Hunting cats are not entirely unknown within Buck Duchy, but they have remained for years an anomaly. Not only is the terrain of Buck more suited to hound'hunting, but also hounds are more suited to the larger game that is usually the prey of mounted hunters. A lively pack of hounds, boiling and baying, is a fine accompaniment for a royal hunt. The cat, when it is employed, is usually seen as more fittingly the dainty hunting companion of a lady, suitable for the taking of rabbits or birds. King Shrewd's first queen, Queen Constance, kept a little hunting cat, but more for pleasure and companionship than sport. Her name was Hisspit.
- SULINOA'S "A HISTORY OF COURSING BEASTS"
"The Queen wishes to see you."
"When?" I asked, startled. It was hardly the greeting I had expected from Chade. I had opened the panel that admitted me to his tower to find him sitting in his chair before the hearth, waiting for me. He immediately stood.
"Now, of course. She wants to know what progress we have made, and is naturally anxious to hear from you as soon as possible."
"But I haven't made any progress," I protested. I had not even reported my day's work to Chade yet. I probably stank of sweat from the weapons court.
"Then she'll want to hear that," he replied relentlessly. "Come. Follow me." He triggered the door and we left the tower chamber.
JB-, It was evening. I had spent my afternoon doing as the Fool had advised me, playing the role of a servant learning his way about a new place. As such, I'd talked to quite a number of my fellow servitors, introduced myself to Weaponsmaster Cresswell, and successfully arranged it that he would suggest I freshen my blade skills against Delleree. She proved to be a formidable swordswoman, nearly as tall as I was, and both energetic and light-footed. I was pleased she could not get past my guard, but I was soon panting with the effort of maintaining it. Trying to penetrate her defenses was not yet an option for me. The weapons training Hod had enforced on me long ago stood me in good stead, but my body simply could not react as swiftly as my mind. Knowing what to do under an attack is not the same thing as being able to do it.
Twice I begged leave for breathing space and she granted it to me with the satisfaction of the insufferably young. Yet my leading questions about the Prince availed me little, until at my third rest interlude I loosened my collar and opened my shirt wide to the cool air. I almost felt guilty doing it, yet I will not deny that I wanted to test if the charm would coax her to be more loquacious with me.
It worked. Leaning on the wall in the shade of the weapons shed, I caught my breath, and then looked up into her face. As our gazes met, her brown eyes widened, in the way that a person's eyes widen at the sight of something pleasantly anticipated. Like a rapier rushing to its target, I thrust my question past her guard. "Tell me, do you press Prince Dutiful so hard when he practices with you?"
She smiled. "No, I fear I do not, for I am usually more occupied with maintaining my own defenses against him. He is a skilled swordsman, creative and unpredictable in his tactics. No sooner do I devise a new trick to use against him than he learns it and tries it against me."
"Then he loves his blade-work, as good fighters usually do."
She paused. "No. I do not think that is it. He is a youth who makes no half- measures in anything he does. He strives to be perfect in all he attempts."
"Competitive, is he?" I tried to make my query casual. I busied my hands in smoothing my wayward hair back into its tail.
Again she considered. "No. Not in the usual sense, There are some I practice with who think only of beating their opponents. That preoccupation can be used against them. But I do not think the Prince cares if he wins our matches, only that he fights each one perfectly. It is not the same thing as competing with my skills…" Her voice trailed away as she pondered it.
"He competes with himself, against an ideal he imagines."
My prompting seemed to startle her for an instant. Then, grinning, "That is it, exactly. You've met him, then?" "Not yet," I assured her. "But I've heard a great deal about him, and look forward to meeting him."
"Oh, that won't be soon," she informed me guilelessly. "He has his mother's Mountain ways in some things. Often he goes apart from the whole court for a time, to spend time just thinking. He isolates himself in a tower. Some say he fasts, but I have never seen signs of it when he returns to his routine."
"So what does he do?" I asked in hearty puzzlement.
"I've no idea."
"You've never asked him?"
She gave me an odd look, and when she spoke, her voice had cooled. "I am only his training partner, not his confidante. I am a guardsman and he is a prince. I would not presume to question my Prince on his private time alone. He is, as all know, a private person, with a great need for solitude."
Necklace or not, I knew I had pushed her too hard. I smiled, I hoped disarmingly, and straightened up with a groan. "Well, as a training partner, you're the equal of any I've ever had. The Prince is fortunate to have someone such as you to sharpen his skills against. As am I."
"You are welcome. And I hope we can measure ourselves against one another again."
I left it at that. I had as much success with the other servants. My queries, whether direct or indirect, yielded little information. It was not that the servants refused to gossip; they were as willing to chatter about Lord Golden or Lady Elegance as one could wish, but on the topic of the Prince, they simply seemed to know nothing. The picture I formed of Dutiful was of a boy who was not disliked, but was isolated not only by his rank but by his nature. It did not encourage me. I feared that if he had run, he had divulged his plans to no one. His solitary habits would have left him singularly vulnerable to kidnappers, as well.
My mind went back to the note the Queen had received. It had told her that the Prince was Witted and demanded she take suitable action. What had the writer intended as "suitable action"? Revealing his Wit and proclaiming that the Witted must be accepted? Or purifying the Farseer line with his demise? Had the writer contacted the Prince, too?
Chade's old workbench had yielded me the lock-picks I needed for my dinner-hour adventure. The Prince had Prince Regal's former grand chambers. That lock and I were old friends and I anticipated that I could slip it easily. While the rest of the keep was at table, I approached the Prince's rooms. Here again I saw his mother's influence, for there was not only no guard at his door, but it was not locked. I slipped silently within, closing it softly behind me. Then I stared about me in perplexity. I had expected the same clutter and disorder that Hap tended to leave in his wake. Instead the Prince's sparse possessions were all stored in such an orderly fashion that the spacious room looked nearly empty. Perhaps he had a fanatical valet, I mused.
Then, recalling Kettricken's upbringing, I wondered if the Prince had any body servants at all. Personal servants were not a Mountain custom.
It took me very little time to explore his rooms. I found a modest assortment of clothing in his chests. I could not determine if any were missing. His riding boots were still there, but Chade had already told me that the Prince's horse was still in his stall. He possessed a neat array of brush, comb, washbasin, and looking glass, all precisely aligned in a row. In the room where he pursued his studies, the ink was tightly stoppered and the tabletop had never suffered any blots or spills. No scrolls had been left out. His sword was on the wall, but there were empty pegs where other weapons might have hung. There were no personal papers, no ribbons or locks of hair tucked into the corner of his clothing chest, not even a sticky wineglass or an idly tossed shirt under his bed. In short, it did not strike me as a boy's bedchamber at all.
There was a large cushion in a sturdy basket near the hearth. The hair that clung to it was short, yet fine. The stoutly woven basket bore the marks of errant claws. I did not need the wolf's nose to smell cat in the room. I lifted the cushion, and found playthings beneath it: a rabbitskin tied to a length of heavy twine, and a canvas toy stuffed with catmint. I raised my eyebrows to that, wondering if hunting cats were affected by it as mousing cats were.
The room yielded me little else: no hidden journal of princely thoughts, no defiant runaway's final note to his mother, nothing to suggest that the Prince had been spirited away against his will. I retreated quietly from his rooms, leaving all as I had found it.
My route took me past the door of my old boyhood room. I paused, tempted. Who stayed there now? The hallway was empty and I yielded to the impulse. The lock on the door was the one I had devised, and it demanded my rusty skills to get past it. It was so stiff I was persuaded it had not turned in some time. I shut the door behind me and stood still, smelling dust.
The tall window was shuttered, but the shutters were, as they had always been, a poor fit. Daylight leaked past them, and after a few moments, my eyes adjusted to the dusky light. I looked around. There, my bedstead, with cobwebs embroidering the familiar hangings. The cedar clothing chest at the foot of it was thick with dust. The hearth, empty, black, and cold. And above it, the faded tapestry of King Wisdom treating with the Elderlings. I stared at it. When I was a boy of nine, it had given me nightmares. Time had not changed my opinion of the oddly elongated forms. The golden Elderlings stared down on the lifeless and empty room.
I suddenly felt as if I had disturbed a grave. As silently as I had entered the chamber, I left it, locking the door behind me.
I had thought to find Lord Golden in his chambers, but he was not there. "Lord Golden?" I inquired, and then advanced to tap lightly at the door of his private chamber. I swear I did not touch the catch, but it swung open at mytouch.
Light flooded out. The small chamber had a window, and the setting sun filled it with gold. It was a pleasant, open room that smelled of wood shavings and paint. In the corner, a plant in a tub climbed a trellis. Hanging on the walls, I recognized charms such as Jinna made. On the worktable in the middle of the room, amongst the scattered tools and paint pots, there were pieces of rod, string, and beads, as if he had disassembled a charm. I found I had taken a step into the room. There was a scroll weighted flat on the table, with several charms drawn on it. They were unlike anything I had seen in Jinna's shop. Even at a glance, the sketches were oddly unsettling. I remember that, I thought, and then, when I looked closer, I was absolutely certain I had never seen the like before. A shiver ran down my back. The little beads had faces; the rods were carved with spinning spirals. The longer I stared, the more they disturbed me. I felt as if I could not quite get my breath, as if they were pulling me into them. "Come away." The Fool spoke softly from behind me. I could not reply.
I felt his hand on my shoulder and it broke the spell. I turned at his touch. "I'm sorry," I said instantly. "The door was ajar and I»
"I did not expect you back so soon, or it would have been latched."
That was all he said, and then he drew me from the room and shut the door firmly behind us.
I felt as if he had pulled me back from a precipice. I drew a shaky breath. "What were those?"
"An experiment. What you told me of Jinna's charms made me curious, so when I reached Buckkeep Town, I resolved to see them for myself. Once I had, I wanted to know how they worked. I wanted to know if the charm could only be made by a hedge-witch, or if the magic was in the way they were assembled. And I wanted to know if I could make them work better." His voice was neutral, "How can you stand to be around them?" I demanded. Even now, the hair on the back of my neck was standing.
