on to the Stuck Pig.
I was reluctant to enter, but Hap went ahead of me and so I followed. The innkeeper gave us a brusque nod. I was surprised he didn’t order me out. The last time I’d been there, I’d brawled with Hartshorn and the City Guard had been called. Perhaps that was not so unusual an event there. From the way the inn-boy greeted Hap, he’d become a regular. He took a corner table as if it were his accustomed place. I set out coin on the table, and in response we soon had two mugs of beer and two plates of indifferent fish stew. The bread that came with it was hard. Hap didn’t appear to notice. We spoke little as we ate, and I sensed him tracking time, estimating how long it would take Svanja to make an excuse and then slip off to their meeting place.
‘I was minded to give Gindast some money to hold for you, so that you’d have funds of your own as you needed them while I’m gone.’
Hap shook his head, mouth full. A moment later he said quietly, ‘That wouldn’t work. Because if he was displeased with me for any reason, he’d withhold it.’
‘And you expect your master to be displeased with you?’
For a time he didn’t answer. Then he said, ‘He thinks he needs to regulate me as if I were ten years old. My evenings should be my own, to do as I please. You’ve paid for my apprenticeship, and I do my work during the day. That should be all that concerns him. But no, he would have me sit about with the other apprentices, mending socks until his wife shouts at us to stop wasting candles and go to sleep. I don’t need that sort of supervision, and I won’t tolerate it.’
‘I see.’ We ate more insipid food in silence. I struggled with a decision. Hap was too proud to ask me to give the money to him directly. I could refuse him to express my disapproval. Certainly I didn’t like what he was doing. I foresaw it would lead him to trouble … and if that trouble came while I was gone, he might need money to extricate himself. Certainly I’d seen enough of the Buckkeep Town gaol to know I didn’t want my boy to spend time there, unable to pay a fine. Yet if I left him money, would I not perhaps be giving him enough rope to hang himself? Would it all go for gifts to impress his sweetheart and tavern meals and drink? It was possible.
It came down to this: did I trust this boy that I’d raised for the last seven years? He had already set aside much of what I had taught him. Yet so Burrich would have said of me at that age, if he had known how much I used the Wit. So would Chade have said, if he’d known of my private excursions into town. Yet here I sat, very much still the man they had made me. So much so that I would not show a purse of coins in a tavern so ill-reputed as this one. ‘Then I shall simply give you the money and trust you to be wise with it,’ I said quietly.
Hap’s face lit up, and I knew it was for the trust I offered him, not the coins. ‘Thank you, Tom. I’ll be careful with it.’
After that, our meal went more pleasantly. We spoke of my upcoming trip. He asked how long I would be gone. I told him I didn’t know. Hap asked if my journey would be dangerous. All had heard that the Prince was setting forth to kill a dragon in the Narcheska’s honour. I mildly ridiculed the idea that we would find any such beast in the ice of the Out Islands. And I told him, truthfully, that I expected to be bored and uncomfortable for much of the journey, but not at risk. I was, after all, only a minor guardsman, honoured to be chosen to accompany the Prince. Doubtless I would spend most of my time waiting for someone to tell me what to do. We laughed together over that, and I hoped he had taken my point; that obeying one’s superior was not a childish limit, but a duty that any man could expect in his life. But if he saw it in that light, he made no mention of it.
We did not linger over our meal. The food didn’t warrant it and I sensed that Hap was anticipating his assignation with Svanja. Whenever I thought of it, my heart sank, but I knew there was no turning him aside from it. So when our hasty meal was finished, we pushed away our greasy plates and left the Stuck Pig. We walked together for a short time, watching evening creep up on Buckkeep Town. When I was a boy, the streets would have been near empty at this hour. But Buckkeep Town had grown and the duskier trades of the city had increased. At a well-traversed crossroad women lingered on the streets, walking slowly. They eyed the passing men, speaking desultorily to one another as they waited to be approached. There Hap halted. ‘I have to go now,’ he said quietly.
I nodded, forbearing to make any comment. I took the purse I’d prepared out of my jerkin and slipped it to him. ‘Don’t carry it all about with you, but only what you think you’d need that day. Do you have a safe place to put the rest?’
‘Thank you, Tom.’ He took it gravely, tucking it inside his shirt. ‘I do. At least, Svanja does. I’ll have her keep it for me.’
It took every bit of control and deception that I’d ever learned to keep my misgivings from showing in my eyes or on my face. I nodded as if I had no doubt all would be well. Then I embraced him briefly as he bid me to be careful on my journey, and we parted.
I found I did not want to return to Buckkeep Castle yet. It had been an unsettling day, between Web’s words and Hap’s news. And the food I had eaten at the Stuck Pig had more dismayed than satisfied my belly. I suspected it would not stay with me long. So I turned a different way from Hap lest he think I followed him and wandered for a time through the streets of Buckkeep. Restlessness vied with loneliness. I found myself passing the tailor shop that had once been a chandlery where Molly had worked. I shook my head at myself and deliberately set out for the docks. I wandered up and down them for a time, tallying to myself how many Out Island ships, how many from Bingtown or Jamaillia and beyond, and how many were our own vessels. The docks were longer and more crowded than my boyhood recollection of them, and the number of foreign ships was equal to our own. As I passed a vessel, I heard an Outislander shout a gruff jest to his fellows, and their raucous replies. I was pleased with myself that I could follow their words.
The ships that would bear us to the Out Islands were tied up at the main docks. I slowed to stare up at their bare rigging. The loading of them had ceased for the night, but men kept watch on their decks by lantern light. The ships looked large now; I knew how small they would become after a few days at sea. In addition to the ship that would carry the Prince and his selected entourage, there were three ships that would carry lesser nobles and their baggage, and a cargo of gifts and trade items. The ship Prince Dutiful would sail on was called the Maiden’s Chance. She was an older ship, proven swift and seaworthy. Now that she had been scrubbed and her paint and canvas completely renewed, she looked like a new creation. As a merchant vessel, built for carrying cargo, speed had been traded for capacity and stability: her hull was as rounded as the belly of a pregnant sow. Her forecastle had been enlarged to provide adequate housing for her noble guests. She looked top heavy to me and I wondered if her master approved of the changes that had been made for Dutiful’s comfort. I would travel aboard her, along with the rest of the Prince’s Guard. I wondered idly if Chade would wrangle quarters for me, or if I would have to make do with whatever space I could claim for myself as guardsmen usually did. Useless to wonder, I told myself. Whatever would be would be, and I’d have to deal with it as it came. I sourly wished there was no journey to make.
I could recall a time when a journey anywhere was something I anticipated eagerly. I’d awake on the day of departure at dawn, full of enthusiasm for the adventure to come. I’d be ready to depart when others were still crawling sleepily from their blankets.
I didn’t know when I had lost that ebullience for travel, but it was definitely gone. I felt, not excitement, but a growing dread. Just the thought of the sea voyage to come, the days spent in cramped quarters as we sailed east and north, was enough to make me wish I could back out of the expedition. I did not even allow my mind to stray beyond it, into the doubtful welcome of the Outislanders and our extended stay in their cold and rocky region. Finding a dragon trapped in ice and chopping its head off was beyond my imagining. Near nightly, I muttered to myself over the Narcheska’s strange choice of this task for the Prince to prove himself worthy of her hand. Over and over, I had tried to find a motive that would make it comprehensible. None came to me.
Now, as I walked the windy streets of Buckkeep, I prodded again at my greatest dread. Most of all, I feared that moment when the Fool would discover I had divulged his plans to Chade. Although I had done my best to mend my quarrel with the Fool, I had spent little time with him since then. In part, I avoided him lest some look or gesture of mine betray my treachery. Yet most of it was the Fool’s doing.
Lord Golden, as he now styled himself, had recently changed his demeanour considerably. Previously, his wealth had allowed him to indulge himself in an extravagant wardrobe and exquisite possessions. Now, he flaunted it in ways more vulgar. He disposed of coin like a servant shaking dirt from a duster. In addition to his chambers in the keep, he now rented the entire upper floor of the Silver Key, a town inn much favoured by the well-to-do. This fashionable establishment clung like a limpet to a steep site that would have been considered a poor building location in my boyhood days. Yet from that lofty perch, one could gaze far out over both the town and the water beyond.
Within that establishment, Lord Golden kept his own cook and staff. Rumours of the rare wines and exotic dishes he served made his table clearly superior to the Queen’s own. While he dined with his chosen friends, the finest of Six Duchies minstrels and entertainers vied for his attention. It was not unusual to hear that he had invited a minstrel, a tumbler and a juggler to perform simultaneously, in different corners of the dining chamber. Such meals were invariably preceded and followed by games of chance, with the stakes set sufficiently high that only the wealthiest and most spendthrift of young nobles could keep pace with him. He began his days late and his nights finished with the dawn.
It was also rumoured that his palate was not the only sense he indulged. Whenever a ship that had stopped in Bingtown or Jamaillia or the Pirate Isles docked, it was certain to bring him a visitor. Tattooed courtesans, former Jamaillian slaves, slender boys with painted eyes, women who wore battle-dress and hard-eyed sailors came to his door, stayed closeted within his chambers for a night or three, and then departed on the ships again. Some said they brought him the finest Smoke herbs, as well as cindin, a Jamaillian vice recently come to Buckkeep. Others said they came to provide indulgence for his other ‘Jamaillian tastes’. Those who dared to ask about his guests received only an arch look or a coy refusal to answer.
Strange to say, his excesses seemed only to increase his popularity with a certain segment of the Six Duchies aristocracy. Many a noble youth was sternly called home from Buckkeep, or received a visit from a parent suddenly concerned about the amount of coin it was taking to keep a youngster at court. Amongst the more conservative, there was grumbling that the foreigner was leading Buckkeep’s youth astray. But what I sensed more than disapproval was a salacious fascination with Lord Golden’s excesses and immorality. One could trace the embroidery of the tales about him as they moved from tongue to tongue. Yet, at the base of each gossip tree was a root that could not be denied. Golden had moved into a realm of excess that no other had approached since Prince Regal had been alive.
I could not comprehend it and that troubled me greatly. In my lowly role of Tom Badgerlock, I could not call openly on such a lofty creature as Lord Golden, and he did not seek me out. Even when he spent the night in his Buckkeep Castle chambers, he filled them with guests and entertainers until the sky was greying. Some said he had shifted his dwelling to Buckkeep Town to be closer to those places that featured games of chance and depraved entertainment but I suspected he had moved his lair to be away from Chade’s observations, and that his foreign overnight guests were not for his physical amusement but rather spies and messengers from his friends to the south. What tidings did they bring him, I wondered, and why was he so intent on debasing his reputation and spending his fortune? What news did he give them to bear back to Bingtown and Jamaillia?
But those questions were like my ponderings on the Narcheska’s motivation for setting Prince Dutiful to slay the dragon Icefyre. There were no clear answers, and they only kept my thoughts spinning wearily during hours that would have been better spent in sleep. I looked up at the latticed windows of the Silver Key. My feet had brought me here with no guidance from my head. The upper chambers were well lit this night, and I could glimpse passing guests within the opulent chambers. On the sole balcony, a woman and a young man conversed animatedly. I could hear the wine in their voices. They spoke quietly at first, but then their tones rose in altercation. I knelt down as if fastening my shoe and listened.
‘I’ve a wonderful opportunity to empty Lord Verdant’s purse, but only if I have the money to set on the table to wager. Give me what you owe me, now!’ the young man demanded of her.
‘I can’t.’ The woman spoke in the careful diction of one who refuses to be drunk. ‘I don’t have it, laddie. But I soon will. When Lord Golden pays me what he owes me from his gaming yesterday, I’ll get your coin to you. Had I known you were going to be so usurious about it, I never would have borrowed it from you.’
The young man gave a low cry between dismay and outrage. ‘When Lord Golden pays you his wager? That’s as well as to say, “never”. All know he’s fallen behind in his debts. Had I known you were borrowing from me to wager against him, I’d never have loaned it.’
‘You flaunt your ignorance,’ she rebuked him after a moment of shocked silence. ‘All know his wealth is bottomless. When the next ship comes in from Jamaillia, he will have coin enough to pay us all.’
From the shadows at the corner of the inn, I watched and listened intently.
‘If the next ship comes in from Jamaillia … which I doubt, from the way the war is going for them … it would have to be the size of a mountain to bring enough coin to pay all he owes now! Haven’t you heard that he is even behind on his rent, and that the landlord only lets him stay on because of the other business he brings here?’
At his words, the woman turned from him angrily, but he reached out to seize her wrist. ‘Listen, you stupid wench! I warn you, I won’t wait long for what is owed me. You’d best find a way to pay me, and tonight.’ He looked her up and down and added huskily, ‘Not all of it need be in coin.’
‘Ah, Lady Heliotrope. There you are. I’ve been looking for you, you little minx! Have you been avoiding me?’
The leisurely tones of Lord Golden wafted down to me as he emerged onto the balcony. The light from behind him glanced off his gleaming hair and limned his slender form. He stepped to the edge of the balcony. Leaning lightly on the rail, he gazed out over the town below him. The man immediately released the woman’s wrist and she stepped back from him with a toss of her head and went to join Lord Golden at his vantage point. She cocked her head at him and sounded like a tattling child as she complained, ‘Dear Lord Golden, Lord Capable has just told me that there is little chance you will pay me our wager. Do tell him how wrong he is!’
Lord Golden lifted one elegant shoulder. ‘How rumours do fly, if one is but a day or so late in honouring a friendly wager. Surely one should never bet more than one can afford to lose … or afford to do without until paid. Don’t you agree, Lord Capable?’
‘Or, perhaps, that one should not wager more than one can immediately afford to pay,’ Lord Capable suggested snidely.
‘Dear, dear. Would not that limit our gaming to whatever a man could carry in his pockets? Small stakes, those. In any case, sweet lady, why do you think I was seeking you, if not to make good our bet? Here, I think, you will find a good part of what I owe you. I do hope you won’t mind if it is in pearls rather than coin.’
She tossed her head, dismissing the surly Lord Capable. ‘I don’t mind at all. And if there are those that do, well, then they should simply be content to wait for crass coin. Gaming should not be about money, dear Lord Golden.’
‘Of course not. The risk is the relish, as I say, and the winning is the pleasure. Don’t you agree, Capable?’
‘And if I did not, would it do me any good?’ Capable asked sourly. He and I had both noticed that the woman made no immediate effort to pay him his due.
Lord Golden laughed aloud, the melodic sound cutting the cool air of the spring night. ‘Of course not, dear fellow. Of course not! Now, I hope both of you will step within and sample a new wine with me. Standing out here in this chill wind, a man could catch his death of cold. Surely friends can find a warmer place to speak privately?’
The others had already turned to re-enter the well-lit chamber. Yet Lord Golden paused a moment longer and gazed pensively at the spot where I had thought myself so well concealed. Then he inclined his head slightly to me before he turned and departed.
I waited a few moments longer, then stepped from the shadows. I felt annoyed with him because he had noticed me so effortlessly and because his offer to meet me somewhere else had been too vague for me to comprehend. Yet as much as I longed to sit down and talk with him, greater was my dread that he would uncover my treachery. Better, I decided, to avoid my friend than have to confront that in his eyes. I strode sullenly through the dark streets, alone. The night wind on the back of my neck chilled me as it pushed me back toward Buckkeep Castle.

THREE (#ulink_7c5279be-0aa5-5335-a250-78e27e92dc0d)
Trepidation (#ulink_7c5279be-0aa5-5335-a250-78e27e92dc0d)
Then Hoquin was enraged with those who questioned his treatment of his catalyst, and he resolved to make a show of his authority over her. ‘Child she may be,’ he declared. ‘And yet the burden is hers and it must be borne. And nothing must make her question her role, or sway her to save herself at the expense of condemning the world.’
And then he required of her that she go to her parents, and deny them both, saying, ‘I have no mother, I have no father. I am only the Catalyst of the White Prophet Hoquin.’ And further she must say, ‘I give you back the name you gave me. I am Redda no longer, but Wild-eye, as Hoquin has made me.’ For he had named her thus for her one eye that always peered to one side.
This she did not wish to do. She wept as she went, she wept as she spoke the words and she wept as she returned. For two days and two nights, the tears did not cease to flow from her eyes, and he allowed her this mourning. Then Hoquin said to her, ‘Wild-eye, cease your tears.’
And she did. Because she must.
Scribe Cateren, of the White Prophet Hoquin
When a journey is twelve days away, that can seem plenty of time to put all in readiness. Even at seven days away, it seems possible that all preparations will be completed on time. But as the days dwindle to five and four and then three, the passing hours burst like bubbles, and tasks that seemed simple suddenly become complex. I needed to pack all I would require to be assassin, spy and Skillmaster, while appearing to carry only the ordinary gear of a guardsman. I had farewells to make, some simple and some difficult.
The only part of the trip that I could look forward to with pleasure was our eventual return to Buckkeep. Dread can weary a man more than honest labour, and mine built with each passing day. Three nights before we were to sail, I felt exhausted and half-sick with it. That tension woke me long before dawn and denied me any more sleep. I sat up. The embers in the tower room’s fireplace illuminated little more than the shovel and poker leaning to one side of the hearth’s mouth. Then my eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom of the windowless chamber. It was a place familiar to me from my days as the assassin’s apprentice. Little had I thought that I would ever make it my own. I rose from Chade’s old bed, leaving behind the nightmare-rucked blankets and the warmth of sleep.
I padded over to the fireplace and added a small log. I hung a pot of water from the hook and swung it over the low flames. I thought of putting on a kettle for tea but felt too weary still. I was too worried to sleep and too tired to admit that I was now awake for the day. It was a miserable place, one that had become achingly familiar as our departure date grew closer. I kindled a taper from the fire’s dancing flames. I lit the waiting candles in the branched candelabrum on the scarred old worktable. The chair was cold beneath me as I sat down with a groan.
I sat at the worktable in my nightshirt and stared at the various charts I had assembled last night. They were all of Outislander origin, but so varied in size and composition that it was difficult to see their relationship to one another. It is their peculiar custom that charts of the sea can only be made on sea-mammal or fish skin. I suspected these charts had been cured in urine, for they had a peculiar and clinging odour. Out Island custom also decrees that each island must be presented as one of their gods’ runes, on its own chart. This means that there were curious flourishes and fillips on the representations that had nothing to do with the island’s physical characteristics. These additions had great significance to an Outislander, denoting what anchorage or currents might be present, and if the ‘luck’ of an island were good, bad or neutral. To me, the embellishments were only confusing. The four scrolls I had obtained were drawn by different hands and to different scales. I had spread them out on the table in their approximate relation to each other yet they still gave me only a hazy idea of the distance we would cross. I traced our route from chart to chart, with the burns and circles on the old table’s top representing the unknown dangers and seas that lay between them.
We would sail first from Buckkeep Town to Skyrene. It was not the largest of the Out Islands, but it boasted the best port and the most arable land of the isles, and hence the largest population. Peottre, mother-brother to the Narcheska, had spoken of Zylig with disdain. He had explained to Chade and Kettricken that Zylig, the busiest Out Island port, had become a haven for all sorts of folk. Foreigners came there to visit and trade, and in Peottre’s opinion, far too many stayed, bringing their crude customs with them. It was also a supply port for the vessels that came north to hunt sea mammals for hides and oil, and those rough crews had corrupted many an Outislander youth and maiden. He made Zylig sound like a dingy and dangerous port town with the flotsam and jetsam of humanity making up a good part of its population.
There we would dock first. Arkon Bloodblade’s mothershouse was on the other side of Skyrene, but they had a stronghouse in Zylig for when they visited there. Here we would meet with the Hetgurd, a loose alliance of Outislander headmen, for a discussion of our quest. Chade and I were both leery of that event. Chade anticipated resistance to the marriage alliance, and perhaps to our quest. To some Outislanders, Icefyre was a guardian spirit to those islands. Our quest to chop off his head might not be well received.
When our meeting at Zylig was complete, we would transfer from our Six Duchies vessel to an Outislander ship, one more suited to the shallow waters we must next negotiate, with a captain and crew that knew the channels. They would take us to Wuislington on Mayle, the home island for Elliania and Peottre’s Narwhal Clan. Dutiful would be presented to her family and welcomed to her mothershouse. There would be celebrations of the betrothal, and advice for the Prince on the task that lay before him. After our visits to their home village, we would return to Zylig and there take ship for Aslevjal and the dragon trapped in a glacier.
Impulsively, I swept the charts aside. Folding my arms, I put my brow down on my crossed wrists and stared into the darkness trapped there. My guts were cramped with dread. It wasn’t just the voyage ahead. There were other hazards to be negotiated before we even set foot on the ship. The Skill-coterie had still not mastered their magic. I suspected that despite my warnings Dutiful and his friend Lord Civil were using the Wit-magic, and that the Prince would be caught. Too often, the openly Witted were his companions these days. Even if the Queen had decreed there was no shame to possessing such magic, the common folk and her nobles still despised practitioners of the beast-magic. He risked himself, and perhaps the betrothal negotiations. I had no idea how the Outislanders felt about the Wit-magic.
Around and around, my thoughts chased themselves with no escape from worry. Hap was still dangling after Svanja, and I dreaded leaving him to his own devices. The few times my dreams had brushed Nettle’s, she had seemed both secretive and anxious. Swift seemed to become more intractable by the day. I’d be relieved to leave that responsibility, but worried what would become of him in my absence. I still hadn’t told Chade that Web knew who I was, or discussed that information with Web. My desperate longing for someone to confide in only made me more aware of how isolated I had become. I missed my wolf Nighteyes as I would miss my heart’s beating.
When my forehead thumped solidly against the table, I came back to wakefulness abruptly. The sleep that had evaded me in my bed had captured me sitting at the worktable. With a sigh, I sat up straight, rolled my shoulders and resigned myself to the day. There were tasks to accomplish, and little time to do them in. Once we were on the ship, I’d have plenty of time to sleep, and even more time for fruitless worrying. Few things were as boring to me as an extended journey at sea.
I rose and stretched. It would soon be dawn. Time to get dressed and go to the Queen’s Garden for the morning’s lesson with Swift. The water in the pot had almost boiled away while I dozed. I mixed it with cold in the washbasin, made my ablutions and dressed for the day. A plain leather tunic went on over my shirt and trousers of Buck blue. I pulled on soft boots and forced my cropped hair into a stubby warrior’s tail.
After my session with Swift, I’d be meeting the Skill-coterie for another shared lesson. I wasn’t anticipating it with pleasure. As each day passed, we made improvement, but it was not sufficient to satisfy Chade. He saw his slow progress as failure. His frustration had become a palpable and discordant force whenever we came together. Yesterday, I had noticed that Thick feared to meet the old man’s eyes and that Dutiful’s pleasant expression had a fixed desperation to it. I had spoken privately to Chade, asking him to be more self-forgiving and more tolerant of the rest of the coterie’s vulnerabilities. He had taken my request as a rebuke and only become more grimly self-contained in his fury. It had not lessened any of the tension.
‘Fitz,’ someone said softly, and I spun, startled. The Fool stood framed in the doorway that was usually concealed by the wine rack. He could move more silently than anyone else I had ever known. Coupled with that, he was undetectable to my Wit-sense. Sensitive as I was to the presence of other living beings, he alone had the ability to take me completely by surprise. He knew it, and I think he enjoyed it. He smiled apologetically as he advanced into the room. His tawny hair was bound sleekly back and his face was innocent of Lord Golden’s paint. Bared, his face was more bronzed than I had ever seen it. He wore Golden’s foppish dressing gown but it seemed a bizarre costume when he dropped the lord’s elaborate mannerisms.
Never before had I known him to venture here without an invitation. ‘What are you doing here?’ I blurted out, and then added more courteously, ‘Though I am glad to see you.’
‘Ah. I had wondered if you would be. When I saw you lurking beneath my window, I thought you wanted to meet. I sent Chade an oblique message for you the next day, but heard no response. So I decided to make it easy for you.’
‘Yes. Well. Do come in.’ His sudden appearance, coupled with the disclosure that Chade had not relayed his message to me rattled me. ‘It’s not the best time for me; I’m supposed to be meeting Swift soon, in the Queen’s Garden. But I’ve a few moments to spare. Err, should I put on the kettle for tea?’
‘Yes, please. If you’ve the time. I don’t wish to intrude. I know we’ve all much to do in these last few days.’ Then his words stopped abruptly and he stared at me, the smile fading from his face. ‘Listen to how awkward we’ve become. So polite and so careful not to give offence.’ He drew a long breath, then spoke with uncharacteristic bluntness. ‘After I sent a message and heard nothing back, the silence began to trouble me. I know we’ve had our differences lately. I thought we had mended them, but I began to have doubts. This morning, I decided I’d confront them. So here I am. Did you want to see me, Fitz? Why didn’t you answer my message?’
His sudden change in tone further unbalanced me. ‘I didn’t receive your message. Perhaps Chade misunderstood or forgot; he has had many concerns lately.’
‘And the other night, when you came to my window?’ He walked over to the hearth, dippered fresh water into the kettle from the bucket and put it back over the flame. As he knelt to poke up the fire and add a bit of wood, I felt grateful I didn’t have to meet his eyes.
‘I was just strolling about Buckkeep Town, chewing over my own problems. I hadn’t really planned to try to see you. My feet just carried me that way.’
It sounded awkward and stupid, but he nodded quietly. The awareness of our mutual discomfort was a wall between us. I had done my best to patch our quarrel, but the memory of that rift was still fresh with both of us. Would he think I avoided his eyes to hide some hidden anger from him? Or would he guess at the guilt I tried to conceal?
‘Your own problems?’ he asked quietly as he rose, dusting his hands together, and I was glad to seize on the topic. Telling him of my woes with Hap seemed by far the safest thing we could discuss.
And so I confided my worries about my son to him, and in that telling, regained our familiarity. I found tea herbs for the bubbling water, and toasted some bread that was left over from my last night’s repast. He listened well, as he bundled my charts and notes to one end of the table. By the time my words had run out, he was pouring steaming tea from a pot into two cups that I had set out. The ritual of putting out food reminded me of how easily we had always worked together. Yet somehow that hollowed me even more when I thought of how I deceived him. I wished to keep him away from Aslevjal because he believed he would die there; Chade aided me because he did not want the Fool interfering in the Prince’s quest. Yet the result was the same. When the day came for us to sail, the Fool would suddenly discover that he was not to be one of the party. And it was my doing.
Thus my thoughts wrapped me, and silence fell as we took our places. He lifted his cup, sipped from it, and then said, ‘It isn’t your fault, Fitz. He has made a decision and no words or acts of yours will change it now.’ For one brief instant, he seemed to be replying to my thoughts, and the hair stood up on the back of my neck because he knew me so well. Then he added, ‘Sometimes all a father can do is stand by and witness the disaster, and then pick up the pieces.’
I found my tongue and replied, ‘My worry, Fool, is that I won’t be here to witness it, or to pick up the pieces. What if he gets into real trouble, and there’s no one to step in on his behalf?’
He held his teacup in both hands and looked at me over it. ‘Is there no one staying behind that you can ask to watch over him?’
I suppressed an impulsive urge to say, ‘How about you?’ I shook my head. ‘No one that I know well enough. Kettricken will be here, of course, but it would hardly be appropriate to ask the Queen to play such a role to a guardsman’s son. Even if Jinna and I were still on good terms, I no longer trust her judgment.’ In dismay, I added, ‘Sometimes it’s a bit daunting to realize how few people I really trust. Or even know well, as Tom Badgerlock, I mean.’ I fell silent for a moment, considering that. Tom Badgerlock was a façade, a mask I wore daily, and yet I’d never been truly comfortable being him. I felt awkward deceiving good people such as Wim or Laurel. It made a barrier to any real friendship. ‘How do you do it?’ I asked the Fool suddenly. ‘You shift who you are from year to year and place to place. Don’t you ever feel regret that no one truly knows you as the person you were born?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘I am not the person I was born. Neither are you. I know no one who is. Truly, Fitz, all we ever know are facets of one another. Perhaps we feel as if we know one another well when we know several facets of that person. Father, son, brother, friend, lover, husband … a man can be all of those things, yet no one person knows him in all those roles. I watch you being Hap’s father, and yet I do not know you as I knew my father, any more than I knew my father as his brother did. So. When I show myself in a different light, I do not make a pretence. Rather I bare a different aspect to the world than they have seen before. Truly, there is a place in my heart where I am forever the Fool and your playfellow. And within me there is a genuine Lord Golden, fond of good drink and well-prepared food and elegant clothing and witty speech. And so, when I show myself as him, I am deceiving no one, but only sharing a different part of myself.’
‘And Amber?’ I asked quietly. Then I wondered that I dared venture the question.
He met my gaze levelly. ‘She is a facet of me. No more than that. And no less.’
I wished I had not brought it up. I levered the conversation back into its old direction. ‘Well. That solves nothing for me, as far as finding someone to watch over Hap for me.’
He nodded, and again there was a stiff little silence. I hated that we had become so self-conscious with one another but could not think how to change it. The Fool was still my old friend from my boyhood days. And he wasn’t. Knowing that he had other ‘facets’ reordered all my ideas of him. I felt trapped, wanting to stay and ease our friendship back into its old channel, yet also wanting to flee. He sensed it and excused me.
‘Well, I regret that I came at a bad time. I know you have to meet Swift soon. Perhaps we shall have a chance to speak again before we sail.’
‘He can wait for me,’ I heard myself say suddenly. ‘It won’t hurt him a bit.’
‘Thank you,’ he said.
And then again our conversation lapsed. He saved it by picking up one of the furled charts. ‘Is this Aslevjal?’ he asked as he unrolled it on the table.
‘No. That’s Skyrene. Our first port of call is at Zylig.’
‘What’s this over here?’ He pointed to a curling bit of scrollwork on one shore of the island.
‘Outislander ornamentation. I think. Or maybe it means a whirlpool, or a switching current or seaweed beds. I don’t know. I think they see things differently from us.’
‘Undoubtedly so. Have you a chart of Aslevjal?’
‘The smaller one, with the brown stain at one end.’
He unrolled it next to the first, and glanced from one to the other. ‘I see what you mean,’ he murmured, tracing an impossibly lacy edge on the shoreline. ‘What do you think that is?’
‘Melting glacier. At least, that is what Chade thinks.’
‘I wonder why he didn’t give you my message.’
I feigned ignorance. ‘As I said, perhaps he forgot. When I see him today, I’ll ask him.’
‘Actually, I’d like to speak to him as well. Privately. Perhaps I could come with you to your Skill-lesson today.’
I felt extremely uncomfortable yet I could think of no way to wriggle out of inviting him. ‘That’s not until afternoon today, after Swift’s lessons and weapon practice.’
He nodded, unconcerned. ‘That would be fine. I’ve things to tidy up in my chamber below.’ As if inviting me to ask why, he added, ‘I’ve nearly moved out of those rooms completely. There won’t be much left for anyone to trouble about.’
‘So you intend to move to the Silver Key permanently?’ I asked.
For a moment, his face went blank. I had surprised him. Then he shook his head slowly at me, smiling gently. ‘You never believe a thing I tell you, do you, Fitz? Ah, well, perhaps that has sheltered us both through many a storm. No, my friend. I will leave my Buckkeep chambers empty when I go. And most of the wonderful possessions and furnishings in the Silver Key belong to others already, accepted as collateral for my debts. Which I don’t intend to pay, of course. Once I leave Buckkeep Town, my creditors will descend like crows and pick those quarters bare. And that will be the end of Lord Golden. I won’t be returning to Buckkeep. I won’t be returning anywhere.’
His voice did not quaver or shake. He spoke calmly and his eyes met mine. Yet his words left me feeling as if a horse had kicked me. He spoke like a man who knew he was going to die, a man tidying up all the loose ends of his life. I experienced a shift in perception. My awkwardness with him was because of our recent quarrel, and because I knew I deceived him. I did not fear his death, because I knew I had already prevented it. But his discomfort had a different root. He spoke to me as a man who knew he faced death would speak to an old friend who seemed indifferent to that fact. How callous I must have seemed to him, avoiding him all those days. Perhaps he had thought I was carefully severing the contact between us before his death could do it suddenly and painfully. The words burst from me, the only completely true thing I’d said to him that day. ‘Don’t be stupid! I’m not going to let you die, Fool!’ My throat suddenly closed. I picked up my cooling cup of tea and gulped from it hastily.
He caught his breath and then laughed, a sound like glass breaking. Tears stood in his eyes. ‘You believe that so thoroughly, don’t you? Ah, Beloved. Of all the things I must bid farewell to, you are the one most difficult to lose. Forgive me that I have avoided you. Better, perhaps, that we make a space between us and become accustomed to it before fate forces that upon us.’
I slammed my cup down. Tea splattered the table between us. ‘Stop talking like that! Eda and El in a tangle, Fool! Is that why you’ve been squandering your fortune and living like some degenerate Jamaillian? Please tell me that you haven’t spent all your windfall, that there is something left for … for you to come back to.’ And there my words halted, as I teetered at the edge of betraying myself.
He smiled strangely. ‘It’s gone, Fitz. It’s all gone, or else arranged to be bestowed. And getting rid of that much wealth has not only been a challenge, but a far greater pleasure than possessing it ever was. I’ve left papers that Malta is to go to Burrich. Can you imagine his face when someone hands her reins to him? I know he will value her and care for her. And for Patience, oh, you should have seen it before I sent it on its way! A cartload of scrolls and books on every imaginable topic. She’ll never imagine where they came from. And I’ve provided for Garetha, my garden maid. I’ve bought her a cottage and a plot of earth to call her own, as well as left her the coin to keep herself well. That should cause a mild scandal; folks will wonder why Lord Golden left a garden girl so well endowed. But let them. She will understand and she won’t care. And for Jofron, my Jhaampe friend? I’ve sent her a selection of fine woods and all of my carving tools. She’ll value them, and recall me fondly, regardless of how abruptly I left her. She’s made her reputation as a toy-maker. Did you know that?’
As he divulged his generous mischief to me, he smiled and the shadow of imminent death nearly left his eyes. ‘Please stop talking like that,’ I begged him. ‘I promise you, I won’t let you die.’
‘Make me no promises that can break us both, Fitz. Besides,’ he took a breath. ‘Even if you manage against all the fore-ordained grinding of fate to keep me alive, well, Lord Golden still must vanish. He’s lived to the end of his usefulness. Once I leave here, I shall not be him again.’
As he spoke on of how he’d dismantled his fortune and how his name would fade to obscurity, I felt sick. He had been determined and thorough. When we left him behind on the docks, we’d be leaving him in a difficult situation. That Kettricken would provide for him, no matter how he had squandered his wealth, I had no doubt. I resolved to have a quiet word with her before we left, to prepare her to rescue him if need be. Then I reined my thoughts back to the conversation, for the Fool was watching me oddly.
I cleared my throat and tried to think of sensible words. ‘I think you are too pessimistic. If you have a coin or two left to your name, you’d best be frugal with it. Just in case I’m right and I keep you alive. And now I must go, for Swift will be waiting for me.’
He nodded, rising as I did. ‘Will you come down to my old chambers when it is time for us to meet Chade for the Skill-lesson?’
‘I suppose so,’ I concurred, trying not to sound reluctant.
He smiled faintly. ‘Good luck with Burrich’s boy,’ he said, and left.
The teacups and charts were still on the table. I suddenly felt too weary to tidy them away, let alone hasten to my lesson with Swift. But I did, and when I arrived on the tower-top garden, he was waiting for me in a square of crenellated sunlight, his back to a chill stone wall, idly playing on a penny whistle. At his feet, several doves bobbed and pecked, and for a moment, my heart sank. As I approached, they all took flight, and the handful of grain that had drawn them scattered in their wind. Swift noticed the relief on my face. He took the whistle from his lips and looked up at me.
‘You thought I was using the Wit to draw them in, and it scared you,’ he observed.
I made myself pause before answering him. ‘I was frightened for a moment,’ I agreed. ‘But not at the idea you might be using your Wit. Rather I feared that you were trying to establish a bond with one of them.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘No. Not with a bird. I’ve touched minds with birds, and my thoughts glance off their minds like a stone skipping on moving water.’ Then he smiled condescendingly and added, ‘Not that I expect you to understand what I mean.’
I reined myself to silence. Eventually I asked him, ‘Did you finish reading the scroll about King Slayer and the acquisition of Bearns?’
He nodded and we proceeded with the day’s lessons, but his attitude still vexed me. I vented it on the practice court, insisting that he pick up an axe and try his strength against me before I would let him go to his bow lesson. The axes were heavier than I recalled, and even with the heads well muffled in leather wraps, the bruises from such a session are formidable. When he could no longer hold the weapon aloft, I let him go to Cresswell for his bow lesson. Then I punished myself for taking out my temper on the boy by finding a new partner, one seasoned to the axe. When I was well and truly aware of just how rusty my skills were, I left the courts and went briefly to the steams.
Cleansed of sweat and frustration, I ate a hasty meal of bread and soup in the guardroom. The talk there was loud and focused on the expedition, Outislander women and drink. Both were acclaimed strong and palatable. I tried to laugh at the jests, but the single-mindedness of the younger guards made me feel old and I was glad to excuse myself and hasten back to my workroom.
I took the secret passage from there down to the chamber I had occupied when I had been Lord Golden’s servant. I listened carefully before I triggered the concealed door. All was quiet on the other side, and I hoped that the Fool was not there. But no sooner had I closed the portal to the hidden access than he opened the outer door of the room. I blinked at him. He wore a simple tunic and leggings, all in black, with low black shoes. The light from the window gilded his hair. Daylight reached past his silhouette into the tiny room and revealed my old cot heaped with possessions I had abandoned when I left his service. The wonderful sword he had given me nestled upon a mound of colourful and extravagant garments tailored for me. I gave the Fool a puzzled look. ‘Those are yours,’ he said quietly. ‘You should take them.’
‘I doubt I’d ever have occasion to dress in such styles again,’ I said, and then heard how hard a rejection that sounded.
‘You never know,’ he said quietly, looking away. ‘Perhaps one day Lord FitzChivalry will again walk the halls of Buckkeep Castle. If he did, those colours and cuts would suit him remarkably well.’
‘I doubt any of that would ever come to be.’ That, too, sounded cold, so I tempered it with, ‘But I thank you all the same. And I will take them, just in case.’ All the awkwardness fell on me again like a smothering curtain.
‘And the sword,’ he reminded me. ‘Don’t forget the sword. I know it’s a bit showy for your taste but …’
‘But it’s still one of the finest weapons I’ve ever drawn. I’ll treasure it.’ I tried to smooth over the slight of my first refusal. I saw now that by leaving it behind when I shifted my den, I’d hurt his feelings.
‘Oh. And this. Best that this come back to you now, too.’ He reached to unfasten the carved wooden earring that Lord Golden always wore. I knew what was concealed within it: the freedom earring that had passed from Burrich’s grandmother to Burrich, to my father and eventually to me.
‘No!’ I gripped his wrist. ‘Stop this funeral rite! I’ve told you, I’ve no intention of letting you die.’
He stood still. ‘Funeral rite,’ he whispered. Then he laughed. I could smell the apricot brandy on his breath.
‘Take charge of yourself, Fool. This is so unlike you that I scarcely know how to talk to you any more,’ I exclaimed in annoyance, feeling the anger that uneasiness can trigger in a man. ‘Can’t we just relax and be ourselves in the days we have left?’
