…that our King-in-Waiting Chivalry is not at all the son whom King Shrewd supposed him to be. As you can well imagine, this has grieved my good husband beyond telling, but as ever, Prince Regal has done all in his power to be a comfort to his beloved father. It was my sad duty to inform both my lord and our wayward prince that in light of his besprinkling the countryside with bastards (for where there is one, can we doubt there are others?) my Dukes of the Inland Duchies have expressed doubt of Chivalry's worthiness to follow his father as king. In light of that, Chivalry has been persuaded to step aside.
I have been less successful in persuading my lord that the presence of this by-blow at Buckkeep Castle is an affront to myself and every true married woman. He maintains that if the child is restricted to the stable and the stableman's care, it should not concern the rest of us that this physical evidence of Lord Chivalry's failing is ever flaunted before us. I have begged in vain for a more permanent solution…
We had emerged from a crevice that overlooked a steep slope. My guardians laughed. Before I could deduce the reason, I flew through cold darkness, then hit frozen snow. I broke through the crust, found my balance, and rolled to my feet. Darkness surrounded me and when I took a step, I stumbled, fell, slid, regained my feet, fell and slid some more. I was clad only in the wool robe and felted shoes the Pale Woman had given me. It was small protection. Snow found me and clung to me, melting on my sweaty face and then cooling swiftly. My left arm was a thing that flopped and flailed against me. I finally found my footing and looked up and back whence I had come. Clouds obscured the night sky and the usual wind was blowing. I could not see any sign of an entry to the Pale Woman's realm. I knew that the blowing snow would very soon obscure all trace of my tracks. If I did not go back now, I'd never find it again.
If I went back there now, what good could I do? My left arm hung useless and I had no weapons at all. But a stone dragon was slowly devouring the Fool.
I stood and staggered up the hill, trying to find my own trail where I had slid. The slope became too steep. I felt I was treading in place, making no uphill progress and all the while getting colder. I swung wide of my trodden trail and tried again to force my way up through the snow. The wool of the robe grew heavy with clinging snow and was no protection at all to my bared legs. I lost my balance and, holding my injured arm tight to my chest, fell and rolled downhill. For a time, I just lay there, panting. Then, as I struggled to my feet, I saw a tiny yellow light in the vale below me.
I stood and stared at it, trying to resolve what it was. It bobbed with the rhythm of a man walking. It was a lantern, and someone was carrying it. It could be one of the Pale Woman's people. What worse could they do to me than what had been done? It might be someone from our camp. It might be a total stranger. I lifted my voice and shouted through the wind. The lantern halted. I shouted again, and again, and suddenly the lantern began moving again. Toward me. I breathed a prayer, addressed to any god who would help me, and began a staggering slide down the hill. With every step I took, I slid three, and soon I was running, trying to leap through the snow to avoid sprawling facedown in it. The lantern had halted at the bottom of the slope. But, when I was almost close enough to make out the shape of the man holding it, the lantern resumed its bobbing motion. He was walking away and leaving me. I shouted, but he did not pause. A terrible sob welled up in me. I couldn't go on any farther by myself, and yet I must. My teeth were chattering, my whole body aching as the cold stiffened the bruises from my beating, and he was leaving me there. I staggered after him. I shouted twice more, but the lantern didn't pause. I tried to hurry, but I could not seem to get any closer to it. I reached the place where the light-bearer had briefly paused, and after that I followed his broken trail through the snow, finding the going a bit easier.
I don't know how long I walked. The dark, the cold, and the pain in my shoulder made it seem an endless trudge through night and wind. My feet hurt and then grew numb. My calves were scalded with the cold. I followed him across the face of a hill, and along a ridge, down into a dip, plowing through deeper snow, and then began a long, slow climb across another slope. I could not feel my feet and did not know if my flimsy shoes were still on them or not. The robe slapped against me as I walked, whipping my calves with its frosty burden of clinging snow. And with every step I took, I knew the Fool was still shackled to the dragon, hunching wearily away from the stone that would, at a touch, plunder him of his humanity.
Then, miraculously, the swinging of the lantern stopped. Whoever my guide was, he was now awaiting me at the top of the ridge we had gradually ascended. I shouted again from my raw throat and redoubled my efforts. Closer I drew, and closer, bowing my head against a wind that was angrier along the ridgetop. Then, as I again lifted my eyes to mark my progress, I saw clearly who held the lantern and awaited me. It was the Black Man.