"They are tuned to humans. You forget that I am a White."
The statement left me as speechless as the insidious little sketches had. I looked at the Fool and for one blink I could see him as if for the first time. As attractive as his coloring was, I had never seen any other person with it. There were other differences, the way his wrists attached his hands to his arms, the airiness of his hair… but when our eyes met, I was looking at my old friend again. It was like jolting back to the earth after a fall. I suddenly recalled what I had done. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to… I know you need your privacy " I felt shamed and hot blood rushed to my face.
He was silent for a moment. Then he said justly, "When I came to your home, you hid nothing from me." I sensed that the statement reflected his idea of what was fair rather than his emotions on the topic.
"I won't go in there again," I promised fervently.
That brought a small smile to his face. "I doubt that you would."
I suddenly wanted to change the subject, but the only thought that came to me was, "I saw Jinna today. She made this for me." I opened the collar of my shirt.
He stared, first at the charm, then up at my face. He seemed struck dumb. Then a wide and fatuous grin spread over his face.
"It's supposed to make people feel kindly toward me," I explained. "To counteract my grim appearance, I think, though she was not so unkind as to say that directly."
He took a breath. "Cover it," he begged, laughing, and as I did so, he turned away from it. He walked almost hastily to the chamber window and looked out. "They are not tuned to my bloodlines, but that does not mean I am completely impervious against them. You often remind me that in some ways I am still very human."
I unfastened it from my throat and held it out to him. "You can take it and study it if you like. I'm not entirely sure I like wearing it. I think I'd rather know what people honestly think of me."
"Somehow I doubt that," he muttered, but he returned to take the charm from my hand. He held it out in the air between us, studied it, and then glanced at me. "Tuned to you?" he guessed.
I nodded.
"Intriguing. I would like to keep it, for a day or so. I promise not to take it apart. But after that, I think you should wear it. Always."
"I'll think about it," I promised, but felt no inclination to don it again.
"Chade wanted to see you as soon as you came in," he suddenly said, as if he had only then remembered it.
ROBIN HOB-B And there we had left it, and I felt that I was, if not excused, at least forgiven for going where I had no business being.
Now as I followed Chade through the narrow passageway, I asked him, "How was all this built? How can a labyrinth like this that winds all through the castle be kept secret?"
He carried a candle and walked before me. He spoke over his shoulder, softly. "Some was built into the bones of the keep. Our ancestors were never trusting folk. Part of it was intended as a system of bolt-holes. Some of it has always been used for spying. Some of it used to be servants' stairs, incorporated into the secret passages during a phase of intense reconstruction following a fire. And some was created deliberately, in your lifetime. When you were small, do you remember when Shrewd ordered that the hearth in the guardroom be rebuilt?"
"Vaguely. I did not pay much attention at the time."
"No one did. You may have noticed that a wooden facade was added to two walls."
"The cupboard wall? I thought it was built so that Cook had a bigger larder, one that kept rats out. It made the room smaller, but warmer as well."
"And above the cupboards, there is a passageway, and several viewing slits. Shrewd liked to know what his guards were thinking of him, what they feared, what they hoped."
"But the men who built it would have known of it."
"Different craftsmen were brought in to do different parts of the job. I myself added the viewing slits. If any of them thought it odd that the ceilings of the cupboards were so sturdily built, they said nothing. And here we are. Hush."
He lifted a tiny leather flap on the wall and peered into the revealed hole. After a moment, he whispered, "Come."
The silent door admitted us into a privy chamber. There we paused again, while Chade again peered througha peephole, then tapped lightly at the door. "Enter," Kettricken responded quietly.
I followed Chade into a small sitting room off the Queen's bedchamber. The connecting door to the bedchamber was closed and a bolt in place. The room was decorated sparsely in the Mountains' severe but restful way. Fat scented candles gave us light in the windowless chamber. The table and chairs were of bare pale wood. The woven mat on the floor and the wall hangings were made of grass worked into a scene of waterfalls tumbling down a mountainside. I recognized Kettricken's own handiwork. Other than that, the chamber was bare. All this I noticed peripherally, for my Queen stood in the center of the room.
She was waiting for us. She wore a simple gown of Buck blue, with a white and gold kirtle. Her gold hair was dressed close to her head, and crowned only with a simple band of silver. She was empty-handed. Another woman would have brought her needlework or had set out a platter of food, but not our Queen. She was waiting for us but I did not sense impatience or anxiety. I suspected she had been meditating, for an aura of stillness still clung to her. Our eyes met, and the small lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes seemed lies, for in the gaze we shared no time had passed at all. The courage I had always admired still shone there, and her self-discipline was like an armor she wore. Yet, "Oh, Fitz!" she cried low on seeing me, and in her voice there was warm welcome and relief.
I bowed low to her, and then sank on one knee. "My Queen!" I greeted her.
She stepped forward and touched my head, her hand a benediction. "Please rise," she said quietly. "You have been at my side through too many trials for me ever to want to see you on your knees before me. And as I recall, you once called me Kettricken."
"That was many years ago, my lady," I reminded her as I rose.
She took both my hands in hers. We were nearly of a height, and her blue eyes looked deep into mine. "Far too many, for which I fault you, FitzChivalry. But Chade told me, long ago, that you might choose solitude and rest for yourself. When you did, I did not begrudge it to you. You had sacrificed everything to your duty, and if solitude was the only reward you wished, then I was glad to grant it to you. Yet I confess I am more glad to see you return, especially at such a time of crisis."
"If you have need of me, then I am glad to be here," I replied, almost without reservations.
"I am saddened that you walk among the folk of Buck-keep, and none know what sacrifices you have made for them. You should have been accorded a hero's welcome. Instead, you walk unknown among them in the guise of a servant." Her earnest blue eyes searched my own.
I found myself smiling. "Perhaps I spent too long in the Mountains, where all know that the true ruler of that kingdom is the servant of all."
For a moment her blue eyes widened. Then the genuine smile that broke forth on her face was like the sun breaking through storm clouds, despite the sudden tears that stood in her eyes. "Oh, Fitz, to hear you say such words is balm to my heart. Truly, you have been Sacrifice for your people, and I admire you for it. But to hear from your lips that you understand that it has been your duty, and took satisfaction in that, brings me joy."
I did not think that was exactly what I had said, and yet I will not deny that her praise eased some of the ancient hurt in me. I pulled back from looking at that too closely.
"Dutiful," I said suddenly. "He is why I am here, and much pleasure as I take in this reunion, I would take even more in discovering what has become of him."
My Queen kept possession of one of my hands and held it tightly as she drew me toward the table. "Oh, you were ever my friend, even before I came as a stranger to this court. And now your heart goes with mine in this matter."
She drew a deep breath, and the fears and worries of a mother broke past the control in the monarch's voice as she said, "No matter how I dissemble before the court and it grieves me that I must deceive my own people this way my son is never out of my thoughts for a moment. FitzChivalry, I put the blame for this at my own feet, yet I do not know if my fault was too much discipline for him, or too little, or if I demanded too much of the prince and not enough of the boy, or»
"My Queen, you cannot approach this problem from that direction. We must begin from where we are; no good will come of trying to apportion blame. I will tell you bluntly that in my brief time here, I have discovered nothing. Those whom I have questioned speak well of the Prince. No one has divulged to me that he was unhappy or discontented in any way."
"Then you think he was taken?" she broke in, This interruption was so uncharacteristic of Kettricken that I finally grasped the depth of her anguish. I drew out a chair for her, and as she sat, I looked down into her face and said with all the calm I could muster, "I do not think anything yet. I do not have enough facts to form an opinion."
At an impatient sign from her, both Chade and I were seated at the table. "But what of your Skill?" she demanded. "Does it tell you nothing of him? Chade told me that he suspected you and the boy were somehow linked in your dreams. I do not understand how that could be so, but if it is, surely it must tell you something. What has he dreamed these last few nights?"
"You will not like my answer, my Queen, any more than you liked my answer all those years ago when we searched for Verity. My talent now is as it was then: erratic and unreliable. From what Chade has told me, it is possible that I have occasionally shared a dream with Prince Dutiful. But if it is so, I was not cognizant of it at the time. Nor can I break into his dreams at will. If he has dreamed these last few nights, he dreamed alone."
"Or perhaps he did not dream at all," Kettricken mourned. "Perhaps he is dead already, or tormented so that he cannot sleep and dream."
"My Queen, you imagine the worst, and when you do, your mind stops at the problem and does not consider the solution." Chade's voice was almost severe. Knowing how distraught he was over the boy's absence, his sternness surprised me, until I saw the Queen's reaction. Kettricken took strength from his firmness.
"Of course. You are right." She took a breath. "But what can our solution be? We have discovered nothing, and neither has FitzChivalry. You have counseled me to keep his disappearance a secret, lest we panic the people and precipitate rash decisions. But there have been no demands for ransom. Perhaps we should make public that the Prince is missing. Someone, somewhere, must know something. I think we must announce it and ask the people to help."
"Not yet," I heard myself say. "For you are right in saying that someone, somewhere, must know something. And if they are aware the Prince is absent from Buckkeep, and they have not come forward, then they have a reason. And I should like to know what it is."
"Then what do you suggest?" Kettricken demanded of me. "What is left to us?"
I knew it would chafe her, yet I still suggested it. "Give me a little more time. A day, at most two. Let me ask more questions and sniff about some more."
"But anything could have happened to him by then!"
"Anything could have happened to him by now," I pointed out levelly. I spoke calmly the cruel words. "Kettricken. If someone took him to kill him, they have done it by now. If they took him to use him, they are still awaiting our move in this game. If he ran away, then he may yet run home again. While we keep his absence a secret, the next move belongs to us. Let it be known, and others will make that move for us. You will have nobles tearing up the countryside, looking for him, and not all will UBS have his best interests at heart. Some will want to 'rescue' htm to curry favor, and others may think to seize a prize from another weasel's jaws."