‘The days we have left,’ he echoed. With a twist of his wrist, he effortlessly freed himself from my grip. I followed him back into his large and airy chamber. Stripped of his possessions, it seemed even larger. He went to the brandy decanter and poured more for himself, and then filled a small glass for me.
‘In the days we have left before we sail,’ I expanded my words for him as I took the glass. I looked around the chamber. Necessities had been left in place: a table, chairs, a desk. All else was either gone or in the process of being cleared out. Rolled tapestries and rugs were fat sausages against the wall. His workroom stood open, bare and empty, all his secrets tidied away. I walked into the room, brandy in hand. My voice reverberated oddly as I said, ‘You’ve eradicated every trace of yourself.’
He followed and we stood together looking out of the window. ‘I like to leave things tidy. One must leave so many things incomplete in life that I take pleasure in finishing those I can.’
‘I’ve never known you to wallow in emotion like this before. It almost seems that you are enjoying this.’ I tried not to sound disgusted with him.
A strange smile twisted his mouth. Then he took a deep breath as if freed of something. ‘Ah, Fitz, in all the world, only you would say something like that to me. And perhaps you are right. There is drama in facing a definite end; I’ve never encountered these sensations before … yet, in a like situation, I think you would be untouched by them. You tried to explain to me once how the wolf always lived in the present and taught you to take every possible satisfaction you could from the time that you had. You learned that well. While I, who have always lived trying to define the future before I reach it, I suddenly espy a place beyond which all is black. Blackness. That is what I dream of at night. And when I deliberately sit down and try to reach forward, to see where my path might go, that is all I see. Blackness.’
I did not know what to say to him. I could see him trying to shake off his desperation as a dog might try to shake a wolf’s grip from his throat. I took a sip of the brandy. Apricots and the heady warmth of a summer day flooded me. I recalled our days at my cottage, the brandy on my tongue reawakening the pleasure of that simpler time. ‘This is very good,’ I said to him without thinking.
Startled, he stared at me. Then he abruptly blinked away tears and the smile he gave me was genuine. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘You are right. This is very good brandy, and nothing that is to come can change that. The future cannot take from us the days we have left … unless we let it.’
He had passed some sort of crossroads within himself and was more at peace. I took another swallow of the brandy as I stared out over the hills behind Buckkeep. When I glanced at him, he was looking at me with a fondness I could not bear. He would not have looked at me so kindly if he knew how I deceived him. And yet his terror of the days to come only firmed in me my judgment that I had made the best decision for him. ‘A shame to rush this, but Chade and the others will be waiting.’
He nodded gravely, lifted his glass in a small toast to me and then tossed off the brandy. I followed his example and then had to stand still while the liquor spread heat throughout me. I took a deep breath, smelling and tasting apricots. ‘It is very good,’ I told him again.
He smiled small. ‘I’ll leave all the remaining bottles to you,’ he offered very quietly, and then laughed when I glared at him. Yet his step seemed lighter as he followed me through the labyrinth of corridors and stairs that threaded between the walls of Buckkeep. As I moved through the dimness, I wondered how I truly would feel, did I know the hour and day of my death. Unlike Lord Golden, there would be very few possessions for me to disperse. I numbered my treasures to myself, thinking I owned nothing of significance to anyone but myself; then I realized abruptly it wasn’t true. With a pang of selfish regret, I resolved to correct that. We reached the concealed entrance to the Seawatch Tower. I unseated the panel and we emerged from the hearth.
The others had already gathered so I had no opportunity for a private word to prepare Chade. Instead, as we stepped out, the Prince exclaimed with delight and came forward to welcome Lord Golden. Thick was more cautious, scowling suspiciously. Chade sent me one glance full of rebuke, and then smoothed his face and exchanged greetings with the Fool. But after that first moment of welcome, awkwardness ensued. Thick, unsettled by having a stranger in our midst, wandered aimlessly about the room instead of settling into his place at the table. I could almost see the Prince trying to fit Lord Golden, even dressed so simply, into the role of King Shrewd’s Fool as he had heard the Queen tell the tale. Chade finally said, almost bluntly, ‘So, my dear fellow, what brings you here to join us? It’s wonderful to see you, of course, but we’ve still much to learn and little time in which to learn it.’
‘I understand,’ the Fool replied. ‘But there is also little time for me to share with you what I know. So I came hoping for a bit of your time, privately, after the lesson.’
‘I think it’s wonderful that you’ve come,’ the Prince broke in artlessly. ‘I think you should have been included from the first. You were the one who let us link our strength and go through you to heal Tom. You’ve as much a right to be a member of this coterie as anyone here.’
The Fool looked touched by Dutiful’s comments. He looked down at his hands, neatly gloved in black, rubbed his fingertips together almost idly and then admitted, ‘I don’t have any true Skill of my own. I only used what was left of the touch I’d taken from Verity. And my own knowledge of … Tom.’
At the mention of his father’s name, the Prince had perked up like a foxhound catching a scent. He leaned closer to the Fool, as if his knowledge of King Verity were something that could be absorbed from him. ‘Nonetheless,’ he assured Lord Golden, ‘I look forward to journeying with you. I think you may be a valuable member of this coterie, regardless of your level of Skill. Will not you join us for the day’s lesson and let us explore the extent of your ability?’
I saw Chade torn. The Fool offered a possibility of greater power for the coterie, which Chade craved; but he feared the Fool’s opposition to our basic mission to take the dragon’s head. I wondered if there was an element of jealousy in how his eyes darted from the Fool to me. The Fool and I had always been close, and Chade knew he wielded a friend’s sway over me. Yet now, more than ever, Chade desired to rule me.
His greed for the Skill won out. He added his voice to Dutiful’s. ‘Please, Lord Golden, take a seat with us. If nothing else, you may find our efforts amusing.’
‘Well, then, I shall,’ the Fool declared almost gladly. He pulled out a chair and sat down expectantly. I wondered if any of the others could see the darker tides running behind the placid affability he presented to them. Chade and I took the chairs on either side of him while Dutiful persuaded Thick to come and join us at the table. When he was settled, four of us simultaneously took a deep breath and reached for that state of openness where we could all reach the Skill. As we did so, I had an insight both affirming and alarming. The Fool was an intruder here. In our short time of striving to become a coterie, we had achieved a unity. I had not perceived it until the Fool interrupted it. As I joined my awareness to Dutiful’s and Thick’s, I could feel Chade fluttering like a frantic butterfly at the edge of our union. Thick reached a reassuring hand to draw him into firmer contact with the rest of us. He belonged with us, but the Fool did not.
He was not so much a presence as an absence. I had noticed years ago that he was invisible to my Wit-sense. Now, as I deliberately reached toward him with the Skill, it was like trying to lift sun dazzle off a still pond.
‘Lord Golden, do you avoid us?’ Chade asked very softly.
‘I am here,’ he replied. His words seemed to ripple softly in the room, as if I felt them as well as heard them.
‘Give me your hand,’ Chade suggested. He set his own, palm up, on the table, outstretched toward my friend. It seemed as much a challenge as an invitation.
I felt a minuscule tickle of fear. It quivered along the Skill-bond between the Fool and me, letting me know that link still existed. Then the Fool lifted his gloved hand and set it in Chade’s.
I could feel him then, but not in any way that is easy to describe. If our combined Skill was a quiet pool, then the Fool was a leaf floating upon it. ‘Reach for him,’ Chade suggested, and we all did. My awareness of the Fool’s uneasiness grew stronger via our bond, but I did not think the others could sense that. They could almost touch him, but he parted before them and joined after them, as if they dragged their fingers through water. It disturbed his presence without making it accessible to them. His fear intensified. I reached along our bond surreptitiously, trying to discover what frightened him.
Possession. He did not wish to be touched in a way that might let another possess him. Belatedly I recalled what Regal and his coterie had once done to him. They had found him, through the link I shared with him, and taken a bit of his consciousness and used it against me, to spy upon me and gain knowledge of Molly’s whereabouts. That betrayal still shamed and pained him. He still carried that burden of guilt for something that had happened so long ago. It stabbed deeper that soon he would know that I had betrayed him as well.
It wasn’t your fault. I offered him comfort through our link. He refused it. Then, as if from a distance and yet clear, his thoughts reached mine.
I knew it would happen. I’d foretold it myself, when I was a child. That the one closest to you would betray you. Yet I could not believe that it would be me. And so I fulfilled my own prophecy.
We all survived.
Barely.
‘Are you Skilling to one another?’ Chade asked testily. I both heard and felt his words.
I took a deeper breath and sank deeper into the Skill. ‘Yes,’ I breathed. ‘I can reach him. But only just. And only because we have been Skill-linked before.’
‘Would you have more than this?’ The Fool’s voice was less than a whisper. I discerned a challenge in his words, but could not understand it.
‘Yes, please. Try,’ I bade him.
Beside me at the table, I was aware of the Fool making some small movement but my vision was unfocused on the room and I had no warning of his intentions until his hand settled on my wrist. His fingertips unerringly found their own faded grey fingerprints, left on my flesh so many years ago. His touch was gentle, but the sensation was an arrow in my heart. I physically spasmed, a speared fish, and then froze. The Fool ran through my veins, hot as liquor, cold as ice. For a flashing instant, we shared physical awareness. The intensity of it went beyond any joining I’d ever experienced. It was more intimate than a kiss and deeper than a knife thrust, beyond a Skill-link and beyond sexual coupling, even beyond my Wit-bond with Nighteyes. It was not a sharing, it was a becoming. Neither pain nor pleasure could encompass it. Worse, I felt myself turning and opening to it, as if it were my lover’s mouth upon mine, yet I did not know if I would devour or be devoured. In another heartbeat, we would be one another, know one another more perfectly than two separate beings ever should.
He’d know my secret.
‘No!’ I cried before he could discover my plot against him. I wrenched myself free, mind and body. For a long time I fell, until I struck the cold stone floor. I rolled under the table to escape that touch, gasping. My time of blackness seemed to last for hours, yet it was only an instant before Chade dragged my curled body from under the table. He propped me against his chest as he knelt beside me. Dimly I was aware of him demanding, ‘What happened? Are you hurt? What did you do to him, Fool?’
I heard a sob escape Thick. He alone, perhaps, had sensed what had transpired. A prickling shiver ran over my body. I could not see anything. Then I realized my eyes were tightly clenched shut, my body huddled in a ball. Knowing those things, it still took me a time to persuade myself I could change them. Just as I opened my eyes, the Fool’s thought uncurled in my mind like leaf opening to sunlight.
And I set no limits on that love.
‘It’s too much,’ I said brokenly. ‘No one can give that much. No one.’
‘Here’s brandy,’ Dutiful said close by me. It was Chade who hauled me into a sitting position and put the cup to my lips. I gulped it as if it were water, then wheezed with the shock. When I managed to turn my head, the Fool was the only one still sitting in his chair at the table. His hands were gloved again, and the look he gave me was opaque. Thick crouched in a corner of the room, hugging himself and shivering. His Skill-music was his mother’s song, a desperate attempt to comfort himself.
‘What happened?’ Chade demanded in a fierce voice. I still leaned against his chest, and I could feel the anger emanating from him like heat. I knew he directed his accusatory glare at the Fool, but I answered anyway.
‘It was too intense. We formed a Skill-link that was so complete, I couldn’t find myself. As if we’d become one being.’ I called it the Skill yet I was not sure that was a proper name for it. As well call a spark the sun. I took a deeper breath. ‘It scared me. So I broke free of it. I wasn’t expecting anything like that.’ And those words were spoken as much to the Fool as to the others. I saw him hear them, but I think he took a different message from them than what I had intended.
‘And it affected you not at all?’ Chade demanded of him.
Dutiful helped me to my feet. I needed his aid. I sank down into a chair almost immediately. Yet it was not weariness I felt, but a loose energy. I could have scaled Buckkeep’s highest tower, if I could have recalled how to make my knees bend.
‘It affected me,’ the Fool said quietly. ‘But in a different way.’ He met my eyes and said, ‘It didn’t frighten me.’
‘Shall we try it again?’ Dutiful proposed innocently, and ‘No!’ Chade, the Fool and I all replied with varying degrees of emphasis.
‘No,’ the Fool repeated more quietly in the tiny silence that followed. ‘For myself, I’ve learned enough today.’
‘Perhaps we all have,’ Chade concurred gruffly. He cleared his throat and went on, ‘It’s time we dispersed to our own tasks anyway.’
‘We’ve still plenty of time,’ Dutiful protested.
‘Ordinarily, yes, that would be so,’ Chade agreed. ‘But the days run away from us now. You’ve much to do to prepare for our journey, Dutiful. Rehearse your speech thanking the Outislanders for their welcome again. Remember, the “ch” is sounded toward the back of the throat.’
‘I’ve read it a hundred times now,’ Dutiful groaned.
‘And when the time comes, the words must seem to come from your heart, not from a scroll.’
Dutiful nodded grudgingly to this. He gave one longing look at the bright and breezy day outside the window.
‘Off you both go, then,’ Chade told him, and it was suddenly clear he was dismissing both Thick and Dutiful.
Disappointment crossed the Prince’s face. He turned to Lord Golden. ‘When we are at sea, and have more time and fewer tasks, I’d like to hear of your time with my father. If you wouldn’t mind. I know that you cared for him when he … at the end of his days.’
‘I did,’ the Fool replied gently. ‘And I’d be glad to share my memories of those days with you.’
‘Thank you,’ Dutiful replied. He went to the corner, and gently chivvied Thick along, asking him what on earth had frightened him, for no one had been hurt. I was grateful that Thick had no intelligible answer to that.
They were nearly at the door when I recalled my earlier resolution. ‘Prince Dutiful, would you come to my workroom this evening? I’ve something for you.’
He raised an eyebrow, but when I said no more, he replied, ‘I’ll find time. I’ll see you then.’
Dutiful left with Thick trudging at his heels. But at the door, Thick turned and gave the Fool an oddly appraising look before he transferred his gaze to me. I wondered uneasily how much he had sensed of what had passed between the Fool and me. Then Thick was gone, shutting the door rather too firmly behind himself.
For a moment, I feared that Chade would demand to know more of what had happened. But before he could speak, the Fool said, ‘Prince Dutiful must not kill Icefyre. That is the most important thing that I must tell you, Chade. At all costs, the dragon’s life must be preserved.’
Chade had crossed to the bottles of spirits. He selected one, poured from it silently, and then turned back to us. ‘As the creature is frozen in a glacier, don’t you think it might be a bit late to worry about preserving his life?’ He sipped from his glass. ‘Or do you truly think that any beast could survive that long, bereft of warmth, water and food?’
The Fool lifted his shoulders and shook his head. ‘What do any of us know of dragons? How long had the stone dragons slept before Fitz woke them? If they share any of their natures with true dragons, then perhaps some spark of life still glows within Icefyre.’
‘What do you know of Icefyre?’ Chade demanded suspiciously. He came back to the table and sat down. I remained standing, watching the two of them.
‘I know no more of him than you do, Chade.’
‘Then why forbid us the taking of his head, when you know the Narcheska has demanded this as a condition of the marriage? Or do you think the world would be set into a better path if our two realms remained at each other’s throats for another century or two?’
I winced at his sarcasm. Never would I have mocked the Fool’s stated goal to change the world. It shocked me that Chade did, and made me realize the depth of his antagonism.
‘I’ve no love of strife, Chade Fallstar,’ the Fool replied softly. ‘Yet even a war amongst men is not the worst thing that can occur. Better war than that we do deeper, graver damage to our world itself. Especially when we have the briefest grasp at a chance to repair an almost irreparable wrong.’
‘Which is?’
‘If Icefyre lives … and I concede it would be surpassing strange if he did … but if there is some spark of life in him yet, we must abandon all other quests to free him from the ice and restore him to full life.’
‘Why?’
‘You haven’t told him?’ He swung an accusing gaze to me. I didn’t meet it and he didn’t wait for me to reply. ‘Tintaglia, the Bingtown dragon, is the sole adult female dragon in the world. With every passing year, it becomes more apparent that the young ones which emerged from their cases will remain stunted and weak, unable to hunt or fly. Dragons mate in flight. If the hatchlings never fly, they can never mate. Dragons will die out in the world. And this time, it will be forever. Unless there remains one fully-formed male dragon. One who could rise to mate Tintaglia and sire a new generation of dragons.’
I had told Chade all those things. Did he ask his question to test the Fool’s frankness?
‘You are telling me,’ Chade enunciated carefully, ‘that we must put peace between the Out Islands and the Six Duchies at risk for the sake of reviving dragons. And this will benefit us how?’
‘It won’t,’ the Fool admitted. ‘On the contrary. It will present many drawbacks for men. And many adjustments. Dragons are an arrogant and aggressive species. They ignore boundaries and have no concept of ownership. If a hungry dragon sees a cow in a pen, he’ll eat it. To them, it’s simple. The world provides and you take what you need from it.’
Chade smiled archly. ‘Then perhaps I should do the same, on behalf of humanity. The world has provided us a time free of dragons. I think I shall take it.’
I watched the Fool. He was not upset by Chade’s words. For the space of two breaths he held his peace. Then he said, ‘As you will, sir. But when the time comes, that decision may not be yours. It may be mine. Or Fitz’s.’ As Chade’s eyes blazed with anger, he added, ‘And not only the world but humanity itself does need dragons.’
‘And why is that?’ Chade demanded disdainfully.
‘To keep the balance,’ the Fool replied. He glanced over at me, and then past me, out of the window and his eyes went far and pensive. ‘Humanity fears no rivals. You have forgotten what it was to share the world with creatures as arrogantly superior as yourselves. You think to arrange the world to your liking. So you map the land and draw lines across it, claiming ownership simply because you can draw a picture of it. The plants that grow and the beasts that rove, you mark as your own, claiming not only what lives today, but what might grow tomorrow, to do with as you please. Then, in your conceit and aggression, you wage wars and slay one another over the lines you have imagined on the world’s face.’
‘And I suppose dragons are better than we are because they don’t do such things, because they simply take whatever they see. Free spirits, nature’s creatures, possessing all the moral loftiness that comes from not being able to think.’
The Fool shook his head, smiling. ‘No. Dragons are no better than humans. They are little different at all from men. They will hold up a mirror to humanity’s selfishness. They will remind you that all your talk of owning this and claiming that is no more than the snarling of a chained dog or a sparrow’s challenge song. The reality of those claims lasts but for the instant of its sounding. Name it as you will, claim it as you will, the world does not belong to men. Men belong to the world. You will not own the earth that eventually your body will become, nor will it recall the name it once answered to.’
Chade did not reply immediately. I thought he was stunned by the Fool’s words, his view of reality reordered by them. But then he snorted disdainfully. ‘Pish. What you say only makes it plainer to me that no good will be worked for anyone by resurrecting this dragon.’ He rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘Oh, why do we bother with this fatuous debate? None of us knows what we will find when we get there. It’s all philosophical ramblings and nursery tales at this point. When I confront it, then I will think about what is best to do. There. Does that satisfy you?’
‘I scarcely believe that my satisfaction matters to you.’ And as he spoke those odd words, the Fool sent a sidelong glance my way. But it was not a look to catch my eye, but rather one that pointed me out to Chade.
‘You’re right,’ Chade agreed smoothly. ‘It is not your satisfaction, but Fitz’s agreement that matters to me. Yet I know that if this decision falls to him alone, he would give your satisfaction much weight, even, perhaps, at the risk of Farseer fortunes.’ My old master gave me a speculative look, as if I were a spavined horse that might or might not last through another battle. The smile he gave me was almost desperate. ‘Yet I hope he will hear my concerns as well.’ His gaze met mine. ‘When we confront it, then we will decide. Until then, the choice remains open. Is that acceptable?’
‘Almost,’ the Fool replied. His voice was cool as he proposed, ‘Give us your promise, as a Farseer, that when the time comes, Fitz may do as his judgment bids him.’
‘My promise as a Farseer!’ Chade was incensed.
‘Exactly,’ the Fool replied calmly. ‘Unless your words are just an empty sop thrown to keep Fitz on the path to doing your will.’ He leaned back in his chair, his wrists and hands lax on the arms of it, perfectly at ease. For a moment, I recognized that slender man in black with his shining hair bound back. This was the boy the Fool had been, grown to a man. Then he turned his head to regard Chade more directly, and the familiarity was gone. His face was a sculpted silhouette of determination. I had never seen anyone challenge Chade so confidently.
I was shocked at the words Chade spoke then. His smile was very strange as his eyes went from me to the Fool and back again. It was my gaze he met as he said, ‘I give my word as a Farseer. I will not ask him to do anything against his will. There. Are you content, man?’
The Fool nodded slowly. ‘Oh, yes. I am content. For the decision will come to him, and that I see as clearly as anything that remains to me to see.’ He nodded to himself. ‘There are still things we must discuss, you and I, but once we are on board ship and under way, there will be time for that. But, the day rushes on without us, and I still have much to do to prepare for my departure. Good day, Lord Fallstar.’
A very slight smile hung about his mouth. His glance went from me to Chade. And then he made a most curious gesture. Sweeping his arms wide, he made a graceful bow to Chade, as if they had afforded one another some great courtesy. When he straightened he spoke to me. His tone was warmer. ‘It was good to have a few moments with you today, Fitz. I’ve missed you.’ Then he gave a sudden small sigh, as if he had recalled an unpleasant duty. I suspected that his predicted death had just pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. His smile faded. ‘Gentlemen, you will excuse me,’ he murmured. And he departed, exiting through the cramped panel concealed in the side of the hearth as gracefully as a lord departing a banquet.
I sat staring after him. Our recent Skill-encounter rattled in my mind with his strange words and stranger gestures. He had clashed with Chade over something, and triumphed. Yet I was not quite sure what, if anything, had just been settled between them.
My old mentor spoke as if he could hear my thoughts. ‘He challenges me for your loyalty! How dare he? Me, who practically raised you! How can he think there would be any chance of us disagreeing, when we both know how much rests upon the successful completion of this quest? My word as a Farseer indeed! And what does he think you are, when all is said and done?’
He turned and put the question to me as if he expected an unthinking assent from me. ‘Perhaps,’ I said quietly, ‘he believes that he is the White Prophet and I am his Catalyst.’ Then I took a stronger breath and spoke a question of my own. ‘How can the two of you quarrel over my loyalty, as if I had no thought of my own to give to any decision I might make?’ I gave a snort of disgust. ‘I would not think a horse or a dog as mindless a game piece as you both seem to think I am.’
He was staring past me out of the window when he spoke, and I do not think he truly considered the import of his words. ‘Not a horse or a dog, Fitz, no. I’d never think of you that way. No. You’re a sword. So you were made to be, by me, a weapon to be wielded. And he thinks you fit his hand the best.’ The old man snorted in contempt. ‘The man is, still, a fool.’ He looked at me and nodded. ‘You were wise to tell me of his plans. It is good we shall be leaving him behind.’
There seemed nothing to say to that. I left the Seawatch Tower, going as I had come through the dark maze hidden within the walls of Buckkeep. I had seen both my friend and my mentor more clearly today than I liked. I wondered if the Fool’s touch on my wrist had been a demonstration for both Chade and me of the influence he had over me. And yet, and yet, it had not felt that way. Had he not asked me first if I wished for it? Still, it had felt as if it were a thing he wished to display to me. Yet had it been only circumstances that had made him reveal it to Chade as well? Or had his intent been that I see clearly how Chade regarded me, how he assumed he could always depend on me to do his will? I shook my head. Could the Fool imagine I did not already know that? I clenched my teeth. There would come a moment when the Fool realized Chade and I had conspired against him, a moment when he knew how I had held my tongue today.
I went back to my workroom, and I did not like any of the thoughts I took there with me.
As I pushed open the door, I instantly knew that the Fool had been there before me. He’d left his gift on the table beside my chair. I walked over to it and ran a finger down Nighteyes’ spine. My wolf was in his prime in the carving. A dead rabbit sprawled between his forepaws. His head was lifted, his dark eyes regarding me intelligently, patiently.
I picked it up. I had seen the Fool begin the carving when he sat at the table in my cabin. I had never guessed what it might be, had almost forgotten that he had promised to show it to me when it was finished. I touched the points of Nighteyes’ pricked ears. Then I sat down in the chair and stared into the fire, my wolf cradled in my hands.

FOUR (#ulink_ac1f920e-3adf-56d0-957a-0dff388ddda3)
An Exchange of Weapons (#ulink_ac1f920e-3adf-56d0-957a-0dff388ddda3)
Weaponsmaster Hod ascended to that title after long service as journey-man to Weaponsmaster Crend. Her years in that position were well spent, for she became familiar not only with the use of each weapon, but the manufacture of good blades. Indeed, there are still some who say that her primary talent was in the creation of fine weapons, and that Buckkeep would have been better served to give another the title of Weaponsmaster and keep her at her forge. King Shrewd, however, did not see it that way. Upon Crend’s death, she was immediately moved into his position, and oversaw the training of all Buckkeep’s men-at-arms. She served the Farseer reign well, ultimately giving her life in battle for then King-in-Waiting Verity.
Fedwren’s Chronicles
The Fool’s carefully planned disposal of his possessions sparked in me a sudden desire to sort out my own belongings. That night, instead of packing, I sat on the corner of Chade’s old bed, surrounded by all I owned. If I had been inclined to the Fool’s fatalistic melancholy, perhaps it would have saddened me. Instead, I found myself grinning at the paucity of it. Even Gilly the ferret nosing through my trove seemed unimpressed.
The stack of clothing from the Fool’s chamber, and the marvellous sword with the over-decorated hilt comprised most of it. My clothing from my days in the cottage had largely been consigned to the rag heap near the worktable. I possessed two new uniforms as a Prince’s Guard. One was already carefully packed in a sea chest at the foot of my bed with my other changes of clothing. Concealed beneath them were a number of small packages of poisons, sedatives and restoratives which Chade and I had prepared. On the bed beside me, various small tools, lock picks and other handy oddments were in a small roll that could be concealed inside my shirt. I added it to the sea chest. I sorted through the rest of my strange collection as I waited for Dutiful.
The carving of Nighteyes was on the mantel over the hearth. I would not risk it on the journey with me. There was a charm necklace that Jinna the hedge-witch had made for me, when we were on friendlier terms. I’d never wear it again, and yet I was oddly reluctant to dispose of it. I set it with the clothing Lord Golden had inflicted on me. The little fox pin that Kettricken had given me rode where it always did, inside my shirt above my heart. I had no intention of parting from that. To one side I had placed a few items for Hap. Most were small things I’d made or acquired when he was a child: a spinning top, a jumping jack and the like. I packed them carefully into a box with an acorn carved on the lid. I’d give them to him when I bid him farewell.
In the centre of my bed was the bundle of carved feathers I’d taken from the Others’ beach. Once, I had tried to give them to the Fool, to try in his carved wooden crown. I was certain they would fit. But he had given them a single glance and rejected them. I unrolled the soft leather I’d wrapped them in, considered each of them briefly, and then wrapped them again. For a time I debated what to do with them. Then I tucked them into the corner of the sea chest. Into it also went my needles and various weights of thread for them. Extra shoes and smallclothes. A razor. Mug, bowl and spoon for the ship.
And that was it. There was nothing else to pack, and precious little else in the world that belonged to me. There was my horse, Myblack, but she had little interest in me beyond doing what she must. She preferred her own kind, and would not miss me at all. A stable-boy would exercise her regularly, and as long as Hands was in charge of Buckkeep’s stables I had no fear that she would be neglected or ill-used.
Gilly emerged from the heap of clothing and came romping across the bed to challenge me. ‘Small chance you’ll miss me either,’ I told him as he menaced my hand playfully. There were plenty of mice and rats in the walls of Buckkeep to keep him well fed. He’d probably enjoy having the whole bed to himself. He already believed that the pillow belonged to him. My gaze wandered over the room. Chade had taken possession of all the scrolls I’d brought back from my cabin. He’d sorted them, adding the harmless ones to the Buckkeep library and securing in his cabinets any that told too many truths too plainly. I felt no sense of loss.
I carried the armload of clothing over to one of Chade’s old wardrobes, intending to stuff it all inside. Then my conscience smote me, and I carefully shook out and folded each garment before putting it away. In the process, I realized that, taken individually, many of the garments were not as ostentatious as I had imagined them. I added the warmly-lined cloak to my sea chest. When all of the clothing was stored or packed, I set the jewelled sword on top of the chest. It would go with me. Despite its showy hilt, it was well made and finely balanced. Like the man who had given it to me, its glittering appearance obscured its true purpose.
There was a courteous tap and the wine rack swung out of the way. As Dutiful stepped wearily into the room, Gilly leapt from the bed and sprang to confront him, menacing him with white teeth as he made abortive springs at his feet.
‘Yes, I’m glad to see you, too,’ Dutiful greeted him and swept the little animal up in one hand. He scratched the ferret’s throat gently and then set him down. Gilly immediately attacked his feet. Being careful not to tread upon him, Dutiful came into the room, saying, ‘You had something extra for me to pack?’ With a heavy sigh, he dropped down on the bed beside me. ‘I’m so tired of packing,’ he confided. ‘I hope it’s something small.’
‘It’s on the table.’ I told him. ‘And it’s not small.’
As he walked toward the worktable, I knew a moment of intense regret and would have undone the gift if I could. How could it possibly mean to this boy what it had to me? He looked at it, and then looked up at me, shock on his face. ‘I don’t understand. You’re giving me a sword?’
I stood up. ‘It’s your father’s sword. Verity gave it to me, when last we parted. It’s yours, now,’ I said quietly.
The look that overtook Dutiful’s face in that moment erased any regret I might have felt. He put out a hand toward it, drew it back, and then looked at me. Incredulous wonder shone in his face. I smiled.
‘I said it was yours. Pick it up and get the feel of it. I’ve just cleaned and sharpened it, so be careful.’
He reached his hand down and set it on the hilt. I waited, watching, for him to lift it and discover its exquisite balance. But he drew his hand back.
‘No.’ The word shocked me. Then, ‘Wait here. Please. Just wait.’ And then he turned and fled the room. I heard the scuff of his running footsteps fade in the hidden corridor.
His reaction puzzled me. He had seemed so delighted at first. I walked over and looked again at the blade. Freshly oiled and wiped, it gleamed. It was both beautiful and elegant, yet there was nothing in its design that would interfere with its intended function. It was a tool for killing other men. It had been made for Verity by Hod, the same Weaponsmaster who had taught me to wield both blade and pike. When Verity had gone on his quest, she had gone with him, and died for him. It was a sword worthy of a king. Why had Dutiful rejected it?
I was sitting before the hearth, a cup of hot tea between my two hands, when he returned. He carried a long, wrapped bundle with him. He was talking and untying the leather thongs that bound it as he came through the door. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of this a long time ago, when my mother first told me who you were. I guess because it was given to me so long ago, and then my mother put it away for me. Here!’
The wrappings fell away from it and he flourished it aloft. Grinning widely, he suddenly reversed his grip on it, and proffered it to me, the hilt resting on his left forearm. He grinned at me, his eyes blazing with delight and anticipation. ‘Take it, FitzChivalry Farseer. Your father’s sword.’
A shiver ran over me, standing up every hair on my body. I set the teacup aside and came slowly to my feet. ‘Chivalry’s sword?’
‘Yes.’ I had not thought his grin could grow wider, but it did.
I stared at it. Yes. Even without his words, I would have known it. This blade was the elder brother to the one Verity had carried. It resembled the other sword, but this one was slightly more ornate and longer, designed for a man taller than Verity. There was a stylized buck on the cross guard. It was, I suddenly knew, a sword made for a prince who would be king. I knew I could never bear it. I longed for it all the same. ‘Where did you get it?’ I asked breathlessly.
‘Patience had it, of course. She’d left it at Withywoods when she came to Buckkeep. Then, when she was “sorting the clutter” as she put it, after the end of the Red Ship War, when she was moving her household to Tradeford, she came across it. In a closet. “Just as well I never took it to Buckkeep”, she told me when she gave it to me. “Regal would have taken it and sold it. Or kept it for himself.”’
It was so like Patience that I had to smile. A king’s sword, amongst her ‘clutter’.
‘Take it!’ Dutiful commanded me eagerly, and I had to. I had to feel, at least once, how my hand would fit where my father’s had rested. As I took it from him, it felt near weightless. It perched in my hand like a bird. The moment I relieved Dutiful of it, he stepped to the table and took up Verity’s sword. I heard his exclamation of satisfaction, and grinned as he gripped it two-handed and swept it through the air. These blades were proper swords, as fit to shear through flesh as skewer some vulnerable point. For a time, we were both like boys as we moved the blades in a variety of ways, from the small shifts of the hand and wrist that would block and divert an opponent’s thrust to a reckless overhand slash by Dutiful that stopped just short of the scrolls on the tabletop.
Chivalry’s blade fit me. There was satisfaction in that, even as I realized how woefully unworthy my skills were to a weapon such as this. I was little more than competent with a sword. I wondered how the abdicated king would have felt to know that his only son was defter with an axe than with a sword, and more inclined to use poison than either of those. It was a disheartening line of thought, but before I could give in to that blight, Dutiful was at my side, comparing his blade to mine.
‘Chivalry’s is longer!’
‘He was taller than Verity. Yet this blade, I think, is lighter. Verity had the brawn to put behind a heavy stroke, and so I think Hod made his weapon. It will be interesting to see which weapon fits you best when you are grown.’
He took my meaning instantly. ‘Fitz. I gave you that sword to keep. I mean it.’
I nodded. ‘And I thank you for that thought. But I shall have to be satisfied with the intention in place of the reality. This is a king’s sword, Dutiful. It’s not for a guardsman, let alone an assassin, or a bastard. See, look here, on the hilt. The Farseer buck, large and plain. It’s on Verity’s too, but smaller. Even so, I wrapped the hilt in leather to disguise it in the years after the Red Ship Wars. Anyone who had seen it would have known it couldn’t properly belong to me. This would be even more obvious.’ Regretfully and respectfully, I set it down on the worktable.
Dutiful deposited Verity’s blade carefully beside it. A stubborn look came over his face. ‘How can I take my father’s sword from you, if you won’t take Chivalry’s from me? My father gave you that blade. He meant you to have it.’
‘I’m sure he did, at that moment. And for many years, it has served me well. To see it in your hands will serve me even better. I know that Verity would agree with me. For now, Chivalry’s blade we should both set aside. When you are crowned, your nobles will expect to see the King’s sword on your hip.’
Dutiful scowled in thought. ‘Didn’t King Shrewd have a sword? What became of it?’
‘Doubtless he did. As to what became of it, I’ve no idea. Perhaps Patience had the right of it; perhaps Regal sold it or carried it off for other scavengers to steal after he died. In any case, it’s gone. When the time comes for you to ascend the throne, I think you should carry the King’s sword. And when you sail for Aslevjal, I think you should wear your father’s sword.’
‘I shall. But won’t folk wonder where I got it?’
‘I doubt it. We’ll have Chade put out some tale that he has been holding it for you. Folk love stories of that sort. They’ll be happy to accept it.’
He nodded thoughtfully, then said slowly, ‘It takes some of the pleasure from it, that you cannot carry Chivalry’s sword as openly as I shall carry this one.’
‘For me also,’ I replied with painful honesty. ‘Would that I could, Dutiful. But that is simply how it is. I’ve a sword given to me by Lord Golden, also of a quality that exceeds my skill. I’ll carry that. If I ever lift a blade to defend you, it had better be an axe.’
He looked down, pondering. Then he set his hand to the hilt of Chivalry’s sword. ‘Until the day when you give this sword back to me, on the day I am crowned, I wish it to remain here with you.’ He took a breath. ‘And when I take your father’s sword from you, I will return my father’s sword to you.’
That was a gesture I could not refuse.
Soon he left as he had come, taking Verity’s sword with him. I made myself a fresh cup of tea and sat considering my father’s blade. I tried to think what it meant to me, but encountered only a curious absence inside myself. Even my recent discovery that he had not ignored me, but had Skill-watched me through his brother’s eyes did not make up for his physical absence in my life. Perhaps he had loved me, from afar, but Burrich had been the one to discipline me and Chade the one to teach me. I looked at the blade and groped for a sense of connection, for any emotion at all, but could not find one. By the time I had finished my tea, I still had no answer, nor was I completely certain what my question was. But I had resolved that I would find time to see Hap again before I departed.
I went to bed, successfully claiming the pillow from Gilly. Nonetheless, I slept badly, and even that poor rest was interrupted. Nettle edged into my dreams like a child reluctantly seeking comfort. It was a peculiar contrast. In my dream, I was crossing a steep scree slope from my sojourn in the Mountains. I had crossed this avalanche-prone incline carrying the Fool’s lax body. I was not so burdened in my dream, but the mountainside seemed steeper and the fall eternal. Loose pebbles shifted treacherously under my feet. At any moment I might go sliding off the face of the mountain like the small stones rattling past me. My muscles ached with tension and sweat streamed down my back. Then I caught a flash of motion at the corner of my eye. I turned my head slowly, for I dared risk no swift movement. I discovered Nettle sitting calmly uphill from me, watching my agonized progress.
She sat amongst grass and wildflowers. Her gown was green and her hair decked with tiny daisies. Even to my father’s eyes, she looked more woman than child, but she sat like a little girl, her knees drawn up under the chin and her arms clasped around her legs. Her feet were bare and her eyes troubled.
Such was our dichotomy. I still struggled to retain my footing on the unstable slope. In her dream, adjoining mine, she sat in a mountain meadow. Her presence forced me to admit that I dreamed, and yet I could not surrender the exertion of my nightmare. I did not know if I feared I would be swept to my death or thrust into wakefulness. So, ‘What is it?’ I called to her as I continued my inching progress across the mountain’s face. It mattered not how many steps I took: solid ground remained ever distant, while Nettle kept her place above me.
‘My secret,’ she said quietly. ‘It gnaws at me. So I have come to ask your advice.’
She paused but I did not reply. I did not want to know her secret, or to offer advice. I could not commit myself to helping her. Despite the dream, I knew I was leaving Buckkeep soon. Even if I stayed, I could not venture into her life without the risk of destroying it. Better to remain a vague dream-thing on the edge of her reality. Despite my silence, she spoke to me.
‘If someone gives her word to keep silent about a thing, not realizing how much pain it will bring, not just to herself but to others, is she bound to keep her word?’
That was too grave a question to leave unanswered. ‘You know the answer to that,’ I panted. ‘A woman’s word is her word. She keeps it, or it is worth nothing.’
‘But I did not know the trouble it would cause when I gave it. Nim goes about like half a creature. I did not know that Mama would blame Papa, nor that Papa would take to drink over it, blaming himself more deeply than she does.’
I halted. It was dangerous to do so, but I turned to face her. Her words had plummeted me into a deeper danger than the chasm that yawned below me. I spoke carefully. ‘And you think you’ve found a way around the word you gave. To tell me what you promised not to tell them.’
She lowered her forehead to her knees. Her voice was muffled when she spoke. ‘You said you knew Papa, long ago. I do not know who you truly are; but perhaps you know him still. You could speak to him. The last time Swift ran away, you told me when he and Papa were safely on their way home to us. Oh, please, Shadow Wolf! I don’t know what your connection to my family is, but I know it exists. In trying to aid Swift, I have nearly torn us apart. I have no one else to turn to. And I never promised Swift that I would not tell you.’