A nameless dread filled me, and yet, having followed him that far, what else was I to do but go on? I came closer, close enough that when he lifted the lantern, I could briefly make out the aquiline features inside his black hood. Then he set the lantern down by his feet and waited. I clutched my arm to my chest and staggered uphill doggedly. The light grew brighter, but I could no longer see the Black Man standing beside it. When I reached the lantern, I found it resting upon an outcrop of rock that protruded through the shallower snow on the windswept ridge. The Black Man was gone.
I used my right arm to lower my left hand to my side as gently as I could. My shoulder screamed when my left arm dangled its full weight, but I gritted my teeth and ignored it. I picked up the lantern and held it aloft and shouted. I saw nothing of the Black Man, only blowing snow. I trudged on, following his trail. It ended in a wind-scoured ridge of rock. But in the next valley, not far below me, I saw the dimly lit tents of our camp and I immediately abandoned all thoughts of the Black Man. Below were friends, warmth, and possible rescue for the Fool. I staggered through the snow toward the tents, calling out Chade's name. At my second shout, Longwick roared a challenge up at me.
"It's me, it's Fitz. No, I mean, it's Tom, it's me!" I doubt that he deciphered anything I said. I was hoarse from shouting and competing with the wind. I well recall my deep relief when I saw the other men stumbling from their tents and lanterns being kindled and held aloft. I staggered and slid down the hill toward them as they fanned out to meet me. I recognized Chade's silhouette and then the Prince's. There was no squat Thick amongst them, and I felt a sob build in my chest. Then I was finally within hearing of the line of men, breathlessly calling, "It's me, it's Tom, let me through, let me in, I'm so cold. Where is Thick, did you find Thick?"
From their midst a broad-shouldered man stepped forth, past Longwick, who tried vainly to motion him back. He ran three strides toward me, and I took a deep, unbelieving breath of his scent just before he enfolded me in a bear hug. Despite the pain to my shoulder, I didn't struggle. I dropped my head on his shoulder, and let him support me, feeling safer than I had in years. Suddenly, it seemed as if everything would be all right, as if everything could be mended. Heart of the Pack was here and he had never let us come to harm. Over my bent head, Burrich spoke to Chade angrily. "Just look at him! I always knew I never should have trusted him to you. Never!"
In the chaos that had erupted, I stood still on my icy feet, ignoring the shouted questions around me. Burrich spoke by my ear. "Easy, lad. I'm here to take you home, both of you, you and my Swift. You should have come home years ago. What were you thinking? Whatever were you thinking?"
"I have to kill the dragon," I told him. "As soon as possible. If I kill the dragon, she'll let the Fool live. I have to cut off Icefyre's head, Burrich. I must."
"If you must, then you will," he said comfortingly. "But not right this moment." Then, to Swift, "Stop gawking, boy. Fetch dry clothes and make food and hot tea for him. Quickly."
I gratefully surrendered myself to the steady hands I had always trusted. He steered me through the cluster of staring men to the Prince's tent, where my heart nearly broke with relief at the sight of Thick sitting up sleepily on his pallet. He looked none the worse for wear, and even seemed glad to see me until he was told he'd have to move his bed for the night to make room for me. He went off with Longwick in charge of him, but not graciously. Thick had Skilled to Chade and the Prince as soon as we'd vanished in the crevice and Chade had immediately sent Longwick and Cockle to fetch him back. He'd spent a miserable night sitting on the sled in the cold, with only his Skill-contact to sustain him. When his rescuers had reached him the next day, they'd found no sign of Lord Golden and me except for the sunken snow that had filled the crevasse. I sat down, dazed with cold and exhaustion, on Chade's bedding. Burrich spoke to me as he built up the little fire in the pot. His deep voice and the rhythm of his speech were familiar comforts from my childhood. For a time I heard his voice without paying attention to the words, and then I realized he was reporting to me just as I had once reported to him. Once he had decided he must fetch Swift and me home, he had come as quickly as he could, and he was sorry, so sorry, that he had taken so long to find us. The Queen herself had helped him hire a boat to Aslevjal, but no man of the crew would willingly set foot on the island. When he had landed, he had tried to persuade Chade's guards to guide him to us, but they had righteously refused to leave their tent on the beach and the supplies they guarded. And so he had come on by himself, following Peottre's pennanted poles. He had reached Thick's sled at almost the same time as Cockle and Longwick. Only their shouts of warning had prevented him from plunging into the same abyss that had claimed the Fool and me. Once he had found a safe crossing point, he had come back to the camp with Cockle and Longwick, bearing the news of the loss of Tom Badgerlock and Lord Golden. Chade had brought him to the privacy of the Prince's tent, and quietly told him that those names also belonged to the Fool and me. Burrich had journeyed all the way to Aslevjal, only to hear yet again of my death. His voice was impassive as he related this to me, as if his own pain at hearing such words were of no consequence. "I am glad to see they were wrong. Again." His hands were busy chafing my hands and feet back to painful life.