She closed her eyes but nodded reluctantly to my words. When she spoke, her voice was strained. "But you know that time runs out for us. Chade has told you that an Outislander contingent comes to formalize Prince Dutiful's affiance? When they arrive a fortnight from now, I must be able to produce him or I risk not only embarrassment but also insult and an end to a carefully wrought truce that I hope to make an alliance."
"Bought with your son."- The words leapt out of my mouth before I knew I had thought them.
She opened her eyes and gazed at me directly. "Yes. As the Mountain alliance with the Six Duchies was bought with me." She cocked her head at me. "Do you consider it a poor transaction?"
I deserved rebuke. I bowed my head to it. "No, my Queen. I think it was the best bargain that the Six Duchies ever made."
She nodded to my compliment and a faint blush rosed her cheeks. "I shall listen to your counsel, Fitz. Two more days will we seek Dutiful on our own, before we reveal his absence to our people. In those days, we will use every means at our disposal to discover what may have become of him. Chade has opened to you the concealed maze within the walls of Buckkeep. I little like what it says of us, that we furtively spy on our own folk, but I grant the freedom of it to you, FitzChivalry. I know you will not abuse it. Use it as seems wise to you."
"Thank you, my Queen," I replied awkwardly. I did not truly welcome this gift, the access to every lord's and lady's small and grubby flaws. I did not glance at Chade. What had it cost him to be privy not just to the massive secrets of the throne, but the dirty and shameful sins of the folk of the keep? What vices had he inadvertently witnessed, what painful shortcomings had he glimpsed, and how did he meet the eyes of those folk every day in the broad and well-lit chambers of the keep?
"… and whatever you must do."
My mind had been wandering, but my Queen was looking at me, waiting. I made the only possible response. "Yes, my Queen."
She gave a great sigh as if she had feared my refusal. Or as if she dreaded what she next must say. "Then do so, FitzChivalry, ever friend. I would not spend you this way if it could be avoided. Safeguard your health. Be wary of the drugs and herbs, for as thorough as your old master is, no translation should ever be absolutely trusted." She took a breath, then added in a different tone, "If either Chade or I press you too hard, tell us so. Your head must stand guard against my mother's heart. Do not… do not let me shame myself in this, by asking more of you than you can…" Her voice trailed away. I think she trusted me to take her meaning. She drew another breath. She turned her head and looked away from me, as if that would keep me from knowing that tears stood in her eyes. "You will begin tonight?" she asked in an unnaturally high voice.
I knew what I had just agreed to. I knew then that I stood at the lip of the abyss.
I flung myself off into it. "Yes, my Queen."
How shall I describe that long climb up the stairs to the tower? Chade led the way through the secret places of the keep and I followed his uncertain lamplight. Dread and anticipation warred inside me. I felt I had left my stomach far behind me, and yet I longed for him to hurry up the steps. Excitement coursed through me as we approached that indulgence so long denied to me. My hopes and focus should have been on recovering the Prince, but the prospect of drowning myself in Skill dominated all my thoughts. It terrified and tantalized me. My skin felt taut and alive, and mysenses seemed to strain against the confines of my flesh. Music seemed to move through the air at the edges of my hearing.
Chade triggered the door's opening, and then gestured for me to precede him. As I edged past him, he observed, "You look nervous as a bridegroom, boy."
I cleared my throat. "It seems strange to rush headlong into that which I have tried to school myself to avoid."
He shut the door behind us as I glanced about the room. A small fire burned on the grate. Even in the height of summer, the thick stone walls of the keep seemed to whisper a chill into the room. Verity's sword leaned up against the hearth where I had left it, but someone had removed the leather on the hilt. "You recognized Verity's blade," I observed.
"How could I not? I am glad you kept it safe."
I laughed. "More like, it kept me safe. Well. What exactly do you propose?"
"I suggest you make yourself comfortable and that you attempt to Skill out after the Prince. That is all."
I looked around for a place to sit. Not on the hearthstones. Yet, as it ever had been, there was only one comfortable chair near the fire. "And the drugs and herbs the Queen mentioned?"
Chade gave me a sidelong glance. I thought I detected some wariness in the look. "I do not think we will need them. She refers to several scrolls within the Skill collection. There are teas and tinctures that are suggested for Skill students who seem to have difficulty attaining a receptive state. We had considered using them on Prince Dutiful but had decided to postpone it until we were sure they are necessary."
"Galen never used any herbs when he was instructing us." I brought a tall stool from the workbench and set it opposite Chade 's chair. I perched on it. He settled in his chair, but then had to look up at me. I suspect it annoyed him. He sounded peevish when he spoke.
ROBIN HO BB" Galen never used any herbs when he was instructing you. Did you never suspect that perhaps the others in your Skill coterie received special attentions that you were not privy to? I did. Of course, we will never be certain of that."
I shrugged my shoulders to that. What else could I do? It was years ago and they were all dead, several of them at my hands. What did it matter now? But the thoughts had stirred my old aversion to the Skill. From anticipation, I had shifted suddenly to dread. I changed the subject. "Did you find out for me who gave the cat to the Prince?"
Chade looked startled at my abrupt shift. "I yes, of course. Lady Bresinga of Galeton and her son Civil. It was a birthday gift. The cat was presented to him in a little jeweled harness with a leash. The animal was about two years old, a long-legged stripy creature with a rather flat face and a tail as long as the rest of it. I understand those cats cannot be bred, that a kitten must be taken from a wild den before its eyes have opened if anything is to be made of it. It is an exotic coursing animal, suited to solitary hunting. The Prince took to it immediately."
"Who took the kitten from the den?" I asked.
"I have no idea. Their Huntsman, I imagine."
"Did the cat like the Prince?"
Chade frowned. "I had not really concerned myself with that. As I recall, they approached the dais, with Lady Bresinga holding the end of the cat's leash and her son actually carrying the animal. It seemed almost dazed by all the light and noise of the festivities. I wondered myself if they had drugged it lest it panic and struggle to escape. But when they had made their courtesies to the Prince, the lady put the end of the leash in his hand and Civil, her son, set the cat at Dutiful's feet."
"Did it try to get away? Did it test the leash?"
"No. As I said, it seemed quite calm, almost unnaturally so. I believe it looked at the Prince for a time, and then bumped its head against his knee." Chade 's eyes had gone distant, and I saw his trained mind recalling the scene in detail. "He reached down to stroke it, and it cowered away. Then it sniffed his hand. Then it did this strange thing, opening its mouth wide and breathing near his hand, as if it could taste his scent from the air. After that, it seemed to accept him. It rubbed its head up and down his leg, just as a little cat does. When a servant tried to lead it away, it would not go, so it was allowed to remain near the Prince's chair for the rest of the evening. He seemed very well pleased with it."
"How soon did he begin hunting it?"
"I believe he and Civil took it out the next day. Civil and the Prince are nearly of an age, and the Prince was eager to try the cat, as any boy would be. Civil and his mother stayed on at court the rest of the week, and I think that Civil and the Prince took out the cat every morning. It was his chance to learn how to hunt with it, you see, from people familiar with the sport."
"And did they hunt well together?"
"Oh, I suppose so. It is not for large game of course, but they brought back, oh, birds, I think, and hares."
"And it always slept in his room?"
"As I understand it, it has to be kept close to a human to keep it tamed. And of course, the hounds in the stable would not have left it in peace. So, yes, it slept in his room and followed him about the keep. Fitz, what do you suspect?"
I answered him honestly. "The same thing that you do. That our Witted Prince has vanished with his hunting cat companion. And that none of this is a coincidence. Not the gift of the animal, not the bonding, not the disappearance. Someone planned this."
Chade frowned, not wanting to admit what he believed. "The cat could have been killed when the Prince was taken. Or she could have run off."
"So you've said. But if the Prince is Witted, and the cat is bonded to him, she would not have run off when he was taken." The stool was uncomfortable but I stubbornly remained perched on it. I closed my eyes for a moment.
Sometimes, when the body is weary, the mind takes flight. I let my thoughts skip where they would. "I've bonded thrice, you know. The first time to Nosy, the puppy that Burrich took from me. And again, to Smithy when I was still a boy. The last time, to Nighteyes. Each time, there was that instant sense of connection. With Nosy, I bonded before I was even aware I was doing it. I suspect it happened because I was lonely. Because when Smithy offered love, I accepted it with no discrimination. And when the wolf's anger and hatred of his cage so exactly matched mine, I could not distinguish between us." I opened my eyes briefly and met Chade 's startled stare. "I had no walls, you see." I looked away from him, down at the dwindling fire. "From what I've been told, in Witted families, the children are protected from doing that. They are taught to have walls when they are young. Then, when they are of an age, they are sent out to find suitable partners, almost like seeking a suitable marriage partner."
"What are you suggesting?" Chade asked quietly.
I followed the thought where it led me. "The Queen has chosen a bride for Prince Dutiful for the sake of a political alliance. What if an Old Blood family has done the same?"
A lengthy silence followed my words. I looked back at Chade. His eyes were on the fire, and I could almost see his mind working frantically to sort out all the implications of what I had said. "An Old Blood family deliberately selects an animal for the Prince to bond with. Assumptions, then: that Lady Bresinga is Witted, that indeed her whole line is, as you put it, Old Blood. That they somehow knew or suspected the Prince is also Witted." He paused, pursed his mouth, and considered. "Perhaps they were the source of the note claiming the Prince was Witted… I still do not grasp what they would profit from it."
"What do we profit from marrying Dutiful to some Outislander girl? An alliance, Chade."
He scowled at me. "The cat somehow is part of the JS-
Bresinga family and retains ties to it? The cat can somehow influence the Prince's political actions?"
The way he said it made it seem ridiculous. "I haven't got it completely worked out yet," I admitted, "But I think there is something there. Even if their only goal is to prove that the Prince himself is Witted, and hence that other Witted folk should not be chopped up and burned for being the way they are. Or to gain the Prince's sympathy toward Witted folk, and through him, the Queen's."