I looked down at my feet. She had changed me into her image of me. Her dream was devouring mine. Now I was a man-wolf. My black claws dug into the loose gravel. Moving on all fours, with my weight lower, I clawed my way up the slope toward her. When I was close enough to see the dried salt track of tears on her cheeks, I growled, ‘Tell me what?’
It was all the permission she needed. ‘They think Swift ran away to sea, for so we made it seem, he and I. Oh, do not look at me like that! You don’t know what it was like around here! Papa was a perpetual storm cloud and Swift near as bad. Poor Nim slunk around like a whipped dog, ashamed to win praise from Papa because his twin could not share it. And Mama, Mama was like a mad woman, every night demanding to know what ailed them, and both of them refusing to answer. There was no peace in our house any more, no peace at all. So when Swift came to me and asked me to help him slip away, it seemed the wise thing to do.’
‘And what sort of aid did you give him?’
‘I gave him money, money that was mine, to use as I pleased, money I had earned myself helping with the Gossoin’s lambing last spring. Mama often sent him to town, to make deliveries of honey or candles. I thought up the plan for him, that he would start asking neighbours and folk in town about boats and fishing and the sea. And then, at the last, I wrote a letter and signed Papa’s name as I have become accustomed to doing for him. His eyes … Papa can still write, but his hand wanders for he cannot see the letters he is forming. So, of late, I have written things for him, the papers when he sells a horse and such. Everyone says that my hand is just like his; probably because he taught me to make my letters. So …’
‘So you wrote a letter for Swift saying that his father had released him and that he could go forth and do as he pleased with his life.’ I spoke slowly. Every word she spoke burdened me more. Burrich and Molly quarrelled, and he took to drink again. His sight was failing him, and he believed he had driven his son away. Hearing these things rent me, for I knew I could not mend any of them.
‘It can be difficult for a boy to find any sort of work if folk think he is a runaway apprentice or a lad whose work still belongs to his father.’ She spoke the words hesitantly, trying to excuse her forgery. I dared not look at her. ‘Mama packed up six racks of candles and sent Swift into town to deliver them and to bring back the money. When he said goodbye to me, I knew he meant to take that opportunity. He never came back.’ Around her, flowers bloomed and a tiny bee buzzed from one to the next, seeking nectar.
I slowly worked through her words. ‘He stole the candle money to travel on?’ My estimate of Swift dropped.
‘It wasn’t … it wasn’t exactly stealing. He’d always helped with the hives. And he needed it!’
I shook my head slowly. It disappointed me that she found excuses for him. But then, I’d never had a little brother. Perhaps it was a thing all sisters did.
‘Won’t you help me?’ she asked piteously when my silence grew long.
‘I can’t,’ I said helplessly. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘How could I?’ I was completely in her dream now. The meadow grass was firm beneath my feet. A spring day in the hills surrounded me. The bee buzzed past my ear, and I flicked it away. I knew my nightmare still lurked behind me. If I stepped back two paces, I’d be on that treacherous slope again.
‘Talk to Papa for me. Tell him it wasn’t his fault Swift went away.’
‘I can’t talk to your Papa. I’m far, far away. Only in dreams can we reach across distances like this.’
‘Can’t you visit his dreams, as you do mine? Can’t you talk to him there?’
‘No. I can’t.’ Long ago, my father had sealed Burrich off from all other Skill-users. Burrich himself had told me that. Chivalry had been able to draw strength from him for Skilling, and the bond between them meant that Chivalry would be vulnerable through Burrich to other Skill-users. Dimly I wondered; did that mean that at one time Burrich had had some level of Skill-ability? Or did it only mean that the two men were so close that Chivalry could take strength from him for Skilling?
‘Why not? You come to my dreams. And you were friends long ago; you said so. Please. He can’t go on as he is. It’s killing him. And my mother,’ she added softly. ‘I think you owe him this.’
A bee from Nettle’s flowers buzzed past my face and I swiped at it. I decided I needed to end this contact swiftly. She was drawing too many conclusions about her father and me. ‘I cannot come to your father’s dreams, Nettle. But there may be something I can do. I may be able to speak to someone, someone who can find Swift and send him home again.’ Even as I said the words, my heart sank. As annoying as Swift was, I knew what it would mean to the boy to be sent back to Burrich; I hardened my will. It truly wasn’t my problem. Swift was Burrich’s son, and they must sort it out themselves.
‘Then you know where Swift is? You’ve seen him? Is he well, is he safe? A thousand times I’ve thought of him, so young and alone and out in the world. I never should have let him talk me into this! Tell me about him.’
‘He’s fine,’ I said shortly. The bee buzzed past my ear again. I felt it settle on the back of my neck. I tried to paw it off me, but an instant later, I was bowed under the weight of a sizeable animal on my back. I yelped and struggled, but before I could draw breath, I was dangling from the dragon’s jaws. She gave me a shake, not to kill but to caution. I stopped struggling and hung there. Her teeth gripped the scruff of my neck, not piercing either hide or flesh but paralysing me.
As Nettle surged indignantly to her feet, reaching for me, the dragon lifted me higher. I dangled above Nettle and then was swung out over the chasm from my earlier nightmare.
‘Ah-ah!’ the dragon cautioned us both. ‘Resist and I drop him. Wolves do not fly.’ Her words did not come from her mouth and throat, but penetrated my thoughts, a mind-to-mind touch.
Nettle froze. ‘What do you want?’ she growled. Her dark eyes had gone flinty.
‘He knows,’ Tintaglia replied, giving me a small shake. I felt it unhinged every bone in my spine. ‘I want to know all that you know of a black dragon buried in ice. I want to know all you know of an island humans name Aslevjal.’
‘I know nothing of such things!’ Nettle replied angrily. Her hands had knotted into fists. ‘Let him go.’
‘Very well.’ The dragon released me, and for a heart-stopping instant, I plummeted. Then her head shot out on her snake-like neck and she caught me up again. This time her jaws encompassed my ribs. She squeezed me, demonstrating how easily she could crush me. Then she eased the pressure and asked me, ‘And what do you know, little wolf thing?’
‘Nothing!’ I gasped, and then choked out every bit of air in my lungs as she crushed me. It would be quick, I told myself. I would not have to maintain my lie long. She wasn’t a patient creature; she’d kill me swiftly. I glanced back to take a last look at my daughter.
Nettle stood, suddenly larger than she had been. Then she flung her arms wide. Her hair tossed in a wind that only she felt, and then haloed out around her face. She threw her head back. ‘This is a DREAM!’ she shouted. ‘And it is my dream! I cast you out of it!’ The last she spoke as single words, uttered with all the command of a queen. For the first time, I comprehended the strength of my daughter’s Skill. Her ability to shape dreams and command that which happened in them was a manifestation of her Skill-talent.
Tintaglia flung me spinning out over an infinite void. Beneath me I saw not the rocky chasm of my dream, but a vast emptiness without colour or end. I had one whirling glimpse of the dragon writhing as Nettle dwindled her back to the size of a bee. Then I clenched my eyes shut against the dizzying fall. Even as I drew painful breath to scream, Nettle spoke softly by my ear. ‘It’s only a dream, Shadow Wolf. And it belongs to me. In my dreams, you will never come to harm. Open your eyes, now. Awake to your own world.’
An instant before I awoke, I felt the comforting resistance of bedding beneath me and when I opened my eyes to the darkness of my workroom, I was not in panic. Nettle had taken the terror from the nightmare. For a moment, I felt relief. I drew a deep breath, and as I surrendered to sleep once more, I felt a drowsy amazement at my daughter’s odd Skill-strength. But as I tugged my blanket back over my shoulder and reclaimed half the pillow from the ferret, the earlier portion of my dream dragged me back to wakefulness. Swift had lied. Burrich hadn’t discarded him. Worse, his leaving had thrown the family into turmoil.
I lay still, eyes closed, wishing vainly to sleep. Instead, I mapped out what I must do. The boy must be sent home, but I didn’t want to be the one to do it. He’d demand to know how I knew he had lied. So. I’d tell Chade that Burrich had not released Swift from his household. That would involve admitting to Chade that I’d had more Skill-contact with Nettle. Well, it couldn’t be helped, I told myself grumpily. All my secrets seemed intent on leaking out and becoming known.
So I made my resolution and tried to persuade myself that was the best I could do. I tried not to imagine Burrich going back to drinking every night, or Molly driven to distraction not only by her husband’s dive into the bottle but by her son’s vanishing. I tried not to wonder how much Burrich’s vision had faded. Enough that he had either not tried to track his son, or had failed in the effort.
I was up at dawn. I got bread and milk and bacon in the guardroom, and carried it out to the Women’s Garden to eat it. I sat listening to the birdcalls and smelling the new day’s warmth touching the earth. Such things have always been a deep comfort to me. This morning, they affirmed that the goodness of the earth always goes on and made me wish that I could stay to watch the summer grow strong and the fruit swell on the trees.
I felt her before I saw her. Starling wore a morning robe of pale blue. Her hair was loose upon her shoulders, and her graceful narrow feet were in simple sandals. She carried a steaming mug between both her hands. I watched her and wished that things could have been simpler between us. When she noticed me sitting silently on the bench beneath the tree, she gaped in feigned astonishment, then changed her expression to a smile as she came to join me. She sat down, kicked her feet free of her sandals and curled her legs on the bench between us.
‘Well, good morning,’ she greeted me. There was mild surprise in her eyes. ‘I nearly didn’t recognize you, Fitz. You look as if you’ve lost ten years.’
‘Tom,’ I reminded her gently, well knowing that she had dropped my old name to rattle me. ‘And I feel as if you are right. Perhaps the daily routine of a guardsman was what I needed all along.’
She made a sceptical noise in her throat, and took a sip from her mug. When she looked up, she added sourly, ‘I notice you don’t think the same is true for me?’
‘What, that you’d do better as a guardsman?’ I asked her innocently. Then, as she pretended a kick at me, I added, ‘Starling, you always look like Starling to me. Neither older nor younger than I expect you to be, but always Starling.’
She furrowed her brow for a moment, then shrugged and laughed. ‘I never know if you mean the things you say as compliments or not.’ Then she leaned closer to me, sniffing the air near me. ‘Musk? Are you wearing musk these days, Tom Badgerlock? If you are interested in attracting female companionship …?’
‘No, I wear no musk. I’ve just been sleeping with a ferret.’
I had replied with honesty, and her whoop of laughter startled me. A moment later, I was grinning with her as she shook her head at me. She shifted on the bench so that her sun-warmed thigh pressed against mine. ‘That is so like you, Fitz. So like you.’ She gave a sigh of contentment, and then asked lazily, ‘Then, can I surmise that you have ended your mourning and bonded again?’
Her words dimmed the summer morning for me. I cleared my throat and spoke carefully. ‘No. I doubt that I ever will. Nighteyes and I fit together like a knife and a sheath.’ I looked out over the chamomile bed and said quietly, ‘After him, there can be no other. It would be a disservice to whatever creature I joined, for he would be only a substitute, and never genuinely my partner.’
She read more into my words than I intended. She put her arm along the back of the bench. Pillowing her head on it, she looked up at the sky through the tree branches that shaded us. I finished the milk I had brought with me and set the cup aside. I was about to excuse myself for my morning lesson with Swift when she asked, ‘Have you ever thought of taking Molly back, then?’
‘What?’
She lifted her head. ‘You loved the girl. At least, so you’ve always maintained. And she had your child, at great cost to herself. You know that she could have shaken it from her body if she had chosen. That she didn’t means that she felt something deep for you. You should go to her. Take her back.’
‘Molly and I were a long time ago. She is married to Burrich. They built a life together. They have six children of their own,’ I pointed out stiffly.
‘So?’ She brought her gaze to meet mine. ‘I saw him when he came to Buckkeep to fetch Swift home. He was close-mouthed and grim when I greeted him. And he was old. He walks with a hitch and his eyes are clouding.’ She shook her head over him. ‘If you decided to take Molly back from him, he could offer you no competition.’
‘I would never do that!’
She sipped from her mug, looking at me steadily over the rim. ‘I know that,’ she said when she took the cup from her lips. ‘Even though he took her from you.’
‘They both think I’m dead!’ I pointed out to her, my voice harsher than I’d intended.
‘Are you sure you’re not?’ she asked flippantly. Then, at the look on my face, her eyes softened. ‘Oh, Fitz. You never do anything for yourself, do you? Never take what you want.’ She leaned closer to me. ‘Do you think Molly would have thanked you for your decision? Do you truly think you had the right to decide for her?’ She leaned back a little, watching my face. ‘You gave her and the child away as if you were finding a good home for a puppy. Why?’
I’d answered that question so many times I didn’t even need to think. ‘He was the better man for her. That was true then; it’s true now.’
‘Is it? I wonder if Molly would agree.’
‘And how is your husband today?’ I asked her roughly.
Her glance went opaque. ‘Who knows? He’s gone trout fishing in the hills with Lord and Lady Redoaks. As you know, I’ve never enjoyed that kind of outing.’ Then, glancing aside, she added, ‘But their lovely daughter Ivy apparently does. I’ve heard that she leapt at the chance to make the trip.’
She did not need to explain it to me. I took her hand. ‘Starling. I’m sorry.’
She took a breath. ‘Are you? It matters little to me. I’ve his name and his holdings to enjoy. And he leaves me the freedom of my minstrel ways, to come and go as I please.’ She cocked her head at me. ‘I’ve been thinking of joining Dutiful’s entourage for the journey to the Out Islands. What do you think of that?’
My heart lurched at the thought. Oh, no. ‘I think that it would be far worse than going trout fishing. I expect to be uncomfortable and cold for much of it. And Out Island food is terrible. If they give you lard, honey and bone marrow mixed together, you’ve had the height of their cuisine.’
She stood gracefully. ‘Fish paste,’ she said. ‘You’ve forgotten their fish paste. Fish paste on everything.’ She stood looking down on me. Then she reached a hand and pushed several strands of hair back from my face. Her fingertips walked the scar down my face. ‘Some day,’ she said quietly. ‘Some day you’ll realize that we were the perfect match, you and I. That in all of your days and places, I was the only one who truly understood you and loved you despite it.’
I gaped at her. In all our years together, she’d never said the word ‘love’ to me.
She slid her fingers under my chin and closed my mouth for me. ‘We should have breakfast together more often,’ she suggested. Then she strolled away, sipping from her cup as she went, knowing that I watched her go.
‘Well. At least you can make me forget all of my other problems for a time,’ I observed quietly to myself. Then I took my mug back to the kitchen and headed for the Queen’s Gardens. Perhaps it was my conversation with Starling for when I walked out on the tower top and found the boy feeding the doves, I was direct.
‘You lied,’ I said before he could even give me ‘good morning’. ‘Your father never sent you away. You ran off. And you stole money to do it.’
He gaped at me. His face went white. ‘Who … how did …?’
‘How do I know? If I answer that question for you, I’ll answer it for Chade and the Queen as well. Do you want them to know what I know?’
I prayed I had his measure. When he gulped and shook his head suddenly and silently, I knew I had. Given the chance to run home, with no one here the wiser as to how he had shamed himself, he’d take it.
‘Your family is worried sick about you. You’ve no right to leave people who love you in suspense about your fate. Pack up and go, boy, just as you came. Here.’ Impulsively I took my purse from my belt. ‘There’s enough here to see you safely home, and pay back what you took. See that you do.’
He couldn’t meet my eyes. ‘Yessir.’
When he didn’t reach for the purse, I took his hand in mine, turned it palm up and put the sack into it. When I let go of his hand, he still stood staring up at me. I pointed at the door to the stairwell. He turned, stunned, and stumbled toward the door. With his hand on it, he halted. ‘You don’t understand what it’s like for me there,’ he whispered feebly.
‘Yes. I do. Far better than you might imagine. Go home, bow your head to your father’s discipline and serve your family until you reach your majority, as an honest boy should. Didn’t your parents raise you? Didn’t they give you life, put food on your plate, clothes on your back, shoes on your feet? Then it is only right that your labour belongs to them, until you are legally a man. Then you can openly go your own way. You will have years after that to discover your magic, years of your own, rightfully earned, to live as you please. Your Wit can wait until then.’
He halted by the door and leaned his head against it for a moment. ‘No. My magic won’t wait.’
‘It will have to!’ I told him harshly. ‘Now go home, Swift. Leave today.’
He ducked his head, pushed the door open and left, shutting it behind him. I listened to his fading footsteps on the stair and felt his presence fade from my Wit-sense. Then I let out my breath in a long sigh. I had sent him to do a hard thing. I hoped Burrich’s son had the spine to do it. I hoped, without real belief, that the boy’s return would be enough to mend the family. I wandered over to the parapet wall and stood staring down at the rocks below.

FIVE (#ulink_0466a6ff-a2a5-5d82-b12c-efd8ceb3b38b)
Departures (#ulink_0466a6ff-a2a5-5d82-b12c-efd8ceb3b38b)
Do not disdain those who find that their strongest Skill-talent is in the fashioning of dreams. It is a talent most often manifested among Solos. These lone Skill-users, while not as effective as a coterie, can employ their unique talents to serve their monarchs in ways both subtle and effective. Ominous dreams sent to an enemy lord can make him reconsider his actions, while dreams of victory and glory can fortify the courage of any military leader. Dreams can be rewards, and in some cases can offer balm to those who are discouraged or weary at heart.
Treeknee’s Lesser Uses of the Skill
That evening I told Chade that Swift had become desperately homesick and that I’d sent him home in the hopes that he could mend things with Burrich. The old man nodded distractedly: the boy was the least of his concerns.
I also told him of my conversation with Web, finishing with, ‘He knows who I am. I think he has since he arrived here.’
Chade’s reaction to that was more emphatic. ‘Damn! Why must you start coming unravelled now, when I have so much else to deal with?’
‘I don’t think I’m unravelling,’ I said stiffly. ‘Rather I think that this is knowledge that someone has possessed all along, and now it has come round to bite us. What do you suggest I do?’
‘Do? What can you do?’ he demanded testily. ‘It’s known, boy. All we can do is hope that Web truly has as much goodwill toward us as he appears to have. And that the knowledge is not widespread amongst the Witted.’ He thumped a leather case to settle the scrolls inside and then began to tie it shut. ‘Holly, you say?’ he asked after a moment. ‘You think Holly told Web?’
‘So he seemed to imply.’
‘And when is the last time you saw her?’
‘Years ago, when I lived among the Witted. She was Rolf’s wife.’
‘I know that! My wits aren’t failing me that badly.’ He pondered while he rolled the next scroll up. ‘There isn’t time,’ he finally announced. ‘I’d send you off to see this Holly if there was, to discover how many people she has told. But there just isn’t time. So, think with me, Fitz. How will they use this?’
‘I’m not sure that Web intends to use it at all. The way he said it was as if he wished to help me. I felt no threat from him, nor even that he was holding my secret over my head. It was more as if he were urging me toward honesty with Swift as the best way to break through to him.’
‘Hmm.’ The old man replied thoughtfully, tying the last case shut. ‘Push the teapot this way.’ Then, as he poured, ‘Web is a puzzle, isn’t he? The man knows a great deal, and it isn’t just those Witted tales he tells. I would not call him an educated man, yet, as he puts it, anything he has ever decided he needed to know, he’s found a way to learn.’ Chade’s gaze went distant as he spoke. Plainly he had spent some time pondering Web’s significance. ‘I did not like Civil’s proposal that Dutiful have a “Witted Coterie” as he did not have a Skilled one. No public mention has been made of such a thing. Yet, nonetheless, it seems to have come into existence. There is Civil Bresinga with his cat, that minstrel Cockle and Web. All plan to accompany us on this voyage. And I sense, though the Prince is reluctant to speak of it, that they are a “coterie” of sorts. There is a closeness when all of them are in the room that excludes me. Web is plainly the heart-stone of the group. He is more like a priest than a leader; that is, he does not command, but he counsels them, and speaks often of serving “the spirit of the world” or “the divine”. He has no qualms that such words may make him appear foolish. If he had ambitions, he’d be a dangerous man. With what he knows, he could bring all of us tumbling down. The very few times he has spoken to me, it has been in a very indirect way. I feel as if he is urging us toward an action, but he does not tell us what it is that he hopes we will do. Hmm.’
‘So.’ I ticked the possibilities off on my fingers. ‘Maybe Web simply wanted me to be honest with Swift. Well, with the boy gone, that’s no longer an issue. But perhaps he wants me to reveal to all who I really am. Or perhaps he wants the Farseers to admit that the Prince is Witted. Or, if the two things were presented at once, it would be as good as saying that the Wit runs in the Farseer blood.’ And then my tongue froze. Did the Wit truly run in the Farseer line? The last prince to have definitely had it was the Piebald Prince, and he had left no issue. The crown had passed to a different Farseer bloodline. So, perhaps I had got the Wit from my Mountain-bred mother. And passed it on when Verity had usurped my body for the conception of Dutiful. That was a little bit of the puzzle that I’d never given Chade, nor did I ever intend to. Dutiful, I was convinced, was the son of Verity’s spirit. Yet now I wondered uncomfortably if by the use of my body, Verity had passed on some of my tainted magic to his son.
‘Fitz,’ Chade said, and I startled at his voice, my thoughts having carried me so far afield. ‘Don’t worry so. If Web meant to do us harm, there’d be little advantage in tipping his hand. He’s going with us on the Prince’s quest, so we can keep an eye on him. And talk to him. You, especially, should seek him out. Pretend you wish to learn more of the Wit. That will win him over to you.’
I sighed softly. I was sick of deception. I said as much to Chade. He snorted callously.
‘You were born for deception, Fitz. Born for it. Just as I was, just as all bastards are. We’re tricky things, sons but not heirs, royal but not princes. I would have thought that by now you would have accepted that.’
I only said, ‘I’ll try to get to know Web better on the voyage and see what he’s about.’
Chade nodded sagely. ‘A ship’s a good place to do that. Little for men to do but talk on a voyage. And if he proves to be a danger to us … well.’
He didn’t have to say that many mishaps could befall a man at sea. I wished he had said nothing at all. But he was talking on.
‘Did you put it into Starling’s head to go with us? For she asked. Gave the Queen a long-winded speech about how a minstrel should go to bring home a clean telling of the Prince’s adventure.’
‘Not I. Did the Queen give her permission?’
‘I refused it, saying that all the places on the Prince’s ship were already spoken for, and that the minstrel Cockle had already claimed a spot. Why? Do you think she’d be useful?’
‘No. I fear this may be like the last quest I went on; the less truth that comes home with us, the better.’ I was relieved that Chade had refused Starling, and yet some sneaking part of me was mildly disappointed. That feeling shamed me too much to examine it closely.
The next day, I managed to see Hap. It was only a brief visit, and we talked while he worked. One of the journeymen was doing an inlay project, and had asked Hap to do the sanding of the pieced bits. It looked deadly dull to me, but Hap seemed absorbed in the work when I approached him. He smiled wearily when I greeted him, and gravely accepted the small gifts and mementos I’d brought him. When I asked how he was, he didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Svanja and I are still together, her parents still don’t know, and I’m still juggling that with my duties as an apprentice. But I think I’m managing it. My hope is that if I apply myself here, I can make journeyman quickly. Once I have that status, I think I can present myself to Svanja’s father as a likely marriage prospect for his daughter.’ He sighed. ‘I’m so tired of the sneaking about, Tom. I think Svanja relishes it, that it makes it more exciting for her. But for me, well, I like things settled and done right. Once I’m a journeyman, I can make everything as it should be.’
I bit my tongue before saying that apprenticeships lasted years, not months. We both knew that. What mattered was that Hap was not shirking his training, but delving into it in the hopes of realizing his dreams. What more could I ask of him? So I embraced my son and told him I would be thinking of him. The hug he returned me was fierce. ‘I won’t shame you, Tom. I promise I won’t shame you.’
With the rest of the guardsmen, I loaded my sea chest onto a wagon and followed it down to the docks. Buckkeep Town was decked for Spring Fest. Flowers garlanded door lintels and banners fluttered. The doors to taverns and common houses stood open, with song and the smell of holiday food wafting from them. Some of the men grumbled about missing the holiday but the first day of Spring was a fortuitous day for beginning a journey.
Tomorrow morning, we’d make a show of escorting the Prince aboard. Today we boarded the Maiden’s Chance and jostled companionably for space on the lower deck allotted to us. Our area was dark, airless and thick with the stink of men in close quarters and the bilge below us. I hit my head twice on the low joists, and after that walked hunched. We would be crowded cheek by jowl, with little privacy and no quiet. The smoke-darkened timbers seemed to breathe out a miasma of oppressiveness. The water lapped loudly against the outside of the hull if to remind me that only a plank of wood stood between the cold, wet sea and me.
I stowed my gear quickly, already anxious to be out of there. I little cared where my trunk was lashed down; I resolved to spend as much time above deck in the open air as I could. About half the guard were veterans of this sort of journey. They made much of the fact that we had an area separate from the working sailors, whom they despised as drunks, thieves and brawlers. Personally, I suspected the seamen regarded the guardsmen in much the same light.
I settled my belongings quickly and headed up to the deck. I could not linger there, for it was crowded with sailors and passengers, all with some task in mind that involved pushing past me. Crates were being lifted from the docks and swung overhead before being guided down through the hatches and stowed below decks. The sailors who weren’t shouting at each other were swearing loudly about the landsmen in their way.
Once on the docks again, I breathed a sigh of relief. All too soon, I’d be trapped aboard that ship with no opportunity to escape. But as I came down the gangway, my relief evaporated. On the dock stood the Fool as Lord Golden, fuming. A retinue of servants bearing boxes, crates, bags and packages of all descriptions stood behind him. Blocking him was a harassed scribe with a scroll. He was shaking his head, his eyes nearly shut, as Lord Golden harangued him.
‘Well, obviously there has been a mistake! What seems to elude you is that the error is not mine. For months, it has been settled that I am to accompany the Prince on his quest! Who better can advise him than a man like me who has travelled far and experienced many cultures? So take yourself out of my way! I myself shall select a suitable cabin, as you insist that none has been allotted to me, and move my comforts into it while you trot about and discover who is responsible for this gross error.’
The scribe had never paused in his head shaking and when he spoke, I was certain he was repeating words he’d already uttered. ‘Lord Golden, I humbly regret any error that has been made. My list came directly from Lord Chade’s hands, and my instructions were most explicit. Only those listed here are to be settled aboard the Prince’s ship. Nor am I allowed to leave my post here, to run and ask if some mistake has been made. My orders are quite clear on that.’ As if hoping to be rid of Golden, he added, ‘Perhaps you have been assigned to one of the accompanying vessels.’
Lord Golden gave an exasperated sigh. As he turned to his servant, his eyes seemed to skate past me, but for the tiniest instant, our gazes met. ‘Put that down!’ he commanded the man, and the servant lowered a box to the ground with relief. Lord Golden promptly sat down on it. As he crossed his green-hosed legs, he gestured imperiously at all of his other servants. ‘All of you! Set your burdens down where you are.’
‘But … you’re blocking the … please, Lord Golden …’
He ignored the scribe’s anguish. ‘Here I shall remain until this matter is resolved,’ he announced in a wounded voice. He crossed his arms on his chest. Lifting his chin, Lord Golden gazed out over the waters as if nothing else in the world concerned him at all.
The scribe darted a look past him. His servants and equipment formed an effective blockade of the dock. Other passengers were beginning to clog the docks behind him, and longshoremen with barrows and tubs of supplies were gathering, too. The scribe took a breath and tried to summon authority. ‘Sir, you will have to remove yourself and your belongings until this is resolved.’
‘I shall not. So I suggest you send a runner to Lord Chade and have him give you the authority to let me board. For nothing less will satisfy me.’
My heart sank. I knew that Lord Golden’s remark was intended more for me than for the scribe. He had seen me. He expected I would hasten back to Buckkeep Castle and drop a word in Chade’s ear that would bring a speedy solution to his quandary. He did not yet suspect that his difficulty was of my making, and that even if I regretted it, Chade would stand firm. As I turned away from the milling spectacle he was creating, I saw him give me the ghost of a wink. No doubt he thought that Lord Golden’s grand departure from Buckkeep Town would become one of the town’s legends.
I wanted to see no more of it. As I trudged up the steep streets that led back to the castle, I told myself there was no reason to agonize. Lord Golden would sit there until evicted from the spot. No worse than that. And when we sailed tomorrow without him, well, he’d remain safely in Buckkeep whilst the rest of us went off to whatever discomfort and boredom the journey could offer us. No worse than that.
Nonetheless, the rest of the day dragged for me. After days of last-minute rushing, I found my final hours empty. There was nothing left to do. My space in the guard barracks was empty of all save the clothing and weapon I would wear on the morrow. The Prince’s Guard would go forth handsomely. Leggings, shirt and over tunic were all of Buckkeep blue. The Farseer buck was embroidered on the breast. My new boots had been made to my feet and didn’t pinch. I’d already greased them well against wet. Although it was spring, the cloaks we’d been given were of thick wool against the expected cold of the Out Islands. The Fool’s gift sword laid out atop my colours seemed like a rebuke. I left it there, safe as anything was safe in a barracks where a man’s honour was most of what he possessed in the world.
In my tower workroom, it was much the same. If Chade had noticed that Chivalry’s sword now hung over the mantelpiece, he’d chosen not to comment on it. I moved ineffectually around the room, putting away the things that Chade had left scattered from his packing. The charts of the Out Islands and all other writings that Chade thought might be needed had already been packed. For lack of anything else to do, I lay on the bed and teased the ferret. But soon even Gilly tired of that. He went off to hunt rats. I took myself off to the steams, scrubbed myself raw, and then shaved twice. Afterwards, I went to my barracks and got into the narrow bed there. The rest of the long room was quiet and nearly deserted. Only a few old hands had chosen an early bed as I had. The others were out and about Buckkeep Town, bidding the taverns and whores farewell. I pulled the blankets up around me and stared up at the shadowed ceiling.
I wondered how hard the Fool would try to follow us. Chade had assured me that he wouldn’t be able to get passage out of Buckkeep Town. He’d have to travel to a different port, and pay a lot of money to persuade a ship’s captain to sail after us. Lord Golden wouldn’t have that money. After his recent escapades, I doubted he’d find any friends willing to loan him any. He’d be stuck.
And furious with me, I decided. He had a keen mind. He’d soon deduce who had been behind his abandonment. He would know that I had chosen his life over what he perceived as his destiny. He’d feel no gratitude. His Catalyst was supposed to aid him in changing the course of the world, not thwart him.
I closed my eyes and sighed. It took me several tries to compose myself. When finally I floated just beneath the surface of sleep, I reached out for Nettle. This time, she was sitting in an oak tree, wearing a gown of butterfly wings. I looked up at her from the knoll beneath the tree. I was the man-wolf, as I always was in her dreams. ‘All those dead butterflies,’ I said sorrowfully, shaking my head at her.
‘Don’t be silly. It’s only a dream.’ She stood up on the branch and leapt. I reared onto my hind legs and opened my arms to catch her, but the butterflies of her gown all fluttered simultaneously, and she floated, light as thistledown, and landed on her feet beside me. She wore one large yellow butterfly in her hair like a hair ribbon. It slowly fanned its wings. The colour of her gown shifted in waves as the butterflies wafted their wings lazily.
‘Ew. Don’t all the little legs tickle?’
‘No. It’s a dream, remember? You don’t have to keep the unpleasant parts.’
‘You never have nightmares, do you?’ I asked in admiration.
‘I think that I used to, when I was very small. But I don’t any more. Why would anyone stay in a dream that didn’t please her?’
‘Not all of us can control our dreams the way you can, child. You should count it as a blessing.’
‘Do you have nightmares?’
‘Sometimes. Don’t you recall where you found me last time, crossing that talus slope?’
‘Oh. Yes, I remember that. But I thought it was something you liked to do. Some men like doing dangerous things, you know.’
‘Perhaps. But some of us have had our fill of that, and would avoid nightmares if we could.’
She nodded slowly. ‘My mother has terrible nightmares sometimes. Even when I go into them and tell her to come out, she won’t. She either won’t or can’t see me. And my father … I know he has bad dreams, because sometimes he shouts aloud. But I can’t find my way into his dreams at all.’ She stopped for a moment’s thought. ‘I think that’s why he started drinking again. When he’s drunk, he passes out instead of falling asleep. Do you think he could be hiding from his nightmares?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, and wished she had not told me such things. ‘I bring you news that may ease both of them, however. Swift is on his way back home.’
She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath. ‘Oh, thank you, Shadow Wolf. I knew you could help me.’
I tried to be stern. ‘I wouldn’t have to help you if you’d used common sense. Swift is far too young to be out and about on his own. You shouldn’t have helped him run away.’
‘I know that, now. But I didn’t then. Why can’t real life be like dreams? In a dream, if something starts to go wrong, you can simply change it.’ She lifted her hands to her shoulders and smoothed them down the front of her gown. Suddenly, she was wearing a dress of poppy petals. ‘See? No tickly legs now. You just have to tell the parts you don’t like to go away.’
‘Like you send away the dragon?’
‘The dragon?’
‘You know who I mean. Tintaglia. She appears small at first, as a lizard or a bee and then becomes larger until you vanquish her.’
‘Oh. Her.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘She only comes when you do. I thought she was a part of your dream.’
‘No. She’s not a part of anyone’s dream. She’s as real as you and me.’ It suddenly disturbed me that Nettle had not perceived that. Had our dream conversations exposed her to a greater danger than I knew?
‘Who is she, then, when she is awake?’
‘I told you. She’s a dragon.’
‘There’s no such thing as dragons,’ she declared with a laugh, shocking me into momentary silence.
‘You don’t believe in dragons? Then who saved the Six Duchies from the Red Ship raiders?’
‘Soldiers and sailors, mostly, I suppose. It hardly matters anyway, does it? It happened so long ago.’
‘It matters a great deal to some of us,’ I muttered. ‘Especially to the ones who were there.’
‘I’m sure it does. Yet I’ve noticed that few if any can tell a straight tale of exactly what happened to save the Six Duchies. Just that they saw the dragons in the distance and that the next thing they knew, the Red Ships were sinking or broken. And the dragons were almost out of sight.’
‘Dragons have a strange effect upon people’s memories,’ I explained to her. ‘They … they seem to absorb them as they pass over people. Like a cloth wiping up spilled beer.’
She grinned up at me. ‘So, if that’s true, why doesn’t Tintaglia have that effect on us? How is it we can remember her being in our dreams?’
I held up a warning hand. ‘Let’s not use her name any more. I’ve no wish to encounter her again. As to why we can remember her, well, I think it is because she comes to us as a dream creature rather than in the flesh. Or it could be that she does not take our memories because she is a creature of flesh and blood, instead of …’
I recalled to whom I was speaking and halted. I was telling her too much. If I did not guard my tongue, soon I’d be telling her about Skill-carving dragons from memory stone, and how those creatures were the Elderlings of tale and song.
‘Go on.’ She urged me. ‘If Tintaglia is not of flesh and blood, then what else could she be? And why does she always ask us about a black dragon? Are you going to say that he is real, too?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said cautiously. ‘I don’t even know if he exists at all. Let’s not talk of that, just now.’ I had felt nervous ever since she had mentioned Tintaglia’s name. The word seemed to shimmer in the air, as betraying as the smoke from a cook-fire.
But if there was any truth to the old summoning magic of a name, we were spared that night. I bade her farewell. Somehow, in leaving her dream I re-entered my old nightmare. The sliding pebbles of the steep slope promptly rolled away under my feet. I was falling, falling to my death. I heard Nettle’s out-flung cry of, ‘Change it to flying, Shadow Wolf! Make it a flying dream instead,’ but I did not know how to heed her. Instead, I jerked upright in my narrow cot in the barracks.
Morning was near, and most of the beds were filled now. Yet there was still a small time left for sleep. I tried to find it, but could not, and arose earlier than usual. None of my fellows were stirring. I put on my new uniform, and spent some time trying to persuade my hair to stay out of my face. I had shorn it for grief at Nighteyes’ death, and it had not yet grown enough to stay bound back in a warrior’s tail. I tied it back into a ridiculous stub, knowing it would soon pull free to hang about my face and brow.
I went to the guardroom and ate heartily of a lavish breakfast the kitchens had prepared for us. I knew I was bidding farewell to land food for a time, and availed myself of hot meat, fresh bread and porridge with honey and cream. Meals on the ship would depend on the weather, and most of it would be salted, dried and plainly cooked. If the water were rough and the cook judged fire too dangerous, we’d get cold food and hard bread. The prospect did not cheer me.
I returned to the barracks to find most of the guard stirring to wakefulness. I watched the rest of the men-at-arms don their blue tunics and complain about the weight of wool cloaks on a warm spring day. Chade had never admitted it, but there were a half dozen of our company who, I suspected, were as much spies as guardsmen. There was a quiet watchfulness about them that made me think they saw more than they seemed to.
Riddle, a youngster of about twenty, was most emphatically not. He was as excited as I was jaded. A dozen times he consulted his mirror, paying particular attention to a rather new moustache. He was the one who insisted on loaning me pomade for my hair, saying he could not allow me to set forth on such an important day looking like a shaggy-haired farmer. He himself, dressed for display and seated on his bunk, tapped his feet impatiently on the floor and kept up a constant stream of chatter, everything from teasing me about the ornate hilt on my sword to demanding whether I knew if it was true that dragons could be slain only with an arrow to the eye. His loose energy was an annoying as a pacing dog. I was relieved when Longwick, our newly-appointed captain, tersely ordered us to form up outside.
Not that the order meant imminent departure. It meant only that it was time for us to stand in formation and wait. Guardsmen spend more time waiting than they ever do in drill or fighting. This morning was no exception. Before we were ordered to move, I’d listened to a very explicit account of all three of Hest’s liaisons of the night before, while Riddle helpfully asked detailed questions. When we did get the order to move, it was only as far as the courtyard in front of the main doors. Here we formed up around the Prince’s horse and groom, and waited some more. Servants and lackeys who, like ourselves, were dressed and deployed to show their masters’ importance, soon joined us. Some held horses’ heads, some leashed dogs and some, like us, merely stood, armed and attired and waiting.
Eventually the Prince and his entourage emerged. Thick was at his heels and Sada, the woman who tended him on such occasions, was right behind him. Dutiful spared no glance for me today; I was as faceless as the rest. The Queen and her men preceded us, while Councillor Chade and his escort came immediately behind us. I spotted Civil, with his cat by his side chatting with Web as they found their places in the procession. Despite Chade’s objection, the Queen had announced that several of her ‘Old Blood friends’ would travel with the Prince. The court reaction had been mixed, with some saying that we’d soon see if Old Blood magic was good for anything and others muttering that at least it got the beast-magickers out of Buckkeep.
Behind them came the favoured nobles who would accompany the Prince, both to curry favour with him and to investigate trading opportunities in the Out Islands. Behind them trailed those who would bid us farewell and then enjoy Spring Fest. But although I craned my neck, I saw no sign of Lord Golden as the procession formed up. By the time Dutiful was up and mounted and we were striding out of the gate, it seemed as if all of Buckkeep Castle were following us. I was grateful to be in the forefront, for by the time all passed, the road would be a trampled mire of mud and manure.