"Thank you," I said quietly when I could flex my hands again. There was too much to say to Burrich, and no privacy to say it in. So I looked at Chade and asked my most burning question. "How close are we to killing the dragon?"
Chade came to sit beside me on his bed. "We are closer than when you vanished, but not close enough," he said bitterly. "We were divided when you left. Now it's worse. We've been betrayed, Fitz. By a man we had all come to trust. Web sent his gull to Bingtown, bearing a message that tells the Traders everything, and bids them send Tintaglia to keep us from killing Icefyre."
I shifted my gaze to Dutiful and stared in disbelief. "You let him do this?"
Dutiful sat on the end of his pallet, his dark eyes large in his face as he watched us. There were new lines in my prince's face, and his eyes were swollen as if he had wept freely in recent days. I scarce could bear to look at him.
"He did not ask my permission," Dutiful said painfully. "He said no man needs permission to do what is right." He sighed. "Indeed, much has happened in the few days you were gone. In your absence, we continued to dig down into the ice. We reached a point where we could see a huge shadowy body below us. Realizing we had dug down to the torso of the creature, we began to tunnel out from the side of our pit, following the line of his back toward his head. It has been cramped work, but less difficult than excavating the entire area. We believe that what we can see below us now is the dragon's neck and part of his head. But the closer we came to him, the stronger grew the feeling of the Wit coterie that this is a creature which is not ours for the killing; that he harbors both life and intellect, although none of us can reliably sense him. My Old Bloods still dig alongside us each day, but I fear that they will side with the Hetgurd if I attempt to kill Icefyre." He looked away from me, as if shamed that his trust had been betrayed. "Tonight, just before you came into camp, Web admitted to me that he had sent Risk. The contention was hot," he said quietly.
My hope for a swift end to the dragon waned. It required every bit of discipline I had ever been taught to recount my misadventure in detail and in order. Irrational shame burned me as I spoke of how I had walked away from Hest and Riddle. When I told them of the Fool's fate, and of his words about the Narcheska's mother and sister, Dutiful swayed where he sat. "At last, it all comes clear. Too late."
I knew he was right and despair claimed me anew. Even if I knew the way back, even if I could persuade them to muster our entire force and march on the Pale Woman's stronghold, we were too few. She could kill or Forge him in moments, and doubtless would. Nor could I hope to kill the dragon quickly and win his release. Clear the ice, and we must still get past the Hetgurd, our own Old Bloods, and perhaps Tintaglia. The Pale Woman's promise that he would not die was a thinly disguised threat. The Fool would be Forged. To me would fall the task of taking what remained of his life. I could not contemplate it.
"If we went by stealth to the pit, could we kill Icefyre? In secret? Tonight?" It was the only plan I could think of.
"Impossible," the Prince said. His face and his voice were gray. "The ice between him and us is too thick. There are days of pick-and-shovel work ahead of us before we reach his flesh. And before then, I fear Tintaglia will be here." He closed his eyes for a moment. "My quest has failed. I put my trust in the wrong place." I looked at Chade. "How much time do we have?" How much time does the Fool have?
He shook his head. "How fast can a gull fly? How swiftly will the Bingtown Traders react to Web's message? How fast can a dragon fly? No one knows those things. But I think the Prince is right. We have lost."
I gritted my teeth. "There is more than one way to move ice," I said and looked at Chade meaningfully. The old man's eyes lit. But before he could reply, Swift's voice was lifted outside the tent.
"Sir! I've brought Tom Badgerlock's pack, and food will follow. May I come in?"
Dutiful nodded at Burrich, and he moved to beckon his son inside.
The boy came in. His bow to his prince was stiffly formal and he did not look at his father or me. It pained me to see how the division between the Prince and his Wit coterie tore the boy. At Burrich's command Swift dug through my pack to pull out dry clothing for me. The lad did not seem well disposed toward his father, but he obeyed him. Burrich saw me observing them, and after the boy had left, he said quietly, "Swift was not exactly glad to see me when I got here. I didn't give him the thrashing he merited, but he's had the length of my tongue several times. He's not said much in reply, for he knew he deserved it. Here. Take off that wet robe." As I struggled to pull up my leggings, Burrich suddenly leaned into the light, peering at me with his clouded eyes. "What's the matter with you? What's wrong with your arm?"