Chade gave me a sidelong glance. "Now that is a motive I can concede. There is also possible blackmail there. Once they have bonded the Prince to an animal, they can hold out for political favors under the threat that they will tell others he is Witted." He looked aside from me. "Or attempt to reduce him to the level of an animal, if we do not comply with their political wishes."
As always, Chade's mind was capable of far more convolutions than mine was. It was almost a relief to have him refine my ideas. I did not want my mentor to be failing in mind or body. In so many ways, he still stood as shield between me and the world. I nodded to his suggestions.
He stood up suddenly. "So all the more reason we should proceed as we had planned. Come, take my chair. You look like a parrot perched up there; you can't possibly be comfortable. One thing all the basic scrolls stress is that a practitioner of the Skill should find a comfortable starting place, one in which the body is relaxed and unobtrusive to the mind."
I opened my mouth to say that was the opposite of what Galen had done to us. On the contrary, when he was teaching us, he had made us so miserable in body that the mind became our only escape. I shut my mouth, the words unsaid. Useless to protest or ponder what Galen had done. The twisted, pleasureless man had tormented us all, and those he had succeeded in training, he had warped into a mindlessly loyal coterie for Prince Regal. Perhaps that had had something to do with it; perhaps he had wanted to break down the body's resistance and the mind's judgment before he could shape them into the coterie he desired.
I sat down in Chade's chair. It retained his warmth and the imprint of his body. It felt strange to sit there in his presence. It was as if I were becoming him. He assumed my perch on the stool and looked down on me from that towering height. He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned forward to smirk down at me. "Comfortable?" he asked me. "No," I admitted.
"Serves you right," he muttered. Then, with a laugh, he got off the stool. "Tell me what I can do to help you with this process."
"You want me to just sit here and Skill out, hoping to find the Prince?"
"Is that so hard?" It was a genuine question. "I tried for several hours last night. Nothing happened except that I got a headache."
"Oh." For a moment he looked discouraged. Then he announced firmly, "We will simply have to try again." In a lower voice he muttered, "For what else can we do?"
I could think of no answer to that. I leaned back in his chair and tried to relax my body. I stared at his mantelpiece, only to have my attention stick on a fruit knife driven into the wood. I had done that, years ago. Now was not the time to dwell on that incident. Yet I found myself saying, "I crept into my old room today. It looks as if it has not been used since last I slept there."
"It hasn't. Castle tradition says it is haunted." "You're joking!"
"No. Think about it. The Witted Bastard slept there, and he was taken to his death in the castle dungeons. It's a fine basis for a ghost tale. Besides, flickering blue lights have been seen through its shutters at night, and once a stable-boy said he saw the Pocked Man staring down from that window on a moonlit night."
"You kept it empty."
"I am not entirely devoid of sentiment. And for a long time, I hoped you would someday return to that room. But, enough of this. We have a task."
I drew a breath. "The Queen did not mention the note about the Prince being Witted."
"No. She did not."
"Do you know why?"
He hesitated. "Perhaps some things are so frightening that even our good Queen cannot bring herself to consider them."
"I'd like to see the note."
"Then you shall. Later." He paused, then asked me heavily, "Fitz? Are you going to settle down and do this thing or keep procrastinating?"
I took a deliberate breath, blew it out slowly, and fixed my gaze on the dwindling fire. I looked into its heart as I gradually unfastened my mind from my thoughts. I opened myself to the Skill.
My mind began to unfold. I have, over the years, given much thought to how one could describe Skilling. No metaphor really does it justice. Like a folded piece of silk, the mind opens, and opens, and opens again, becoming larger and yet somehow thinner. That is one image. Another is that the Skill is like a great unseen river that flows at all times. When one consciously pays attention to it, one can be seized in its current and drawn out to flow with it. In its wild waters, minds can touch and merge.
Yet no words or similes do it justice, any more than words can explain the smell of fresh bread or the color yellow. The Skill is the Skill. It is the hereditary magic of the Farseers, yet it does not belong to kings alone. Many folk in the Six Duchies have a touch of it. In some it bums strong enough that a Skilled one can hear their thoughts. Sometimes, I can even influence what a Skill-touched person thinks. Far more rare are those who can reach out with the Skill. That ability is usually no more than a feeble groping unless the talent is trained. I opened myself to it, and let my consciousness expand but with no expectations of reaching anyone.
Threads of thought tangled against me like waterweed. "I hate the way she looks at my beau." "I wish I could say one last word to you, Papa." "Please hurry home, I feel so ill." "You are so beautiful. Please, please, turn around, see me, at least give me that." Those who flung the thoughts out with such urgency were, for the most part, ignorant of their own strength. None of them were aware of me sharing their thoughts, nor could I make my own thoughts known to them. Each cried out in their deafness with voices they believed were mute. None was Prince Dutiful. From some distant part of the keep, music reached my ears, temporarily distracting me. I pushed it aside and strove on.
I do not know how long I prowled amongst those unwary minds, nor how far I reached in my search. The range of the Skill is determined by strength of ability, not distance. I had no measure of my strength and time does not exist when one is in the grip of the Skill. I trod again that narrow measure, clinging to my awareness of my own body despite the temptation to let the Skill sweep me free of my body forever.
"Fitz," I murmured, in response to something, and then, "FitzChivalry," I said aloud to myself. A fresh log crashed down onto the embers of the fire, scattering the glowing heart into individual coals. For a time I stared at it, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Then I blinked, and became aware of Chade 's hand resting on my shoulder. I smelled hot food, and slowly turned my head. A platter rested on a low table near the chair. I stared at it, wondering how it had come to be there.
"Fitz?" Chade said again, and I tried to recall his question.
"What?"
"Did you find Prince Dutiful?"
Each word gradually made sense to me until I perceived his query. "No," I said as a wave of weariness rolled over me. "No, nothing." In the wake of the fatigue, my hands began to tremble and my head to pound. I closed my eyes, but found no relief. Even with my eyes closed, snakes of light trembled across the dark. When I opened my eyes, they were superimposed on the room before me. I felt as if too much light were getting inside my head. The waves of pain tumbled me in a surf of disorientation.
"Here. Drink this."
Chade put a warm mug into my hands and I lifted it gratefully to my mouth. I took a mouthful, then nearly spat it out. It was not elfbark tea to soothe my headache, but only beef broth. I swallowed it without enthusiasm. "Elfbark tea," I reminded him. "That is what I need right now. Not food."
"No, Fitz. Recall what you yourself told me. Elfbark stunts the Skill ability, and numbs you to your talent. That is something we cannot risk just now. Eat something. It will restore your strength."
Obediently I looked at the tray. Sliced fruit floated in cream next to fresh- baked bread. There was a glass of wine and pink slices of baked river fish. I carefully set the mug of broth down next to the revolting stuff and turned my gaze away. The fire was rekindling itself, dancing licks of flame, too bright. I lowered my face into my hands, seeking darkness, but even there the lights still danced before my eyes. I spoke into my hands. "I need some elfbark. It has not been this bad in years, not since Verity was alive, not since Shrewd took strength from me. Please, Chade. I cannot even think."
He went away. I sat counting my heartbeats until he came back. Each thud of my heart was a flare of pain in my temples. I heard the scuff of his steps and lifted my head.
"Here," he said gruffly, and set a cool wet cloth to my forehead. The shock of it made me catch my breath. I held it to my brow and felt the thudding ease somewhat. It smelled of lavender.
I looked at him through a haze of pain. His hands were empty. "The elfbark tea?" I reminded him.
"No, Fitz."
"Chade. Please. It hurts so bad I can't see." Each word was an effort. My own voice was too loud.
"I know," he said quietly. "I know, my boy. But you will just have to bear it. The scrolls say that sometimes the use of the Skill brings this pain, but that, with time and repeated effort, you will learn to master it. Again, my understanding of it is imperfect, but it seems to have to do with the split effort you make, both to reach out from yourself and to hold tight to yourself. Given time, you will learn how to reconcile those tensions and then»
"Chade!" I did not mean to bellow but I did. "I just need the damned elfbark tea. Please!" I took sudden control of myself. "Please," I added softly, contritely. "Please, just the tea. Just help me ease this pain, and then I could listen to you."
"No, Fitz."
"Chade." I spoke my hidden fear. "Pain such as this could push me into a seizure."
I saw a brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. But then, "I don't think it will. Besides, I'm here beside you, boy. I'll take care of you. You have to try to get through this without the drug. For Dutiful's sake. For the Six Duchies."
His refusal stunned me into silence. Hurt and defiance tore me. "Fine." I bit off the word. "I have some in my pack in my room." I tried to find the will to stand.
A moment of silence. Then, unwillingly he admitted, "You had some in your pack in your room. It is gone. As is the carryme that was with it."
I took the rag from my forehead and glared at him. My anger built on the foundation of my pain. "You have no right. How dare you?"
He took a breath. "I dare as much as my need demands. And my need is great." His green-eyed gaze met mine chal-lengingly. "The throne needs the talent that only you possess. I will allow nothing that diminishes your Skill."
He did not look away from me, but I could scarcely keep my eyes on him. Light was flaring all around him, stabbing into my brain. The barest edge of control kept me from throwing the compress at him. As if he guessed that, he took it from me, offering me a freshly cooled one in its place. It was a pitiful comfort, but I put it on my brow and leaned back in the chair. I wanted to weep with frustration and anguish. From behind the compress, I told him, "Pain. That's what being a Farseer means to me. Pain and being used."
He made no reply. That had always been his greatest rebuke, the silence that forced me to hear my own words over and over. When I took the cloth from my forehead, he was ready with another one. As I pressed it to my eyes, he said mildly, "Pain and being used. I've known my share of that as a Farseer. As did Verity, and Chivalry, and Shrewd before them. But you know there is more to that. If there weren't, you wouldn't be here."
"Perhaps," I conceded grudgingly. The fatigue was winning. I just wanted to curl up around the pain and sleep but I fought it. "Perhaps, but it isn't enough. Not for going through this."
"And what more would you ask, Fitz? Why are you here?"