We reached the ships but could not simply load and depart. There were speeches and presentations of flowers and last-minute gifts. I had half-expected to find Lord Golden and his baggage and servants still camped out on the docks but there was no sign of them. I wondered uneasily what had happened. He was a resourceful man. Had he managed to find a way aboard the ship?
I sweated through the formalities. Then we moved aboard the ship, flanking the Prince, who went to his cabin, where he would receive farewell visits from the nobles who were not accompanying him, while those who were to be passengers boarded the ship and settled. Some of us were stationed outside the Prince’s cabin, but the rest, including myself, were sent below decks, to be out of the way.
I spent most of that miserable afternoon sitting on my sea chest. Above me, the planks resounded with the noise of people coming and going. Somewhere a dog barked in a continuous frenzy. It was like being stuck inside a cask while someone beat on the outside of it. A dim, smelly cask, I amended to myself, with the rising stink of the bilges, elbow to elbow with men who thought they had to shout to be heard. I tried to distract myself by wondering what had become of the Fool, but that only increased my sensation of suffocation. I bowed my chin down to my chest, closed my eyes and tried to be alone.
It didn’t work.
Riddle perched on my sea chest beside me. ‘Eda’s tits, but it stinks down here! Think it’ll get worse when we’re underway and the bilge is sloshing around?’
‘Probably.’ I didn’t want to think of that before it happened. I’d travelled by sea before, but on those voyages, I’d slept on the deck, or at least had free access to it. Here, in the confined darkness, even the rhythmic swaying of the ship against its mooring was giving me a headache.
‘Well.’ He kicked his heels against the chest, sending the vibration up my spine into my head. ‘I never have been to sea before. Have you?’
‘Once or twice. On little boats, where I had light and air. Not like this.’
‘Oh. Ever been to the Out Islands?’
‘No.’
‘Are you all right, Tom?’
‘Not really. Too much to drink and not enough sleep last night.’
It was a lie but it worked. He grinned, gave me a friendly jostle that made me snarl and then left me alone. The bustle and noise pressed me from all sides. I was miserable and frightened and I wished I hadn’t eaten all the sweet pastries at breakfast. No one was paying attention to me. My collar was too tight, and Sada had already left the ship, so she couldn’t fix it for me.
‘Thick,’ I whispered, recognizing the source of my woe. I sat up straight, drew a deep breath of the foul air and tried not to retch. Then I reached for him. Hey, little man. Are you all right?
No.
Where are you?
In a little room. There’s a round window and the floor moves.
You’re better off than me. I’ve got no window at all.
The floor moves.
I know. But we’ll be fine. Soon all the extra people will get off the boat, and the sailors will throw the lines free and we’ll set off on our adventure. Won’t that be fun?
No. I want to go home.
Oh, it’ll be better, once we get underway. You’ll see.
No, it won’t. The floor moves. And Sada said I’d get seasick.
I wished someone had thought to tell Sada to speak positively of the journey to come.
Is Sada coming with us, then? Is she on board?
No. Only me, by myself. Because Sada gets horribly sick on ships. She felt very sorry for me, that I had to go. She said every day on a ship is like a year to her. And there’s nothing to do except be sick, and vomit and vomit and vomit.
Unfortunately, Thick was right. It was late afternoon before the well-wishers were escorted from the ship. I managed to get up on the deck, but only briefly, for the captain cursed all the guard, ordering us to get back down below, to give his crew room to work. My glimpse of the crowd on the docks did not show me the Fool. I had dreaded to meet his accusing stare, but it worried me even more not to see him there. Then I was herded below decks with the rest and the hatches were closed over us, cutting off what little light and air we’d had before. I perched on my sea chest again. The resinous smell of the ship’s tarry timbers intensified. Overhead, the captain ordered the ship’s boats to tow us away from the dock. The sounds changed as we began to move through the water. The captain shouted incomprehensible commands, and I heard the pattering of bare feet as sailors rushed to obey them.
I heard the ship’s boats called back and taken in. The vessel gave a sort of dip and then the rhythm of the motions changed again. I judged that our canvas had caught the wind. This was it. We were finally underway. Someone took pity on us down below and opened the hatch a crack, which taunted more than comforted. I stared at the skinny band of light.
‘I’m already bored,’ Riddle confided to me. He stood next to me, carving on the heavy planks of the hull.
I made a noise at him. He went on carving.
Well, Tom Badgerlock, we’re underway. How do you fare down below?
The Prince sounded cheery, but what could one expect of a fifteen-year-old, off on a sea-voyage to slay a dragon and win the hand of a Narcheska? I could sense Chade in the background, and pictured him at a table next to the Prince, Dutiful’s fingers lightly touching the back of his hand. I sighed. We still had a lot of work to do to make the Skill-coterie work.
I’m already bored. And Thick seems distressed.
Ah. I was hoping you’d appreciate a task. I’ll send a man to your captain. Thick is at the after rail, and could use some company. You’ll be joining him. That was unmistakably Chade, speaking through the Prince.
Is he sick already?
Not quite yet. But he has convinced himself that he will be.
Well, at least it would get me out into the air, I thought sourly.
A short time later, Captain Longwick called out my name. When I reported to him, he informed me that I was to tend the Prince’s man Thick, who was indisposed on the afterdeck. The men who overheard my orders chivvied me for being nursemaid to a half-wit. I grinned and replied that being above decks watching over one simpleton was far better than being trapped below decks with a troop of them. I climbed the ladder and emerged into the fresh sea air.
I found Thick on the afterdeck, holding onto the railing and staring dolorously back at Buckkeep. The black castle on top of the rocky cliffs was dwindling behind us. Civil stood near the little man, his hunting cat at his heels. Neither he nor the cat looked pleased to be there, and as Thick leaned out over the railing and made retching noises, the cat flattened his ears.
‘Here’s Tom Badgerlock, Thick. You’ll be fine now, won’t you?’ Civil gave me a brief nod, nobleman to guardsman. As always, he stared at me searchingly. He knew I was not what I seemed. I’d saved his life from the Piebalds back in Buckkeep Town. He had to wonder at how I’d suddenly appeared and come to his aid. He’d have to keep wondering, just as I had to wonder how much Laudwine had told him about Lord Golden and me. We’d never spoken of it, nor did I intend to now. I made my eyes opaque and bowed.
‘I’m here to assume my duties, sir.’ My tone was neutrally respectful.
‘I’m very glad to see you. Well, farewell, Thick. You’re in good hands, now. I’m going back into the cabin. I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.’
‘I’m going to die,’ Thick replied dismally. ‘I’m going to puke my guts out and die.’
Civil gave me a sympathetic look. I pretended not to see it as I took my place at the railing alongside Thick. He leaned far out again, forcing gagging sounds from his throat. I held onto the back of his jacket. Ah, yes. The adventure of travel by sea.

SIX (#ulink_848391a9-9da4-5ef0-834a-19357ae04029)
Voyage of Dreams (#ulink_848391a9-9da4-5ef0-834a-19357ae04029)
… despised beast-magic’s other uses. The ignorant believe that the Wit can only be used to give humans the power to speak to animals (words obscured by scorching) and shape-changing for evil intent. Gunrody Lian, the last man to admit openly at Buckkeep Court that he had (large fragment burned away) also for healing the mind as well. From beasts, too, he claimed they could harvest the instinctive knowledge of curative herbs, as well as a wariness against (this portion ends here. Next scorched fragment of scroll begins:) … set hands to her head and held her steady and looked in her eyes. So he stood over her while the ghastly surgery was done, and she never looked away from him, nor cried out in agony. This I myself saw but … (again, into the scorched edge of the scroll. The next three words may be:) dared not tell.
Fallstar’s attempt to recreate the Wit-scroll by Skillmaster Leftwell, from the burned fragments discovered in a wall of Buckkeep Castle
I managed to get all the way to the next morning before I vomited myself. I lost count of how many times I held onto Thick while he leaned far over the railing and retched hopelessly at the sea. The taunting of the sailors did not help matters, and if I had dared leave his side, I’d have taken some satisfaction from one or two of them. It was not congenial mockery of a landsman with no stomach for the sea. There was an ugly undercurrent to it, like crows drawn to torment a single eagle. Thick was different, a dimwit with a clumsy body, and they gleefully delighted in his misery as proof that he was inferior to them. Even when a few other miserable souls joined us at the railing, Thick took the brunt of their teasing.
It diminished briefly when the Prince and Chade took an evening stroll out on the decks. The Prince seemed invigorated by the sea air and his freedom from Buckkeep. As he stood by Thick and spoke to him in low tones, Chade contrived to set his hand on the railing touching mine. His back was to me and he appeared to be nodding to the Prince’s conversation with his man.
How is he?
Sick as a dog and miserable. Chade, the sailors’ mockery makes it worse.
I feared as much. But if Dutiful notices and rebukes them, the captain will come down on them as well. You know what will follow.
Yes. They’ll find every private opportunity to make life hell for Thick.
Exactly. So try to ignore it for now. I expect it will wear off once they become accustomed to seeing him about the ship. Anything you need?
A blanket or two. And a bucket of fresh water, so he can wash his mouth out.
So I remained at Thick’s side through the long and weary night, to protect him lest the taunting become physical as well as to keep him from falling overboard in his misery. Twice I tried to take him inside the cabin. Each time we did not get more than three steps from the railing before he was retching. Even when there was nothing left in his belly for him to bring up, he refused to go inside. The sea grew rougher as the night progressed, and by dawn we had a wind-driven rain soaking us as well as the flying spray from the tips of the whitecaps. Wet and cold, he still refused to budge from the railing. ‘You can puke in a bucket,’ I told him. ‘Inside, where it’s warm!’
‘No, no, I’m too sick to move,’ he groaned repeatedly. He had fixed his mind on his seasickness, and was determined to be miserable. I could think of no way to deal with it, except to let him follow it to its extreme and then be done with it. Surely, when he was miserable enough, he’d go inside.
Shortly after dawn, Riddle brought food for me. I was beginning to suspect that perhaps the naïve and affable young man truly was in Chade’s employ and assigned to assist me. If so, I wished he wasn’t, yet I was grateful for the pannikin of mush he brought me. Thick was hungry, despite his nausea, and we shared the food. That was a mistake, for the sight of it leaving Thick shortly after that inspired my own belly to be parted from what I had eaten.
That seemed to be the only thing that cheered Thick that morning.
‘See. Everyone’s going to be sick. We should go back to Buckkeep now.’
‘We can’t, little man. We must go on, to the Out Islands, so the Prince can slay a dragon and win the Narcheska’s hand.’
Thick sighed heavily. He was beginning to shake with the cold despite the blankets that swaddled him. ‘I don’t even like her. I don’t think Prince likes her either. She can keep her hand. Let’s just go home.’
At the moment, I agreed with him but dared not say so.
He went on. ‘I hate this ship, and I wish I’d never come.’
Odd, how a man can become so accustomed to something that he no longer senses it. It was only when Thick spoke the words aloud that I realized how deeply they echoed his wild Skilling-song. All night it had battered my walls, a song made of flapping canvas, creaking lines and timbers and the slap of the waves against the hull. Thick had transformed them into a song of resentment and fear, of misery and cold and boredom. He had taken every negative emotion that a sailor might feel for a ship, and was blasting it out in an anthem of anger. I could put my walls up and remain unaffected by it. Some of the sailors who crewed the Maiden’s Chance were not so fortunate. Not all were sensitive to the Skill, yet for those who were, the unrest would be acute. And in the close quarters, it would quickly affect their fellows.
I spent a few moments watching the crew at work. The current watch moved among their tasks effectively but resentfully. Their competence had an angry edge to it, and the mate who drove them from task to task watched with an eagle’s eye for the slightest sign of slackness or idleness. The congeniality I had glimpsed when they were loading the ship was gone, and I sensed their discord building.
Like a nest of hornets that felt the thud of the axe echoing from the tree trunk below, they were stirred to a buzzing anger that had, as yet, no target. Yet if their general fury continued to mount, we could well be faced with brawls or worse, a mutiny. I was watching a pot come to a seething boil, knowing that if I did nothing, we’d all be scalded.
Thick. Your music is very loud right now. And very scary. Can you make it different? Calm. Soft like your mothersong?
‘I can’t!’ He moaned the words as he Skilled them. ‘I’m too sick.’
Thick, you’re frightening the sailors. They don’t know where the song comes from. They can’t hear it, but some of them can feel it, a little bit. It’s making them upset.
‘I don’t care. They’re mean to me anyway. They should make this ship go back.’
They can’t, Thick. They have to obey the captain, and the captain has to do what the Prince tells him. And the Prince must go to the Out Islands.
‘Prince should make them go back. I’ll get off and stay at Buckkeep.’
But Thick, we need you.
‘I’m dying, I think. We should go back.’ And with that thought, his Skill-music swept to a crescendo of fear and despair. Nearby, a team of sailors had been hauling on a line to put on yet more canvas. Their loose trousers flapped in the constant wind, but they didn’t seem to notice it. Muscles bulged in their bare arms as they methodically hauled on the sheets. But as Thick’s despondent song soaked them their rhythm faltered. The front man took more weight than he could manage, and stumbled forward with an angry shout. In an instant, the sailors had regained control of the line, but I had seen enough.
I sought the Prince with my mind. He was playing stones in his cabin with Civil. Swiftly I relayed my problem to him. Can you pass this on to Chade?
Not easily. He’s right here, watching the play, but so are Web and his boy.
Web has a boy?
That Swift boy.
Swift Witted is on board?
Do you know him? He came on board with Web and seems to serve him as a page serves a master. Why? Is that important?
Only to me, I thought. I grimaced with frustration. Later. But as soon as you can, tell Chade. Can you reach to Thick and calm him?
I’ll try. Drat! You distracted me and Civil just won!
I think this is more important than a game of stones! I replied testily and broke the contact. Thick was sitting on the deck at my feet, his eyes closed, swaying miserably, his music a queasy accompaniment to the rhythm of his body. It was not the only thing making me feel sick. I’d promised Nettle that her brother was on his way back to her. He wasn’t. What was I to say to her? I set it aside as something I couldn’t solve right now. Instead I crouched down beside Thick.
‘Listen to me,’ I said quietly. ‘The sailors don’t understand your music and it frightens them. If it goes on much longer, they might –’
And there I halted. I didn’t want to make him fear the sailors. Fear is a solid foundation for hate. ‘Please, Thick,’ I said helplessly, but he only stared stubbornly out over the waves.
The morning passed while I waited for Chade to come and help me. I suspected that Dutiful Skilled a reassurance to him, but Thick stolidly ignored it. I stared at our wake, watching the other Buckkeep ships that trailed us. Three carracks followed us like a row of fat ducklings. There were two smaller vessels, pinnaces that would serve as communication vessels between the larger ships, enabling travelling nobles to exchange messages and visit one another as the voyage progressed. The smaller boats could use oars as well as sails, and could be used to manoeuvre the heavier ships in and out of crowded harbours. It was a substantial flotilla for Buckkeep to dispatch to the Out Islands.
The rain dwindled to a drizzle and then ceased, but the sun still hid behind the clouds. The wind was a constant. I tried to be positive about it for Thick. ‘See how swiftly it drives us over the water. Soon enough, we’ll reach the Out Islands, and think how exciting it will be to see a new place!’
But Thick only replied, ‘It’s pushing us farther and farther from home. Take me back now.’ Riddle brought us a noon meal of hard bread, dried fish and watery beer. I think he was glad to be out on the deck. The guard was expected to stay below and out of the sailors’ way. No one had said that the more they kept us separate, the less chance there was for fighting, but we all knew it. I spoke little, but Riddle chatted anyway, letting me know that the guardsmen below were also out of sorts. Some were seasick who swore they had never been bothered by that ailment before. That was not good news to me. I ate, and I managed to keep my food down, but I couldn’t persuade Thick even to nibble on the sea bread. Riddle took our dishes and left us alone again. When Chade and the Prince finally appeared, my impatience and anger had been worn away to a dull resignation. While the Prince spoke to Thick, Chade swiftly conveyed to me how difficult it had been for the Prince and him to get out of the cabin alone. In addition to Web, Civil and Swift, no less than three other nobles had come to his cabin to visit and lingered to talk long. As Chade had pointed out earlier, there was little else to occupy the time, and the nobles who had accompanied the Prince had done so to ingratiate themselves with him. They’d take advantage of every moment.
‘So. When are we to work in Skill-lessons?’ I asked him very softly.
He scowled. ‘I doubt that we’ll manage much time for those. But I’ll see what can be done.’
Dutiful didn’t have any more success with Thick than I had. Thick stared out sullenly over the ship’s wake while the Prince spoke earnestly to him.
‘Well. At least we managed to get away without Lord Golden,’ I observed to Chade.
He shook his head. ‘And that was far more difficult than I expected it to be. I imagine you heard of his blocking the docks in an attempt to board. He only gave up on that when the City Guard arrived and arrested him.’
‘You had him arrested?’ I was horrified.
‘Now, lad, be easy. He’s a nobleman and his offence is a fairly trivial one; he’ll be treated far better than you were. And they’ll only hold him two or three days; just long enough for all the Out Island-bound ships to be gone. It seemed the easiest way to deal with him. I didn’t want him coming up to Buckkeep Castle and confronting me, or begging favour of the Queen.’
‘She knows why we did this, doesn’t she?’
‘She does. She doesn’t like it, however. She feels a great debt to the Fool. But don’t worry. I left enough hurdles that it will be difficult if not impossible for Lord Golden to get an audience with her.’
I had not thought my spirits could sink lower, but now they did. I hated to think of the Fool imprisoned and then snubbed by Buckkeep’s royalty. I knew how Chade would have worked it: a word there, a hint, a rumour that Lord Golden was not in the Queen’s graces any more. By the time he was out of the gaol, he’d be a social outcast. A penniless social outcast, with outstanding debts.
I’d only meant to leave him safely behind, not put him into such a position. I said as much to Chade.
‘Oh, don’t worry about him, Fitz. Sometimes you behave as if no one can manage without you. He’s a very capable, very resourceful creature. He’ll cope. If I’d done any less, he’d be on our heels right now.’
And that, too, was true but scarcely comforting.
‘Thick’s seasickness can’t go on much longer,’ Chade observed optimistically. ‘And when it passes, I’ll put it about that Thick has become attached to you. That will give you good reason to be at his side, and sometimes in his chamber adjacent to the Prince’s. Perhaps we shall have more time to confer that way.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said dully. Despite the Prince’s conversation with Thick, I sensed no lessening of his discordant music. It wore on my spirits. By an effort of will, I could convince myself that Thick’s nausea was not mine, but it was a constant effort.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come back to the cabin?’ Dutiful was asking him.
‘No. The floor goes up and down.’
The Prince was puzzled. ‘The deck moves up and down here, too.’
It was Thick’s turn to be confused. ‘No, it doesn’t. The boat goes up and down on the water. It’s not as bad.’
‘I see.’ I saw Dutiful surrender any hope of explaining it to Thick. ‘In either case, you’ll soon get used to it and the seasickness will go away.’
‘No, it won’t,’ Thick replied darkly. ‘Sada said that everyone will say that, but it isn’t true. She got sick every time she went on a boat and it never went away. So she wouldn’t come with me.’
I was beginning to dislike Sada and I’d never even met the woman.
‘Well. Sada is wrong,’ Chade declared briskly.
‘No she isn’t,’ Thick replied stubbornly. ‘See. I’m still sick.’ And he leaned out over the railing again, retching dryly.
‘He’ll get over it,’ Chade said, but he did not sound as confident as he had.
‘Do you have any herbs that might help him?’ I asked. ‘Ginger, perhaps?’
Chade halted. ‘An excellent idea, Badgerlock. And I do believe I have some. I’ll have the cook make him a strong ginger tea and send it up to you.’
When the tea arrived, it smelled as much of valerian and sleepbalm as it did of ginger. I approved of Chade’s thought. Sleep might be the best cure for Thick’s determined seasickness. When I offered it to him, I firmly told him that it was a well-known sailor’s antidote to seasickness, and that it was certain to work for him. He still regarded it doubtfully; I suppose my words did not carry as much weight as Sada’s opinion. He sipped it, decided he liked the ginger, and downed the whole cup. Unfortunately, a moment later he spewed it up just as swiftly as it had gone down. Some of it went up his nose, the ginger scalding the sensitive skin, and that made him adamantly refuse to try any more, even in tiny sips.
I had been on board for two days. Already it seemed like six months.
The sun eventually broke through the clouds, but the wind and flying spray snatched away whatever warmth it promised. Huddled in a damp wool blanket, Thick fell into a fitful sleep. He twitched and moaned through nightmares swept with his song of seasickness. I sat beside him on the wet deck, sorting my worries into useless piles. It was there that Web found me.
I looked up at him and he nodded gravely down at me. Then he stood by the rail and lifted his eyes. I followed his gaze to a seabird sweeping lazy arcs across the sky behind us. I had never met the creature, but I knew she must be Risk. The Wit-bond between man and bird seemed a thing woven of blue sky and wild water, at once calm and free. I basked in the edges of their shared pleasure in the day, trying to ignore how it whetted the edge of my loneliness. Here was the Wit-magic at its most natural, a mutual bond of pleasure and respect between man and beast. His heart flew with her. I could sense their communion and imagine how she shared her joyous flight with him.
It was only when my muscles relaxed that I realized how tense I had been. Thick sank into a deeper sleep and some of the frown eased from his face. The wind in his Skill-song took on a less ominous note. The calm that emanated from Web had touched us both, but my awareness of that came slowly. His warm serenity pooled around me, diluting my anxiety and weariness. If this was the Wit, he was using it in a way I’d never experienced before. This was as simple and natural as the warmth of breath. I found myself smiling up at him and he returned the smile, his teeth flashing white through his beard.
‘It’s a fine day for prayer. But then, most days are.’
‘That’s what you were doing? Praying?’ At his nod, I asked, ‘For what do you petition the gods?’
He raised his brows. ‘Petition?’
‘Isn’t that what prayer is? Begging the gods to give you what you want?’
He laughed, his voice deep as a booming wind, but kinder. ‘I suppose that is how some men pray. Not I. Not any more.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, I think that children pray so, to find a lost doll or that father will bring home a good haul of fish, or that no one will discover a forgotten chore. Children think they know what is best for themselves, and do not fear to ask the divine for it. But I have been a man for many years, and I should be shamed if I did not know better by now.’
I eased my back into a more comfortable position against the railing. I suppose if you are used to the swaying of a ship, it might be restful. My muscles constantly fought against it, and I was beginning to ache in every limb. ‘So. How does a man pray, then?’
He looked on me with amusement, then levered himself down to sit beside me. ‘Don’t you know? How do you pray, then?’
‘I don’t.’ And then, I re-thought, and laughed aloud. ‘Unless I’m terrified. Then I suppose I pray as a child does. “Get me out of this, and I’ll never be so stupid again. Just let me live”.’
He laughed with me. ‘Well, it looks as if, so far, your prayers have been granted. And have you kept your promise to the divine?’
I shook my head, smiling ruefully. ‘I’m afraid not. I just find a new direction to be foolish in.’
‘Exactly. So do we all. Hence, I’ve learned I am not wise enough to ask the divine for anything.’
‘So. How do you pray then, if you are not asking for something?’
‘Ah. Well, prayer for me is more listening than asking. And, after all these years, I find I have but one prayer left. It has taken me a lifetime to find my prayer, and I think it is the same one that all men find, if they but ponder on it long enough.’
‘And that is?’
‘Think about it,’ he bade me with a smile. He stood slowly and gazed out over the water. Behind us, the sails of the following ships were puffed out like the throats of courting pigeons. They were, in their way, a lovely sight. ‘I’ve always loved the sea. I was on boats since before I could speak. It saddens me that your friend’s experience of it must be so uncomfortable. Please tell him that it will pass.’
‘I’ve tried. I don’t think he can believe me.’
‘A pity. Well, best of luck to you then. Perhaps when he wakes, he’ll feel better.’
He began to walk away, but I remembered abruptly that I had other business with him. I came to my feet and called after him. ‘Web? Did Swift come aboard with you? The boy we spoke of before?’
He halted and turned to my question. ‘Yes. Why do you ask?’
I beckoned him closer and he came. ‘You recall that he is the boy that I asked you to talk with, the one who is Witted?’
‘Of course. That was why I was so pleased when he came to me and offered to be my “page” if I would take him on and teach him. As if I even knew what a page is supposed to do!’ He laughed at such nonsense, and then sobered at my serious face. ‘What is it?’
‘I had sent him home. I discovered that he did not have his parents’ permission to be at Buckkeep at all. They think that he has run away, and are greatly grieved by his disappearance.’
Web stood still and silent, digesting this news, his face showing no expression. Then he shook his head regretfully. ‘It must be a terrible thing for someone you love to vanish, and leave you always wondering what became of him.’
An image of Patience sprang into my mind; I wondered if he had intended that his words prick me. Perhaps not, but the possible criticism made me irritable all the same. ‘I told Swift to go home. He owes his parents his labour until he either reaches his majority or is released by them.’
‘So some say,’ Web said, in a tone that indicated he might disagree. ‘But there are ways parents can betray a child, and then I think the youngster owes them nothing. I think that children who are mistreated are wise to leave as swiftly as they can.’
‘Mistreated? I knew Swift’s father for many years. Yes, he will give a lad a cuff or a sharp word, if the boy has earned it. But if Swift claims he was beaten or neglected at home, then I fear that he lies. That is not Burrich’s way.’ My heart sank that the boy could have spoken so of his father.
Web shook his head slowly. He glanced at Thick to assure himself that the man was still sleeping and spoke softly. ‘There are other types of neglect and deprivation. To deny what unfolds inside someone, to forbid the magic that comes unbidden, to impose ignorance in a way that invites danger, to say to a child, “You must not be what you are.” That is wrong.’ His voice was gentle but the condemnation was without compassion.
‘He raises his son as he was raised,’ I replied stiffly. It felt odd to defend him, for I had so often railed against Burrich for what he had done to me.
‘And he learned nothing. Not from having to deal with his own ignorance, not from what it did to the first lad he treated so. I try to pity him, but when I consider all that could have been, had you been properly educated from the time you were small …’
‘He did well by me!’ I snapped. ‘He took me to his side when no one else would have me, and I’ll not hear ill spoken of him.’
Web took a step back from me. A shadow passed over his face. ‘Murder in your eyes,’ he muttered.
The words were like being doused with cold water. But before I could ask what he meant by them, he nodded to me gravely. ‘Perhaps we shall speak again of this. Later.’ And he turned and paced away from me. I recognized his walk. It was not flight. It was how Burrich would withdraw from an animal that had learned viciousness from bad treatment and had to be slowly re-trained. It shamed me.
Slowly I sat down beside Thick again. I leaned back against the railing and closed my eyes. Perhaps I could doze a bit while he slept. But it seemed I had no sooner closed my eyes than his nightmare threatened me. Closing my eyes was like venturing downstairs into the noisy, smoky common room of a cheap inn. Thick’s nauseous music swirled up into my mind, while his fears amplified the roll of the ship into a terrifying series of plunges and leaps without a pattern. I opened my eyes. Enduring sleeplessness was better than being swallowed by that bad dream.
Riddle brought me a pan of salty stew and a mug of watery beer while Thick still dozed. He’d brought his own rations as well, probably to enjoy eating on deck rather than in the cramped hold below. When I started to waken Thick to share the food, Riddle stopped me. ‘Let the poor moron sleep. If he’s fortunate enough to be able to, he’s the envy of every guardsman below.’
‘And why is that?’
He lifted one shoulder in a hapless shrug. ‘I can’t say. Perhaps it’s just the close quarters. But tempers are tight, and no one’s sleeping well. Half of them are avoiding food for fear it won’t stay down, and some of them are seasoned travellers. If you do manage to doze off, someone shouting out in a dream wakes you. Perhaps in a few days things will settle down. Right now, I’d rather stand in a pit surrounded by snarling dogs than to go back down there. There were two fistfights just a moment ago, over who got fed first.’
I nodded sagely, trying to conceal my anxiety. ‘I’m sure things will settle in a day or so. The first few days of a voyage are always difficult.’ I was lying through my teeth. Usually the first few days were the best, while the journey was still a novelty and before the tedium set in. Thick’s dreams were poisoning the guards’ sleep. I tried to be congenial while waiting for Riddle to leave. As soon as he took our empty dishes and departed, I leaned over and shook Thick awake. He sat up with a wail like a startled child.
‘Shush, now. You’re not hurt. Thick, listen to me. No, shush and listen. This is important. You have to stop your music, or at least make it quieter.’
His face was wrinkled like a prune, with anger and hurt feelings that I had so roughly awakened him. Tears stood in his little round eyes. ‘I can’t!’ he wailed. ‘I’m going to die!’
The men working on deck turned scowling faces our way. One muttered angrily and made a sign against ill luck toward us. On some level, they knew the source of their uneasiness. He snuffled and sulked as I talked to him, but firmly resisted any suggestion that he could either dampen his song, or overcome his seasickness and fear. I became fully aware of the strength of his wild Skilling only when I tried to reach the Prince through the cacophony of Thick’s emotions. Chade and the Prince had probably increased the strength of their walls without even noticing they were doing so. Skilling to them was like shouting into a blizzard.
When Dutiful realized how difficult it was for him to understand me, I felt panic touch him. He was in the midst of a meal and could not graciously leave. Even so, he found some way to make Chade aware of our crisis. They brought the meal to a hasty end and hastened out on deck to us.
By then, Thick had dozed off again. Chade spoke quietly. ‘I can mix a powerful sleeping draught and we can force it down him.’
Dutiful winced. ‘I’d rather not. Thick does not soon forget ill treatment. Besides, what would we gain from it? He sleeps now, and still his song is enough to torment the dead.’
‘Perhaps if I put him into a very deep sleep …’ Chade ventured uncertainly.
‘We’d be risking his life,’ I interrupted. ‘With no assurance that his song would stop.’
‘We have only one option,’ the Prince said quietly. ‘Turn back and take him home. Put him off the ship.’
‘We can’t!’ Chade was aghast. ‘We’ll lose too many days. And we may need Thick’s strength when we actually confront the dragon.’
‘Lord Chade, we are seeing the full effects of Thick’s strength now. And we are seeing that it is not disciplined, nor controlled by us.’ There was a new note in the Prince’s voice, a monarch’s tone. It reminded me of Verity, and his carefully weighted words. It made me smile and that earned me an odd frown from the Prince. I hastened to clarify my own thoughts.
‘Right now, Thick’s strength is not governed, not even by him. He does not intend us ill, but his music threatens us all. Think what sort of damage he might do, were he provoked to true anger. Or badly hurt. Even if we can cure his seasickness and calm his song, Thick will remain a double-edged blade. Unless we can find a sure discipline for his strength, he can threaten us when he is unsettled. Perhaps we would be wiser to go back and put him ashore.’
‘We can’t go back!’ Chade insisted. Then, as both Dutiful and I stared at him, he pleaded, ‘Let me have one more night to ponder. I’m sure I’ll think of a solution. And give him one more night to become accustomed to the ship. Perhaps by dawn, his sickness might have passed.’
‘Very well,’ Dutiful replied after a moment. Again, there was that note in his voice. I wondered how he was learning it, or if he was simply growing into his role as ruler. In either case, I was glad to hear it. I was not sure if his decision to grant Chade one more day was a wise one or not. Yet it was his decision and he had made it with confidence. That was a thing to value.
When Thick awoke, he was sick again. I suspected that his prolonged hunger had as much to do with his weakness now as his seasickness did. He was sore from retching, for the muscles of his belly ached and his throat was raw. I could not persuade him to take anything except water, and that he accepted reluctantly. The day was neither cold nor warm, but Thick shivered in his damp clothes. They chafed him, but my suggestion that we go into his cabin and change or get warm met angry resistance. I longed to simply pick him up and drag him there, but knew he would scream and fight me, and that his music would become wild and violent. Yet I feared that he might soon slip into a real illness.
The slow hours passed miserably, and not just for us. Twice I heard the mate explode in anger at his bad-humoured crew. The second time, he threatened a man with a lashing if he didn’t show a more respectful face. I could feel the tension building aboard the ship.
In late evening the rain returned as a pervasive misting. I felt as if I had not been dry for a week. I put my blanket over Thick, hoping the weight of wool would be good for some warmth. He was dozing fitfully on the deck, twitching in his sleep like a dog with nightmares. I had often heard the jest, ‘You can’t die from seasickness, but you wish you could.’ Now I wondered if it was wrong. How long could his body accept this treatment?
My Wit made me aware of Web before his silhouette lumbered out of the dim light of the ship’s lantern to stand over me. ‘You’re a faithful man, Tom Badgerlock,’ he observed as he hunkered down beside me. ‘This can’t be pleasant duty, but you’ve not left his side even for a moment.’
His praise both warmed me and made me uncomfortable. ‘It’s my responsibility,’ I replied, letting his compliment slide past me.
‘And you take it seriously.’
‘Burrich taught me that,’ I said, a bit testily.
Web laughed easily. ‘And he taught you to hang onto a grievance like a pit-dog hanging onto a bull’s nose. Let it go, FitzChivalry Farseer. I’ll say no more of the man.’
‘I wish you would not bandy that name about so casually,’ I said after a moment of heavy quiet.
‘It belongs to you. It’s a piece of you that is missing. You should take it back.’
‘He’s dead. And better left that way, for the sake of all I hold dear.’
‘Is it truly for them, or is it for yourself?’ he asked of the night.
I wasn’t looking at him. I was staring out over the stern, watching the other ships that trailed us through the watery night. They were black hulks, their sails blotting out the stars behind them. The lanterns they bore rose and fell with them, distant moving stars. ‘Web, what do you want of me?’ I asked him at last.
‘Only to make you think,’ he answered soothingly. ‘Not to make you angry, though I seem to excel at that. Or perhaps your anger is always there, festering inside you, and I am the knife that lances the boil and lets it burst forth.’
I shook my head at him silently, not caring if he could or could not see me. I had other things to deal with right now, and wished I were alone.
As if he could read my thoughts, he added, ‘And tonight I did not even intend to start you on your thinking path. Actually, I came here to offer you respite. I’ll sit vigil with Thick, if you wish to take a few hours to yourself. I doubt you’ve slept properly since you took up this watch.’
I longed to move about freely on my own, to see what the temper was on the rest of the ship. Even more than that, I longed for a little unguarded sleep. The offer was incredibly attractive. It therefore made me immediately suspicious.
‘Why?’
Web smiled. ‘Is it that unusual for people to be nice to you?’
His question jolted me in an odd way. I took a breath. ‘Sometimes it seems that way, I suppose.’
I rose slowly, for I had stiffened in the night chill. Thick muttered in his uneasy rest. I raised my arms over my head and rolled my shoulders as I arrowed a swift thought to Dutiful. Web is offering to take over my watch of Thick for a time. May I allow this?
Of course. He seemed almost surprised that I had asked.
But then, sometimes my prince trusted too easily. Please let Chade know.
I felt Dutiful’s agreement. I spoke aloud to Web, at the end of my stretch. ‘Thank you. I’ll take you up on your offer, very gratefully.’
I watched him settle himself carefully beside Thick and take the smallest sea-pipes I’d ever seen from inside his shirt. Sea-pipes are probably the most common musical instrument in any fleet, for they withstand both bad weather and careless handling. It takes little to learn to play a simple tune on them, yet a talented player can entertain like a Buckkeep minstrel with them. I wasn’t surprised to see them in Web’s hands. He’d been a fisherman; he probably still was, in many ways.
He waved me away. As I departed, I heard a breathy sigh of music. He was playing, very softly, a child’s tune on his pipes. Had he instinctively known that might soothe Thick? I wondered why I hadn’t thought of music as a way to comfort him. I sighed. I was becoming too set in my ways. I needed to remember how to be flexible.
I went to the galley in the hope of begging something hot to eat. Instead I got hard bread and a piece of cheese no bigger than two fingers. The cook let me know I could consider myself fortunate for being allowed that. She didn’t have food to waste, she didn’t, not aboard this top-heavy, over-populated tub. I had hoped for wash water, just enough to splash the salt from my hands and face, but she told me I hadn’t a prayer of that. I’d had my share for the day, hadn’t I? I should take what I was issued and be happy with it. Guardsmen. No idea what life aboard a vessel required of a man in self-discipline.
I retreated from her sharp tongue. I longed to stay above decks to eat, but I was out of my territory there, and the sailors were in a mood to prove it to me. So I went below, down to where the rest of the guard snored and muttered and played cards by the swinging light of a lantern. Our days at sea had not improved the smell of our quarters. I found that Riddle had not exaggerated the ill humour of the men. The comments of one man on ‘the returning nursemaid’ would have been enough justification for a fight if I’d wanted one. I didn’t, and managed to shed his insults, eat my food hastily and dig my blanket out of my sea chest. Finding a place to stretch out was impossible. Prone guardsmen littered the floor. I curled up in their midst. I would have preferred to sleep with my back to a wall, but there was no hope of that. I eased off my boots and loosened my belt. The man next to me muttered nastily and rolled over as I tried to settle on the deck and cover most of myself with my blanket. I closed my eyes and breathed out, reaching desperately for unconsciousness, grateful for the opportunity to close my eyes and sleep. At least in my dreams I could escape this nightmare.
But as I crossed the dim territory between wakefulness and sleep, I recognized that perhaps I held the solution to my problems. Instead of wallowing my way into full sleep, I slid sideways through it, seeking Nettle.
My task was harder than I had expected. Thick’s music was here, and finding my way through it was like blundering through brambles in a mist. No sooner did I think of that than the sounds sprouted tendrils and thorns. Music should not hurt a man, but this did. I staggered through a fog of sickness, hunger and thirst, my spine tight with cold and my head pounding with the discordant music that snatched and dragged at me. After a time I halted. ‘It’s a dream,’ I said to myself, and the brambles writhed mockingly at my words. As I stood still, pondering my situation, they began to wrap around my legs. ‘It’s a dream,’ I said again. ‘It can’t hurt me.’ But my words did not prevail. I felt the thorns bite through my leggings into my flesh as I staggered forward. They tightened their grip and held me fast.
I halted again, fighting for calm. What had begun as Thick’s Skill-suggestion was now my own nightmare. I straightened up against the weight of the thorny vines trying to pull me down, reached to my hip and drew Verity’s sword. I slashed at the brambles and they gave way, wriggling away like severed snakes. Encouraged, I gave the sword a blade of flame that singed the writhing plants and lit my way through the encroaching fog. ‘Go uphill,’ I told myself. ‘Only the valleys are full of mist. The hilltops will be clean and bare.’ And it was so.
When I finally struggled clear of Thick’s Skill-fog, I found myself at the edges of Nettle’s dream. I stood for a time staring up at a glass tower on the hilltop above me. I recognized the tale. The hillside above me was littered with tangling threads. As I waded in, they clung like a spider’s web. I knew that Nettle was aware of me. Nonetheless, she left me to my own devices, and I floundered through the ankle-deep tangle that represented all the broken promises her false lovers had made to the princess. In the old tale, only a truehearted man could tread such a path without falling.
In the dream, I had become the wolf. All four of my legs were soon bound by the clinging stuff and I must needs stop and chew myself clear of it. For some reason, the thread tasted of anise, a pleasant enough flavour in moderation, but choking by the mouthful. When I finally reached the glass tower my chest was wet and my jaws dripped saliva. I gave myself a shake, droplets flying, and then asked her, ‘Aren’t you going to invite me to come up?’