"It's pulled out of the socket," I choked out. My throat had closed up at the sight of his eyes. I wondered how much he could see anymore. How had he come to find us here, walking with clouded eyes across the snow? He closed his eyes and shook his head. Then, "Come here," he said tersely. He turned me, and sat me down on the floor at his feet. His fingers walked my shoulder, and the pain they woke was oddly reassuring. He knew what he was doing. I knew it would hurt, but that he would also mend me. I could sense that from his fingers, just as I had when I was a boy, just as I had felt when he restored me after Galen had nearly killed me. "We've brought the food. May we come in?"
The voice outside the tent was Web's. The Prince nodded curtly, his mouth a flat line, and again Burrich lifted the door flap. As Web entered, he greeted me with "It's good to see you alive, Tom Badgerlock." I nodded gravely, not trusting myself to find words. He met my eyes and accepted my hostility. The Prince looked aside from the man, his hurt plain in every line of his body. Chade glowered at him. Web's expression remained as kindly and calm as ever.
The small kettle he carried smelled like good beef rather than the fish I'd been expecting. Swift was behind him with a pot of tea. They crowded into the tent to set their burdens down within my reach.
Burrich continued to investigate my shoulder as if they were not there. He ignored Web, but the Witmaster watched Burrich intently. When Burrich spoke, it was to Dutiful. "Prince Dutiful, my lord. You could be of great help to me right now, if you would. I'll need someone to hold him firmly round the chest and brace him while I do what must be done. If you would sit there, and lock your arms around him… Higher. Like so." The Prince came to Burrich's request and sat behind me. When Burrich had arranged the Prince's grip around me to his liking, he spoke to me. "This is going to take a sharp tug. Don't look at me while I do it. Look straight ahead, and be as loose as you can. Don't tighten in fear for the pain to come or I'll only have to jerk it harder the second time. Steady. Hold him firm, my lord. Trust me, now, lad. Trust me." As he spoke calmingly, he'd been slowly lifting my arm. I listened to his words, letting them drown out the pain, his touch filling me with calm and trust. "Be easy, be easy, and… Now!"
I roared with the sudden shock, and in the next instant, Burrich was on his knee on the floor beside me, his big callused hands holding my arm firmly to my shoulder. It tingled and it hurt, but it hurt the right way, and I leaned against him, weak with the relief of it. Even as I panted, I noticed how he held his game leg out at an angle, the knee scarce bending. I thought of what it had cost him to come all this way, near blind and half-lame, and I felt humbled.
He spoke quietly into my ear as he embraced me. "You're a man grown, all these many years, but when I see you hurt, I swear, you are eight years old and I'm thinking, 'I promised his father I'd look after his son. I promised.' "
"You did," I assured him. "You have."
Web spoke quietly, his voice deep. "I stand amazed. That is a bit of Old Blood magic I thought was lost to us. I saw that kind of healing done on animals a few times when I was a lad, before old Bendry died in the Red Ship War. But I've never seen it used that way on a man, nor so smoothly. Who taught you? Where have you been all these years?"
"I don't use Beast Magic," Burrich said emphatically.
"I know what I just saw," Web replied implacably. "Call it by any dirty name you like. You're a master of it, in a way that is near lost to us. Who taught you, and why have not you passed on the teaching?"
"No one taught me anything. Get out. And stay away from Swift." There was dark threat in Burrich's words, and almost fear.
Web remained calm. "I'll leave, for I think Fitz needs quiet, and a time for private speech with you. But I'll not let your son walk in ignorance. He gets his magic from you. You should have taught him your skills with it."
"My father has the Wit?" Swift looked shocked to his core.
"It all makes sense now," Web said quietly. He leaned toward Burrich, looking at him in a way that went beyond the touch of eyes. "The Stablemaster. And a master in the Wit, as well. How many creatures can speak to you? Dogs? Horses? What else? Where did you come from, why have you hidden yourself?"
"Get out!" Burrich flared.
"How could you?" Swift demanded, suddenly in tears. "How could you make me feel so dirty and low, when it came from you, when you had it, too? I'll never forgive you. Never!"
"I don't need your forgiveness," Burrich said flatly. "Only your obedience, and I'll take that if I have to. Now both of you, out. I've work to do and you're in my way."
The boy set down the teapot blindly and stumbled from the tent. I could hear the sobs that wracked him as he ran off into the night.