I knew he meant it to be a rhetorical question but the anxiety had been with me for too long. The answer was too close to my lips, and the pain made me speak without thought. I lifted a corner of the cloth to peer at him. "I do this because I want a future. Not for myself, but for my boy. For Hap. Chade, I've done it all wrong. I haven't taught him a thing, not how to fight, nor how to make a living. I need to find him an apprenticeship with a good master. Gindast. That's who he wishes to teach him. He wants to be a joiner, and I should have seen that this would come and saved my money, but I didn't. And here he is, of an age to learn and I haven't a thing to give him. The coins I've saved aren't enough to»
"I can arrange that." Chade spoke quietly. Then, almost angrily, he demanded, "Did you think I wouldn't?" Something in my face betrayed me, for he leaned closer, brows furrowed, as he exclaimed, "You thought you'd have to do this in order to ask my help, didn't you?" The damp cloth was still in his hand. It slapped the stone flags when he flung it in a temper. "Fitz, you " he began, then words failed him. He stood up and walked away from me. I thought he would leave entirely. Instead he went down to the workbench and the unused hearth at the other end of the chamber. He walked around the table slowly, looking at it and at the scroll racks and utensils as if seeking for something he had misplaced. I refolded the second cloth and held it to my forehead, but surreptitiously I watched him from under my hand. Neither of us said anything for a time.
When he came back to me, he looked calmer but somehow older. He took a fresh cloth from a pottery dish, wrung it out, folded it, and offered it to me. As we exchanged the compresses, he said softly, "I'll see that Hap gets his apprenticeship. You could simply have asked me to do that when I visited you. Or years ago, you could have brought the lad to Buckkeep and we'd have seen him decently educated."
"He can read and write and figure," I said defensively. "I saw to that."
"Good." His reply was chill. "I'm glad to hear you retained that much common sense."
There seemed no rejoinder to that. Both pain and weariness were overcoming me. I knew I had hurt him but I didn't feel it was my fault. How could I have known he'd be so willing to help me? Nevertheless, I apologized. "Chade, I'm sorry. I should have known that you would help me."
"Yes," he agreed mercilessly. "You should have. And you're sorry. I don't doubt you're sincere. Yet I Seem to recall warning you, years ago, that those words will only work so often, and then they ring hollow. Fitz, it hurts me to see you this way."
"It's starting to ease," I lied.
"Not your head, you stupid ass. It hurts me to see that you are still… as you've always been since… damn. Since you were taken from your mother. Wary and isolated and mistrustful. Despite all I've… After all these years, have you given your trust to no one?"
I was silent for a time, pondering his words. I had loved Molly, but I had never trusted her with my secrets. My bond with Chade was as essential as my bones, but no, I had not believed that he would do all he could for Hap, simply for the sake of what we shared. Burrich. Verity. Kettricken. Lady Patience. Starling. In every instance, I had held back. "I trust the Fool," I said, and then wondered if I truly did. I did, I assured myself. There was almost nothing about me that he didn't know. That was trust, wasn't it?
After a moment, Chade said heavily, "Well, that's good. That you trust someone." He turned away from me and spoke to the fire. "You should force yourself to eat something. Your body may rebel, but you know that you need the food. Recall how we had to press food on Verity when he Skilled."
The neutrality in his voice was almost painful. I realized then that he had hoped I would insist that I did trust him. It would not have been true, and I would not lie to him. I rummaged about in my mind for something else to give him. I spoke the words without thinking. "Chade, I do love you. It's just that»
He turned to me almost abruptly. "Stop, boy. Say no more." His voice was almost pleading as he said, "That's enough for me." He set his hand to my shoulder and squeezed nearly painfully. "I won't ask of you that which you can't give. You are what life has made you. And what I made you, Eda be merciful. Now pay attention to me. Eat something. Force yourself if you must.", It would have been useless to tell him that the sight and smell of the food was enough to make me gag. I took a breath, and quaffed down the beef broth, not breathing until it was gone. The fruit in cream felt slimy in my mouth, the fish reeked, and the bread near choked me, but I forced myself to swallow it half-chewed. I took a deep breath, and drank the wine. When I set the cup down, my stomach churned and my head reeled. The wine was a more potent vintage than I had thought. I lifted my eyes to Chade's. His mouth hung ajar in dismay. "I didn't mean like that," he muttered.
I lifted a hand at him in a gesture of futility. I feared to open my mouth to reply.
"You'd best go to bed," he suggested humbly.
I nodded in reply and levered myself to my feet. He opened the door for me, gave me a candle, and then stood at the top of the passage holding a light until my path carried me out of his view. My room seemed impossibly distant, but eventually I arrived at the entry. Queasy as I was, I extinguished my light before I approached and carefully peered through the peephole before I triggered the access to my dark room. No candle burned there tonight. It didn't matter. I stumbled into the stuffy darkness and thrust the door shut behind me. A few steps carried me to my bed and I dropped onto it. I was too hot and my clothes bound me uncomfortably, but I was too tired to do anything about it. The black was so absolute I could not tell if my eyes were open or shut. At least the lights under my eyelids had been quenched. I stared up into the darkness and longed for the cool peace of the forest.
The thick walls of the room muffled all sound, and sealed me off from the night. It was like being sealed in a tomb. I closed my eyes to the blackness and listened to my headache thump with the beat of my heart. My stomach gurgled unhappily. I drew a deep breath, and "Forest," I said quietly to myself. "Night. Trees. Meadow." I reached for the comforting familiarity of the natural world. I painted in the Jtr
details for myself. A light wind stirring in the treetops. Stars flickering through rags of moving clouds. Coolness, and the rich scents of the earth. Tension eased away from me, taking my pain with it. I drifted with my imagination. The packed earth of a game trail beneath my feet, and I was moving softly through darkness, following my companion.
She went more quietly than night itself, each step sure and swift. Try as I might, I could not keep up with her. I could not even catch a glimpse of her. I knew of her passage by her scent hanging in the night air, or by the still-rustling bushes just ahead of me. My cat followed her, but I was not swift enough. "Wait!" I called to them.
Wait? she mocked me. Wait for you to ruin the night's hunting? No. I shall not wait. You shall make haste, and do so silently. Have you learned nothing of me? Lightfoot am I and Nignt riend and Shadowstalker. Be you so, and come, come, come to share the night with me.
I hurried after her, drunk with the night and her presence, drawn as irresistibly as a moth is drawn to a candle. Her eyes were green, I knew, for she had told me, and her long tresses were black. I longed to touch her, but she was elusive and taunting, always ahead of me, never revealing herself to my eyes let alone my touch. I could only run after her through the night, the breath rasping in my chest as she flew before me. I did not complain. I would prove myself worthy of her and win her.
But my heart was thundering and my breath burning in my lungs. I crested the top of a hill and stopped for breath. Before me spread the vista of the river valley. The moon hovered round and yellow. Had we come so far, in one night's hunting? Far below me, the walls of Galeton were a dark huddle of stone on the riverbank. A few isolated lights still shone yellow in the windows of the keep. I wondered who burned candles while the rest of the household slumbered.
Do you long to sleep in a stuffy room mounded with blankets? Is that how you would squander a night such as this? Save — sleep for when the sunlight can warm you, save sleep for when the game is hidden in den or burrow. Hunt now, my clumsy one. Hunt with me! Prove yourself. Learn to be one with me, think as I do, move as I do, or lose me forever.
I started to go after her. My thoughts snagged on something, delaying me. There was something I must do, right now. Something I must tell someone, right now. Startled, I halted where I stood. The thought divided me. Part of me had to go, had to hunt at her heels before she left me behind. But another part of me stood still. I must tell him now. Right now. I peeled myself free, separating while holding on to the knowledge I had gained. It flickered in my grasp, threatening to become the nonsense of a fading dream. I gripped the thought, letting all else fade. Hold it. Say it out loud. Cling to the word, cling tight to the thought. Don't let it go, don't let it melt away with the dream.
"Galeton!"
I said the word aloud, sitting upright in my bed in the stifling darkness. My shirt stuck to me with sweat and the Skill-headache had returned with clanging bells attached to it. It didn't matter. I lurched from my bed and began a patting search of the invisible walls. "Galeton," I said aloud, lest the word slip from my grasp. "Prince Dutiful hunts near Galeton."
LAUREL
There is a certain black stone, often finely veined with white or silver threading, that was extensively used by the Elderlings in their architecture. At least one quarry for this stone exists in the wild lands beyond the Mountain Kingdom, but it is almost certain that other sources for it exist, for it is difficult to even imagine how it might otherwise have been used in such large buildings in so many far-flung locations. It was used, not only in the construction of their buildings, but also in the monoliths they raised at certain crossroads. Due to several odd qualities of the roads that the Elderlings designed, it can be deduced that a ground or graveled form of the stone was also instrumental in their creation. Wherever the Elderlings built, this stone was a favored instrument, and even in the places that they seemed to have visited only sporadically, monuments of this stone are found. A close scrutiny of the Witness Stones ofBuckkeep will convince the examiner that, although defaced by harsh weather or perhaps intentionally vandalized by men in ages past, the stone is of the same type. Some have suggested that the Witness Stones of Buckkeep and other "oath stones" throughout the Six Duchies were originally raised by the Elderlings for a very different purpose.
I awoke in Chade's great four-poster bed in the tower chamber. I knew a few moments of disorientation before deciding this was not another dream. I was truly awake. I did not recall going to sleep, only sitting down on the side of the bed for a few moments. I was still dressed in yesterday's clothing. I sat up cautiously; the hammers and anvils in my head u had subsided to a monotonous drumming. The room appeared empty, but someone had been there recently. Wash water steamed near the hearth, and a small covered dish of porridge kept warm near it. As soon as I discovered these items, I put them to good use. My stomach was still reluctant to accept food, but I ate stoically, knowing it was for the best. I washed, put on a kettle for tea, and then wandered down to the worktable. A large map of Buck was unfurled across it. The corners were weighted with a mortar and two pestles and a teacup. An inverted wineglass rested on the map itself. When I lifted it, I found Galeton underneath it. It was on a tributary of the Buck River, northwest of Buck and on the other side of the river from Buckkeep. I had never been there. I tried to recall what I knew of Galeton and swiftly did so. Absolutely nothing.