She did not reply. She leaned on the parapet of her balcony and stared out over the countryside. I looked behind me, down to where the brambles waved above the banked fog in the deep valleys. Was the fog creeping closer? When Nettle continued to ignore me, I trotted around the base of the tower. In the old tale, there was no door, and Nettle had recreated it faithfully. Did that mean she had had a lover who had been faithless to her? My heart turned over in me and for a moment I forgot the purpose of my visit. When I had circled the tower, I sat down on my haunches and looked up at the figure on the balcony. ‘Who has betrayed you?’ I asked her.
She continued to stare out and I thought she would not answer. But then, without looking down at me, she replied, ‘Everyone. Go away.’
‘How can I help you if I go away?’
‘You can’t help me. You’ve told me that often enough. So you might as well just go away and leave me alone. Like everyone else.’
‘Who has gone away and left you alone?’
That brought a furious glare. She spoke in a low voice full of hurt. ‘I don’t know why I thought you might remember! My brother, for one. My brother Swift, who you said would soon be coming home to us. Well, he hasn’t! And then my stupid father decided to go look for him. As if a man with fogged eyes can go look for anything! And we told him not to go, but he did. And something happened, we don’t know what, but his horse came home without him. So I went out on my horse, despite my mother shrieking at me that I wasn’t to leave, and I tracked his horse’s trail back and found Papa by the side of the road, bruised and bloody and trying to crawl home dragging one leg. So I brought him home, and then my mother scolded me again for disobeying her. And now my father is in bed and all he does is lie there and stare at the wall and not speak to anyone. My mother forbade any of us from bringing him any brandy. So he won’t talk to us or tell us what happened. Which makes my mother furious at all of us. As if it were my fault.’
Halfway through this tirade, her tears had begun to stream down her face. They dripped from her chin and ran over her hands and trickled down the wall of the tower. Slowly they solidified into opal strands of misery. I reared up on my hind legs and clawed at them, but they were too smooth and too shallow for me to gain any purchase. I sat down again. I felt hollow and old. I tried to tell myself that the misery in Molly’s home had nothing to do with me, that I had not caused it and could not cure it. And yet, the roots of it ran deep, did they not?
After a time, she looked down at me and laughed bitterly. ‘Well, Shadow Wolf? Aren’t you going to say you can’t help me with that? Isn’t that what you always say?’ When I could think of no reply, she added in an accusing tone, ‘I don’t know why I even speak to you. You lied to me. You said my brother was coming home.’
‘I thought he was,’ I replied, finding words at last. ‘I went to him and I told him to go home. I thought he had.’
‘Well, perhaps he tried to. Perhaps he started this way, and was killed by robbers, or fell in a river and drowned. I don’t suppose you ever considered that ten is a bit young to be out on the roads alone? I suppose you never thought that it might have been kinder if you had brought him home safely to us, instead of “sending” him? But no, that might have been inconvenient to you.’
‘Nettle. Stop. Let me speak. Swift is safe. Alive and safe. He is still here, with me.’ I paused and tried to breathe. The inevitability of what must follow those words sickened me. Here it comes, Burrich, I thought to myself. All the pain I ever tried to save you. All tied up in a tidy package of misery for you and your family.
For Nettle asked, as I knew she must, ‘And where is “safe with you”? And how do I know he is safe? How do I know you are a true thing at all? Perhaps you are like the rest of this dream, a thing I made. Look at you, man-wolf! You are not real and you offer me false hope.’
‘I am not real as you see me,’ I replied slowly. ‘But I am real. And once upon a time, your father knew me.’
‘Once upon a time,’ she said scornfully. ‘Another tale from Shadow Wolf. Take your silly stories away.’ She took a shuddering breath and fresh tears started down her face. ‘I’m not a child any longer. Your stupid stories can’t help me.’
So I knew I had lost her. Lost her trust, lost her friendship. Lost my chance of knowing my child as a child. Terrible sadness welled up in me, but it was laced with the music of brambles growing. I glanced behind me. The thorn vines and fog had crept higher. Was it just my own dream threatening me, or had Thick’s music become even more menacing? I didn’t know. ‘And I came here seeking your help,’ I reminded myself bitterly.
‘My help?’ Nettle asked in a choked voice.
I had spoken without thinking. ‘I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything.’
‘No. You don’t.’ She was looking past me. ‘What is that, anyway?’
‘A dream. A nightmare, actually.’
‘I thought your nightmares were about falling.’ She sounded intrigued.
‘That’s not my nightmare. It belongs to someone else. He is … it’s a very strong nightmare. Strong enough to spread out from him and take over the dreams of other people. It’s threatening lives. And I don’t think the man whose dream it is can control it.’
‘Just wake him up, then.’ She offered the solution disdainfully.
‘That might help, for a little time. But I need a more permanent solution.’ For a brief moment, I considered telling her that the man’s nightmare endangered Swift as well. I pushed the thought aside. There was no use frightening her, especially when I wasn’t sure she could help me.
‘What did you think I could do about it?’
‘I thought you could help me go into his dream and change it. Make it pleasant and calm. Convince him that what is happening to him won’t kill him, that he’ll be fine. Then his dreams might be calmer. And we could all rest.’
‘How could I do that?’ And then, more sharply, ‘And why should I do that? What do you offer me in exchange, Shadow Wolf?’
I did not like that it had come down to barter, but I had only myself to blame. It was cruellest of all that the only thing I had to offer her would bring pain and guilt for her father. I spoke slowly. ‘As to how, you are very strong in the magic that lets one person walk into another person’s dreams and change them. Strong enough, perhaps, to shape my friend’s dream for him, even though he himself is also very strong in magic. And very frightened.’
‘I have no magic.’
I ignored her words. ‘As for why … I have told you that Swift is with me, and safe. You doubt me. I don’t blame you, for it appears I have failed you in my earlier assurance. But I will give you words, to say to your father. They will … they will be hard for him to hear. But when he hears them, he will know that what I say is true. That your brother is alive and well. And with me.’
‘Tell me the words, then.’
For one brief Chade-ish moment, I thought of demanding that first she help me with Thick’s dreaming. Then I harshly rejected that notion. My daughter owed me exactly what I had given her: nothing. Perhaps there was also the fear that if I did not speak to her then, I would lose my courage. Uttering those words was like touching my tongue to a glowing coal. I spoke them. ‘Tell him that you dreamed of a wolf with porcupine quills in his muzzle. And that the wolf said to you, “As once you did, so I do now. I shelter and guide your son. I will put my life between him and any harm, and when my task is done, I will bring him safely home to you”.’
I had cloaked my message as best I could, under the circumstances. Nettle still struck far too close to the truth when she eagerly asked, ‘My father cared for your son, years ago?’
Some decisions are easier if you don’t allow yourself time to think. ‘Yes,’ I lied to my daughter. ‘Exactly.’
I watched her mull this for a moment. Slowly her tower of glass began to melt into water. It flowed, warm and harmless, past my feet until her balcony had descended to the ground. She offered me her hand to help her climb over the railing. I took it, touching and yet not touching my daughter for the first time in her life. Her tanned fingers rested briefly on my black-clawed paw. Then she stood clear of me and looked down at the fog and creeping briars that were ascending the hillside toward us.
‘You know I’ve never done anything like this before?’
‘Neither have I,’ I admitted.
‘Before we go into his dream, tell me something about him,’ she suggested.
The fog and bramble crept ever closer. Whatever I told her about Thick would be too much, and yet for her to enter his dream ignorant might be dangerous to all. I could not control what Thick revealed to her in the context of the dream. For one fleeting second, I wondered if I should have consulted Chade or Dutiful before seeking Nettle’s aid. Then I smiled grimly to myself. I was Skillmaster, was I not? In that capacity, this decision was mine alone.
And so I told my daughter that Thick was simple, a man with the mind and heart of a child, and the strength of an army when it came to Skill-magic. I even told her that he served the Farseer Prince, and that he journeyed with him on a ship. I told her how his powerful Skill-music and now his dreams were undermining morale on the ship. I told her of his conviction that he would always be seasick and that he would likely die from it. And as I told her these things, the thorns grew and twined toward us, and I watched her quickly drawing her own conclusions from what I said; that I was on board the ship also, and therefore that her brother was with me, on a sea-voyage with the Farseer Prince. Rural as her home was, I wondered how much she had heard of the Narcheska and the Prince’s quest. I didn’t have to wonder long. She put the tale together for herself.
‘So that is the black dragon that the silver dragon keeps asking you about. The one the Prince goes to slay.’
‘Don’t speak her name,’ I begged her.
She gave me a disdainful look that mocked my foolish fears. Then, ‘Here it comes,’ she said quietly. And the brambles engulfed us.
They made a crackling sound as they rose around our ankles and then our knees, like fire racing up a tree. The thorns bit into our flesh and then a dense fog swirled up about us, choking and menacing.
‘What is this?’ Nettle exclaimed in annoyance. Then, as the fog stole her from my sight, she exclaimed, ‘Stop it. Shadow Wolf, stop it right now! This is all yours; you made this mess. Let go of it!’
And she wrested my dream from me. It was rather like having someone snatch away your blankets. But most jarring for me was that it evoked a memory I both did and did not recognize: another time and an older woman, prying something fascinating and shiny from my chubby-fisted grasp, while saying, ‘No, Keppet. Not for little boys.’
I was breathless in the sudden banishment of my dream, but in the next instant we literally plunged into Thick’s. The fog and brambles vanished, and the cold salt water closed over my head. I was drowning. No matter how I struggled I could not get to the top of the water. Then a hand gripped mine and as Nettle hauled me up to stand beside her, she exclaimed irritably, ‘You are so gullible! It’s a dream, and that’s all it is. Now it’s my dream, and in my dream we can walk on the waves. Come on.’
She said it and it was so. Still, I held on to her hand and walked beside her. All around us, the water stretched out, glittering shoreless from horizon to horizon. Thick’s music was the wind blowing all around us. I squinted out over the water, wondering how we would ever find Thick in the trackless waves, but Nettle squeezed my hand and announced clearly through Thick’s wild song, ‘We’re very close to him now.’
And that, too, was so. A few steps more and she dropped to her knees with an exclamation of pity. The blinding sunlight on the water hid whatever she stared at. I knelt beside her and felt my heart break.
He knew it too well. He must have seen it, sometime. The drowned kitten floated just beneath the water. Too young even for his eyes to be opened, he dangled weightlessly in the sea’s grip. His fur floated around him, but as Nettle reached in to grip him by the scruff of the neck and pull him out, his coat sleeked suddenly flat with the water. He dangled from her hand, water streaming from his tail and paws and dribbling from his nose and open red mouth. She cupped the little creature fearlessly in her hand. She bent over him intently, experimentally flexing the small rib cage between her thumb and forefingers. Then she held the tiny face close to hers and blew a sudden puff of air into the open red mouth. In those moments, she was entirely Burrich’s daughter. So I had seen him clear birth-mucus from a newborn puppy’s throat.
‘You’re all right now,’ she told the kitten authoritatively. She stroked the tiny creature, and in the wake of her hand, his fur was dry and soft. He was striped orange and white, I suddenly saw. A moment before, I thought he had been black. ‘You’re alive and safe, and I will not let any evil befall you. And you know that you can trust me. Because I love you.’
At her words, my throat closed up and choked me. I wondered how she knew them to say. All my life, without knowing it, I had wanted someone to say those words to me, and have them be true and believable. It was like watching someone give to another the gift you had always longed for. And yet, I did not feel bitterness or envy. All I felt was wonder that at sixteen, she would have that in her to give to another. Even if I could have found Thick in his dream, even if someone had told me those were the words I must say, the words he most desperately needed to hear, I could not have said them and made them true as she did. She was my daughter, blood of my blood, and yet the wonder and amazement she made me feel at that moment made her a creation entirely apart from me.
The kitten stirred in her hand. It looked about blindly. When the little red mouth opened wide, I was prepared for a yowl. Instead, it questioned in a hoarse little voice, ‘Mam?’
‘No,’ Nettle replied. My daughter was braver than I. She did not even consider the easy lie. ‘But someone like her.’ Nettle looked around the seascape as if noticing it for the first time. ‘And this is not a good place for someone like you. Let’s change it, shall we? Where do you like to be?’
His answers surprised me. She coaxed the information from him, detail by detail. When they were finished, we sat, doll-sized, in the centre of an immense bed. In the distance, I could make out the hazy walls of a travelling wagon such as many puppeteer families and street performers lived in when they travelled from town to town. It smelled of the dried peppers and braided onions that were roped across one corner of the ceiling. Now I recognized the music around us, not just as Thick’s mother song, but also the elements that comprised it: the steady breathing of a sleeping woman, the creak of wheels and the slow-paced thudding of a team’s hoofbeats, woven as a backdrop for a woman’s humming and a childish tune on a whistle. It was a song of safety and acceptance and content. ‘I like it here,’ Nettle told him when they were finished. ‘Perhaps, if you don’t mind, I’ll come and visit you here again. Would that be all right?’
The kitten purred, and then curled up, not sleeping, but simply being safe in the middle of the huge bed. Nettle stood up to go. I think that was when I realized that I was watching Thick’s dream but was no longer part of it. I had vanished from it, along with all other discordant and dangerous elements. I had no place in his mother’s world.
‘Farewell for now,’ Nettle told him. And added, ‘Now remember how easy it is to come here. When you decide to sleep, all you have to do is think of this cushion.’ She touched one of many brightly embroidered pillows on the bed. ‘Remember this, and when you dream, you’ll come straight here. Can you do that?’
The kitten rumbled a purr in response, and then Thick’s dream began to fade around me. In a moment, I stood again on the hillside by the melted glass tower. The brambles and fog had vanished, leaving a vista of green valleys and shining rivers threading through them.
‘You didn’t tell him he wouldn’t be seasick any more,’ I suddenly remembered. Then I winced at how ungrateful my words sounded. Nettle scowled at me and I saw the weariness in her eyes.
‘Do you think it was easy to find all those things and assemble them around him? He kept trying to change it all back into cold sea-water.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m sleeping, and yet I suspect I’m going to wake exhausted.’
‘I apologize,’ I answered gravely. ‘Well do I know that magic can take a toll. I spoke without thinking.’
‘Magic,’ she snorted. ‘This dream-shaping is not magic. It is just a thing I can do.’
And with that thought, she left me. I pushed from my mind the dread of what might be said when she gave Burrich my words. There was nothing I could do about any of that. I sat down at the base of her tower, but without Nettle to anchor it, the dream was already fading. I sank through it into a dreamless sleep of my own.

SEVEN (#ulink_722bd20d-eef3-542f-a16f-48c8758179c6)
Voyage (#ulink_722bd20d-eef3-542f-a16f-48c8758179c6)
Do not make the error of thinking of the Out Islands as a kingdom under a sole monarch, such as we have in the Six Duchies, or even as an alliance of peoples such as we see in the Mountain Kingdom. Not even the individual islands, small as they may seem, are under the sole command of any single lord or noble. In fact, there are no ‘nobles or lords’ recognized among the Outislanders. Men have status according to their prowess as warriors and the richness of the spoils they bring back. Some have the backing of their matriarchal clans to enhance whatever reputation they may claim by force of arms. Clans hold territory on the islands, it is true, but these lands are the matriarchal farmlands and gathering beaches owned by the women and passed down through their daughters.
Towns, especially harbour towns, belong to no single clan and mob law is generally the rule in them. The city guard will not come to your aid if you are robbed or assaulted in an Out Island town. Each man is expected to enforce the respect others should give him. Cry out for help and you will be judged weak and beneath notice. Sometimes, however, the dominant clan in the area may have a ‘stronghouse’ in the town and set itself up in judgment over disputes there.
The Outislanders do not build castles and forts such as we have in the Six Duchies. A siege is more likely to be conducted by enemy vessels taking control of a harbour or river mouth rather than by a force attempting to seize land. It is not unusual, however, to find one or two clan ‘stronghouses’ in each major town. These are fortified structures built to withstand attack and often having deep cellars with not only a well for water but also substantial storage for food. These ‘stronghouses’ usually belonged to the dominant clan in each town, and were designed more for shelter from civil strife than to withstand foreign attack.
Shellbye’s Out Island Travels
When I awoke, I could feel that the ship was calmer. I had not slept for many hours, but I felt rested. About me on the deck, men still sprawled, immersed in slumber as if they had not slept well in days, as was the case.
I rose carefully, bundling my blanket in my arms and stepping through the prone bodies. I put my blanket back into my sea chest, changed into a cleaner shirt and then went back on deck. Night was venturing toward morning. The clouds had rained themselves out, and fading stars showed through their rent curtains. The canvas had been reset to take advantage of a kindlier wind. The barefoot sailors moved in quiet competence on the deck. It felt like the dawn after a storm.
I found Thick curled up and sleeping, the lines of his face slack and peaceful, his breathing hoarse and steady. Nearby, Web dozed; his head drooped forward onto his bent knees. My eyes could barely make out the dark shape of a sea bird perched on the railing. It was a gull of some sort, larger than the average. I caught the bright glint of Risk’s eye, and nodded to her in affable greeting as I approached slowly, giving Web time to open his eyes and lift his head. He smiled at me.
‘He seems to be resting better. Perhaps the worst is over.’
‘I hope so,’ I replied. Cautiously I opened myself to Thick’s music. It was no longer a storm of Skill, but was still as constant as the shushing waves. His mother’s song had become dominant in it again, but I heard also the trace of a kitten purring, and a reassuring echo of Nettle’s voice assuring him that he was loved and safe. That unsettled me a bit; I wondered if I only heard it because I had witnessed the change, or if Chade and the Prince would also detect her words and voice.
‘You look more rested as well,’ Web observed, his voice abruptly recalling me to my manners and myself.
‘Yes, I am. And I thank you.’
He extended a hand to me, and I took it, helping him onto his feet. Once upright, he released my hand and rolled his shoulders to limberness again. On the railing, his bird waddled a step or two closer. In the gathering light, I marked the deep yellow of her beak and feet. Somewhere in Burrich’s tutelage, I seemed to recall that bright colours were indicative of a well-nourished bird. This creature gleamed with health. As if aware of my admiration, she turned her head and carefully preened a long flight feather through her bill. Then, as effortlessly as a cat lofts into a chair, she rose from the railing, her cupped wings catching the wind and lifting her in flight.
‘Show off,’ Web muttered. He smiled at me. It came to me that Wit-partners take the same inane pride in one another that parents do in their children. I smiled back, commiserating.
‘Ah. That looks genuine. In time, my friend, I think you will come to trust me. Tell me when you do.’
I gave a small sigh. It would have been courteous to insist that I already trusted him, but I did not think I could lie well enough to deceive him. So I simply nodded. Then, as he turned to go, I remembered Swift. ‘I’ve another favour I would ask of you,’ I said awkwardly.
He turned back to me, sincere pleasure in his face. ‘I’ll take that as an indication of progress.’
‘Could you ask Swift to give me some of his time today? I’d like to talk to him.’
Web cocked his head like a gull regarding a dubious clamshell. ‘Are you going to brow-beat him about returning to his father?’
I considered. Was I? ‘No. I’m only going to tell him that I regard it as essential to my honour that he return safely to Buckkeep. And that I expect him to keep up his lessons with me while on this journey.’ Oh, that would please Chade, I thought sourly. My time already was stretched thin, and I was taking up yet another task.
Web smiled warmly. ‘It would please me greatly to send him to you to hear those things,’ he replied. He offered me a sailor’s brief bow before he departed, and I nodded back.
A Skilled suggestion from me meant that the Prince rose early and was on the deck beside Thick when he finally stirred. A servant had brought up a small basket, with warm bread and a pot of hot tea in it. The smell of it made me aware I was ravenous. He set it on the deck near Thick and then the Prince dismissed him. We stood silently staring out over the sea, waiting for Thick to awaken.
When did his music change? When I awoke this morning, I couldnot believe how relaxed and rested I felt. It took me some time before I realized what the change was.
It’s such a relief, isn’t it? I wanted to say more, but dared not. I could not admit to the Prince that I had tampered with Thick’s dreams, because I wasn’t really the one who had done it. I doubted that Thick had even been aware I was there.
Thick’s awakening saved me. He coughed, and then opened his eyes. He looked up at Dutiful and me and a slow smile spread over his face. ‘Nettle fixed my dream for me,’ he said. Before either Dutiful or I could respond to his words, he went off in a fit of coughing. Then, ‘I don’t feel good. My throat hurts.’
I seized the opportunity to divert the conversation. ‘It’s probably from all the retching you’ve done. Look, Thick, Dutiful has brought you tea and fresh bread. The tea will ease your throat. Shall I pour you some?’
His only reply was another spell of coughing. I crouched down beside him and touched his cheek. His face was warm, but he had just awakened and he was still wrapped in wool blankets. It didn’t mean he had a fever. He pushed the blankets away irritably, and then sat shivering in his wrinkled, damp clothing. He looked miserable and his music began to swirl discordantly.
The Prince took action. ‘Badgerlock, bring that basket. Thick, you are coming back into the cabin with me. Immediately.’
‘I don’t want to,’ he groaned, then shocked me by slowly standing up. He staggered a step, then looked out over the rolling waves and seemed to recall, ‘I’m seasick.’
‘That’s why I want to take you to the cabin. You’ll get better there,’ the Prince told him.
‘No, I won’t,’ Thick insisted, but all the same when Dutiful started off toward the cabin, he slowly fell in behind him. His gait was unsteady, as much from weakness as from the gentle shifting of the deck. I stepped up to take his arm and escorted him, the laden basket on my other arm. He wobbled along beside me. We stopped twice for coughing spells, and by the time we reached the door of the Prince’s cabin, my concern had become worry.
Dutiful’s chamber was more elaborate and better furnished than his bedchamber at home. Obviously someone else had designed it to a Buckkeep idea of what a prince merited. It had a bank of windows that looked out onto the wake behind the ship. There were rich carpets over the polished deck, and heavy furniture that was well anchored against the sway of the ship. I would probably have been more impressed if I had lingered there longer, but Thick arrowed for his own small room that opened off the main chamber. It was far more modest, little more than a closet the size of his bunk with a space beneath it for storing personal items. The architect of the ship had probably intended it for a valet rather than a bedchamber for the Prince’s pet simpleton. Thick immediately crumpled onto the bed. He moaned and muttered as I shook him out of his stained and sweaty clothing. When I covered him with a light blanket, he clutched it to himself and complained, teeth chattering, of the cold. I fetched him a stuffed coverlet from the foot of the Prince’s own bed. I was certain of his fever now.
The pot of tea had cooled a bit, but I poured a cup for Thick and sat by him while he drank it. At my Skilled suggestion, the Prince sent for willow bark tea for his fever and raspberry root syrup for his cough. When the servant finally brought them, it took me some time to coax Thick to accept them. But his stubbornness seemed to have been eroded by the fever, and he gave way to me.
The room was so small that I could not shut the door while I was sitting on the edge of his bed, so it remained open and I idly watched the flow of people through my Prince’s chamber as I tended our simpleton. I found little of interest until Dutiful’s ‘Witted coterie’ arrived. They were Civil, Web, the minstrel Cockle and Swift. Dutiful was seated at the table, softly rehearsing his Outislander speech when they came in. As the servant admitted them and then was dismissed, he pushed the scroll aside with apparent relief. Civil’s cat padded in at his heels and immediately made himself comfortable on the Prince’s bed. No one seemed to take any notice of him.
Web glanced at me, bemused, before he greeted the Prince. ‘All’s fair aloft, Prince Dutiful.’ I thought it was an odd courtesy, until it dawned on me that he was relaying the word from his bird, Risk. ‘No ships save our own are in sight.’
‘Excellent.’ The Prince smiled his approval before he turned his attention to the others. ‘How fares your cat today, Civil?’
Civil held up his hand. His sleeve fell back to expose a raised red scratch the length of his forearm. ‘Bored. And irritated with the confinement. He’ll be glad when we see land again.’ All the Witted ones laughed indulgently together, as parents would over a child’s wilfulness. I marked how comfortable they all seemed in the Prince’s presence. Only Swift seemed to retain any stiffness, and that could have been due to either his awareness of me or the age difference between him and the rest of the company. So had Verity’s closest nobles been with him, I recalled, and thought to myself that the casual affection of those men was more valuable than the way Regal’s hangers-on used to bow and scrape to him.
So it did not seem overly odd when Web turned to look at me and then asked Dutiful, ‘And has Tom Badgerlock come to join us today, my prince?’
Two questions rode in his words. Was I there to admit my Wit and possibly my identity, and would I be joining their ‘coterie’? I held my breath as Dutiful answered, ‘Not exactly, Web. He tends my man Thick. I understand you kept watch by him during the night to allow Badgerlock some rest, and for that I thank you. Yet now Thick has taken a cough from his night exposure and is feverish. He finds Badgerlock’s company soothing, and so the man has agreed to sit with him.’
‘Ah. I see. Well, Thick, I’m sorry to hear you are ill.’ As he spoke, Web came to peep in through the door. At the table behind him, the rest of the coterie continued their quiet conversation. Swift watched Web anxiously. Thick, huddled in his blankets and staring at the wall, seemed only mildly aware of him. Even his Skill-music seemed subdued and muted, as if he lacked the energy to drive it. When Thick made no response, Web touched me softly on the shoulder and said quietly, ‘I’ll be happy to take a watch beside him tonight, too, if you’d like the rest. In the meanwhile,’ he turned from me and gestured at Swift, whose face clouded with sudden apprehension, ‘I’ll leave my “page” here with you. Doubtless you two have much to discuss, and if there are any errands that can be run for Thick’s comfort, I’m sure Swift will be glad to fetch for you. Isn’t that right, lad?’
Swift was in an untenable position and he knew it. He came to heel like a whipped dog and stood beside Web, eyes downcast. ‘Yes sir,’ he replied softly. He lifted his gaze to me and I didn’t like what I saw there. It was fear coupled with dislike, and I did not feel I had done anything to justify either of those emotions.
‘Swift,’ Web said, drawing the boy’s eyes back to him. He went on quietly, in a voice pitched for our ears alone. ‘It will be fine. Trust me. Tom wishes to be sure you will continue your education while you are aboard this ship. That is all.’
‘Actually, there is more,’ I said unwillingly. That made both of them stare at me. Web lifted a brow. ‘I’ve given a promise,’ I said slowly. ‘To your family, Swift. I promised that I’d put my life between you and anything that threatened you. I’ve promised that I’ll do my best to see you safely home, when all this is over.’
‘What if I don’t want to go home when all this is over?’ Swift asked me insolently, his voice rising. I felt more than saw the Prince become aware of the conversation. And then the boy added, indignantly, ‘Wait! How did you talk to my father? There wasn’t time for you to send a messenger and then get a reply before we left. You’re lying.’
I drew a slow breath through my nostrils. When I could speak calmly, I replied, keeping my voice pitched low. ‘No. I am not lying. I sent my promise to your family. I didn’t say they had replied. I still consider it just as binding.’
‘There wasn’t time,’ he protested, but more quietly. Web looked at him disapprovingly. I scowled. Web flicked a disapproving glance at me, but I met it steadily. I’d promised to keep the boy alive and return him home. That didn’t mean I had to tolerate his insults gladly.
‘I suppose this may be a long voyage for both of you,’ Web observed. ‘I’ll leave you to each other’s company, and hope you both learn to make the best of it. I believe you each have something to offer the other. But you’ll only value it if you discover it for yourselves.’
‘I’m cold,’ Thick moaned, rescuing me from Web’s lecture.
‘There’s your first errand,’ I told Swift brusquely. ‘Ask the Prince’s serving man where you can find two more blankets for Thick. Wool ones. And bring him a big mug of water as well.’
I think it offended his dignity to fetch things for a half-wit, but he found it preferable to remaining in my company. As Swift scuttled off, Web gave a sigh.
‘Truth between the two of you,’ he advised me. ‘It’s going to be your only bridge to reaching that boy, Tom. And he needs you to reach him. I’m only realizing that now. He ran from his home, and he ran from you. He has to stop running or he’ll never learn to stand and face down his problems.’
So, he thought I was one of Swift’s problems? I looked away. ‘I’ll deal with him,’ I said.
Web sighed wearily. ‘I’ll leave him to you, then.’
Web returned to the table and the Witted coterie’s conversation. After a time, they all left. The Prince resumed rehearsing his speech. By the time Swift returned with blankets and a mug of water for Thick, I’d combed through Dutiful’s collection of scrolls and selected several I thought would benefit Swift. To my surprise, I found some I hadn’t seen before; Chade must have acquired them just before we sailed. They dealt with Out Island society and customs. I chose the simpler ones for Swift.
I made Thick as comfortable as I could. His fever was rising. The hotter he became the more fantastic the music he Skilled. He still hadn’t taken in any food, but at least he’d lost the will to fight me as I held the mug to his mouth and made sure that he drank it all. I settled him again, tucking the blankets snugly around him, and wondering how the heat of a fever could make a man think he was cold.
When I finished, I glanced up to find Swift looking at us in distaste. ‘He smells funny,’ the boy complained to my reproving glance.
‘He’s sick.’ I pointed at the floor as I resumed my seat at the edge of Thick’s bed. ‘Sit there. And read aloud to us, quietly, from that scroll. No, the one with the frayed edge, there. Yes, that one.’
‘What is it?’ he asked needlessly as he untied the scroll and opened it.
‘It’s a description of the history and people of the Out Islands.’
‘Why do I need to read this?’
I ticked the reasons off on my fingers. ‘Because you need to practise your reading. Because we are going there, and it behoves you to know something about the people there so you don’t shame your prince. Because the history of the Six Duchies is entwined with that of the Out Islands. And because I said so.’
He lowered his eyes but I sensed no mellowing toward me. I had to prompt him again before he began reading it. But once he began, I think he interested himself. The rise and fall of his boyish voice was soothing. I let my thoughts float on the sound, barely taking in the sense of the words.
He was still reading when Chade entered. Ostensibly, I paid no attention to the old man while he conferred quietly with the Prince. Then Dutiful Skill-touched me. Chade would like you to dismiss Swift for a time, so we could speak freely here.
A moment.
I nodded as if to myself over whatever Swift had just read. When he drew breath, I reached out to touch his shoulder. ‘That’s enough for today. You can go. But I will be here tomorrow, and so should you be. I’ll expect you.’
‘Yes sir.’ There was no anticipation, no resignation in his voice. Just a flat acknowledgement. I suppressed a sigh. He went to the Prince, made his courtesy and was dismissed. At a Skill-nudge from me, Dutiful let him know that he thought education a desirable advantage for every man, and that he, too, wished to see Swift at his lessons every day. He received the same lacklustre assent that I had, and then Swift went his way.
The door had scarcely closed behind him before Chade was at my side. ‘How is he?’ he asked gravely as he touched Thick’s face.
‘Feverish and coughing. He has taken water but no food.’
Chade sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He felt Thick’s throat just under his jaw and then slipped his hand inside his collar, assessing his fever. ‘For how long,’ he asked me, ‘has he been fasting?’
‘It has been at least three days since he took any substantial food that stayed with him.’
Chade breathed out noisily. ‘Well, that is where we must begin. Get nourishment into him. Salty broths, thick with soft meat and vegetables.’
I nodded, but Thick groaned and turned his face to the wall. His music had an odd floating quality to it. It seemed to fade into a distance, as if it were leaking into a place I could not access.
Chade’s hand on my wrist distracted me. What did you do to him, last night? Did you cause this sickness, do you think?
His query shocked me and I answered it aloud. ‘No. No, I think this is just the result of his seasickness, his nights on deck in the rain and a lack of food.’
Thick had, perhaps, been aware of our Skilling. He rolled his head toward us and looked at me balefully. Then his eyes sank shut again.
Chade moved away, motioning for me to follow. He sank down onto a well-padded bench built beneath one of the windows and indicated I should sit close beside him. The Prince had been setting out game pieces for stones. Now he lifted his gaze to regard us curiously.
‘Strange, that speaking softly may be the best way to keep this private.’ Chade pointed out the window as if bidding me observe something. I leaned forward and nodded. He smiled, and spoke quietly near my ear. ‘I could not sleep last night. I’ve been practising Skill-exercises on my own. I fancy that I’ve become more attuned to it. Thick’s music was strong and wild. Then, I sensed something … someone. You, I thought. But there was another presence, one I thought I had glimpsed before. It grew stronger, more masterful; then Thick’s music calmed.’
A part of me was astounded that Chade was strong enough in the Skill to have witnessed anything. I didn’t think fast enough and I was silent for too long before I asked innocently, ‘Another presence?’
Chade smiled toothily. ‘Nettle, I think. You are bringing her into the coterie this way?’
‘Not really,’ I said. And it was like a wall collapsing, this surrendering of my secret to Chade. I resented it, and yet I could not deny the relief that I felt to speak of it. I was tired of my secrets, I realized abruptly. Too tired to protect them any more. Let him know of Nettle and her strength. It didn’t mean I’d allow her to be used. ‘I asked a favour of her. I needed to let her know that Swift was safe and that I’d watch over him. Before we left Buckkeep, I’d told her that he was coming home, because that was what I believed. When I discovered he’d come aboard with Web, well … I couldn’t leave her in suspense, wondering if her brother were dead in a ditch somewhere.’
‘Of course not,’ Chade murmured. His eyes glinted with hunger for information. I fed it.
‘In return, I asked that she soothe Thick’s nightmare. She seems very skilled at controlling her own dreams. Last night, she proved capable of controlling someone else’s.’
I watched his face as avidly as he watched mine. I saw him ponder the possible uses of such a thing; saw sparks kindle as he recognized how powerful a weapon it could be. To take control of the images in a man’s mind, to guide his unguarded thoughts into channels grim and daunting, or uplifting and lovely … what could not be done with such a tool? One could craze a man with nightly terrors, inspire a wedding alliance based on romantic dreams, or poison an alliance with suspicions.
‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘Nettle is unaware of the power of what she does. She does not even know it is the Skill she plies. I will not bring her into the coterie, Chade.’ And then I told the most cunningly crafted lie I could swiftly fashion. Had he been aware of it, Chade would have been proud of me. ‘She will work best for us as a solo, uncognizant of the full import of what she does. She will remain more tractable so. Even as I was, when I worked as an unknowing youth.’
He nodded gravely, not bothering to deny the truth of it. I saw then a blind spot in my mentor. He had loved me, and yet still used me, and still permitted me to be used. Perhaps, just as he had been used. He did not guess that I would shield Nettle from such a fate. ‘I’m glad you have come to see that that is for the best,’ he said approvingly.
‘What’s out there?’ the Prince asked curiously. He rose to come and stare out of the window. Chade replied some nonsense about us playing tricks with our eyes, seeing first the ships as moving upon the water and then blinking, to make the water move beneath the ships.
‘And what was it that you wished to speak to us privately about?’ Dutiful asked curiously.
Chade took a breath and almost I saw him scrabble for a topic. ‘I think this is an excellent arrangement. With both Thick and Fitz here, we have access to our entire coterie. I think it would be well if we let it be known that Thick has grown very attached to Fitz and wishes him near. With that excuse, it will not seem so odd for an ordinary guardsman to attend his prince so closely, even after Thick’s health improves.’
‘I thought we had already discussed that?’ Dutiful queried.
‘Did we? Well. I suppose we did. Excuse an old man’s wandering mind, my prince.’
Dutiful made a small and sceptical noise. I made a tactful retreat to Thick’s bedside.
His fever had in no way abated. Chade called a servant and commanded the foods he thought would be most helpful for Thick. I thought of the surly cook I’d encountered and pitied the boy sent with the order. He returned far too soon with a cup of hot water with a piece of salt meat in the bottom of it. Chade fumed at that, and sent a second serving man with terse and precise orders. I coaxed plain water into Thick, and listened anxiously as his breathing grew more hoarse.
The food arrived. The cook’s second effort was much better than her first, and I managed to spoon some of it down Thick. His throat was sore and swallowing pained him, so the meal was very slow. She had also, at Chade’s direction, sent food for me so that I could eat without leaving his side. That became the regular pattern of my meals. It was nice to be able to eat at my leisure without competing with the rest of the guardsmen but at the same time, it isolated me from any talk save Thick’s, Chade’s and Dutiful’s.
I had hoped to get a solid night of sleep my first night in the Prince’s cabin. Thick had settled and did not toss or moan. I dared to hope that he had found his own peace. My pallet spanned the threshold to his closet. I closed my eyes, longing to find my own rest, but instead breathed deep, centred myself and dove into Thick’s dream.
He wasn’t alone. Kitten-Thick nestled in the middle of a big bed upon his cushion while Nettle moved quietly around the tiny room. She seemed to be busy with evening tasks. She hummed as she tidied away discarded clothing and then set foodstuffs into the cupboards. When she was finished, the little room was neat and bright. ‘There,’ she told the watchful kitten. ‘You see. All is well. Everything is where it should be and as it should be. And you are safe. Sweet dreams, little one.’ She stood on her tiptoes to blow out the lamp. I had a sudden odd realization. I had known she was Nettle, but perceived her through Thick’s eyes as a short, stout woman with long greying hair bundled into a knot and deep lines in her face. His mother, I realized, and knew then that she had borne him very late in her life. She looked more of an age to be his grandmother. Then Thick’s dream retreated from me, as if I gazed at a lighted window from a distance. I looked around me. We were on the hillside, the melted tower above me and a bramble of dead briars surrounding me. Nettle stood at my side. ‘I do this for him, not you,’ she said bluntly. ‘No soul should have to endure dreams so plagued with fear.’
‘You’re angry at me?’ I asked her slowly. I dreaded her answer.
She did not look at me. From nowhere, a cold wind blew between us. She spoke through it. ‘What did they really mean, those words you told me to say to my father? Are you truly a callous beast, Shadow Wolf, that you gave me words to pierce his heart?’
Yes. No. I lacked a truthful answer to give her. I tried to say, I would never want to hurt him. But was that true? He had taken Molly to be his own. They had believed me dead; neither of them had intended me ill. But he had taken her from me, all the same. And raised my daughter, in safety and health. Yes. That was true, and I was grateful to him for that. But not grateful that she would always see his face when she heard the word ‘Papa’. ‘You asked me for those words,’ I said, and then heard how harsh I sounded.
‘And just like the wishes granted in old tales, you gave me what I wanted and it has broken my heart.’
‘What happened?’ I asked unwillingly.
She didn’t want to tell me, and yet she did. ‘I told him I’d had a dream, and that in the dream, a wolf with porcupine quills in his nose had promised to watch over Swift and bring him safely home to us. And I said the words you gave me. “As once you did, so I do now. I shelter and guide your son. I will put my life between him and any harm, and when my task is done, I will bring him safely home to you.”’
‘And?’
‘My mother was kneading bread, and she told me not to speak of Swift if all I could talk was moonshine and foolishness. But her back was to the table where I sat with my father. She did not see his eyes widen at my words. For a time, he just stared at me, with his eyes showing the whites all around them. Then he fell from the chair to the floor and lay there, staring like a corpse. I thought he was struck dead. My brothers and I carried him to his bed, fearing the worst. My mother was terrified, demanding of him where he hurt. But he did not answer. He only put his hands over his eyes, curled up like a beaten child and began to weep.