Web rose more slowly, setting the kettle of soup down carefully. "I'll go, man. Now isn't our time. But our time to talk is going to come, and you'll hear me out, even if we must come to blows first." Then he turned to me. "Good night, Fitz. I'm glad you're not dead. I mourn that Lord Golden did not return with you."
"You know who he is?" The words were torn from Burrich.
"Yes. I do. And by him, I know who you are. And I know who used the Wit to pull him back from death and raise him from the grave. And so do you." Web left on those words, letting the tent flap fall behind him. Burrich stared after him, then blinked his clouded eyes. "That man is a danger to my son," he observed tightly. "It may come to blows between us." Then, he seemed to dismiss that concern. Turning his head toward Chade and Dutiful, he said, "I need a strip of cloth or a leather strap or something to bind his arm to his shoulder for the night, until the swelling goes down and it holds firm on its own. What do we have?" Dutiful held up the robe the Pale Woman had given me. Burrich nodded in approval and Dutiful began cutting a strip off the bottom of it.
"Thank you." And then, to me, "You can eat with your right hand while I'm doing this. The hot food will warm you. Just try not to move too much."
Dutiful gave Burrich the strip of fabric and began dishing the soup from the kettle to a bowl and pouring tea for me as if he were my page. He spoke as he did so, and yet I do not think the words were addressed to anyone. "There is nothing more I can do here. I try to think what I am to do, but nothing comes to me." A time of quiet followed his words. I ate and Burrich worked on my shoulder. When he had finished strapping my arm to my body, he sat back on the pallet, his game leg stretched out awkwardly before him. Chade looked as if he had aged a decade. He had been pondering the Prince's words, for he said slowly, "There are several paths you can take, my prince. We could simply leave tomorrow. That tempts me, I'll admit, if only for the prospect of abandoning all those who deceived and betrayed us. But it would be a petty vengeance, and in the end would win us nothing. Another choice is that we could fall in with Web's plan, and do all we can to free the dragon, abandoning our hopes of an alliance with the Out Islands, and hoping instead to win the goodwill of Tintaglia and the Bingtown Traders."
"Deserting the Fool," I added quietly.
"And Riddle and Hest. Abandoning Elliania's mother and sister, and breaking the word that I gave. Breaking my word, before not just my own dukes, but before the Outislanders as well." He crossed his arms on his chest, looking ill. "A fine king I shall make."
"Abandoning the Fool cannot be helped," Chade said. He spoke the words as gently as he could and yet they stabbed me. "Leaving behind Elliania's relatives and breaking your word can be forgiven, for they used deception to win your promise. As in so many things, much will depend on how it is presented." Dutiful sounded subdued. "Deception. What would we have done? Elliania's mother and her little sister. No wonder there is so much sorrow in her eyes. And that is why our betrothal ceremony at her mothershouse was so odd, and why her mother has been absent through all our negotiations. I thought Forging was an evil in the past. I never thought it would reach out and touch my life today."
"But it has. And it explains much of Peottre's and the Narcheska's behavior," Chade added. I flung all discretion to the winds. There was too much at stake for me to sit still through Chade's laborious plotting of possible courses. "We go now, tonight, Dutiful and I only, in secrecy. Chade has created an exploding powder, one that has the force of a lightning bolt. We use it to kill the dragon. We will get our people back, one way or another, from her. And when they are safe" — dead, I thought to myself coldly—"then I will find a way to get to her and kill her."
Chade and the Prince stared at me. Then Chade nodded slowly. The Prince looked as if he wondered who I was. "Think!" Burrich barked at me suddenly. "Think it through for yourself, with no assumptions. There is much here that makes no sense to me, questions that you should answer before you blindly do her wishes, regardless of what threat she holds over you. Why hasn't she simply killed the dragon herself? Why does she bid you do it, and then cast you out of her stronghold, when it would be easier for her to assist you in reaching him?" In an aside to no one, he muttered, "I hate this. I hate thinking this way, the intrigue and the plotting. I always have." He stared blindly into the recesses of the dim tent. "All these intricate balances of power, ambition, and the Farseer drive to set forces in motion and ride them out. All the secrets. That is what killed your father, the finest man I ever knew. It killed his father, and it killed Verity, a man I was proud to have served. Must it kill yet another generation, must it end your whole line before you stop it?" He turned his gaze, and suddenly seemed to see the Prince. "End it, my lord. I beg you. Even at the cost of the Fool's life, even at the cost of your betrothal. End it now. Cut your losses, which are already far too high. Death is all you can buy for the Narcheska's family. Walk away from all of it. Leave here, sail home, marry a sensible woman, and have healthy children. Leave this woeful cup to the Outislanders who brewed it. Please, my prince, blood of my dearest friend. Leave this. Let us go home."