My Wit alerted me to Chade's presence, and I turned as the hidden door swung open. He entered briskly. The tops of his cheeks were pink with the morning, and his white hair gleamed silver. Nothing invigorated the old man so much as fresh intrigue. "Ah, you're up. Excellent," he greeted me. "I managed to arrange an early breakfast with Lord Golden, despite the absence of his servingman. He assured me that he could be ready to travel in a few hours. He's already concocted an excuse for the trip." "What?" I asked him, befuddled. Chade laughed aloud. "Bird feathers, of all things. Lord Golden has a number of interesting hobbies, but his most current fascination is feathers. The larger and brighter the better. Galeton borders on a wooded upland, and has a reputation for pheasants, grouse, and whiptails. The latter have rather extravagant plumage, especially their tail feathers. He's already sent a runner on ahead to Lady Bresinga of Galeton, entreating hospitality from her while on his quest. It won't be refused. Lord Golden is the most popular novelty that Buckkeep Court has seen in a decade. Having him guest at her manor will be a social coup for her."
He paused, but it was I who took a breath. I shook myhead as if it would settle my brains and enable me to catch up with him. "The Fool is going to Galeton to find Dutiful?"
"Ah-ah!" Chade cautioned me. "Lord Golden is going to Galeton to hunt birds. His manservant, Tom Badgerlock, will of course accompany him. I hope that in the course of running down birds, you'll pick up the trail of the Prince. But that, of course, is our private errand."
"So I'm going with him."
"Of course." Chade peered at me. "Are you all right, Fitz? You seem wool- witted this morning."
"I am. It seems that all is happening so fast." I didn't say to him that I had become accustomed to ordering my own life and journeys. It felt strange to revert to living each day as another person decreed. I swallowed my protests. What had I expected? If we were to regain Prince Dutiful, this was how it must be. I struggled to find new footing for my thoughts. "Does Lady Bresinga have a daughter?"
Chade considered. "No. Only the son, Civil. I believe she fostered a girl cousin for a time. That would have been Fillip Bresinga. She is, let me see, I think she would be nearly thirteen now. She has returned home since spring."
I shook my head, both in denial and in wonder. Chade had obviously refreshed his information on the Bresinga family since last night. "I sensed a woman, not a child. An… attractive woman." I had nearly said "seductive." When I thought back to my experience of the night before, the dream became mine, and I recalled only too well how she had stirred my blood. Tantalizing. Challenging. I glanced back at Chade. He was watching my face with undisguised dismay. I asked the next question. "Has Dutiful expressed an interest in a woman? Might they have run away together?"
"Eda forbid," Chade exclaimed fervently. "No." He denied it almost desperately. "There is no woman in Dutiful's life, not even a girl he finds attractive. We have been very careful not to allow him the opportunity to develop such a bond. Kettricken and I decided long ago that it would beMO — ai, for the best." More quietly, he added, "She did not want to see her son torn as you were, between heart and duty. Have you never wondered how different things might have been if you had not loved Molly, if you had accepted your match with Lady Celerity?"
"I have. But I will never regret loving Molly."
I think the vehemence in my voice persuaded Chade to change tack. "There is no such love in Dutiful's life," he declared with finality.
"There wasn't. There may be now," I contradicted him.
"Then I pray it is a youthful infatuation, one that can be swiftly " He searched for a word. "Terminated," he said at last, and winced at his own choice. "The boy is already promised. Don't look at me like that, Fitz."
Obediently, I looked away. "I do not think he has known her long. Part of her allure was her mystery."
"Then we must endeavor to recover him swiftly, with little damage done."
The next question was my own, asked for me. "What if he does not wish to be recovered?" I asked in a low voice.
Chade was silent for a moment. Then he said heartily, "You must do as you think best."
My shock must have been apparent on my face, for he laughed aloud. "For there is little use in my pretending that you will do otherwise, is there?" He drew a breath and sighed it out. "Fitz. I ask only this. Think in large terms. A boy's heart is a precious thing, as is a man's life. But the well-being of all the people of the Six Duchies and the Out Islands is even more precious. So, do what you think best. But be sure you truly have given it thought."
"I can't believe you are allowing me that much leeway!" I exclaimed.
"Can't you? Well, perhaps I know you better than you think I do."
"Perhaps," I conceded. But I wondered if he knew me as well as he thought he did.
"Well, you arrived only a few days ago, and here I am JB- Jiisending you off again," Chade abruptly observed. He clapped me on the shoulder but his smile seemed a bit forced. "Think you can be ready to leave in an hour or so?"
"I've not much to pack. But I'll need to make a trip down to Buckkeep Town, to leave a message for Hap with Jinna."
"I can take care of that for you," Chade offered.
I shook my head. "She doesn't read, and if I am to be Tom Badgerlock, then I wouldn't have folk running errands for me. I'll take care of it." I didn't tell him that I wanted to do it myself.
"As you wish," he replied. "Let me prepare a note for the boy to present to Master Gindast when he goes to him about his apprenticeship. The rest will be done subtly, I promise you. The joiner will believe he takes Hap on as a favor to one of his most affluent customers." Chade paused a moment. "You know, all we can offer the boy is a chance to prove himself. I can't force the man to keep him on if Hap is clumsy or lazy." At my outraged look, Chade grinned. "But I am sure he is not. Just allow me a moment to compose my note for Hap to carry."
It took more than a moment, of course. When I finally had it in hand, I found myself hurrying after the fleeing morning. I encountered Lord Golden in his chambers when I emerged from my own dark little cell. He clucked over the state of my slept-in clothes and commanded that I pick up my new garments from the tailor so that I would have appropriate garb for our journey. He informed me that we would travel alone and swiftly. Lord Golden had already established a reputation for both eccentricity and adventur-ousness. No one would look askance at this expedition. He also told me that he had himself selected a horse for me, and was having her freshly shod. I could pick her up from a smithy. He assumed I would wish to select my own tack, and gave me a letter of credit for that as well before sending me on my way. At no time did he vary from his Lord Golden manners, and I maintained my demeanor as Tom c- av, Badgerlock. These were roles we had to settle into as swiftly as possible. No errors could be made once we began to move in public. By the time I finally set out for Buckkeep Town, I was laden with errands and the sun was moving far too swiftly across the sky.
The tailor sought to delay me with a final fitting and adjustment of my new clothes. I refused, and did not even open the bundled garments to inspect them. I could tell Scrandon was accustomed to making a ceremony of delivering his finished goods, but I told him bluntly that Lord Golden had commanded me to make the greatest haste. At that he sniffed, and said he would take no responsibility then if the garments did not suit. I assured him that Lwould make no complaints and hastened out of his shop with an annoyingly bulky parcel.
I next went to Jinna's shop, but there I met disappointment. She was not home, and her niece had no idea when she would be back. Fennel came to greet me. You love me. You know you do. Pick me up.
It seemed pointless to disobey. I picked him up. He sank his claws into my shoulder as he diligently marked my jerkin with his brow.
"Jinna went up into the hills yesterday evening, and spent the night there, so that she could gather mushrooms first thing in the morning. She might be back in a moment, she might not return until the night falls," Miskya told me. "Oh, Fennel, stop being a pest. Come here." She took the cat from my arms, tsking over the coating of tawny hair that clung to my jerkin.
"No matter that, I assure you. But, oh, this is awkward," I apologized, and told her that my master had suddenly decided to take a journey and I must accompany him. I left with her the letter Chade had written for Hap, along with a note from me to my boy. Nighteyes would not be pleased to reach the city and find me gone. Nor would he relish lingering there, waiting for me. Ibelatedly realized I was leaving Jinna not just my son, but a wolf, a pony, and a cart to tend until my return. I wondered if Chade could be of any help with that. I had no coin to leave for their keep, only my greatest thanks and deepest assurances that I would make good any expenses she encountered on their behalf.
"So you've told me, Tom Badgerlock." Miskya smiled at me in gentle rebuke, obviously humoring my worry. Fennel tucked his head under her chin and regarded me severely. "Three times now you've told me that you'll be back soon and pay us well. Rest comfortable, your son will be in good hands and welcome here, pay or not. I doubt you asked coin of my aunt when you welcomed her to your home."
At Miskya's words, I realized I had been clucking on like an apprehensive hen. With an effort, I stopped myself from explaining again just how sudden and urgent my errand was. By the time I had conveyed my awkward thanks, I felt completely disorganized and befuddled. Scattered, as if parts of me were at my abandoned home and with Nighteyes and Hap, and even in the tower room at Buckkeep. I felt vulnerable and exposed. "Well, goodbye," I offered Miskya.
Sleeping in the sun is nicer. Take a nap with the cat, Fennel suggested as Miskya told me, "Travel well."
As I walked away from Jinna's house, guilt gnawed at me. I was leaving my responsibilities for strangers to deal with. I rigorously denied my disappointment at not seeing Jinna again before I left. The single kiss she had given me hung waiting, like a conversation unconcluded, but I refused to contemplate where it might lead. As complicated as things were, adding another tangle to my life was the last thing I should consider. Yet I had looked forward to seeing her again, and being denied that dimmed my excitement at the journey.
For was excited to be on my way. The guilt that I felt at leaving Hap's welfare to someone else was an odd reflection of how freed I felt by this undertaking. In a short time the Fool and I would ride off together into El knew what, with only ourselves to look after. It promised to be a sv, pleasant ride in fair weather with a good companion. There was more of holiday to it than errand. My fears for Prince Dutiful had been largely laid to rest by last night's dream. The boy had been in no physical danger. Intoxicated with the night and the woman he pursued, the only danger was to his young heart, and no one could shield him from that. Truth to tell, I did not see my task as particularly difficult. We knew where to look for the lad, and with or without my wolf, I had always been a good tracker. If Lord Golden and I did not immediately flush the young Prince from Gale-keep, then I would track him down in the surrounding hills. Doubtless we would not be gone long. With that reassuring thought, I salved my conscience and went on to the smithy.