‘He wept all today, and did not say a word to any of us. As night fell, I heard him get up. I came to the edge of my loft and looked down. He was dressed for travel. My mother was holding to his arm, begging him not to go out. But he said to her, “Woman, you’ve no idea what we have done, and I haven’t the courage to tell you. I’m a coward. I’ve always been a coward.” Then he shook her off and left.’
For a terrible flashing instant, I imagined Molly spurned and abandoned. It was devastating.
‘Where did he go?’ I managed to ask her.
‘I suspect he’s coming to you. Wherever you are.’ Her words were curt, and yet I heard hope in them, hope that someone knew where her father was bound and why. I had to take it from her.
‘That cannot be. But I think I know where he has gone, and I think he will come back to you soon.’ Buckkeep, I thought to myself. Burrich was a direct man. He’d go to Buckkeep, hoping to corner Chade and question him. He’d get Kettricken instead. And she would tell him. Just as she had told Dutiful who I really was. Because she believed in telling people the truth, even if it hurt them.
While I was still pondering that scene, Nettle spoke again. ‘What have I done?’ she asked me. It was not a rhetorical question. ‘I thought I was so clever. I thought I could bargain with you, and get my brother safely home. Instead … what have I done? What are you? Do you wish us ill? Do you hate my father?’ Then, with even more dread she asked, ‘Is my brother in your power somehow?’
‘Please don’t fear me. You have no reason to fear me,’ I said hastily, and then wondered if it was true. ‘Swift is safe, and I promise I will do all in my power to bring him home to you as soon as I can.’ I paused, wondering what I could safely tell her. She was no fool, this daughter of mine. Too many hints and she’d unravel the whole mystery. Like as not, then I’d lose her forever. ‘I knew your father, a long time ago. We were close. But I made decisions that went against his rules, and so we parted. For a long time, he has believed I was dead. With your words, he knows I am not. And because I never came back to him, he now believes he did me a great wrong. He didn’t. But if you know your father at all, you will know that it is what he believes in that regard that will drive him.’
‘You knew my father a long time ago? Did you know my mother then, too?’
‘I knew him long before you were born.’ Not quite a lie, but a deception nonetheless. I let her mislead herself.
‘And so my words meant nothing to my mother,’ Nettle softly concluded after a moment.
‘Yes,’ I confirmed. Then, gingerly I asked, ‘Is she all right?’
‘Of course not!’ I felt her impatience with my stupidity. ‘She stood outside the house and shouted after him when he left, and then ranted to all of us that she never should have married such a stiff-necked man. A dozen times she asked me what I said, and a dozen times I told her of my “dream”. I came so close to telling her all I knew of you. But that would not have helped, would it? For she never knew you.’
For one chill instant, I saw it through Nettle’s eyes. Molly stood in the road. In her struggle to restrain Burrich, her hair had come loose. It curled as it ever had, brushing against her shoulders as she shook her fist after him. Her youngest son, little more than six, clutched at her skirts, sobbing in terror at this wild spectacle of his father abandoning his mother. The sun was setting, tingeing the landscape with blood. ‘You blind old fool!’ Molly shrieked after her husband, and the flung words rattled against me like stones. ‘You’ll be lost or robbed! You’ll never come home to us!’ But the fading clatter of galloping hooves was her only reply.
Then Nettle turned away from the scalding memory of it, and I found we were no longer on the hill with the melted tower. Instead, we were in a loft. My wolf ears on top of my head nearly brushed the low rafters. She was sitting up in her bed, her knees clutched to her chest. Beyond the curtain that screened us from the rest of the attic, I could hear her brothers breathing. One shifted in his sleep and cried out restlessly. No one dreamed peacefully in this house tonight.
I desperately wanted to beg her to say no word of me to Molly. I dared not, for then she would be certain that I lied. I wondered how strongly she already suspected a link between her mother and myself. I did not answer her directly. ‘I don’t think your father will be gone long. When he returns home, will you tell me, to put my mind at rest?’
‘If he comes home,’ she said in a low voice, and I suddenly knew that Molly had voiced aloud the family’s very real fears. Now Nettle spoke reluctantly, as if speaking the truth made it more real. ‘He has already been robbed and beaten once when he was travelling alone seeking for Swift. He has never admitted it to us, but we all know that is what befell him. Nevertheless, he has once more set out alone.’
‘That’s Burrich,’ I said. I dared not voice aloud what I hoped in my heart: that he had ridden a horse that he knew well. Although he would never use his Wit to speak to his mount, that did not prevent the animals he worked with from communicating with him.
‘That’s my father,’ she agreed, both with pride and sorrow. And then the walls of the room began to run like inked letters when tears fall on them. She was the last sight to fade from my dream. When I came to myself, I was staring up at a darkened corner of the Prince’s cabin, seeing nothing.
In the tedious days and nights that followed, Thick’s condition changed little, for better or worse. He would rally for a day and a night, and then slip back into fever and coughing. His real illness had chased away his fear of seasickness, but there was no comfort for me in that. More than once, I sought Nettle’s aid in banishing Thick’s fever-dreams before they could unsettle the crew. Sailors are a superstitious lot. Under Thick’s influence, they shared a nightmare, and when they compared their night’s recollections, decided it was a warning from the gods. It only happened once, but was nearly enough to set off a mutiny.
I worked more closely and more often on Skill-dreams with Nettle than I desired. She did not speak of Burrich and I did not ask, though I know we both counted the days that he had been gone. I knew that if she had had tidings of him, she would share them. His absence in her life left a place for me. Unwillingly, I felt our bond grow stronger, until I carried a constant awareness of her with me at all times. She taught me, without realizing, how to slip behind Thick’s dreams and manipulate them, gently guiding them into consoling images. I could not do it as well as she did. Mine was more a suggestion to him, while she simply set the dream right.
Twice I felt Chade observing us. It grated on me, but there was nothing I could do about it since to acknowledge him would have made Nettle aware of him as well. Yet, in ignoring him, I profited as well, for he grew bolder, I saw my old mentor grow stronger in the Skill. Did he not realize it, or did he conceal it from me? I wondered, but did not betray that wondering to him.
I have never found sea travel enthralling. One watery seascape is much like any other. After a few days, the Prince’s cabin seemed almost as cramped, confining and stuffy as the hold my fellow guardsmen shared. The monotonous food, the endless rocking and my anxiety for Thick hollowed me. Our diminished coterie made little progress in our Skill-lessons.
Swift continued to come to me daily. He read aloud, earning knowledge of the Out Islands and refreshing mine as he did so. At the end of each session, I would question him to be sure the knowledge was settling into his mind and not simply passing through his eyes and out of his mouth. He had a good head for holding information, and asked a few questions of his own. Swift was seldom gracious but he was obedient to his teacher, and for now that was all I asked.
Thick seemed to find Swift’s presence soothing, for he would relax, and some of the lines would smooth from his brow as he listened. He spoke little and breathed hoarsely and would sometimes go off into coughing fits. The process of coaxing spoonfuls of broth into him exhausted both of us. The rounded paunch he had recently gained dwindled, and dark hollows showed under his small eyes. He was as sick a creature as I’ve ever seen, and his acceptance of his misery was heart wrenching. In his own mind, he was dying, and not even in his dreams could I completely vanquish that notion.
Nor could Dutiful aid me in that. The Prince did his best, and he was truly fond of Thick. But Dutiful was fifteen, and a boy in many ways still. Moreover, he was a boy being courted by his nobles, who daily devised distractions that would put him in their company. Freed of Kettricken’s austere traditions, they plied him with entertainment and flattery. Smaller boats shuttled between the ships of our betrothal fleet, not only bringing nobles to visit Dutiful but often carrying Chade and him off to the other vessels for wine and poetry and song. Such trips were meant to divert his attention from the ennui of the uneventful voyage and they succeeded only too well, but it behoved Dutiful to distribute his favours and attentions amongst his nobles. The success of his reign would be built upon the alliances he forged now. He could scarcely have refused to go. Yet all the same, it bothered me to see how easily his attention could be drawn away from his ill servant.
Web was my sole comfort. He came every day, offering quietly to keep watch by Thick while I took some time for myself. I could not completely relax my vigil, of course. I maintained a Skill-awareness of Thick lest he sweep us all into some wild and fearful dream. But I could at least leave the confines of the cabin to stroll briefly on the deck and feel some wind in my face. This arrangement, however, kept me from having time alone with Web. It was not just for Chade’s ends that I longed to speak with him. More and more, his quiet competency and kindness impressed me. I had a sense that he courted me, not as Dutiful’s nobles courted the Prince, but as Burrich had insinuated himself into the presence of a horse he wished to retrain. And it worked, despite my being aware of it. With every passing day, I felt less wariness and caution toward him. It no longer seemed a threat that he knew who I really was, but almost a comfort. I harboured a host of questions I longed to ask him: How many of the Old Blood knew that FitzChivalry still lived? How many knew I was he? Yet I dared not voice such questions in Thick’s hearing, even when he wandered in his fever dreams. There was no telling how he might repeat such words, aloud or in dreams.
Very late one evening, when the Prince and Chade had returned from some entertainment, I waited until Dutiful had dismissed his servants. He and Chade sat with glasses of wine, talking quietly on the cushioned bench beneath the window that looked out over our wake from our dimly lit cabin. I rose and left Thick’s side, and going to the table, beckoned them. Weary as they both were from a long session of stones with Lord Excellent, they were still intrigued enough to immediately join me. I spoke to Dutiful without a preamble. ‘Has Web ever confided to you that he knows I am FitzChivalry?’
The look of astonishment on his face was answer enough.
‘Did he need to know that?’ Chade grumbled at me.
‘Is there a reason to keep such knowledge from me?’ the Prince replied for me, more sharply than I would have expected.
‘Only that this bit of intrigue has nothing to do with our present mission. I would keep your mind focused on the matters that most concern us, Prince Dutiful.’ Chade’s voice was restrained.
‘Perhaps, Councillor Chade, you could let me decide which matters concern me?’ The asperity in Dutiful’s voice warned me that this was a topic that had been discussed before.
‘Then there is no sign that anyone else in your “Witted coterie” knows who I am?’
The Prince hesitated before replying slowly. ‘None. There has been talk, from time to time, of the Witted Bastard. And when I think back, Web has initiated it. But he brings it up in the same manner in which he teaches us Witted history and traditions. He speaks of a topic, and then asks us questions that lead us deeper into understanding it. He has never spoken of FitzChivalry as other than a historic figure.’
A little unnerving, to hear of myself as a ‘historic figure’. Chade spoke before I became too uncomfortable.
‘Then Web teaches your Witted coterie formally? History, traditions … what else?’
‘Courtesy. He tells us old fables of Witted folk and beasts. And how to prepare before beginning a Search for an animal partner. I think that what he teaches are things that the others have known from childhood, but he teaches them for my benefit and Swift’s. Yet when he tells tales, the others listen closely, especially the minstrel Cockle. I think he possesses much lore that was on the verge of being lost, and he speaks it to us that we may keep it safe and pass it on in our turn.’
I nodded to that. ‘When persecution broke up the Witted communities, the Witted had to conceal their traditions and knowledge. It would be inevitable that less of it was passed on to their children.’
‘Why, do you think, does Web speak of FitzChivalry?’ Chade asked speculatively.
I watched Dutiful think it through, in the same way Chade had taught me to ponder any man’s action. What could he gain by it? Who did it threaten? ‘It could be that he suspects that I know. Yet I don’t think that is it. I think he poses it to the Wit-coterie to make them consider, “what is the difference between a ruler who is Witted or unWitted? What would it have meant for the Six Duchies if Fitz had come to power at that time instead of being executed for his magic? What might it mean for the Six Duchies if it ever becomes safe for me to reveal that I am Old Blood? And also, how does it benefit my people, all my people, to have an Old Blood ruler? And how can my Wit-coterie assist me in my reign”?’
‘In your reign?’ Chade asked sharply. ‘Do their ambitions run that far ahead of us? They had spoken of aiding you on this quest, to show the Six Duchies that the Wit can be put to a good cause. Do they think to continue as advisors beyond this task?’
Dutiful frowned at Chade. ‘Well, of course.’
When the old man knit his brows in irritation, I intervened. ‘It seems natural to me that they would, especially if their efforts do assist the Prince in his quest. To use them and then cast them aside afterward is not the sort of political wisdom you have taught me over the years.’
Chade was still scowling. ‘Well … I suppose … if they truly proved to be of any value, they would expect some compensation.’
The Prince spoke levelly, but I could sense him holding his temper. ‘And what would you expect them to ask in return if they were a Skill-coterie aiding me?’ He sounded so like Chade as he set his trap question that I almost laughed aloud.
Chade bristled. ‘But that would be entirely different. The Skill is your hereditary magic, as well as being vastly more powerful than the Wit. That you would bond with your Skill-coterie and accept both counsel and companionship from them would be expected.’ Then he stopped speaking abruptly.
Dutiful nodded slowly. ‘Old Blood is also my hereditary magic. And I suspect there is far more to it than we know. And, yes, Chade, I do feel a bond of both companionship and trust with those who share that magic. It is, as you said, to be expected.’
Chade opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. After an instant, he opened his mouth, but again subsided. Irritation vied with admiration when he said quietly, ‘Very well. I follow your logic. I do not necessarily agree with the conclusion, but I follow it.’
‘That is all I ask,’ the Prince replied and in his words I heard the echo of the monarch he would be.
Chade turned his beetling gaze on me. ‘Why did you bring this up?’ he asked me crossly, as if I had sought to precipitate a quarrel between them.
‘Because I need to know what it is that Web seeks from me. I sense that he courts me, that he tries to draw me closer into his confidence. Why?’
There is no true silence on board a ship. Always there are the ongoing conversations between wood and water, canvas and wind. Those voices were the only ones in the cabin for a time. Then Dutiful gave a small snort. ‘Unlikely as you think it, Fitz, perhaps he only wishes to be your friend. I see nothing here for him to gain.’
‘He holds a secret,’ Chade said sourly. ‘There is always power in holding a secret.’
‘And danger,’ the Prince countered. ‘Revealing this secret is as dangerous to Web as it is to Fitz. Think what would follow if he revealed it. Would it not undermine my reign? Would not some of the nobles turn on my mother the Queen, angered that she had kept this secret from them and preserved Fitz’s life?’ In a lower voice he added, ‘Do not forget that in revealing to Fitz that he knew his identity, Web put himself at risk, also. This is a secret that some men would kill to preserve.’
I watched Chade sift it through his mind. ‘Truly, the threat is to your reign as much as to Fitz,’ he conceded worriedly. ‘Right now, you are correct. It benefits Web most to keep the secret a secret. As long as your reign is amiable toward the Witted, they have no interest in deposing you. But if you ever turned against them? What then?’
‘What then indeed?’ Dutiful scoffed. ‘Chade, ask yourself as you have so often asked me, “what would happen next?” If my mother and I were overthrown, who would seize power? Why, those who had overthrown us. And they would be the enemy of the Witted, a harsher enemy than Old Blood has had to confront in my lifetime. No. I think Fitz’s secret is safe. More, I think he should set aside his wariness and become Web’s friend.’
I nodded, wondering why such an idea made me so uneasy.
‘I still see little benefit in this Witted coterie,’ Chade muttered.
‘Do you not? Then why do you ask me each day what Web’s bird has seen? Does it not ease your mind to know that all the ships she has shown Web have been honest merchant or fishing vessels? And think what tidings she gave us today. She has flown over the harbour and town of Zylig, and Web has looked down on it through the bird’s eyes. He has seen no massing of folk as for battle or treachery. True, the city is swelled with people, but it seems to flaunt a festive air. Do you not take comfort in that?’
‘I suppose so. But it is a thin comfort, given that treachery is so easy to disguise.’
Thick rolled over, muttering, and I made that my excuse to leave them. Not long after, Chade departed for his own cabin, the Prince went to his bed and I made up my pallet beside Thick’s bunk. I thought of Web and Risk, and tried to imagine seeing the ocean and the Out Islands through a bird’s eyes. It would be a marvel and a wonder. Yet before my imagination could capture me completely, a wave of longing for Nighteyes swept over me. That night, I dreamed my own dreams, and they were of wolves hunting in the summer-seared hills.

EIGHT (#ulink_a4260f7b-0bb8-52e4-9056-1fc74698cd6d)
The Hetgurd (#ulink_a4260f7b-0bb8-52e4-9056-1fc74698cd6d)
This is how it was. Eda and El coupled in the darkness, but he did not find favour with her. Then she gave birth to the land, and the outrush of her waters which accompanied that birth was the sea. The land was shapeless, clay and still, until Eda took it in her hands. One at a time, she moulded the runes of her secret name, and El’s too, did she fashion. She spelled out the god name with the God’s Runes, setting them in careful order in the ocean. And all this El watched.
But when he would have taken up clay of his own to fashion his own runes, Eda would not give any over to him. ‘You gave me but a rush of fluid from your body as seed to make all this. The flesh of it came from me. So take back only what was yours to start with, and be content with it.’
El was little content with that. So he made for himself men, and gave them ships and put them on the sea’s face. Laughing to himself, he said, ‘There are too many for her to watch them all. Soon they will walk on her land and shape it to my liking, so it spells my name instead of hers.’
But Eda had already thought before him. And when El’s men came to land, they found Eda’s women, already walking on it and ordering the growing of fruit and grain and the proliferation of the cattle. And the women would not suffer the men to shape the lands, nor even to abide on them for long. Instead, the women said to the men, ‘We will let you give us the brine of your loins, with which we will shape flesh to follow ours. But never will the land that Eda bore belong to your sons, but only to our daughters.’
Birth of the World, as told by Out Island bards
Despite Chade’s misgivings, Web’s bird had shown him accurately what we could expect. The next morning, the lookout cried out his sighting, and by afternoon the nearest islets of the Out Islands were streaming past on our port side. Green banked islands, tiny houses and small fishing vessels enlivened a view that had been watery for too long. I tried to convince Thick to rise and come on deck to see how close we were to the end of our journey but he refused to be tempted. When he spoke, his words were slow and measured. ‘It won’t be home,’ he moaned. ‘We’re too far from home, and we’ll never get back there again. Never.’ Coughing, he turned away from me.
Yet even his sour attitude could not dampen my relief. I convinced myself that once he was on shore, he would regain both his health and spirits. The knowledge that we were close to getting off that cramped vessel made every moment stretch into a day. It was only the next afternoon that we sighted Zylig, but it seemed a month had passed. When small boats rowed out to greet us and guide our ships through the narrow channel to their harbour, I longed to be on deck with Chade and Prince Dutiful.
Instead, I paced the Prince’s cabin, staring out at the frustrating view from the aft windows. I could hear our captain bellowing and the thunder of the sailors’ feet on the deck. Chade and Prince Dutiful and his contingent of nobles and his Witted coterie were all up on the deck, looking on as the ship approached Zylig. I felt like a dog chained in the kennel while the hounds streamed off to the hunt. I felt the change in the ship’s movements as our canvas was lowered and the towlines of our pilot boats took up their slack. When they had us in position, the Out Island guides brought us about so that our stern now faced Zylig. As I heard the splash of our anchor, I stared restlessly out at the foreign city that awaited us. The other Six Duchies ships were being manoeuvred into anchorage nearby.
I do not think there is anything so ponderously slow as a ship coming into port, save perhaps the process of unloading. Suddenly the water about us swarmed with small craft, their oars dipping and rising as if they were many-legged water bugs. One, grander than the rest, soon bore Prince Dutiful, Chade, a selected entourage and a handful of his guards away from the ship. I watched them go, certain they had forgotten about Thick and me. Then there was a tap at the door. It was Riddle, freshly attired in his guard’s uniform. His eyes shone with excitement.
‘I’m to watch your half-wit while you get yourself ready. There’s a boat waiting to take you and him and the rest of the guard ashore. Step lively now. Everyone else is ready to go.’
So they had not forgotten me, but neither had they served me with much warning of their plans. I took Riddle at his word, leaving him with Thick while I went below. The guards’ area was deserted. The others had donned their clean uniforms as soon as we’d approached harbour. Those who hadn’t accompanied the Prince lined the railing on deck, eager to be away. I changed swiftly and hurried back to the Prince’s quarters. Harrying Thick into clean clothing was not going to be pleasant or easy, but when I arrived, I found that Riddle had already undertaken that task.
Thick swayed on the edge of his bunk. His blue tunic and trousers hung on his wasted frame. Until I saw him dressed, I had not realized how much flesh he had lost. Riddle knelt by the bunk, good-naturedly trying to chivvy him into his shoes. Thick was moaning feebly and making vaguely helpful motions. His face was crumpled with misery. If I had doubted it at all before, I was now certain that Riddle was one of Chade’s men. No ordinary guardsman would have undertaken that task.
‘I’ll finish that,’ I told him, and could not keep the brusqueness from my voice. I could not have said why I felt protective of the small man looking at me blearily from his little round eyes, but I did.
‘Thick,’ I told him as I finished getting his shoes on. ‘We’re going ashore. Once we’re on solid ground again, you’re going to feel much better. You’ll see.’
‘No, I won’t,’ he promised me. He coughed again and the rattle in it frightened me. Nonetheless, I found a cloak for him and heaved him to his feet. He staggered along beside me as we left the cabin. Out on the deck in the fresh wind for the first time in days, he shivered and clutched his cloak tightly around him. The sun shone brightly, but the day was not as warm as a summer day in Buck. Snow still owned the peaks of the higher hills, and the wind carried its chill to us.
The Outislanders provided our transportation to shore. Getting Thick from the deck into the dancing boat below required both Riddle and myself. I silently cursed at those guards who laughed at our predicament. At their oars, the Outislanders discussed us freely in their own tongue, unaware that I understood the disdain they expressed for a Prince who chose an idiot as his companion. Once settled on the seat beside Thick, I had to put my arm around him to settle him against the terrors of a small, open boat. He wept, the round tears rolling down his cheeks as our little dory rose and fell with every passing wave. I blinked at the bright sunlight glancing off the moving water and stared stolidly at the wharves and houses of Zylig as the straining sailors rowed us to our destination.
It was not an inspiring view. Peottre Blackwater’s disdain for the city was not misplaced. Zylig offered all the worst aspects of a lively port. Wharves and docks jutted haphazardly into the bay. Vessels of every description crowded them. Most were fat-hulled, greasy whale-hunters, with a permanent reek of oil and butchery clinging to them. A few were merchanters from the Six Duchies. I saw one that looked Chalcedean and one that could have been Jamaillian. Moving amongst them were the small fishing boats that daily fed the bustling town, and even smaller craft that were hawking smoked fish, dried seaweed and other provisions to the outward bound vessels. Masts forested the skyline and the docked ships grew taller as we approached them.
Beyond them, I caught glimpses of warehouses, sailors’ inns and supply stores. Stone structures predominated over wood. Narrow streets, some little more than trails, meandered amongst the crowded little buildings. At one end of the bay where the water ran shallower and rocky, unfit for anchorage, little stone houses clustered by the water. Rowing-boats were pulled out above the tide-line, and spread fish hung like laundry drying from poles. Smoking fires in trenches beneath the fish added flavour as it preserved the catch. I glimpsed a pack of children racing along the beach, shrieking raucously in some wild game.
The section of the town we were approaching seemed recently built. In contrast to the rest of the settlement, the streets were wide and straight. Timber supplemented the native stone, and most of the structures were taller. Some had windows of swirled glass in the upper storeys. I recalled hearing that the Six Duchies dragons had visited this port city, bringing death and destruction to our enemies. The structures in this area were all of an age, the streets straight and well cobbled. It was strange to see this orderly section amongst the haphazard port town and wonder what it had looked like before Verity as Dragon had paid a call here. Stranger still to think that the destruction of war could result in such rebuilt tidiness.
Above the harbour, the land rose in rocky hillsides. Dark evergreens hunched in sheltered areas. Cart tracks wound among the hillsides where sheep and goats grazed. Smoke wandered up through the tree cover from scarcely visible huts. Mountains and taller hills, crowned still with snow, loomed beyond them.
We had arrived on a low tide, and the docks towered above us, supported on thick timbers crusted with barnacles and black mussels. The rungs of the ladder up to the dock were still wet from the retreating tide, and festoons of seaweed hung from them. The Prince and several boatloads of nobles had already disembarked. More Buckkeep noblemen were unloading as we approached. Grudgingly they gave way to us, to allow the Prince’s guard to clamber up the ladders onto the docks and form up to escort Dutiful to his welcome.
I was the last out of the tippy little boat, having shoved a moaning Thick ahead of me up the slippery ladder. Once on the docks, I moved us away from the edge and looked around me. The Prince, flanked by his advisors, was being greeted by the Hetgurd. I was left standing to one side with Thick, unsure of what was expected of me. I needed to get him to a place where he would be comfortable and out of the public eye. I wondered uneasily if it would not have been wiser for me to remain on the ship with him. The open looks of disgust and dismay that he was receiving did not indicate a warm welcome for us. Evidently the Outislanders shared the Mountain opinion of children that were born less than perfect. If Thick had been born in Zylig, his life would not have lasted a day.
My status as both bastard and assassin had often left me lurking in the shadows at official proceedings so I did not feel slighted. If I had been alone, I would have known that my task was to mingle and observe while being nondescript. But here, in a foreign land, saddled with a sick and miserable simpleton and clad in a guard’s uniform, I could do neither. So I stood awkwardly at the edge of the crowd, my arm supporting Thick, and listened to the exchange of carefully-phrased greetings, welcome and thanks. The Prince seemed to be acquitting himself well, but the look of concentration on his face warned me not to distract him with a Skill-query. Those who had come to meet him represented a variety of clans, judging by the differing animal sigils featured in their jewellery and tattoos. Most were men, richly attired in the lush furs and heavy jewellery that signified both rank and wealth among the Outislanders; but there were four women also. They wore woven wool garments trimmed with fur, and I wondered if this was to show the wealth of their land holdings. The Narcheska’s father, Arkon Bloodblade, was there, along with at least six others displaying the boar of his clan. Peottre Blackwater accompanied him, his narwhal an ivory carving on a gold chain around his neck. It seemed odd to me that I saw no other narwhal sigils. That was the Narcheska’s maternal clan, and among the Outislanders, her significant family line. We were here to finalize the terms of the marriage between Dutiful and her. Surely it was a momentous occasion for her clan. Why did only Peottre come to represent them? Did the rest oppose this alliance?
The formalities of greeting satisfied at length, the Prince and his entourage were escorted away. The guard formed up without me and marched off behind him. For a moment I feared that Thick and I would be left standing on the docks. Just as I was wondering if I could bribe someone to take us back to the ship, an old man approached us. He wore a collar of wolf fur and sported the boar sigil of Bloodblade’s clan, but did not seem as prosperous as the other men. He obviously believed he could speak my language, for I could understand about one word in four of his barbarously mangled Duchy tongue. Fearing to insult him by asking him to speak Outislander, I waited and finally grasped that the Boar Clan had appointed him to guide Thick and I to our lodging.
He made no offer to assist me with Thick. In fact, he assiduously avoided getting any closer to him than was absolutely necessary, as if the little man’s mental deficiency was a contagion that might leap to him like a plague of lice. I felt it as a slur, but counselled myself to patience. He walked briskly ahead of us, and did not slacken his pace, even though he often had to halt completely to wait for us. Obviously, he did not wish to share the gawking stares we attracted. We made a strange sight, me in my guard’s uniform and poor miserable Thick, swathed in a cloak and staggering along under my arm.
Our guide led us through the reconstructed part of town and then up a steeper, narrower road. Thick’s breath was a moaning wheeze. ‘How much farther?’ I demanded of our guide, calling the words to him as he hastened ahead of us.
He turned abruptly, scowling, and made a brusque motion for me to keep my voice down. He gestured up the street at an old building, all of stone and much larger than the houses we had passed in the lower part of town. It was rectangular, with a peaked roof of slates, and three storeys high. Windows interrupted the stonework at regular intervals. It was a plain and functional building, stoutly built and probably amongst the oldest structures in the town. I nodded, unspeaking. A boar, his tusks and tail lifted defiantly, was etched into the stone above the entry. So. We would be housed in the Boar Clan’s stronghouse.
By the time we reached the courtyard around the building, our guide was practically chewing his moustache in his teeth-gnashing impatience at our slow pace. I no longer cared. When he opened a side door and gestured to me to hurry, I slowly drew myself up to my full height and glared down at him. In my best Outislander, and all too aware of how poor my accent was, I told him, ‘It is not the pleasure of the Prince’s companion that we hurry. I serve at his command, not yours.’
I saw uncertainty wash over the man’s face as he wondered if he had offended someone of a much higher rank than he knew. He was somewhat more courteous as he showed us up two steep flights of stairs and into a chamber that looked out over the town and the harbour through a swirl of thick glass. By then I’d had enough of him. I gauged him as a lesser lackey to some minor Boar war-leader. As such, I dismissed him brusquely once we were inside, and shut the door even though he lingered in the hallway.
I sat Thick down on the bed and then assessed the room quickly. There was a door that connected to another, much grander chamber. I decided that we had been put in a servant’s room adjacent to the Prince’s quarters. The bed was adequate, the furnishings simple in Thick’s small room. Even so, it seemed a palace after his closet on the ship. ‘Sit there,’ I told Thick. ‘Don’t go to sleep yet.’
‘Where are we? I want to go home,’ he mumbled. I ignored him and stole through into the Prince’s chamber. There I helped myself to a pitcher of wash water and a basin and drying cloths. There was a platter of food on the table. I was not sure exactly what it was, but took several pieces of a dark, sticky stuff cut in squares, and an oily-looking cake covered with seed. I also took a bottle of what I thought was wine and a cup.
Thick had toppled over on his bed. Painstakingly I hauled him upright again. Despite his groaning protests I made him wash his face and hands. I wished that I had a tub to put him in, for he smelled strongly of his days of sickness. Then I forced food down him, and a glass of the wine. He complained and snivelled until he hiccupped. Once I felt him marshal his Skill-strength against me but it was a weak and childish swipe that did not even challenge my walls. I pulled off his tunic and shoes and put him to bed. ‘The room is still moving,’ he muttered petulantly. Then he closed his eyes and was still. A few moments later he gave a great sigh, stretched out in the bed and fell into a true sleep. I closed my own eyes and cautiously tiptoed into his dream. The kitten slept in a tiny curled ball upon the embroidered pillow. He felt safe. I opened my eyes, suddenly so weary that I could have cast myself down on the floor and slept where I fell.
I didn’t. Instead I used what was left of the clean water. I sampled the food, found it unpalatable and ate it anyway. The oily one was probably intended to be some sort of sweet; the other tasted strongly of fish paste. The ‘wine’ was something fermented from fruit; other than that, I had few ideas about it. It didn’t quite take away the fish taste from my mouth. Then, armed with the basin of soiled water, I left the chamber to venture out into our lodgings. If anyone questioned me, I was simply looking for a place to dump the slops.
The building was as much stronghold as clan residence. We were on the highest floor, and I heard no sounds of other occupants. The interior walls featured carved and painted boars and tusk motifs. The other doors on the hall were not locked. They seemed to alternate between small chambers such as Thick had and larger ones, more generously furnished. None of them met the Buckkeep standard for guest housing even for lesser nobles. I reserved judgment on that. I doubted they intended to insult us: I knew the Outislanders had different customs for hospitality than the Six Duchies did. Generally speaking, houseguests were expected to provide their own victuals and comforts. We had come here knowing that. The wine and food in the Prince’s room seemed to be a nod to the Six Duchies hospitality the Narcheska’s entourage had enjoyed at Buckkeep. There were no signs of any servants on this upper floor, and I doubted that any would be supplied to us.
The next floor down seemed much the same. These rooms smelled as if they had been recently used; odours of smoke, food and, in one case, wet dog lingered in them. I wondered if they had been vacated for our use. The chambers here were slightly smaller, and the windows were of oiled skin rather than glass. Heavy wooden shutters, some bearing the old scars of arrows, offered protection from any determined assault. Evidently the highest chambers were accorded to those of highest ranks; very different from the Six Duchies, where servants were given the upper rooms so that nobility need not climb too many flights of steps. I had just closed a door when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. An ant trail of servants suddenly appeared, bearing belongings, comforts and victuals for their Six Duchies masters. They halted in confusion, milling in the hallway, and one asked me, ‘How do we know which chamber is for who?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ I replied pleasantly. ‘I’m not even certain where we are to dump slops.’
I slipped away from them, leaving them to sort out the rooms, suspecting that the best ones would go to the nobles with the most aggressive servants. On the ground floor I found a back door that led out to a waste pit behind the privies and dumped my water there. Another door led down a corridor to a large kitchen where several young Outislander men were tending a large roast on a spit, chopping potatoes and onions, and kneading bread. They seemed intent on their tasks and all but ignored me as I peered in at them. A quick tour of the outside of the building showed me that a second, much grander door led to a large open hall that made up much of the ground floor of the building. These doors stood open to admit both light and air. Within, I glimpsed what was undoubtedly the welcome gathering for the Prince. I abandoned my basin in the deep grass at one end of the building, and hastily straightened my uniform and smoothed back my hair into a tail.
Unnoticed, I slipped into the back of the room. My fellow guardsmen were ranged against the wall. They looked as alert as men do when they are stiflingly bored and ignored. In truth, there seemed little for them to guard against.
The large room was long and low ceilinged. The main part of it was taken up with benches, all of a height and all full of seated men. There was no throne or dais of any kind. Nor were the benches oriented to focus attention on one person. Rather, they ringed the room, leaving the centre open. A bowed old kaempra, or war leader of the Fox Clan was speaking. His short jacket was fringed with the tips of fox tails, white as his unruly hair. He was missing three fingers on his sword hand, but wore a necklace of his enemies’ fingerbones to compensate. He tugged at them nervously as he spoke, glancing often at Bloodblade as if reluctant to give offence and yet too angry to keep silent. I only caught his closing words. ‘No one clan can speak for all of us! No one clan has the right to bring bad luck down on us all.’
As I watched, the Fox kaempra nodded gravely to each corner of the room and then retired to his bench. Another man stood and made his way to the centre and began speaking. I saw the Prince and Lord Chade seated amongst the nobles who attended him in one section of the benches. His Wit-coterie was ranged behind him. The Hetgurd, for so I recognized this assembly – the gathering of the warrior leaders of the clans – had accorded my prince no indication of his rank. Here, he was seated as a warrior leader among his warriors, just as the other clan warrior-leaders were. This was a gathering of equals, come together to discuss the Narcheska’s betrothal. Did they see him so? I tried not to scowl at the thought.
All this I grasped in the time it took my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the hall after the summer sunshine outside. I found a piece of wall to lean on next to Riddle in the back row of guardsmen. Riddle spoke out of the side of his mouth. ‘Not like us at all, my friend. No feast or gifts or songs to welcome our Prince. Just a how-d’ye-do greeting on the docks and then they brought him straight here and began discussing the betrothal. Right to business for these people. Some don’t like the idea of one of their women leaving her motherlands to go live in the Six Duchies. They think it’s unnatural and probably bad luck. But most don’t care much about that, one way or another. They seem to think that would be Clan Narwhal’s bad luck, not theirs. The real sticking point is the dragon-slaying bit.’
I nodded to his swift summary. Chade had a good man in Riddle. I wondered where he had recruited him and then focused my attention on the man who was speaking. I noticed now that he stood in the middle of a ring painted on the floor. It was intricate and stylized, and yet still recognizable as a serpent grasping its own tail. The man did not give his name before he began speaking. Perhaps he assumed that everyone knew it, or perhaps the only important part of his identity was the sea otter tattooed on his forehead. He spoke simply, without anger, as if explaining something obvious to rather stupid children.
‘Icefyre is not a cow that belongs to any one of us. He is not cattle to be offered as part of a bride price. Even less does he belong to the foreigner Prince. How then can he offer the head of a creature that does not belong to him as payment to the Blackwater Mothershouse of the Narwhal Clan? We can only see his promise in one of two ways. Either he has made his offer in ignorance, or it is an affront to us.’
He paused then and made a strange gesture with his hand. In a moment its meaning was made clear as Prince Dutiful slowly stood and then came to join him in the speaker’s circle. ‘No, Kaempra Otter.’ Dutiful addressed him as warrior-leader for his clan. ‘It was not ignorance. It was not intended as affront. The Narcheska presented this deed to me as a challenge to prove myself worthy of her.’ The Prince lifted his hands and let them fall helplessly. ‘What could I do but accept it? If a woman issued such a challenge to you, saying before your gathered warriors, “accept it or admit cowardice”, what would you do? What would any of you do?’
Many heads in the assembly nodded to this. Dutiful nodded gravely back to them and then added, ‘So what am I to do now? My word has been given, before your warriors and mine, in the hall of my parents. I have said I will attempt to do this thing. I know of no honourable way to unsay such words. Is there a custom here, among the people of the Narcheska, that allows a man to call back the words that have issued from his mouth?’
The Prince moved his hands, imitating the same gesture that the Otter kaempra had used to cede him the speaker’s circle. He bowed to the four corners of the hall, and then retreated to his bench again. As he took his seat, Otter spoke again.
‘If this was the manner of your accepting the challenge, then I will take no affront toward you. I reserve what I think of clan Blackwater’s daughter for issuing such a challenge. Regardless of the circumstances.’
I had previously noticed Peottre Blackwater sitting almost by himself on one of the front benches. He scowled at the Otter’s remark but made no indication that he wished to speak. The Narcheska’s father, Arkon Bloodblade, sat a small distance away from Peottre, his Boar warriors ranked about him. Arkon’s brow remained smooth, as if the rebuke had nothing to do with him, and perhaps by his lights that was correct. The Otter had rebuked Elliania as a daughter of the Blackwater family of the Narwhal Clan. Arkon Bloodblade was a Boar. Here, within his own people, he assumed the role that they expected of him. He was only the Narcheska’s father. Her mother’s brother, Peottre Blackwater, was responsible for the quality of her upbringing.
When the silence had stretched enough that it was obvious no one would offer a defence for what the Narcheska had done, the Otter leader cleared his throat. ‘It is true that as a man you cannot call back your word, Prince of the Farseer Buck Clan. You have said you will try to do this thing, and I will concede that you must do it, or be judged no man at all.
‘Yet that does not release us of the Out Islands of our duties. Icefyre is ours. What do our great mothers tell us? He came to us, in the years before years were counted, and asked asylum from his grief. Our wise women granted it to him. And in return for our sheltering, he promised that his protection should be ours. We know the power of his spirit and the invulnerability of his flesh, and fear little that you shall slay him. But if, by some strange twist of fate, you manage to do him injury, on whom will his anger fall after he has killed you? On us.’ He turned slowly in a circle as he spoke, including all the clans as he warned them, ‘If Icefyre is ours, we also belong to him. Like a kin pledge we should see the debt woven between us. If his blood is shed, must not we shed blood in return? If, as his kin, we fail to come to his aid, cannot he exact from us the blood price ten times over, according to our law? This Prince must honour his word as a man. That is so. But after, must not war come to us again, regardless of whether he lives or dies?’
I saw Arkon Bloodblade draw a long slow breath. I noted now what I had not before, that he held his hand in a certain way, open yet with the fingers pointing toward his sternum. Several men, I now saw, were making the same gesture. A request to speak? Yes, for when the Otter warrior made the now familiar gesture, Bloodblade stood and came to take the man’s place in the circle.