His words shocked all of us, not least the Prince. I could see Dutiful's mind racing as he stared at Burrich. Had it ever occurred to the youngster that he could take such a step? He looked at each of us in turn, then stood up. Something changed in his face. I had never seen it happen, never suspected that perhaps a single moment could carry a boy to manhood. I saw it then. He stepped to the door of the tent. "Longwick!" Longwick thrust his head inside. "My prince?"
"Fetch me Lord Blackwater and the Narcheska. I wish them to come here, immediately."
"What do you do?" Chade asked in a low voice when Longwick had withdrawn.
Prince Dutiful did not reply directly. "How much of this magic powder do you have? Can it do what Fitz has said it can?"
A light kindled in the old man's eyes, the same light that had used to terrify me when I was his apprentice. I knew that he didn't know completely what his powder could do, but that he was willing to gamble that it would work. "Two kegs, my prince. And yes, I think it will be sufficient."
I heard the crunch of footsteps on the ice outside the tent. We all fell silent. Longwick lifted the flap. "My prince, Lord Blackwater and the Narcheska Elliania."
"Admit them," Dutiful said. He remained standing. He crossed his arms on his chest. It looked forbidding but I suspect he did it to keep his hands from trembling. His face looked as if it had been chiseled from stone. When they entered, he did not greet them or invite them to sit, but merely said, "I know what the Pale Woman holds over you."
Elliania gasped, but Peottre only inclined his head once. "When your man returned, I feared that you might. She has sent me word, saying that she did not intend to divulge that secret, but that now it is known, I may beg you freely to help us." He took a deep breath and I thought I knew what it cost the proud man to sink slowly down on his knees. "Which I do." He bowed his head and waited. I wondered if he had ever before knelt to any man. Elliania's face flared from white to sudden crimson. She stepped forward and put a hand on her uncle's shoulder. Slowly she sank to her knees beside him. Her proud young head drooped until her black hair curtained her face.
I stared at them, wanting to hate them for their intrigues and betrayal. I could not. I knew too well what Chade and I would be capable of, were Kettricken taken as hostage. I thought the Prince would bid her rise, but he only stared at them. Chade spoke. "She has sent you word? How?"
"She has her ways," Peottre said tightly. He remained on his knees as he spoke. "And those I am still forbidden to speak about. I am sorry."
"You are sorry? Why could you not have been honest with us from the beginning? Why could you not have told us that you acted under duress, with no interest in an alliance or a marriage? What makes you guard her secrets still? Forbidden to speak! What worse thing could she have done to you than what she has already done?" The hurt and outrage in the Prince's voice went beyond anything mere words could convey. He knew now, as we all did, that he had been only a tool for the Narcheska, never anyone she could care about. It humiliated him as much as hurt him. I knew then that he had let himself fall in love with her, despite their differences. Peottre clenched his teeth. His voice grated when he replied. "Exactly the question that keeps me awake at night. You know only of the most recent and vicious attack she has made against Narwhal Clan. For a long time, we stood firm before the blows she dealt us, thinking, ' She has done her worst and we have withstood it. We will not bend to her.' And each time she proved us wrong. What worse can she do to us? We do not know. And that ignorance of where her next blow will land is her most fearsome weapon over us."
"Did you never think that you could have told me that there were hostages involved? Did you think it would not have moved me to help you?" Dutiful demanded.
Peottre shook his head heavily. "You could never have accepted the bargain she made us. You had too much honor."
The Prince ignored the strange compliment. "What was the pact?" Chade asked sternly.
Peottre answered in a flat voice. "If we made the Prince kill the dragon, she would kill Oerttre and Kossi. Their torment and shame would end." He lifted his head and looked at me with difficulty, but then spoke honestly. "And if we delivered you and the tawny man to her, alive, she promised to give us their bodies. To return to our motherland."
I groped for my anger and felt only sickness. No wonder they had been so glad to see the Fool awaiting us on Aslevjal. We had been sold like cattle.