I had not expected much of a horse. Almost, I had feared that the Fool's sense of humor would express itself through Lord Golden's selection of horseflesh. I found the smith's girl cooling herself with water from the rain barrel and told her I had come to fetch the horse Lord Golden had left for shoeing. She bobbed her head in understanding, and I waited where she left me standing. The day was warm enough. I had no desire to enter the inferno of noise and heat that was the blacksmith's shop.
The girl was back soon enough, leading a rangy black mare. I walked around her once and looked up to find she was regarding me with the same wary gaze I was giving her. She appeared sound and unscarred by misuse". I quested lightly toward her. She snorted and would not look at me, refusing the contact. She had no interest in being friends with a human.
"She was a nasty bit to shoe," the smith informed me loudly as he came sweating from his shop. "No manners about lifting her feet for a man to handle. And she'll kick if she gets the chance, so mind that. Tried to take a nip out of my girl, too. But it was only while we were shoeing her. The rest of the time, she minded her manners well enough."
I thanked him for his warnings and gave him the promised purse from Lord Golden. "Has she a name that you know?" I asked him.
The smith pursed his lips and shook his head. "Never saw her afore this morning. If she had a name, she likely lost it in the horse-trade. Call her what you will; likely she'll ignore it." I set the issue of her name aside. Her worn halter went with her, and by that I led her down to a saddler. I purchased plain, serviceable tack, and despite my best bargaining efforts, I was still outraged at what they charged for it. The man's expression plainly said he thought me unreasonable. As I went outside with the tack I had selected, I wondered if I truly were. I had never had to purchase tack before; perhaps Burrich's obsession with repairing tack had been founded on how much the stuff cost.
The mare had been restive as I had tried several saddles on her, and when I tried to mount her, danced sideways. Once I was up, she answered the reins and my knees, but sloppily. I scowled at that but schooled myself to patience with her. Perhaps after we had taken one another's measure she would serve me better. And if she did not, well, patience was required to unteach any horse's bad habits. I had best accustom myself to that now. As I rode her carefully up the steep streets of Buckkeep Town, I reflected that perhaps I had been far more spoiled in my youth than I had ever known. Excellent horses, good tack, fine weapons, decent clothing, plentiful food: I had taken so much for granted.
A horse? could teach a horse whatever it needs learning. Why do you need a horse?
Nighteyes had slipped into my mind so easily I'd scarce been aware of him sharing my thoughts. I have to go somewhere. With the scentless one.
Must it be on horseback? He didn't allow me time to reply. I sensed his annoyance. Wait for me. I'm nearly there.
Nighteyes, no, don't come to me. Stay with the boy. I'll be back soon enough.
But he was gone, and my own thought was left hanging unanswered. I quested toward him but found only fog. He wouldn't argue with me. He simply wouldn't hear me telling him to stay with Hap.
The guards at the gate scarcely gave me a glance. Ifrowned and resolved to speak about that to Chade. Just because I was wearing blue clothing did not mean I had legitimate business in the castle. I rode up to the stable doors, dismounted, and then halted, heart hammering. From inside the stable came the voice of a man genially instructingsomeone in how to correctly clean a horse's hooves. Yearshad deepened the voice, but I still recognized it. Hands, myboyhood friend and now the Stablemaster at Buckkeep, wasjust inside the open doors. My mouth went dry. The lasttime he had seen me, he had regarded me as either a ghostor a demon, and run shouting for the guards. That had beenyears ago. I was much changed, I told myself, but could putno faith in the years as my sole disguise. I took refuge in becoming Tom Badgerlock.
"Here, boy," I summoned a lad loitering outside the stable. "Put this horse up for me. She belongs to Lord Golden, so see she is well treated."
"Yes, sir," he replied. "He sent us word to watch for Tom Badgerlock and a black mare, and to saddle up his own horse as soon as you returned. He said to tell you that you're wanted up in his rooms as soon as you show." With that, he took my mare away without another word. I breathed out, relieved at how easily I had passed that hurdle, and turned away from the stable. Before I had gone a dozen steps, a man hurried past me, evidently on an errand of his own. As he passed me he gave me not a glance. I stared after Hands. He had put on girth with the years, but then, so had I. His dark hair was thinning on his head, but bristled thicker than ever on his brawny arms. In a moment he turned a corner and was out of sight. I stood gaping after him, feeling as if I truly were a ghost, invisible in his world. Then I took a breath and hurried on my own way. In time, I reflected, he would catch a glimpse of Tom Badgerlock here and there about the keep, and by the time we stood face-to-face, I would have assumed that name and identity so completely that he would not question it.
I felt my life as Fitz was like footprints on a dusty floor, already being swept aside and overtrodden by others. It did not help that as I passed the Great Hall, I heard Lord Golden 's voice lifted in sudden summons. "Ah, there you are, Tom Badgerlock! Excuse me, ladies, here is my good man now. Farewell, fare well all in my absence!"
I watched him detach himself from a gaggle of noble ladies. They let him go reluctantly, fluttering fans and eyelashes after him, one making a pretty mouth of disappointment. Lord Golden smiled fondly on them all, waving a languid valediction with a graceful hand as he strode up to me. "Errands done? Excellent. Then we shall complete our preparations and be on our way while the sun is still high."
He swept past me and I followed behind at a discreet distance, nodding to his words as he instructed me in how he wished his things packed. Yet when we reached his rooms and I closed the door behind us, I saw his well-stuffed traveling bags already waiting on the chair. I turned to the sound of him latching the door behind us. He gestured at my room just as the door of it opened and Chade emerged into our midst.
"There you are and not a moment too soon. The Queen has received your tidings, and commands that you depart immediately. I do not think she will be completely at ease until the boy is under this roof again. Well, and neither will I." He bit his lower lip briefly and then announced, more to Lord Golden than to me, "The Queen has decided that Huntswoman Laurel will go with you. She readies herself now."
"We don't need her," Lord Golden exclaimed in annoyance. "The fewer who know of this business, the better."
"She is the Queen's own Huntswoman, and in her confidence in many things. Her mother's family lives less than a day's ride from Galeton. She claims to know the area well from childhood times spent there, so that may be a help to you. Besides, Kettricken is determined you will take her. Well do I know the futility of arguing with the Queen when she has made up her mind to something."
"I recall something of that myself," Lord Golden replied, but there was much of the Fool in that rueful voice. I felt a smile crook the corner of my own mouth. I too knew what it was to quail before the blue determination of my Queen's gaze. I wondered who this Laurel was, and what she had done to win the Queen's confidence. Did I feel a prick of envy that someone had replaced me as Kettricken's confidante at Court? Well, it had been fifteen years since I had filled that role. Had I expected her to take no one in my place?
Lord Golden's displeased resignation broke into my thoughts. "Well, so be it, then, if it must. She can come, but I'll not wait upon her. Tom, are not you packed yet?"
"Close enough," I rejoined and recalled myself enough to add, "my lord. I shall be but a moment. I've little enough to pack."
"Excellent. See that you bring Scrandon's wares, for I will have you dressed appropriately to serve me in Galekeep."
"As you will, sir," I replied, and left them to step into my chamber. I put the bundle of new garments into the new saddle pack I found there. It was marked with Lord Golden's cock pheasant. I added a few of my old garments for the night work I expected to be doing in Galeton, and then looked about the room. I already wore my serviceable sword. There was nothing else to add to the pack. No poisons, no cunningly made small weapons to smuggle along. I abruptly felt strangely naked despite having gone without them for years.
As I emerged with my packed bags slung over my shoulder, Chade stopped me with a lifted hand. "One more small item," he offered sheepishly, and held out a leather roll without meeting my eyes. As I took it into my hands, I knew the contents without having to check it. Picks for locks, and other subtle tools of the assassin's trade. Lord Golden looked aside as I slipped the roll inside my pack. Of old, my clothing had featured hidden pockets for such things. Well, I hoped I would not have to be at this long enough to make such concerns necessary again.
Our farewells were hurried and odd. Lord Golden bade Chade a formal farewell, as if there were an entire audience of strangers watching them. Thinking I should emulate their example, I offered Chade a servant's bow, but he seized me by the arms and embraced me hastily. "Thank you, my boy," he muttered by my ear. "Go in haste and bring Dutiful back to us. And go easy on the boy. This is as much my fault as his."
Emboldened, I replied, "Watch over my boy for me, then. And Nighteyes. I hadn't thought I'd be burdening Jinna with him, let alone a pony and cart."
"I'll see they come to no harm," he offered, and I know he saw the gratitude in my eyes. Then I hastened to unlatch the door for Lord Golden, and followed at his heels carrying our bags as he strode through Buckkeep. Many called out farewells to him, and he acknowledged them warmly but briefly.
If Lord Golden had sincerely hoped to leave Laurel behind, she disappointed him. She was standing at the stable door, holding all our horses and waiting for us with every evidence of impatience. I placed her in her middle to late twenties. She was strongly built, not unlike Kettricken herself, long-boned and muscled, yet still womanly in form. She was not from Buck, for our women tend to be small and dark, and Laurel was neither. She was not fair like Kettricken, but her eyes were blue. Her brown hair was sun-streaked with blond, and bleached near white at her temples. Sun had browned her face and hands. She had a narrow straight nose above a strong mouth and determined chin. She wore the leathers of a hunter, and her horse was one of those small, wiry ones that leap like a terrier over any barrier and can race like a weasel through the most — , tangling brush. He was a homely little gelding, and his eyes shone with his spirit. Her small baggage roll was secured behind her saddle. As we approached, Malta lifted her head and whickered eagerly to her master. My black stood by disinterestedly. It was oddly humiliating.
"Huntswoman Laurel. Ready to go, I see," Lord Golden greeted her.
"Yes, my lord. Waiting only for you to be ready."