‘None of us want war again. Not here in the God Runes, nor in the Prince’s farmers’ fields across the water. Yet a man’s word must be satisfied. And though we all be men here, there is a woman’s will in this as well. What warrior can stand before a woman’s will? What sword can cut her stubbornness? To women Eda has given the islands themselves, and we walk upon them only by her leave. It is not for men to set aside the challenge of a woman, lest our own mothers say, “you do not respect the flesh you sprang from. Walk no more on the earth that Eda has granted us. Be abandoned by us, with only water under your keel and never sand under your feet.” Is that easier than war? We are caught between a man’s word and a woman’s will. Neither can be broken without disgrace to all.’
I had understood Bloodblade’s words but the full import of their meaning escaped me. Obviously there was custom here we were not familiar with, and I questioned what we had blundered into with our matchmaking. Bleakly I wondered if we had not fallen into a trap. Was the Blackwater family of the Narwhal Clan intent on kindling war between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands? Had their offer of the Narcheska been a sham, to draw us into a situation in which regardless of the outcome, we had invited bloodshed yet again to our shores?
I studied Peottre Blackwater’s face. His expression was stolid and still, his eyes turned inward. He seemed impassive to the dilemma his sister-daughter had set us, and yet I felt he was not. I sensed rather that we balanced on the knife blade that had already cut deep into him. He looked, I suddenly thought, like a man without choices. A man who could no longer hope, because he knows that no action of his own can save him. He was waiting. He did not plan or plot. He had already done the task he had set out to do. Now he could only wait to see how other men would carry it out. I was certain I was right, and yet what I could not understand or even imagine was why. Why had he done it? Or, as her father had said, was it beyond his control, the will of a woman who might be younger than he was and dependent on him, and yet controlled who might walk on the earth of his mother-holdings?
I looked around me. There were simply too many differences between us, I decided. How could the Six Duchies ever make a peace with the Out Islands when our customs varied so widely? Yet, tradition had it that the Farseer line had its roots in the Out Islands, that Taker, the first Farseer monarch, had begun his life as an Out Island raider who had seen the log fortress that Buckkeep once was and decided to make it his own. Our lines and our ways had diverged far since those days. Peace and prosperity depended on us finding some common ground.
The likelihood of that did not seem great.
I lifted my eyes to find the Prince’s gaze fixed on me. I had not wanted to distract him before. Now I sent him a reassuring thought. Thick is resting in his chamber upstairs. He ate and drank before he went to sleep.
I wish I could be doing the same. They did not give me so much as a chance to wash my face before they convened the Hetgurd. And now it shows no sign of ending.
Patience, my prince. They’ll end this eventually. Even Outislanders must eat, drink, and sleep some time.
Do they piss, do you think? That’s starting to be a very immediate concern to me. I’ve thought of excusing myself quietly, but don’t know how it would be interpreted if I stood and walked out now.
The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I felt a fumbling Skill-touch. Thick?
It was Chade. I saw Dutiful start to reach out his hand, to touch Chade and add his strength to the old man’s. I stopped him. No. Don’t. Let him try it on his own. Chade, can you hear us?
Barely.
Thick is asleep upstairs. He ate and drank before he fell asleep.
Good. I sensed the effort he put into that brief reply. Nonetheless, I was grinning. He was doing it.
Stop. Silly grin. He scolded me. He looked around the room gravely. Bad situation. Need time to think. Need to stop this before it goes too far without us.
I made my face solemn. The expression was far more in keeping with that of those around me. Arkon Bloodblade was surrendering the speaking circle to a man who wore an Eagle badge. They paused to clasp wrists in a warrior’s greeting before the Eagle entered the circle. The Eagle kaempra was an old man, possibly the oldest man in the assembly. Grey and white streaked his thinning hair, yet he still moved like a warrior. He stared around at us accusingly, and then spoke abruptly, the ends of his words softened by his missing teeth.
‘Doubtless a man must do what he has said he will do. It wastes our day to even discuss that. And men must honour their kinship bonds. If this foreign Prince came here and said, “I have promised a woman that I would kill Orig of the Eagle Clan”, all of you would say, “Then you must try, if you have promised to do it”. But we would also say, “But know that some of us have kinship bonds with Orig. And we will kill you before we let you do this thing.” And we would expect the Prince to accept that as obviously correct, also.’ His slow gaze travelled the assembly disdainfully. ‘I smell merchants and traders here, who used to be warriors and honourable men. Shall we sniff after Six Duchies goods like a dog grovelling after a bitch? Will you trade your own kin for brandy and summer apples and red wheat? Not this Eagle.’
He gave a snort of contempt for all who thought there was any need of more discussion, left the circle and crabbed back to sit amongst his warriors. A silence fell as we all pondered his words. Some exchanged glances: I sensed the old man had cut close to the bone. There were many here uneasy at the thought of letting the Prince kill their dragon, but they were also hungry for peace and trade. War with the Six Duchies had cut them off from all trade from points south of us. Now the Chalcedean quarrel with the Bingtown Traders was throttling that route. If they did not gain free trade with the Six Duchies, they would have to forgo all goods and luxuries that warmer countries could provide for them. It was not a thought to relish. Yet no one there could oppose the Eagle’s stance without taking the name of greedy trader to himself.
We have to end this somehow. Now, before anyone adds their spoken approval to his words. Chade’s thin Skilling sounded desperate.
No one else stepped forward into the speaking circle. No one had a solution to offer. The longer the silence stretched, the more charged the room became. I knew Chade was right. We needed time to think of a diplomatic solution to our position. And if there wasn’t one, we still needed time to discover how many of the Outislander clans would actively oppose us and how many would simply disapprove. Given the disapproval of the other clans, would the Narcheska persist in her challenge to Dutiful or would she withdraw it? Could she honourably recall it? Here we were, not even a full day on this island’s soil and already we seemed on the verge of confrontation.
Adding to my discomfort was that I was becoming aware of Dutiful’s need to urinate. I started to shield myself from his Skill, and then had a different idea. I recalled how Thick’s uneasiness aboard the ship had spread to infect the sailors. I wondered if Dutiful’s current discomfort could be used in a like manner.
I opened myself to his unwitting sending, amplified it and then sent my Skill questing out through the room. None of the Outislanders that I touched had any strong aptitude for the Skill, but many were susceptible to its influence in varying degrees. Once Verity had used a similar technique to baffle Red Ship navigators, convincing them that they’d already passed key landmarks and thus sending their ships onto the rocks. Now I used it to end this Hetgurd gathering by reminding every man my Skill could touch of his urgent need to empty his bladder.
All around the room, men began to shift in their seats.
Doing? Chade demanded.
Ending this meeting, I told him grimly.
Ah! I felt Dutiful’s sudden comprehension, and then felt him join his persuasion to mine.
Who is in charge? I asked him.
No one. They share authority here. Or so they say. Dutiful obviously thought it a poor system.
Bear opened meeting. Chade told me tersely. I felt him draw my attention to a man who wore a bear’s tooth necklace. I was suddenly aware of how much strength it was taking from Chade for him to do this feeble Skilling.
Don’t tax yourself, I warned him.
Know my own strength! His reply was angry but even from where I stood, I could see his shoulders drooping.
I singled out the Bear and focused my attention on him. Fortunately for me, he had little wall against the Skill and a full bladder. I pressed urgency on him and he suddenly stood up. He came forward to claim the speaking circle and the others ceded it to him with hand motions of giving.
‘We need to ponder on this. All of us.’ He suggested, ‘let us go apart, to talk with our own clans and see what thoughts they have for us. Tomorrow, let us gather again and speak of what we have learned and thought. Do any think this is wise?’
A forest of hands rose in spiralling gestures of assent.
‘Then let our meeting be over for this day,’ the Bear suggested.
And just that quickly, it was over. Men stood immediately and began moving toward the door. There was no ceremony to it, no precedence for those of higher rank, just a push of men toward the exit, some with a greater insistence than others.
Tell your captain that you must check on your ward. That, until he is fit, I have commanded that you continue to tend him. We’ll soon join you upstairs.
I obeyed my prince’s command. When Longwick released me, I retrieved the washing basin I’d left outside the door and returned to Thick’s chamber. He had not stirred that I could see. I felt his forehead. He was still feverish, but it did not burn as it had aboard the ship. Nonetheless, I roused him and coaxed him to drink water. He took little urging to down a whole mug of it, and then settled back into the bed again. I was relieved. Here, in this strange room and away from the perspective of his sick bed on the ship, I could truly see how wasted Thick was. Well, he would recover now. He had all he needed: quiet, a bed, food and drink. Soon he would be better. I tried to convince myself that my hope was a fact.
I heard Prince Dutiful and Chade conversing in the hall with someone. I stood and went to the door, ear pressed to it. I heard Dutiful pleading weariness, and then the closing of the door of the next chamber. His servants must have been waiting for him there. Again, there was a murmur of conversation, and then I heard him dismiss them. A little time passed and then the connecting door opened and Dutiful wandered in. He held a small black square of the food in his hand. He looked depressed. He held the food up and asked me, ‘Any idea what this is?’
‘Not really, but it has fish paste in it. Maybe seaweed, too. The cakes with the seeds are sweet. Oily but sweet.’
Dutiful regarded the food in his hand with distaste, then gave the shrug of a fifteen-year-old who hasn’t been fed for several hours and ate it. He licked his fingers. ‘It’s not bad, as long as you expect it to taste like fish.’
‘Old fish,’ I observed.
He didn’t reply. He’d crossed over to where Thick slept and stood looking down on him. He shook his head slowly. ‘This is so unfair to him. Do you think he’s getting better now?’
‘I hope so.’
‘His music has become so much quieter, it worries me. Sometimes I feel as if Thick himself goes away from us when his fever rises.’
I opened myself to Thick’s music. Dutiful was right. It did seem less intense. ‘Well, he’s sick. It takes strength and energy to Skill.’ I didn’t want to worry about him just now. ‘Chade surprised me today.’
‘Did he? You must have known that he would keep at it until he could do at least that much. Nothing stops the old man once he has decided to do something.’ He turned away from me and headed toward the connecting door. Then he paused. ‘Did you want any of that stuff to eat?’
‘No, thank you. You go ahead.’
He spoke over his shoulder. He vanished for a moment into his own room, then returned with one hand stacked with the fish cakes. He bit into one of the squares, made a dismal face and then quickly ate the rest of it. He looked around the room hungrily. ‘Didn’t anyone bring us food yet?’
‘You’re eating it, I think.’
‘No. This is just an Out Island nod because we fed them. I know Chade told servants to find fresh food and buy it for us.’
‘Are you saying that Boar Clan isn’t going to feed us?’
‘They may. They may not. Chade seems to think we should act as if we don’t expect it. Then, if they offer us food, we can accept it as a gift. And if they don’t, we don’t seem grasping or weak.’
‘Have you informed your nobles of their customs?’
He nodded. ‘Many of them came here as much to form new trading alliances and see what other opportunities the Out Islands offered as to support me in my courtship of the Narcheska. So they are just as glad to move about Zylig, seeing what is for sale here and what people might want to buy. But we’ll have to feed my guard, the servants and of course my Wit-coterie. I thought Chade had arranged provisions.’
‘The Hetgurd seem to accord you little respect,’ I said worriedly.
‘I do not think they truly understand what I am. It is a foreign concept to them, that a boy of my years, unproven as a warrior, is assured the ruling of such a large territory. Here, men do not claim sovereignty over an area of land, but instead show strength by the warriors they can command. In some ways, I am seen more as a son of my mother’s house. Queen Kettricken was in power when we defeated them at the end of the Red Ship War. They are in awe of that, that she not only kept the home lands safe but that she launched war against them in the form of the dragons she called down on them. That is how it is told here.’
‘You seem to have learned a great deal in a very short time.’
He nodded, pleased with himself. ‘Some of it comes from putting together what I hear here with what I experienced of the Outislanders at Buckkeep. Some from the reading I did on the way here.’ He gave a small sigh. ‘And it is not as useful as I hoped it would be. If they offer us hospitality, I mean, feed us, then we can see it as welcome, that they know it is our custom and honour it. Or we can see it as insult, that we are too weak to feed ourselves and too foolish to have come prepared. But no matter how we see it, we can’t be certain how they meant it.’
‘Like your dragon-slaying. Do you come to kill a beast and thus prove yourself a worthy mate for the Narcheska? Or do you come to kill the dragon that is the guardian of their land, proving that you can take whatever you want from them?’
Dutiful paled slightly. ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’
‘Nor had I. But some of them do. And, it brings us back to that one essential question. Why? Why did the Narcheska choose this particular task for you?’
‘Then you think it has significance to her besides my being willing to risk my life just to marry her?’
For a moment all I could do was stare at him. Had I ever been that young? ‘Well, of course it does. Don’t you think so?’
‘Civil had said that she probably wanted “proof of my love”. He said that girls were often like that, asking men to do things that were dangerous or illegal or next to impossible, simply to prove their love.’
I made a mental note of that. I wondered what Civil had been asked to do and by whom, and if it had related to the Farseer monarchy or was merely a boyish deed of derring-do that some girl had demanded of him.
‘Well, I doubt it would be anything that romantically frivolous with the Narcheska. How could she possibly think that you loved her, after the way she has treated you? And she’s certainly given no sign of being fond of your company.’
For a flashing moment, he stared at me with stricken eyes. Then he smoothed his expression so completely that I wondered if I had been mistaken. Surely the Prince could not be infatuated with the girl. They had nothing in common, and after he had accidentally insulted her, she had treated him as less than a whipped dog whining after her. I looked at him. A boy can believe almost anything when he is fifteen.
Dutiful gave a slight snort. ‘No. She has certainly given me no sign of even tolerating my company. Think on it. She did not journey here with her father and uncle to meet us and offer us welcome to these islands. She is the one who thought up this ridiculous quest, but I notice she is nowhere in sight when it must be justified to her countrymen. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it has nothing to do with me proving my love for her, or even proving my courage. Perhaps all along it was only to present a stumbling block to our marriage.’ In a glum voice, he added, ‘Perhaps she hopes I’ll die in the attempt.’
‘If we press forward with the task, it may block more than your marriage. It may send both our countries back to war.’
Chade entered on those words. He looked both worried and weary. He cast a disparaging look around the small chamber and observed, ‘Well, I see Thick has been afforded a chamber almost as lush as that allotted to Prince Dutiful and me. Is there anything to eat and drink?’
‘Nothing I’d recommend,’ I observed.
‘Fish and greasecakes,’ Prince Dutiful offered.
Chade winced. ‘Is that what the local market offers? I’ll send a man to bring us provisions from the ship. Foreign food will not ride well with me after this day. Come. Let us allow Thick some rest.’ He spoke over his shoulder as he led us through the connecting door to the Prince’s room. As he sat down on Dutiful’s bed, he added, ‘I do not approve of your putting the Skill to such a low use, Fitz. And yet, I must admit, you extricated us from a difficult situation. Please, consult with me before you use it in such a way again.’
It was both a rebuke and a compliment. I nodded, but Dutiful snorted. ‘Consult with you? Am not I to have any say in these matters?’
Chade recovered well. ‘Of course you are. I am merely conveying to Fitz that in matters of diplomacy he should not assume that he knows best which course we should set.’
The Prince opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment there came a rap at the hall door. At a gesture from Chade, I retreated to Thick’s room, drew the connecting door nearly closed and stood at an angle that allowed me to view a slice of the room without being observed.
Chade lifted his voice and asked, ‘Who is there?’
The visitor interpreted that as permission to enter. The door opened and as I set my muscles in readiness, Peottre Blackwater came in. He closed the door behind him, and then swept a Buckkeep bow to the Prince and Chade. ‘I have come to tell you that there is no need for you or any of your nobles to venture forth in search of food and drink. It is the pleasure of clans Boar and Narwhal to provide for you as generously as you did for our folk when we visited your Six Duchies.’
The words were spoken perfectly. It was a well-rehearsed speech. Chade’s response was as practised. ‘It is a gracious offer, but our people have already seen to their own provisions.’
Peottre looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment, but then admitted, ‘We have already informed your nobles of our invitation, and are honoured that all have accepted it.’
Outwardly, both Chade and the Prince maintained a stiff silence, but Dutiful’s anguished worry rang in my mind. I should have cautioned all of them not to accept any offer of hospitality that was not conveyed through me. Will we be seen as weaklings now?
Peottre’s gaze moved worriedly from Chade’s face to the Prince’s. He seemed to sense he had mis-stepped. Then, ‘May I speak for a time with you?’ he asked.
‘Lord Blackwater, you are welcome to call upon me at any time,’ the Prince assured him reflexively.
A very slight smile twitched Peottre’s face. ‘Well you know I am no “lord”, Prince Dutiful, but only a kaempra of the Narwhal Clan. And even as that, I stand in the Hetgurd assembly with no warriors at my back. They tolerate me more for the sake of my sister’s husband, Arkon Bloodblade, than for any respect toward me. Our clan has fallen on very hard times in every way except the richness of our motherlands and the honour of our bloodlines.’
I privately wondered in what other ways a clan could experience hardship, but Peottre was still speaking. ‘I was not unprepared for what we heard from the Hetgurd this afternoon. In truth, ever since the Narcheska proposed her challenge, I have expected it. Arkon Bloodblade, too, saw that there were those who would be disgruntled by the test she has proposed. I wanted to tell you that we are not unprepared for this. We have made plans against it. The hospitality we offer, within this stronghouse, is but one safeguard we have put in place. We had hoped opposition would not be voiced so soon, nor by such a respected kaempra as the Eagle kaempra. It is our great good fortune that the Bear kaempra, who is allied with Boar, saw fit to dismiss the assembly so abruptly. Otherwise, discussion might have gone too far for us to mend it.’
‘You might have warned us of this opposition, Kaempra Peottre, before we faced the Hetgurd,’ Chade observed quietly, but the Prince cut through his words with, ‘So you think it can be mended? How?’
I winced at his eagerness. Chade was right. The man deserved a rebuke for having led us into a trap, not an unquestioning acceptance of his aid in getting out of it.
‘It will take time, but not too long – days rather than months. Since we returned from your country, we have spent much in both wealth and influence to buy allies. I speak bluntly, of course, of what cannot be openly acknowledged. Those who have agreed to support us must not swing too quickly to our side, but must seem to be persuaded by the arguments that Clan Boar will present in our favour. So, I wish to counsel you both to patience and to wariness until the Hetgurd is swayed.’
‘Wariness?’ Chade queried sharply. Assassins? His unspoken fear reached me clearly.
‘This is not the right word,’ Peottre apologized. ‘Sometimes, it seems, what one language says in one word another has many for. I would ask you to be … not as seen. Not as visible. Not as easy to find or to speak to.’
‘Unavailable?’ the Prince suggested.
Peottre smiled slightly and shrugged. ‘If that is how you would say it. We have a saying here, “It is difficult to insult the man you don’t speak to”. That is what I suggest. That the Farseer Buck Clan avoids giving offence by being … unavailable.’
‘While we trust Boar Clan to speak for us?’ Chade asked. He allowed a trace of scepticism into his voice. ‘And what are we to do in the meanwhile?’
Peottre smiled. I was not in the best position to observe him, but I thought I had glimpsed a look of relief that we seemed inclined to accept his advice. ‘I would suggest that we remove you completely from Zylig. All expect that you will visit the mothershouse of the Narcheska. It was almost surprising to the Hetgurd that you came here first. So, I suggest that tomorrow you board the Boar vessel Tusker and sail with us to Wuislington, the motherlands of the Narwhal Clan. There, you shall be welcomed and provided for, just as you welcomed and provided for us at Buckkeep. I have reported to my mothershouse of your customs in this regard. They find them unusual, but will concede the fairness of feeding you as you fed us.’
He could not conceal his hope as he offered this suggestion. His eagerness alarmed me. Did he shoo us away from danger, or lure us into it? I felt the same query cross Chade’s mind as he said, ‘But we have only arrived here today, and we are weary from the sea. The Prince’s man, Thick, does not fare well on the waves. He has taken ill and needs his rest. We cannot think of leaving tomorrow.’
I knew that we could, and that he was considering the cost of it even now. He but said these words to Peottre to see what the man would reply. For a moment, I almost pitied the Outislander. He could not know that Chade and the Prince were sharing their thoughts, let alone that I stood around the corner not only hearing his every word but also supporting their observations with mine. I saw dismay blossom behind his eyes, and confirmed to both Dutiful and Chade that I believed his discomfort was genuine, even as he exclaimed, ‘But you must! Leave the man here with someone to tend to him. He will be safe in the Boar’s stronghouse. To do murder in a clan’s stronghouse is a terrible insult to their mothershouse and the Boar Clan is powerful. No one will consider it.’
‘But they might consider it if he ventured outside the stronghouse? Or if I went out tonight, seeking a meal perhaps?’ The velvet courtesy of Chade’s tone did not quite mask the razor edge of his question.
From my concealment, I could see that Peottre regretted his hasty words. He considered lying and then boldly pushed that aside in favour of blunt truth. ‘You must have known it could come to this. You are not fools, either of you. I have seen you study men and balance the bargain you offer this one against what that one desires. I have seen you offer both honey and the spur to move others to your will. You would have come here knowing what Icefyre means to some of us. You would have anticipated this opposition.’
I felt Chade caution Dutiful to silence as he spoke out severely on his behalf. ‘Opposition, yes. Even a muttering of war. A threat of murder to the Prince’s man, or the Prince himself, no. Dutiful is the sole heir to the Farseer crown. You are not a fool, either. You know what that means. We have extended him as far into danger as we will risk him in allowing him to embark on this ridiculous quest. Now you admit that murder may hang over him, simply because he seeks to keep his word to your sister-daughter. The stakes for this alliance have become too high, Peottre. I will not wager the Prince’s life for the sake of this betrothal. The Narcheska’s demand has never made sense to me. Give us one good reason why we should proceed.’
The Prince was seething. His Skill-objections to Chade’s highhandedness drowned out my own thoughts. I thought I knew what Chade was doing, yet the only emotion I could experience was Dutiful’s affront that Chade would imply he would retreat from his word. Even Thick turned over with a heavy moan under the Prince’s Skill-onslaught.
Peottre’s glance darted to the Prince. Even without the Skill, he could read a young man’s spirit. ‘Because Prince Dutiful had said he will do it. To back away from his word now and flee home would make him seem both cowardly and weak. It might stave off war, but it would invite raiding again. You know our saying, I am sure: “a coward owns nothing for long”.’
In the Six Duchies we say, ‘Fear is the only thing that a man cannot take from a coward’. I supposed that it meant the same thing. That if our prince showed a cowardly nature, so all the Six Duchies would be judged, and the Outislanders would see us as ripe to be raided again.
Silence! Glare all you wish, but still your tongue! Chade’s command to Dutiful was as strong a bit of Skilling as I had ever experienced from him. Even more astonishing was the private command he arrowed solely to me. Watch Peottre’s face, Fitz. I felt what it cost Chade in strength, yet he kept his voice steady as he said coolly, ‘Kaempra Narwhal, you mistake me. I did not say the Prince would go back on his word to set the dragon’s head before your Narcheska. He has given his word, and a Farseer does not go back on his word. But having done that deed, I see no need to waste my prince’s bloodline on a woman who would connive to send him into such danger, from her own people as well as from a dragon. He will do this, but we will feel no duty to wed him to the Narcheska afterward.’
I had done as Chade bid me, but there was no reading the succession of expressions that flitted over Peottre’s visage. Astonishment, of course, followed by confoundment. I knew what Chade desired to discover. What did Peottre and the Narcheska seek most strongly: the death of the dragon or an alliance with the Farseers? Yet we were no closer to an answer when Peottre stammered out, ‘But is not that what the Six Duchies most desires? To create goodwill and an alliance by this marriage?’
‘The Narcheska is not the only woman of high stature in the Out Islands,’ Chade replied dismissively. Dutiful had grown very still. I could sense the racing of his thoughts, but not hear them. ‘Certainly Prince Dutiful can find a woman from amongst your people who does not frivolously risk his life. And if not, there are other alliances to be had. Do you think Chalced would not value such an arrangement with the Six Duchies? Here is an old Six Duchies saying for you to ponder: “There is more than one fish in the sea”.’
Peottre was still struggling to grasp the sudden change in situation. ‘But why risk the Prince’s life in slaying the dragon if there is no reward for doing so?’ he asked bewilderedly.
It was finally Dutiful’s turn to speak. Chade fed him the words, but I think he would have known them for himself even without the prompting. ‘To remind the Out Islands that what a Farseer says he will do, he does. A few years have passed since my father roused his Elderling allies and destroyed most of this city. Perhaps the best way for us to stave off war between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands is not with a wedding. Perhaps the best way is to remind your countrymen, again, that what we say we will do, we do.’ The Prince’s voice was soft and even. He spoke, not man to man, but as a king.
Even a warrior such as Peottre was not immune to such an assumption. He took less offence at my young prince’s words than he would if one of his fellow kaempras had spoken so to him. I saw him uncertain of his footing, yet I could not have said if he was dismayed at the thought that his sister-daughter might not be wed to the Prince, or relieved. ‘Truly, it must seem that we have resorted to trickery in tempting you to swear to such a task. And now that you have discovered the full import of your promise, you must feel twice tricked. It is a hero’s task that Elliania has laid upon you. You have sworn to do it. Did I desire to indulge in trickery, I would remind you that you had given your word, as well, to wed her. I might ask if you were not, as a Farseer, bound as tightly there to do as you had said you would do. But I release you from that without quibbling. You feel yourself betrayed by us. I cannot deny that it appears that way. I am certain that you recognize that if you perform this task and then refuse the Narcheska’s hand, you will shame us in proportion to the glory that you have won for yourself. Her name will become a word for the faithless trickery of a woman. I do not relish such a prospect. Nonetheless, I bow to your right to take such a stance. Nor will I bring blood-vengeance against you, but will hold my sword and acknowledge that you had a right to feel yourself wronged.’
From my place of concealment, I shook my head. What Peottre said obviously filled him with great emotion, yet I knew I was missing the full import of his words. Our traditions were simply too different. One thing I did know, and an instant later the Prince echoed my thought even as he looked at Peottre consideringly. Well, I have not bettered the situation. We both stand affronted by the other’s behaviour now. How can I improve this? Draw a sword and challenge him right now?
Don’t be a fool! Chade’s rebuke was as sharp as if Dutiful had been serious. Accept his offer of transport aboard the Tusker to Wuislington. We knew we would have to make that journey; as well to appear to concede it to him. Perhaps we may learn more when we are there. This riddle must be unravelled, and I would have you away from the Hetgurd and any assassination attempts until I know more.
Prince Dutiful lowered his head slightly. I knew it was at Chade’s suggestion, but it must have appeared to Peottre that he perhaps regretted the tenor of his earlier words. ‘We are pleased to accept your hospitality this night, Peottre Blackwater. And we will take passage on the Tusker tomorrow, to Wuislington.’
The relief that Peottre felt at Dutiful’s words was palpable. ‘I myself will vouch for the safety of your folk while we are gone from them.’
Dutiful shook his head slowly. His mind was racing. If Peottre were seeking to separate him from his guard and advisors, he would not allow it. ‘My nobles will, of course, remain here. As they are not of the Farseer line, I suspect that they will not be seen as of my clan and appropriate targets for vengeance. But certain of my entourage must accompany me. My guard, and my advisors. I am sure that you understand.’
What of Thick? He is still very sick. I asked the question urgently.
I cannot leave you behind, and I will not trust him to the dubious care he would receive from another. Hard as it will be for him, he must travel with us. He is a member of my Skill-coterie. Besides. Think of the havoc he could wreak in our absence did he go back to his old nightmares.
‘Farseer Prince of the Six Duchies, in that I think we can accommodate you.’ In his eagerness to be certain of our assent, Peottre almost babbled the words.
The conversation had moved into safer channels. In a short time, Peottre escorted them downstairs to a meal. Chade loudly observed to the Prince that they must arrange that a substantial meal be sent upstairs to Thick, to hasten his recovery. Peottre assured them that this would be done, and then I heard them leave. When they were clear of the Prince’s room, I let out my pent breath, rolled my shoulders and moved to check on Thick. He slept on, peacefully unaware that on the morrow he would be carted off to yet another miserable sea voyage. I looked down on him and sent calming thoughts into his dreams. Then I sat down by the door and awaited, without enthusiasm, whatever Outislander victuals would be sent up to me.

NINE (#ulink_b5b89196-0c38-5005-a61c-7b9aa2a2591a)
Mothershouse (#ulink_b5b89196-0c38-5005-a61c-7b9aa2a2591a)
Bowsrin was kaempra for the Badger Clan at that time. His ships were fleet, his warriors strong, and he raided well, bringing back brandy and silver and tools of iron. He was nearly a hero before he shamed his clan.
He desired a woman of the Gull Clan. He went to her mothershouse with gifts, but she did not accept them. Her sister did, and he lay with her, but it was not enough for him. He went away and raided for a year and returned to the Badger mothershouse with much wealth, but no pride in his heart, for he was eaten up with unworthy lust.
His warriors were good fighters but foolish in heart, for they listened to his command when he took them to raid the Gull Clan mothershouse. Their warriors were away and the women in the field when Bowsrin’s ships came to their shore. Kaempra Bowsrin and his warriors killed their old men and some of their nearly-grown boys, and took the women on the bare earth, despite how they fought. Some died rather than be forced. Bowsrin stayed there for seventeen days, and every day that he was there, he forced the Gull Clan daughter Serferet to accept his body. Finally she died of it. Then they left, to return to their own mothershouse.
The moon changed and then the Badger Mothershouse received tidings of what their kaempra had done. They were shamed. They drove their men from their lands, telling them never to return. Seventeen of their sons the women gave to the Gull Clan, to do with whatever they wished, in atonement for Bowsrin’s evil. And the mothershouses of all clans banned Bowsrin and his men from the land, and any man who offered them any comfort was to share their fate.
In less than a year, the sea ate him and his men. And Clan Gull used his forfeited sister-sons, not as slaves, but as warriors to defendtheir shores and as men to raise up more sons and daughters for Gull Clan. And the women of the mothershouses were at peace with one another again.
Outislander cautionary tale, from Bard Ombir
The next day we took ship for the island of Mayle. Prince Dutiful and Chade met briefly with the convened Hetgurd to announce this decision to them. The Prince gave a brief speech in which he said he had chosen to recognize the conflict as a Hetgurd matter. As a man, he could not call back the word he had given, but he would give them the chance to discuss this challenge and reach a consensus on what their will was. He spoke with dignity and calm, Chade told me later, and his willingness to concede that it was a matter only the Hetgurd could settle seemed to soothe many of the ruffled feathers. Even Eagle spoke well of it, saying that a man who was willing to face a challenge squarely was a man anyone could respect, regardless of where he was birthed.
The Prince’s nobles received the tidings of his departure with varying degrees of surprise and dismay. It was conveyed to them as a slight change in our schedule. Most had not planned to accompany the Prince to his fiancée’s mothershouse; they had been told back in Buckkeep that such a large delegation of folk would not be easily welcomed there. They had expected to stay in Zylig and establish connections for future trade negotiations. For the most part, they were content to remain on Skyrene and court trading partners. Arkon Bloodblade, kaempra of the Boar Clan and the Narcheska’s father, quietly assured us that he would remain with his warriors to ensure their stay was pleasant, and to further advance our cause with the Hetgurd.
Chade told me later that he had strongly suggested to our nobles that they continue to enjoy the hospitality of the Boar stronghouse rather than investigate the hospitality of the local inns. He also suggested that they display their own heraldic devices when they went out and about amongst the Outislanders, just as the clansmen sported their animal sigils. I doubt that he told the Six Duchies nobles there would be more safety for them if they were not seen as part of the Farseer Buck Clan, as the Outislanders thought of the Prince’s family.
The Tusker was an Outislander vessel, far less comfortable than the Maiden’s Chance had been. She bobbed more in the waves, I noted as I watched the others board, but her shallower draught was more suitable for the inter-island channels that we would be navigating than the Maiden’s deeper hull. Some of the channels, I was told, were barely passable at a low tide, and during certain tides that came only once or twice a year a man could walk from island to island on foot. We would traverse several of these channels before once more crossing open water to the Narcheska’s home island and her village of Wuislington.
It was a cruel thing to do to Thick. I let him sleep as long as possible before I awakened him to a hot meal of familiar foods brought from the Maiden’s Chance. I urged him to eat and drink well and spoke only of pleasant things. I concealed from him that we would be embarking on yet another voyage. He was unhappy about having to wash and dress, wanting only to go back to his bed. I longed to be able to let him, for I was convinced it would have been best for his health. But we could not safely leave him behind in Zylig.
Even when we stood on the docks with the Prince’s guardsmen, his Wit-coterie, Chade and Prince Dutiful, watching the cargo of bridal gifts being loaded onto the Tusker, Thick thought we had only come out on a morning’s stroll. The boat was tied alongside the dock. At least, I told myself grimly, boarding would present no problem. I was wrong. He watched the others walk up the gangway and on board with no qualms, but when it was his turn, he stopped dead beside me. ‘No.’
‘Don’t you want to see the Outislander ship, Thick? Everyone else has gone on board to look around. I’ve heard it is very different from our ship. Let’s go and see it.’
He looked at me for a moment in silence. ‘No,’ he said. His little eyes were beginning to narrow in suspicion.
Further deception was useless. ‘Thick, we have to go on board. It’s going to sail soon, to take the Prince to the Narcheska’s home. We have to go with him.’
Around us, activity on the docks had halted. All else had been in readiness, and all the others were aboard. The ship waited only for Thick and me. Men from other ships and passers-by stared at Thick’s strangeness avidly, with varying degrees of revulsion on their faces. Sailors from the Tusker waited to haul the planks of the walkway on board and cast off lines. They stared at us in annoyance, waiting. I sensed from them that we humiliated them by our very presence. Why could not we get on board and out of sight below decks? Time to act. I took his upper arm firmly. ‘Thick, we have to get on board now.’
‘No!’ He bellowed the word suddenly as he slapped at me wildly, and both his fear and his fury struck me in a wild wave of Skill. I staggered aside from him, bringing a general guffaw from those who had halted to watch us. In truth, it must have looked strange to them, that the petulant slap of a half-wit had near driven me to my knees.
I hate to recall what followed. I had no choice but to force him. But Thick’s terror left him no choice either. We fought it out on the docks, my physical size and strength and the stoutness of my well-practised walls against his Skill and awkward fighting abilities.
Both Chade and Prince Dutiful were instantly aware of my dilemma, of course. I sensed the Prince trying to reach Thick and calm him, but the red haze of his anger acted as efficiently as any Skill-wall. I could not feel Chade’s presence at all; I think his effort of the day before had drained him. The first time I seized Thick with the intent of simply lifting him off his feet and carrying him aboard, his Skill flooded into me. The skin-to-skin contact left me vulnerable. It was his fear that he flung at me, and I near wet myself with the terror he woke in me. Ancient memories of moments when death’s jaws had closed around me rushed through me. I felt the teeth of a Forged one sink into my shoulder and an arrow thudded home in my back. I had lifted him to my shoulder, and I sagged to my knees, under the weight of his terror rather than his body. This elicited a fresh roar of laughter from the onlookers. Thick broke free of me and then stood there, crying out wildly and wordlessly, at bay, unable to flee, for now a circle of jeering men ringed us.
The mockery around us grew, battering me more effectively than Thick’s flailing fists. I could not grasp hold of him without risking the integrity of my walls, nor did I dare lower my walls against Thick’s onslaught to allow my own Skill to have its full effect. So I made futile efforts at herding him aboard, closing off his escape whenever he tried to dart past me down the docks. When I stepped toward him, he would step back, closer to the gangplank, and the circle of men there would give way. Then he would dart at me, hand outstretched, knowing that if he touched me, my walls would fall before him. And I would be forced to give ground to avoid his reaching hand. And all the while, men laughed and shouted to their comrades in their harsh tongue, to come and see a duchyman who could not fight a half-wit.
In the end, it was Web who saved me. Perhaps the excited cries of the sailors on the Tusker brought him to the railing. The bulky sailor pushed his way past the gawkers and came down the gangway toward us. ‘Thick, Thick, Thick,’ he said calmingly. ‘Come now, man. There’s no need for this. No need at all.’
I had known that the Wit could be used to repel someone. Who has not leapt back from the clashing teeth of a dog or narrowly avoided the swipe of a cat’s claws? It is not just the threat that forces one to give ground, but the force of the creature’s anger that pushes its challenger back. I think that for a Witted one, to learn to repel is as instinctive as knowing how to flee danger. I had never stopped to think that there might be another complementary force, one that calmed and beckoned.
I did not have a word for what Web exuded toward Thick. I was not his target, yet I was still peripherally aware of it. It settled my hackles and calmed my thundering heart. Almost without my volition, my shoulders lowered and my jaw unclenched. I saw a wondering look come over Thick’s face. His mouth sagged open and his tongue that was never completely inside it, protruded even more as his little eyes drooped almost closed. Web spoke softly. ‘Easy, my friend. Relax. Come now, come with me.’
There is a look a kitten gets when its mother lifts it by the nape of its neck. That look was on Thick’s face as Web’s big hand settled on his arm. ‘Don’t look,’ Web suggested to him. ‘Eyes on me, now,’ and Thick obeyed him, looking up at Web’s face as the Witmaster led him aboard the ship as easily as a lad leads a bull by the ring in its nose. I was left trembling, the sweat drying down my spine. The blood rushed to my face at the taunting of the men that accompanied my boarding of the ship. Most of them spoke Six Duchies in a rudimentary way. That they used it now was deliberate, to be sure I understood their scorn. I could not pretend to ignore them, for I could not control the blood which reddened my face with shame. I had no place I could vent my anger as I stalked after Web. I heard the planks taken up behind me as soon as I was on board. I didn’t look back, but trailed after Web and Thick toward a tent-like structure on the deck of the ship.
The accommodations were far cruder than those on the Maiden’s Chance had been. On the foredeck, there was a permanent cabin with wooden walls, such as I was accustomed to seeing on a ship. I was to learn it was divided into two chambers. The larger of these had been given over to the Prince and Chade, and the Wit-coterie crowded into the smaller one. This temporary cabin on the aft deck was for the guardsmen. The walls were made of heavy leather stretched on poles with the entire structure lashed down to pegs set in the deck. These shelters were a concession to our Six Duchies sensibilities; the Outislanders themselves preferred an open deck as best for hauling freight or fighting. A look at the faces of my fellow guardsmen persuaded me of how little welcome Thick would be amongst them. After my shameful performance on the dock, I was little higher in their regard. Web was trying to get Thick to sit down on one of the sea chests that had been brought from the Maiden’s Chance.
‘No,’ I told him quietly. ‘The Prince prefers that Thick be housed close at hand to him. We should take him to the other cabin.’
‘It’s even more crowded than this one,’ Web explained, but I only shook my head.
‘The other cabin,’ I insisted, and he relented. Thick went with him, still with that glazed look of trust on his face. I followed, feeling as exhausted as if I’d spent a morning in sword training. It was only later that I realized that it was Web’s own pallet he settled Thick onto. Civil sat in the corner on a smaller pallet, his snarling cat on his lap. The minstrel Cockle was disconsolately inspecting three broken strings on a small harp. Swift was looking everywhere but at me. I could feel his dismay that this half-man had been brought right into his living space. The silence in the tiny room was thicker than butter.