"May I speak?" Elliania lifted her head. Perhaps she had always carried that grave sorrow in her, but I had never seen the shame she bore plainly now. She looked younger than I recalled, and yet she had the eyes of a dying woman. She looked at Dutiful and then lowered her eyes before the hurt he did not hide. "I think there is much I could make clear for you. It is long since I had any heart for this vicious sham. But my duty to my family means that first I must speak of this to you. My mother and my sister… it is imperative that… that we—" She choked for a time. Then she flung up her head and spoke stiffly. "I do not think I can make you understand how important it is. That they must die, and that their bodies must be returned to my mothershouse. For an Outislander, for a daughter of Narwhal Clan, no other choice was ever possible." She clasped her shaking hands in front of her. "There was never an honorable choice," she managed to say before her voice died.
Dutiful spoke quietly. "Sit down, if you can find the space. I think we have all come to the same place now." He did not mean the tent.
We all shifted, trying to make room in the small shelter. Burrich grunted as he tried to move his stiff leg out of the way. As Peottre and Elliania found places to sit, Burrich shook out my shirt and then draped it around me. It almost made me smile. No matter what else might be going on, he still would not let me offend a lady by sitting bare-chested in her presence. The grandson of a slave, he had always been far more aware of the social niceties than I had.
Elliania's voice was shamed and weary. She held her shoulders tightly hunched. "You ask what else she could do to us? Much. We do not know, with certainty, who belongs to her. She has preyed on our men and boys for years. Our warriors go forth and do not return. Young boys vanished while shepherding our flocks, on our own clan lands! Child by child, she has reduced our family. Some she killed. Others went out to play and returned home as soulless monsters." She glanced sideways at Peottre, who stared at nothing. "With our own hands, we have killed the children of our clan," she whispered. The Prince made a small sound at her words. She stopped speaking, then took a ragged breath and went on. "Henja had been in our household for years before she betrayed us. We still do not know how my mother and little sister were snatched so effortlessly from our midst.
"Just as those two were taken, so others are vulnerable. My Great Mother is elderly, and her mind flickers like a dying candle, as you have seen. All her knowledge should have been passed on to my mother by now. Yet my mother is not there to receive it. So, she lingers, trying her best to mother our house despite the burden of her years. Perhaps you think her pathetic. Nonetheless, if she were taken from us, the center of our mothershouse would be completely destroyed. My family would cease to be. As it is, we have suffered greatly from my mother's absence and the discord it has created. What is a mothershouse, with no mother in it?" She asked the question as if it were rhetorical, but the Prince suddenly sat very straight. Stiffly, he asked, "But then, if you came to Buckkeep to be my wife, would not you be leaving your mothershouse, that is, who would be the Great Mother when it was your turn to take that role?"
A tiny spark of anger kindled in Elliania's eyes. She spoke disdainfully. "My cousin already fancies herself in that role, as you have seen. She seeks to make others think it is hers by right rather than by default." For a second, I saw the spitfire I had glimpsed on her home island. Then she gave a small sigh and tossed her hands helplessly. "But you are right. I gave up all hope of becoming what I was born to be when I agreed to marry you. That loss is the price I pay to buy the deaths of my sister and mother, and end their torment and degradation." She dwindled back into herself, her shoulders rounding. She clenched her hands, and I saw the sweat start on her brow.
"Why didn't she ask you to kill the dragon? Or why doesn't she do it herself?" Chade asked them. Peottre spoke up. "She believes she is a great prophetess, one who can not only see the future, but one who determines what the future will be. During the war, she said that the Farseer line must perish entirely, or that they would bring the dragons to descend on us, just as they did of old. Some believed her, and tried to do her will. But they failed, and her words came true. You Farseers brought the wrath of the dragons upon us, smashing and destroying our ships and villages."
"But if you had not attacked us with your Red Ships—" Dutiful began, outraged.
Peottre spoke over him. "Now, she says there is still a chance to redeem ourselves. She says our dragon deserves to die, for he failed to rise and protect us. Moreover, she says he deserves to die at a Farseer's hands, since you are the foe that he failed to protect us from. But most of all, she says a Farseer must kill Icefyre because that is what she has seen in her visions of the future. For it to go as she wills it, a Farseer must do this deed."
"Which seems to me to be a very good reason to consider not doing it," Burrich remarked under his breath to me.
The Prince's ears were keen. He spoke bitterly. "But the best reason to consider not killing the dragon is that it may be impossible. You've been aware that some in my group had begun to doubt my mission. The closer we came to Icefyre, the clearer we could sense him, not just his life that lingers in him still, but his power. His intellect. Now, I discover that my friends have acted against me. Lord Blackwater, Narcheska Elliania, I have failed you. My own trusted friends have sent a message to the Bingtown Traders. They will send their dragon to oppose us. She may already be hastening here."