At this, they both glanced at me. Recalling abruptly that I was Lord Golden's servant, I took Malta's reins from Laurel and held her while Lord Golden mounted. I fastened both our saddle packs onto my black, a process she did not much approve of. As I took my reins from Laurel, she smiled at me and proffered a hand. "Laurel of the Downs family near Pitbank. I am Her Majesty's Huntswoman."
"Tom Badgerlock. Lord Golden's man," I replied as I bowed over her hand.
Lord Golden had already set his horse in motion with a noble disregard for the doings of servants. We both hastily mounted and set off after him. "And where is your family from, Tom?" Laurel asked.
"Um. Near Forge. On Bramble Creek." Bramble Creek was what Hap and I called it. If the creek near our cottage had any other name, I had never heard it. But the impromptu pedigree seemed to satisfy Laurel. The black was annoying me by tugging at her bit and trying to move up. Evidently she was not used to following another horse. Her stride was longer than Malta's as well. I held her in place, but it was a near constant battle of wills.
Laurel gave me a sympathetic look. "New mount?"
"I've had her less than the day. Discovering her temperament on a journey may not be the best way to get to know her."
She grinned at me. "No, but it may be the quickest. Besides, what choice do you have?"
We left the castle by the west gate. In my boyhood at Buckkeep, this gate had been kept secured at most times, and the road that led from it had been little more than a goat path. Now it stood open, with a small manned guardhouse next to it. We were passed out with scarcely a pause, and found ourselves on a well-traveled road that traversed the hills behind Buck Castle before winding down to the riverside. The steepest bits of the old path had been rerouted, and the whole way widened. Tracks told me that carts used this meandering path, and as it carried us on our wandering way down to the river, I caught glimpses of wharves below, and the roofs of warehouses. I was still shocked when I began to catch glimpses of cottages back beneath the trees.
"Folk did not used to live there," I said. I bit my tongue before I added that Prince Verity had loved to hunt these hills. I doubted they offered much game anymore. Trees had been cleared to allow small gardens to be cultivated. Donkeys and ponies grazed in brushy pastures.
Laurel nodded to my surprise, but added, "Then you have not been here since the Red Ship War ended. All this has sprung up in the last ten years or so. When trade improved, more folk wanted to live near Buckkeep, and yet did not want to be too far from the castle lest the raids resume." I could think of no sensible reply to her words, but the new stretch of town still surprised me. There was even a tavern as we got closer to the docks, and a hiring hall for rivermen. We rode past a row of warehouses that fronted onto the docks. Donkey carts seemed the favored transportation. Blunt-nosed river craft were tied up to the docks, unloading cargo from Farrow and Tilth. We passed another tavern, and then several cheap rooming houses such as sailors seem to favor. The road followed the river upstream. Sometimes it was wide and sandy; in other places timbers had been laid in a sort of boardwalk over boggy stretches. The other horses seemed to take no notice of the change, but at every one we traversed, my black slowed her pace and set back her ears. She did not like the drumming of her hooves on the timber. I set my hand to her withers and, quested toward her, offering reassurance. She turned her j head to roll an eye at me, but remained as distant as ever. She probably would have refused to go on if there had not j been two other horses to follow. She was plainly far mote interested in her own kind than in any companionship I I might offer.
I shook my head at the difference between her and the amiable horses in Burrich's stable, and wondered if his Wit had made the difference. Whenever a mare birthed a foal, Burrich was at her side, and the baby knew the touch of his hand almost as soon as it knew the lick of its mother's tongue. Was it merely the early presence of a human that had made the beasts in his stable so accepting, or was it his own Wit, suppressed but still present, that had made them so receptive to me?
The afternoon sun beat down on us, and the sun bounced off the river's wide and gleaming surface. The thudding hooves of the three horses were a pleasant counterpoint to my thoughts as I pondered. Burrich had seen the Wit as a dark and low magic, a temptation to let the beast in my nature overwhelm me. Common lore agreed with him and went further; the Wit was a tool for evil, a shameful magic that led its practitioners into degradation and wickedness. Death and dismemberment was the only recognized cure for the Wit. My equanimity over Dutiful's absence was suddenly threatened. True, the boy had not been kidnapped. But although the Skill had let me find him, it was undoubtedly the Wit the boy was employing in his night hunts. If he betrayed himself to anyone, he might be put to death. Perhaps not even his status as a prince would be enough to protect him from that fate. After all, the Wit had been enough to tumble me from the favor of the coastal dukes straight into Regal's dungeons.
No wonder Burrich had given up all use of the Wit. No wonder he had so often threatened to beat it out of me. Yet I could not regret having it. Curse or blessing, it had saved my life more often than it had endangered it. And I could not help but believe that my deep sense of kinship with all life enhanced my days. I drew a deep breath and cautiously let my Wit unfold into a general sensing of the day around me. My awareness of both Malta and the Huntswoman's horse sharpened, as did their acknowledgment of me. I sensed Laurel, not as another rider beside me, but as a large and healthy creature. Lord Golden was as unknowable to my Wit as the Fool ever was. From even that sense, he rippled aside, and yet his very mystery was a familiar one to me. Birds in the trees overhead were bright startles of life amongst the leaves. From the largest of the trees we passed, I sensed a deep green flow of being, a welling of existence that was unlike an animal's awareness and yet was life all the same. It was as if my sense of touch expanded beyond my skin to make contact with all other forms of life around me. All the world shimmered with life, and I was a part of that network. Regret this oneness? Deny this expanded tac-tility?
"You're a quiet one," Laurel observed. With a start I be-cam.e aware of her as a person again. My thoughts had run so deep, I had almost forgotten the woman riding beside me. She was smiling at me. Her eyes were pale blue, but with rings of darker blue at the edges. One iris, I noted, had an odd streak of green in it, radiating out from the center. I could think of no reply so I simply shrugged and nodded. Her smile grew wider.
"Have you been Huntswoman for the Queen long?" I asked, simply to be saying something.
Laurel's eyes grew thoughtful as she toted up the years. "Seven years now," she said quietly.
"Ah. Then you know her well," I rejoined, wondering how much she truly knew of our present errand.
"Well enough," Laurel replied, and I could almost see her wondering the same about me.
I cleared my throat. "Lord Golden visits Galeton in search of gamebirds. He has a passion for collecting feathers, you know." I did not directly ask any question.
She looked at me from the corner of her eye. "Lord Golden has many passions, it is said," she observed in a, low voice. "And the funds to indulge them all." She gave me another glance, as if to ask if I would defend my master, but if there was an insult, I did not take its meaning. She looked ahead and spoke on. "As for me, I but travel along to scout the hunting for my Queen. She likes to go after game birds in the autumn. have hopes that in Galeton woods we may find the kind that she likes best."
"So do we all hope," agreed. I liked her caution. We would get along well enough, I decided.
"Have you known Lord Golden long?" she asked me. "Not directly," I hedged. "I had heard he was looking for a man, and I was glad when an acquaintance recommended me."
"Then you've done this kind of work before?" "Not for some time. For the past ten years or so I've lived quietly, just my boy and me. But he's of an age to apprentice out, and that takes hard coin. This is the fastest way I know to earn it."
"And his mother?" she asked lightly. "Won't she be lonely with both of you away?"
"She's gone many years," I said. Then, realizing that Hap might sometime venture up to Buckkeep, I decided to keep as close to the truth as I could. "He's a fosterling I took in. I never knew his mother. But I think of him as my son." "You're not married, then?" The question surprised me. "No, I'm not." "Neither am I." She gave me a small smile as if to say this gave us much in common. "So, how do you like Buck-keep so far?"
"Well enough. I lived close by when I was a boy. It's changed a great deal since then."
"I'm from Tilth myself. Up on the Branedee Downs is where I grew up, though my mother was from Buck. Her family lived not far from Galeton; I know the area, for I ranged there as a child. But mostly we lived near the Downs, where my father was Huntsman for Lord Sitswell. My father taught both my brothers and me the skills of being a Huntsman. When he died, my older brother took his position. My younger brother returned to live amongst my mother's people. I stayed on, mostly training the coursing horses in Lord Sitswell's stable. But when the Queen and her party came hunting there years ago, I turned out to help, for the party was so large. The Queen took a liking to me, and" she grinned proudly "I've been her Huntswoman ever since." was trying to think of something more to say when Lord Golden beckoned us both to come closer.
I urged the black forward, and when we were close, he announced, "Those were the last of the houses for a way. I did not want folks saying that we rode in great haste, but neither do wish to miss this evening's only ferry from Lampcross. So now, good people, we ride. And Badgerlock, we'll see if that black is truly as fleet as the horse seller said. Keep up as best you can. I'll hold the ferry for us all." So saying, he touched his heels to Malta and let out her reins. It was all the permission she required. She sprang forward, showing us her heels.
"My Whitecap can match her any day!" Laurel proclaimed, and gave her horse his head.
Catch them! I suggested to the black, and was almost shocked at her competitive response. From a walk, she all but leapt into a run. The smaller horses had the lead on us. Packed mud flew up from their hooves, and Malta led only by virtue of the narrowing trail. My black's longer stride diminished their lead until we were close behind them, getting the full benefit of the mud they threw. The sound of us at their heels spurred them to greater effort and once more they pulled ahead of us. But I could feel that my black had not yet hit her peak. There was still unrealized reach in her stride, and the tempo of her gait said that she had not reached her hardest gallop. I tried to hold her back where the flying clods would not shower us so heartily, but she paid no heed to the rein. The moment the trail widened, — si, she surged forward into the gap, and in a few strides she passed them both. I heard them both cry out to their horses, and I thought they would overtake us. But like a lengthening wolfhound on the scent, my black reached out to seize even longer strides of the path and fling it behind us. I glanced back at them once, to see both their faces alight with the challenge.
Faster, I suggested to my black. I did not really think she had more speed in her, but as a flame roars up a dry tree, she again surged forward. I laughed aloud at the pure joy of it, and saw her ears flicker in response. She did not reach toward my mind with any thought, but I felt a tentative glimmer of her approval. We would do well enough together.
We were first to reach Lampcross Ferry.