Once Thick had settled on the pallet, Web smoothed a calloused hand over his sweaty brow. Thick stared up at us in puzzlement for a moment and then closed his eyes, weary as a child. His breathing was hoarse as sleep claimed him. After the buffeting he’d dealt me, I longed to join him there, but Web was taking my arm.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘We have to talk, you and I.’
I would have resisted him if I could, but when he set his hand on my shoulder, my defiance melted. I let him steer me out onto the deck. I heard the jesting shouts of the sailors when I reappeared, but Web chose to ignore them as he steered me to a rail. ‘Here,’ he said, and from his hip took a leather flask and unstoppered it. The scent of brandy reached me. ‘A bit of this down you, and then take some deep breaths. You look like a man who has bled half to death.’
I did not think I needed the brandy until I took some and felt its heat run through me.
Fitz?
The Prince’s worried query reached me as a whisper. I realized abruptly how tightly I was still holding my walls. Gingerly I eased them down, and then reached back to Dutiful. I’m fine. Web has Thick settled now.
‘That’s right. I do. But you scarcely need to tell me that.’
Give me a moment, my prince, to gather myself. I had not even realized that I had spoken aloud the thought I’d previously Skilled to Dutiful. ‘I know. I’m a bit rattled, I suppose.’
‘Yes, you are. What I don’t understand is why. But I have my suspicions. The simple man is very important to the Prince, isn’t he? And it has something to do with how he could stop a warrior in his prime from forcing him to do a thing he didn’t wish to do. What made you flinch before his touch? When I touched him, nothing happened to me.’
I handed him back his flask. ‘Not my secret,’ I said bluntly.
‘I see.’ He took a mouthful of his brandy. He looked aloft pensively. Risk did a lazy loop around our ship, waiting for us. Canvas blossomed suddenly on the mast. A moment later, it bellied in the wind and I felt our ship dip and then gather speed. ‘Short journey, they tell me. Three days, four at most. If we’d taken the Maiden’s Chance, she would have had to sail around the whole cluster of islands, and then we would have had to put her at harbour on one of the other islands and still take another shallow draught vessel to reach Wuislington.’
I nodded sagely to that, not knowing if it was true or not. Perhaps his bird had told him. More likely, it was sailor gossip, gained by his own ready ears.
As if it were a logical continuation, he asked, ‘If I were to guess this secret, would you tell me I’d got it right?’
I gave a short sigh. Only now that the struggle was over did I realize how weary I was. And how strong Thick had been when driven by his fear and anger to apply all his strength to me. I hoped he had not burned reserves he could not afford. His sickness had already drained much of his vigour. He had thought himself in a life-or-death struggle with me; of that I had no doubt. Concern for him suddenly filled me.
‘Tom?’ Web pressed me, and with a start I recalled his question.
‘It’s not my secret,’ I repeated doggedly. Hopelessness was welling up in me like blood from a puncture wound. I recognized it as Thick’s. That didn’t help. I’d have to quell it somehow, before it could affect the rest of the people on the ship.
Can you handle him for us?
The assent I sent to the Prince was an acknowledgement of his request rather than a confirmation that I could accomplish it.
Web was offering me his flask again. I took it, swigged from it, and then said, ‘I have to go back to Thick. It’s not good for him to be left alone.’
‘I think I see that,’ he agreed as he took the flask back from me. ‘I wish I was sure if you were protector or gaoler to him. Well, Tom Badgerlock, when you judge that it’s safe for me to be the one to stay with him, you let me know. You look as if you could use a bit of rest yourself.’
I nodded without replying and left him there. I went to the little chamber allotted to the Wit-coterie. All the other folk had fled, probably made uncomfortable by the strength of the emotions emanating from Thick on a swelling Skill-tide. He slept, but it was for exhaustion, not peace. I looked down on his face, seeing a simplicity there that was not childish or even simple. His cheeks were flushed and tiny beads of sweat stood on his forehead. His fever was back and his breathing was raspy. I sat on the floor by his pallet. I was ashamed of what we were doing to him. It wasn’t right and we knew it, Chade and Dutiful and I. Then I gave in to my weariness and lay down at his side.
I gave myself three breaths to centre myself and gather my Skill. Then I closed my eyes and put my arm lightly across Thick in order to deepen our Skill-connection. I had expected him to have his walls up against me, but he was defenceless. I slipped into a dream in which a lost kitten paddled desperately in a boiling sea. I drew him from the water as Nettle had done and took him back to the waggon and the bed and the cushion. I promised him that he was safe and felt his anxiety ease a little. But even in his dreams, he recognized me. ‘But you made me!’ the kitten suddenly cried out. ‘You made me come on a boat again!’
I had expected anger and defiance, or even an attack following those words. What I received was worse. He cried. The kitten wept inconsolably, in a small child’s voice. I felt the gulf of his disappointment that I could betray him so. He had trusted me. I picked him up and held him, but still he cried, and I could not comfort him, for I was at the base of his sorrow.
I was not expecting Nettle. It was not night, and I doubted that she was sleeping. I suppose I had always assumed that she could only Skill when she slept. A foolish notion, but there it was. As I sat rocking the tiny creature that was Thick, I felt her presence beside me. Give him to me, she said with a woman’s weariness at a man’s incompetence. Guilty at my relief, I let her take him from me. I faded into the background of his dream, and felt his tension ease as I retreated from him. It hurt that he found my presence upsetting, but I could not blame him.
After a time, I found myself sitting at the base of the melted tower. It seemed a very forsaken place. The dead brambles coated the steep hillsides all around it, and the only sound was the wind soughing through their branches. I waited.
Nettle came. Why this? she asked, sweeping an arm at the desolation that surrounded us.
It seemed appropriate, I replied dispiritedly.
She gave a snort of contempt and then, with a wave, made the dead brambles into deep summer grasses. The tower became a circle of broken stone on the hillside, with flowering vines wandering over it. She seated herself on a sun-warmed stone, shook out her red skirts over her bare feet and asked, Are you always this dramatic?
I suspect I am.
It must be exhausting to be around you. You’re the second most emotional man I know.
The first being?
My father. He came home yesterday.
I caught my breath, and tried to be casual as I asked And?
And he had gone to Buckkeep Castle. That is as much as he told us. He looks as if he has aged a decade and yet sometimes I catch him gazing across the room and smiling. Despite his fogged eyes, he keeps staring at me, as if he has never seen me before. Mother says she feels as if he keeps saying farewell to her. He comes to her and puts his arms around her and holds her as if she might be snatched away at any moment. It is hard to describe how he behaves; as if some heavy task is finally finished, and yet he also acts like a man preparing for a journey.
What has he told you? I tried to keep her from sensing my dread.
Nothing. And no more than that to my mother, or so she says. He brought gifts for all of us when he came back. Jumping jacks for my smallest brothers, and cleverly carved puzzle boxes for the older boys. For my mother and me, little boxes with necklaces of wooden beads inside them, not roughly shaped but each carved like a jewel. And a horse, the loveliest little mare I’ve ever seen.
I waited, knowing what I would hear next and yet praying it would not be said.
And he himself now wears an earring, a sphere carved from wood. I’ve never seen him wear an earring before. I didn’t even know his ear was pierced for one.
I wondered if they had talked, Lord Golden and Burrich. Perhaps the Fool had merely left those gifts with Queen Kettricken to be passed on to Burrich. I wondered so many things and could ask none of them. What are you doing right now? I asked her instead.
Dipping tapers. The most boring and stupid task that exists. For a moment, she was silent. Then, I’ve a message for you.
My heart stopped at those words. Oh?
If I dream of the wolf again, my father says, I’m to tell him, you should have come home a long time ago.
Tell him … A thousand messages flitted through my mind. What could I say to a man I hadn’t seen in sixteen years? Tell him that he needn’t fear I’ll take anything away from him? Tell him that I love still as I have always loved? No. Not that. Tell him I forgive him. No, for he never knowingly wronged me. Those words could only increase whatever burden he put upon himself. There were a thousand things I longed to say and none I dared send through Nettle.
Tell him? Nettle prompted me, avidly curious.
Tell him I was speechless. And grateful to him. As I have been for many years.
It seemed inadequate, and yet I forced myself to say no more. I would not be impetuous. I would think long and hard before I gave any real message to Nettle to relay to Burrich. I did not know how much she knew or guessed. I did not even know how much Burrich knew of all that had befallen me since last we parted. Better to regret unsaid words than repent of words I could never call back.
Who are you?
I owed her at least that much. A name to call me by. There was only one that seemed right to give her. Changer. My name is Changer.
She nodded, both disappointed and pleased. In another place and time, my Wit warned me that others were near me. I pulled away from the dream and she reluctantly let me go. I eased back into my own flesh. For a time longer, I kept my eyes closed while opening all my other senses. I was in the cabin, Thick breathing heavily beside me. I smelled the oil the minstrel used on the wood of his harp and then heard Swift whisper, ‘Why is he sleeping now?’
‘I’m not,’ I said quietly. I eased my arm away from Thick lest I awake him and then sat up slowly. ‘I was just getting Thick settled. He is still very sick. I wish we didn’t have to bring him on this voyage.’
Swift was still looking at me oddly. Cockle the minstrel was moving very softly, wiping the frame of his repaired harp with oil. I stood, head bent beneath the low ceiling and looked at Burrich’s son. Much as he wished to avoid me, I had a duty. ‘Are you busy with anything right now?’ I asked Swift.
He looked at Cockle as if expecting the minstrel to speak for him. When he remained silent, Swift replied quietly, ‘Cockle was going to play some Six Duchies songs for the Outislanders. I was going to listen to them.’
I took a breath. I needed to pull this boy closer to me if I were going to keep my word to Nettle. Yet I’d already alienated him by trying to send him home. Too firm a rein on him now would not gain his trust. So I said, ‘Much can be learned from a minstrel’s songs. Listen, also, to what the Outislanders say and sing, and do your best to gain a few words of their language. Later, we will speak of what you learned.’
‘Thank you,’ he said stiffly. It was as hard for him to express gratitude as it was for him to acknowledge I had authority over him. I would not push for that, yet. So I nodded to him and let him leave. Cockle swept me a minstrel’s gracious bow at the door and for an instant our eyes met. The friendliness there surprised me, until he bade me farewell with, ‘It’s rare to find a man-at-arms who values learning, and rarer still to find one who recognizes that minstrels can be a source of it. I thank you, sir.’
‘It is I who thank you. My prince has asked me to educate the lad. Perhaps you can show him that gaining knowledge need not be painful.’ In the blink of an eye, I made a second decision. ‘I’ll join you, if I would not be intruding.’
He flourished me another bow. ‘I’d be honoured.’
Swift had gone ahead of us, and he did not look pleased when he saw me accompanying the musician.
The Outislander sailors were like any sailors I’ve ever known anywhere. Any sort of entertainment was preferable to the daily tedium of the ship. Those not currently on duty soon gathered to hear Cockle sing. It was a fine setting for the minstrel, standing on the bare deck with the wind in his hair and the sun at his back. The men who gathered to hear him brought their own handiwork with them, much as women would have brought their embroidery or knitting. One worked a tatter of old rope into a knotted mat; another carved lazily at a bit of hardwood. The intentness with which they listened confirmed what I had suspected. By choice or by chance, most of Peottre’s crew had a working knowledge of Duchy tongue. Even those of the crew working the sails nearby had one ear for the music.
Cockle gave them several traditional Six Duchies ballads that memorialized the Farseer monarchs. Wise enough a man was he to avoid any of the songs that had to do with our long feud with the Out Islands. I wouldn’t have to sit through Antler Island Tower today. Swift appeared to pay good attention to the songs. His attention was most deeply snared when Cockle told an Old Blood fable in song. I watched the Outislander sailors as Cockle sang it and wondered if I’d see the same disgust and resentment that many Six Duchies people showed when such songs were sung. I didn’t. Instead, the sailors seemed to accept it as a strange song of foreign magic.
When he had finished, one of the Outislander sailors stood with a broad grin which wrinkled the boar tattoo on his cheek. He’d set aside his whittling and now he brushed the fine curls of clinging wood from his chest and trousers. ‘You think that magic is strong?’ he challenged us. ‘I know a stronger, and best you know it, too, for face it you might.’
With one bare foot, he nudged the shipmate who sat on the deck beside him. Plainly embarrassed at the circle of listeners, this man nonetheless tugged free a little carved whistle that hung inside his shirt on a string around his neck and played a simple, wailing tune on it, while his fellow, with more drama than voice, hoarsely sang us a tale of the Black Man of Aslevjal. He sang in Outislander, and in the special accents that their bards used, making the song even harder for me to follow. The Black Man stalked the island, and woe to any who came there with unworthy intents. He was the dragon’s guardian, or perhaps he was the dragon in human form. Black as the dragon was black, ‘something’ as the dragon was ‘something’, strong as the wind and as unslayable, and unforgiving as ice was he. He would gnaw the bones of the cowardly, and slice the flesh of the rash, he would …
‘To your duty!’ Peottre suddenly interjected into our circle. His command was good-naturedly severe, reminding us that he was acting captain on this ship as well as our host. The sailor stopped barking the song and looked at him askance. I sensed a tension there; the boar proclaimed that this was Arkon Bloodblade’s warrior. Most of the crew was marked as Bloodblade’s, loaned to Peottre for this task. Peottre gave a tiny shake of his head at the sailor, as much rebuke as warning, and the man lowered his shoulders.
‘At what task, then, in our hours of rest?’ he still asked, a hint of bravado in his tone.
Peottre spoke mildly but his stance said he would tolerate no defiance. ‘Your duty, Rutor, is to rest in these hours, so that when you are called to work, you come fresh to the task. Rest, then, and leave entertaining our guests to me.’
Behind him, both Chade and the Prince had emerged from their cabin to watch curiously. Web stood behind them. I wondered if Peottre had heard the man’s song and excused himself abruptly from their company. I reached to them both. Do we know a tale of the Black Man on Aslevjal Island? One who guards the dragon, perhaps? For that is the song that Peottre has just silenced.
I know nothing. I will ask Chade in a quiet moment.
Chade? I attempted a direct contact.
There was no response. He did not even shift his eyes toward me.
I think he attempted too much yesterday.
Has he taken any teas today? I asked suspiciously. Skill-effort such as Chade had expended yesterday could well leave a novice exhausted, yet the old man was moving as spryly as ever. Elfbark? I wondered jealously. Denied to me but used by him?
He has some foul brew nearly every morning. I’ve no idea what is in it.
I quashed the thought before I could betray myself to the Prince. I did resolve to purloin a pinch of Chade’s tea herbs if I could and determine what he was using. The old man was too careless with his health. He would burn his life away while trying to spend it in our cause.
I had no such opportunity. The remaining days of our brief voyage passed uneventfully. I was kept occupied with Thick’s care and Swift’s education. These two actually merged, for when Thick awoke from a long sleep, he was weak and fretful, yet would not tolerate me looking after him. He was willing to accept Swift’s attentions, however. The boy was understandably reluctant. Caring for a sick man is tedious and can be unpleasant. Swift also felt the ingrained abhorrence that many Six Duchies folk feel toward the malformed. My disapproval did not shake this from him, but Web’s calm acceptance of Thick’s differences gradually swayed the boy. Web’s ability to teach Swift by example made me feel a clumsy and thoughtless guardian. I wanted so badly to do well by Swift, as well as Burrich had done by Nettle, and yet I repeatedly failed even to win his trust.
Days can be long when one feels useless. I had little time with Chade or the Prince. There was no casual way to be alone with either of them on the crowded ship, so communication was limited to the use of the Skill. I tried to reach to Chade as little as possible, hoping that a time of rest would rebuild his ability. The Prince relayed to me that Chade knew nothing of a Black Man on Aslevjal Island. Peottre kept the sailor who had sung of him extremely busy, so he was not available as a source for me. Isolated from Chade and Dutiful and rejected by Thick, I felt lonely and incapable of discovering peace anywhere. My heart yearned out to old memories, to my simple romance with Molly and the effortless friendship I had once shared with the Fool. Nighteyes came often to my mind, for Web and his bird were very much in evidence and Civil’s cat trailed him everywhere on the ship. I had lost the passionate attachments I had formed in my youth, and lost, too, the heart to seek others. As for Nettle, and Burrich’s invitation for me to ‘come home’ … my heart ached with longing to do just that, but I knew it was a time that I longed to return to, not a place, and neither Eda nor El offers that to a man. When we sailed into a tiny harbour, no more than a bite out of a small island’s coast, and Peottre shouted with pleasure to see his home, envy flooded me.
Web stepped up to the ship’s railing beside me, disturbing my fine wallow in melancholy. ‘I left Swift helping Thick get his shoes on. He’ll be glad to be ashore again, though he doesn’t admit it. He’s not even really seasick any more. It’s his lung ailment that weakens him now. That, and homesickness.’
‘I know. And little I can do about either on this ship. Once we’re ashore, I hope to find him a comfortable place and offer him quiet, rest and good food. They’re usually the best hope one has for such illness.’
Web nodded in companionable silence as we drew closer to the shore. A single figure, a girl in blowing russet skirts, stood on a headland watching us approach. Sheep and goats grazed the rocky pasturage around her and on the rolling hillsides behind her. Inland, we glimpsed threads of rising smoke from cottages that snuggled tight amongst the furze. A single dock on stone pilings reached out into the tiny bay to greet us. I saw no sign of a town. As I watched, the girl on the headland lifted her arms over her head and waved them three times. I thought she was greeting us, but perhaps she signalled folk at the settlement, for a short time later people came down the path to the shore. Some stood on the dock, awaiting us. Others, youngsters, ran along the beach, shouting excitedly to one another.
Our crew sailed the ship right up to the dock in a brash display of seamanship. The tossed lines were caught and made fast, checking our motion. In a matter of moments, it seemed, our canvas was taken down and stowed. On the deck, Peottre surprised me by offering gruff thanks to the Boar crew who had sailed the ship. It made me aware yet again that we were dealing with an alliance of two clans, not one. Obviously, both Peottre and the crewmen regarded this as a great favour and possible debt between the clans.
That was made even clearer to me in the manner in which we disembarked. Peottre went first, and as he stepped onto the dock, he made a grave obeisance to the women gathered to greet him. There were men there as well, but they stood behind the women, and it was only after Peottre had been warmly received by the older women of his clan that he walked past them to the men to exchange greetings. Few of them, I noted, were of warrior age, and those who were bore the disabling scars of that trade. There were a few oldsters, and a milling group of boys in their early teens. I frowned to myself, and then tried to pass my thought to Chade. Either their men don’t see fit to greet us, or they are concealed from us somewhere.
His returned thought was thin as a thread of smoke. Or they were decimated in the Red Ship War. Some clans took heavy losses.
I could sense that he strained to reach me and let the contact lapse. He had other things on his mind just now. It was more my Wit than my Skill that picked up the Prince’s restlessness and disappointment. The reason for that was plain. Elliania was not among those who had come to meet us. Don’t let it bother you, I counselled him. We don’t know enough of their customs in this regard to know what her absence means. Don’t assume it is a slight.
Bother me? I’d hardly noticed. This is about the alliance, Fitz, not about some girl and her ploys. The sharpness of his retort betrayed his lie. I sighed to myself. Fifteen. All I could do was thank Eda that I’d never have to be that age again.
Peottre must have advised Chade of their custom in this regard, for he and all our party remained standing on the deck until a young woman in her early twenties lifted her clear voice and invited the son of the Buck Clan of the Farseer Holdings to descend from the ship with his folk.
‘That’s our signal,’ Web said quietly. ‘Swift will have Thick ready to leave. Shall we go?’
I nodded, and then asked, as if I had a right to, ‘What does Risk show you? Does she see armed men anywhere about?’
He smiled a tight smile. ‘If she had, don’t you think I would have told you? My neck would be in as much danger as yours. No, all she sees is what we ourselves have noted. A quiet orderly settlement in the peace of the early day. And a very fruitful valley, just beyond those hills.’
So we joined the others and trooped off the boat to stand a respectful distance behind our prince as he was welcomed to Elliania Blackwater’s mothershouse and holdings. The words of the greeting were simple, and in their simplicity I heard ritual. By this act of greeting and granting permission to come ashore, the women asserted both their ownership over the land and their authority over any people who set foot in Wuislington. Despite this, I was still surprised when a similar ritual of welcoming was offered to the Boar Clan members who disembarked behind us. As they replied to the welcome, I heard what had eluded me before. In accepting the welcome, they also pledged on the honour of their mothershouse that each man would be responsible for the good conduct of all the others. The penalty for violating the hospitality was not specifically spoken. A moment later, the sense of such a ritual came to me. In a nation of sea raiders, there must be some safeguard that made their own homes inviolable to other raiders in their absence. I suspected some ancient alliance of the women of the various clans was at work here, and wondered what punishment a man’s own mothershouse would mete out to him for transgressing the welcome of another clan’s.
Greetings finished, the women of the Narwhal mothershouse led the Prince and his party away. His guard followed them, and then came Web, Swift and me with Thick. The lad walked before us while Web and I supported Thick. Behind us came the Boar crew, talking of beer and women and making jests about the four of us. Above us, Risk wheeled in the clear blue sky. Beach gravel crunched under our feet on the well-tended road.
I had expected Wuislington to be larger and closer to the water. As the Boar sailors, impatient with our plodding progress, passed us, Web engaged one in conversation. The man was plainly eager to hasten on with his fellows, and just as obviously reluctant to be seen in the company of the half-wit and his keepers. So his response was brief but courteous, as Web always seemed to bring out courtesy in those he spoke to. He explained that the harbour was good but not excellent. There was little current to worry about, but when the prevailing winds blew they were strong and cold enough ‘to scour the flesh from a man’s bones!’ Wuislington was built in a sheltered dip of the land, just beyond the next rise, where the wind blew over it rather than through it.
So we found it to be. The town was cupped in a sheltering palm of land. We followed the road down into it, and the day seemed to grow stiller and warmer as we descended. The town below us was well planned. The wood-and-stone mothershouse was the largest structure, towering as stronghouse over the simpler cottages and huts of the town. An immense painted narwhal decorated the slated roof of the house. Behind the mothershouse was a cultivated green that reminded me of the Women’s Garden at Buckkeep Castle. The streets of the town were laid out in concentric rings around it, with most of the markets and tradesmen’s homes at the section nearest to the sea-road. All this we saw before our closeness to it hid it from us.
The Prince’s party had long vanished from our sight, but Riddle came back to us, puffing slightly from trotting. ‘I’m to show you to your lodging,’ he explained.
‘We won’t be housed with the Prince, then?’ I asked uneasily.
‘They’ll be housed as guests in the mothershouse, along with his minstrel and companions. There is special housing for warriors of visiting clans, outside the stronghouse. Men of other clans may be guests there during the day, but warriors are not permitted to spend the night within the stronghouse. The Prince’s guard will be housed away from him. We don’t like it, but Lord Chade has told Captain Longwick to accept it. And a cottage has been arranged for Thick. The Prince orders that you take lodging with him.’ Riddle looked uncomfortable. In a quieter voice, as if offering apology, he added, ‘I’ll make sure your sea chest is brought there. And his things as well.’
‘Thanks.’
I didn’t have to ask. Thick’s difference made him unacceptable as a guest in the mothershouse. Well, at least they had been wise enough not to put us in with the guards. Nonetheless, it was becoming taxing to me to share Thick’s outcast status. Little as I liked the intrigues of the Farseer Court, when I was too far removed from Dutiful and Chade, I felt ill at ease. I knew we were in danger here, but the greatest danger is always the one we are ignorant of. I wanted to hear what Chade heard, to know moment by moment how our negotiation was unfolding. Yet Chade could not demand that we be housed closer to the Prince, and someone had to remain with Thick. I was the logical choice. It all made sense, which didn’t decrease the frustration I felt.
They did not insult us. The one-room stone cottage was clean, even though it smelled of disuse. Obviously it had not been inhabited for some months, yet there was wood in the hod and pots for cooking. The water cask was brimming with cold fresh water. There was a table and chairs, and a bed with two blankets on it in the corner. Sunlight lay across the floor in a fall from the single window. I’d stayed in worse places.
Thick said little as we settled him onto the bed. He was wheezing from the walk and his cheeks were red, but it was not the flush of health, but the mark of a sick man who had over-exerted himself. I pulled the shoes from his feet and then tucked the blankets around him. I suspected that the nights would be chilly here even in summer, and wondered if the two coverings would be enough to keep him comfortable.
‘Do you need any help here?’ Web asked me. Swift stood impatiently by the door, looking toward the mothershouse, two streets away.
‘Not from you, but I’ll need Swift for a time.’ I had expected the look of dismay the boy gave me. It didn’t dampen my resolve. I took coin from my purse. ‘Go to the market. I have no idea what you’ll find there. Be very polite, but get us something to eat. Meat and vegetables for a soup. Fresh bread if they have it. Fruit. Cheese, fish. Whatever this will buy.’
By his face, he was torn between nervousness and a boy’s eagerness to explore a new place. I set the money on his palm and hoped the Outislanders would accept Six Duchies coins.
‘Then,’ I added, and saw him wince. ‘Go back to the ship. Riddle will see to our chests, but I want you to get extra bedding from the bunks there. Enough to make up pallets for you and me, as well as extra blankets for Thick.’
‘But, I’m to stay in the mothershouse, with the Prince and Web and all …’ His voice dribbled away in disappointment as I shook my head.
‘I’ll need you here, Swift.’
He glanced at Web as if seeking his support. The Witmaster’s face remained calm and neutral. ‘Are you sure there is no way I can be of assistance?’ he asked me again.
‘Actually,’ and I was suddenly almost frozen by how difficult it was to ask, ‘if you wouldn’t mind coming back later, I’d enjoy a few hours to myself. Unless the Prince needs you elsewhere.’
‘I will do that. Thank you for asking.’ His second comment was genuine, not an idle courtesy. I let a moment pass in silence as I handled his words. He praised me for finally being able to ask a favour of him. When I met his eyes, I realized how long that silence had been but his face was as calm and patient as ever. Again I had that feeling he was stalking me, not as a hunter stalks prey but as a trainer befriends a wary animal.
‘Thank you,’ I managed.
‘And perhaps I’ll accompany Swift to the market, for I am as curious to see this town as he is. I promise we won’t dawdle, however. Do you think a sweet pastry might tempt Thick to eat, if we chanced upon a bakery?’
‘Yes.’ Thick’s voice was wavering as he replied, but I took heart from this show of interest. ‘And cheese,’ he added hopefully.
‘Pastries and cheese should probably be what you look for first,’ I amended. I turned to Thick with a smile but his eyes wandered away from me. I was still unforgiven for forcing him aboard the ship. I knew I’d have to do it at least two more times, for our journey back to Zylig and then for the ship that would take us to Aslevjal. I could not make myself face the thought of the eventual journey home. It seemed hopelessly far away now.
Web and Swift left, the boy chattering happily and the man responding as eagerly. In truth, I was relieved to see them go together. A boy in a strange town might easily give unintentional offence or be in danger. Nonetheless, I felt abandoned as I watched them walk away.
I backed away from the gulf of self-pity that beckoned me by putting my mind on the folks I cared about. I tried not to wonder what had befallen Hap or the Fool since I had left Buckkeep Town. Hap was a sensible lad. I had to trust him. And the Fool had managed his own life, or lives, for many years with no help from me. Yet it still made me uncomfortable to know that somewhere back in the Six Duchies, he was probably furious at me. I caught myself tracing the silvery fingerprints his Skill-touch had left on my wrist. I had no sense of him, but nonetheless put both my hands behind my back. I wondered again what he had said to Burrich, or if he had seen him at all.
Useless thoughts, but there was little else to occupy me. Thick watched me as I drifted idly around the small cottage. I offered him a dipper of cold water from the cask, but he refused it. I drank, tasting the difference of this island in its water. It tasted mossy and sweet. Probably pond water, I thought. I decided to build a small fire on the hearth in case Web and Swift brought back uncooked meat.
Time passed very slowly. Riddle and another guardsman came with our trunks from the ship. I took brewing herbs from my trunk. I filled the heavy kettle and set it on the hearth to heat, more to be doing something than because I wanted a cup of tea. I mixed the herbs to be sweet and calming, chamomile and fennel and raspberry root. Thick watched me suspiciously when I poured the hot water, but I didn’t offer him the first cup. Instead I put a chair by the window where I could look out over the sheep on the grassy hillside above the town. I drank my tea and tried to find the satisfaction I had once taken in peace and solitude.
When I offered Thick the second cup, he accepted it. Perhaps my drinking the first one had reassured him that I didn’t intend to drug or poison him, I thought wearily. Web and Swift returned, their arms full of bundles and the lad’s cheeks pink from the walk and fresh air. Thick slowly levered himself to an upright position to eye what they had brought. ‘Did you find a strawberry tart and yellow cheese?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Well, no, but look what we did find,’ Web invited him as he unloaded his trove onto the table. ‘Sticks of smoked red fish, both salty and sweet. Little rolls of bread, with seeds sprinkled on top. And here’s a grass basket full of berries for you. I’ve never seen any like this. The women called them mouse-berries, for the mice stuff their tunnels full of them to dry for the winter. They’re a bit sour, but we did find some goat-cheese to go with them. These funny orange roots they said to roast in the coals and then eat the insides with salt. And lastly, these, which aren’t as hot as when we bought them but still smell good to me.’
The last items were pastries about the size of a man’s fist. Web carried them in a sack of twisted and woven grass lined with wide fronds of seaweed. As he set them out on the table, I smelled fish. The pasties were stuffed with chunks of white fish in rich and greasy gravy. It heartened me when Thick tottered out of his bed to come to the table for one. He ate one hurriedly, pausing only when his coughing fits forced him to, and a second one more slowly, with another cup of tea to wash it down. He coughed so heavily and for so long after his tea that I feared he was choking, but at last he took a deeper breath and looked round at us with watery eyes. ‘I’m so tired,’ he said in a trembling voice, and no sooner did Swift help him back to bed than he nodded off to sleep.
Swift had enlivened our meal with his discussion of the town with Web. I had kept quiet while we ate, listening to the boy’s observations. He had a quick eye and an inquisitive mind. It seemed that most of the market-folk had been friendly enough after they’d seen his coins. I suspected that Web’s genial curiosity had once more worked for him. One woman had even told him that the morning’s low tide would be a good time for gathering the sweet little clams from the beaches. Web mentioned this, and then wandered into a tale of clamming with his mother when he was a youngster, and from there to other tales of his childhood. Both Swift and I were fascinated by them.
We shared another mug of the tea I’d made, and just as the afternoon began to seem companionable and pleasant, Riddle arrived at the door. ‘Lord Chade sent me to say you’re to go up to the mothershouse for a welcome,’ he announced from the door.
‘You’d best go then,’ I told Web and Swift reluctantly.
‘You, too,’ Riddle informed me. ‘I’m to stay with the Prince’s half-wit.’
I gave him a look. ‘Thick,’ I said quietly. ‘His name is Thick.’
It was the first time I’d ever rebuked Riddle for anything. He just looked at me, and I could not tell if he were hurt or offended. ‘Thick,’ he amended. ‘I’m to stay with Thick. You know I didn’t mean anything by that, Tom Badgerlock,’ he added almost petulantly.
‘I know. But it hurts Thick’s feelings.’
‘Oh.’ Riddle glanced suddenly at the sleeping man, as if startled to learn he had feelings. ‘Oh.’
I took pity on him. ‘There’s food on the table, and hot water for tea if you want.’
He nodded, and I sensed that we’d made peace. I took a moment to smooth my hair back and put on a fresh shirt. Then I took a comb to Swift, much to his disgust, and was dismayed at the knots in the boy’s hair. ‘You need to do this every morning. I’m sure your father taught you better than to go about looking like a half-shed mountain pony.’
He gave me a sharp look. ‘That’s the very words he uses!’ he exclaimed, and I excused my own slip, saying, ‘It’s a common saying in Buck, lad. Let’s look at you, now. Well, you’ll do. Washing a bit more often wouldn’t hurt you either, but we’ve no time for it now. Let’s go.’
I felt a pang of sympathy for Riddle as we left him sitting alone at the table.

TEN (#ulink_f60ff9d2-a568-5c24-a8d3-0de0e28b048a)
The Narcheska (#ulink_f60ff9d2-a568-5c24-a8d3-0de0e28b048a)
This is their custom regarding marriage; it is binding only so long as the woman wishes to be bound by it. The woman chooses the man, although the man may court a woman he finds desirable, with gifts and deeds of war done in her honour. If an Outislander woman accepts a man’s courtship, it does not mean she has bound herself to him, only that she may welcome him into her bed. Their dalliances may last a week, a year or a lifetime. It is entirely of the woman’s choosing. All things that are kept under a roof belong to the woman, as does all that comes from the earth which her mothershouse claims. Her children belong to her clan, and are commonly disciplined and taught by her brothers and uncles rather than by their father. While the man lives on her land or in her mothershouse, his labour is hers to command. All in all, it baffles this traveller why a man would willingly submit to such a minor role, but Outislanders seem likewise baffled by our arrangements, asking me sometimes, ‘Why do your women willingly leave the wealth of their own families to become servants in a man’s home?’
An Account of Travel in a Barbarous Land, by Scribe Fedwren
The mothershouse of the Narwhal Clan was both fortification and home. It was by far the oldest structure in Wuislington. The stout wall that surrounded its grounds and garden were the first line of defence. If invaders pushed the defenders back, they could retreat to the mothershouse itself. Scorch marks on its stone walls and timbers showed that it had stood even against fire. There were no apertures at all in the lower storey, the second boasted arrow slits and only the third had real windows and these featured stout shutters that would have defied any missiles. Yet it was not a castle in our tradition. There was no place to bring sheep or for an entire village to take shelter, nor a place for great stores of food. I suspected it was intended to defy raiders who would come and go with a tide rather than to withstand a significant siege. It was one more way in which the Outislanders differed from our folk and our way of thinking.
Two young men wearing the Narwhal badge nodded us past the gate in the wall. Inside, the road had crushed shell added to the beach gravel that paved it, giving it a gleaming opalescence that sparkled underfoot. The door of the mothershouse, carved with narwhals, stood open wide enough to admit three men abreast. Within, all was dimness and torchlight. It was almost like entering a cave.
We paused inside the entrance to let our eyes adjust. The air was thick with the aromas of long human habitation. There were food smells, stews and smoked meat and spilled wine and the odour of cured hides and gathered people. It could have been a stench, but it was not. Rather, it was a homey smell, of safety and family.
The entrance gave immediately onto a great room, with supporting pillars as the only dividers. There were three hearths, all with cook-fires on them. The stone-flagged floor was strewn with fresh rushes. Benches and shelves ran around the walls. The lower benches were wide, and the rolled sleeping skins proclaimed that these were beds by night and seating and tables by day. The higher, shallower shelves above the benches held foodstuffs and personal possessions. Most of the light in the room came from the hearths, though there were ineffectual candles in sconces on many of the pillars. In the far left corner, a wide staircase wound up into the dimness. It was the only access I could see to the upper regions of the house. It made sense. Even if an attacking force gained control of this level of the mothershouse, the folk above would have only one entrance to defend. Invaders would pay dearly to gain the upper floors of the mothershouse.
All this I saw through the gathered people. Folk of every age were clustered everywhere and there was a sense of anticipation in the air. We were obviously late. At the end of the long room, before the largest hearth, Prince Dutiful waited. Ranged on his side of the hearth were Chade and his Wit-coterie, and beyond them, his guard drawn up in three rows. The Narwhal clan-folk parted to make way for us to assume our correct positions. Web and Swift advanced to stand with Cockle the minstrel and Civil and his Wit-cat. I took a place at the end of the front row of guardsmen.
Elliania was not there. Those gathered on the other side of the hearth were mostly women. Peottre was the only adult man in his prime. There were a few old grandfathers, four lads about the Narcheska’s age, and then six or seven boys ranging down to toddlers clinging to their mothers’ skirts. Had the Red Ship War so decimated the Narwhal Clan?
The Boar warriors from the ship were present, but they stood in a group off to one side, witnesses to rather than participants in whatever was about to happen. The people who crowded the rest of the room were almost entirely Narwhal Clan, as evinced by their jewellery, clothing adornments and tattoos. The exceptions seemed to be almost entirely males standing alongside women, and were probably men who had married into the clan or were partners in a less formal arrangement with a Narwhal woman. I saw Bears, Otters and one Eagle amongst them.
Without exception, the women were strikingly arrayed. Those who did not wear jewellery of gold or silver or precious stone were still bedecked with ornaments of shell, feather and seeds. The artful arrangement of their hair had not been neglected, and added substantially to the height of several women. Unlike Buckkeep, where the women seemed to shift their finery in mysteriously feminine co-ordination, I saw a wide variety of styles. The only unifying theme to the beaded or embroidered or woven patterns of their dress seemed to be the brightness of the colours and the Narwhal motif.
Those in the first circle, I surmised, were relatives of the Narcheska, while those who stood closest to the hearth would be her most immediate family. They were almost all women. All of the Narwhal women shared an intent, almost fierce air. The tension in that part of the room was palpable. I wondered which one was her mother, and wondered, too, what we awaited.
Absolute silence fell. Then four Narwhal clansmen carried a wizened little woman down the stairs and into the hall. She rode in a chair fashioned from twisty pieces of gleaming willow-wood and cushioned with bearskins. Her thin white hair was braided and pinned in a crown to her head. Her eyes were very black and bright. She wore a red robe and the narwhal motif was repeated in tiny ivory buttons sewn all over it. The men set her chair down, not on the floor, but upon a heavy table where she could remain seated and still look out over all those who had gathered in her house. With a small whimper of complaint, the old woman straightened herself in the chair, sitting tall and gazing at the folk who had gathered. Her pink tongue wet her wrinkled lips. Heavy fur slippers dangled on her skinny feet.
‘Well! Here we all are!’ she proclaimed.
She spoke the words in Outislander, loudly, as old folks who are going deaf are prone to do. She did not seem as mindful of the formality of the situation, nor as tense as the other women.
The Great Mother of the Narwhal Clan leaned forward, her gnarled hands gripping the twisted wood of the chair arms. ‘So. Send him out, then. Who seeks to court our Elliania, our Narcheska of the Narwhals? Where is the warrior bold enough to seek the mothers’ permission to bed with our daughter?’
I am sure those were not the words Dutiful had been told to expect. His face was the colour of beetroot as he stepped forward. He made a warrior’s obeisance before the old woman and spoke in clear Outislander as he proclaimed, ‘I stand before the mothers of the Narwhal Clan, and seek permission to join my line with yours.’
She stared at him for a moment and then scowled, not at him, but at one of the young men who had borne her chair. ‘What is a Six Duchies slave doing here? Is he a gift? And why is he trying to speak our language and doing such a horrible job of it? Cut his tongue out if he attempts it again!’
There was a sudden silence, broken by a wild whoop of laughter from someone in the back of the room, quickly muffled. Somehow, Dutiful kept his aplomb, and was wise enough not to attempt to explain himself to the incensed Mother. A woman from the Narcheska’s contingent stepped to the Mother’s side and stood on tiptoe, whispering frantically to her. The Mother waved her off irritably.

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