"I do not understand," Peottre broke in. "I knew there had been resistance in your group to killing the dragon. But what is this talk of 'sensing' him?"
"You are not the only one with secrets, and this I will reserve to myself for now. Just as you reserve the secret of how the Pale Woman has been in contact with you. She prompted you to poison Fit — Tom with the cake you brought to us, did she not?"
Peottre sat up very straight, lips folded. Dutiful gave a sharp nod to himself. "Yes. Secrets. If you had not seen fit to hold yours so tightly, we might have acted as one from the beginning, not against the dragon, but against the Pale Woman. If only you had spoken to me. "
The Narcheska suddenly collapsed. She fell onto her side, moaning, and then shuddered into stillness. Blackwater knelt by her. "We could not!" he exclaimed bitterly. "You cannot even guess what price this little one has paid tonight to speak this plainly to you. Her tongue has been sealed, and mine, too." He looked suddenly at Burrich. "Old soldier, if you have a thread of mercy left in you, will you fetch snow for me?"
"I will," I said quietly, not knowing how much or how little Burrich could see. But he had already risen, taking up an empty cooking pot and going out of the tent. Blackwater rolled Elliania onto her belly and, without ceremony, dragged up her tunic. The Prince gasped at what was revealed and I turned aside, sickened. The dragon and serpent tattoos on her back were inflamed, some oozing droplets of blood, others puffed and wet like freshly burst burns. Peottre spoke through clenched teeth. "She went for a walk one day with Henja, her trusted handmaid. Two days later, Henja brought her stumbling home to us, with these marks on her back and the Pale Woman's cruel bargain for us. Henja spoke it, for Elliania cannot say anything of what befell her without the dragons punishing her. Even the mention of the Pale Woman's name does this to her." Burrich came back with his pot of snow. He set it down beside the prone woman and peered at her in horror, trying to discern what it was. "An infection of the skin?" he asked hesitantly.
"A poisoning of the soul," Peottre said bitterly. He lifted a handful of the clean snow Burrich had brought and smoothed it across Elliania's back. She stirred slightly. Her eyelids fluttered. I thought she had hovered at the edge of consciousness, but she did not make a sound.
"I free you from all agreements between us," Dutiful said quietly.
Peottre looked at him, stricken. But the Prince spoke on.
"She will not be held by me to any promises she made under duress. Yet I will still kill your dragon," the Prince said quietly. "Tonight. And after we have won clean death for our people, when no one but myself is at risk, then I will do all within my power to finish the Pale Woman's evil forever." He took a great breath, and as if fearing mockery, said, "And if any of us survive, then I will stand before Elliania and ask her if she will have me."
Elliania spoke. Her voice was faint and she did not lift her head. "I will. Freely." The second utterance she added more strongly. I do not think Peottre or Chade approved, but they held their tongues. She motioned away the handful of snow that Peottre held. Instead, she took his hand and managed to sit up. She was still in pain. She looked as if she had taken a death wound. Chade swung his gaze to me.
"Then we act. Tonight." He looked around at each of us in turn, then almost visibly threw caution to the wind. "We dare not wait, for who among us knows how swift a dragon can fly? If we act together and quickly, then perhaps the deed can be done and we can be gone from here before this Tintaglia even arrives." A flush, almost a blush, suffused the old man's face suddenly. He could not keep down the small smile that came as he announced, "It is true. I have created a powder that has the force of a bolt of lightning. I brought some of it with me, when I came here. I do not have as much of it as I had hoped to apply to this task. Most of my supply remained behind on the beach. But perhaps what I have is enough. When cast into a fire in a sealed container, it explodes violently, like a lightning strike. If we placed it down our tunnel and set it off, it would definitely blow up much ice. By itself, it may kill the dragon. Even if it doesn't, it will give us swifter access to him." I heaved myself to my feet. "Have you a cloak I can use?" I asked Burrich.
He ignored me, looking only at Chade. "Is this like what you did the night Shrewd died? Whatever you treated the candles with, it did not behave as reliably as you had expected. What do we risk here?" But Chade's enthusiasm for an immediate test of his wonderful powder had already grown beyond all caution. He was like a boy with an untested kite or boat. "This isn't like that at all. That was a fine measurement, and it had to be done in more haste than I liked. Have you any idea what was involved in treating all those candles and the firewood supply for that evening, with no one the wiser? No one has ever appreciated that, no, nor any of the other wonders I've worked for the Farseer reign. But even so, this is different. It will happen on a much larger scale, and I am free to use as much of the powder as we think necessary. There will be no half-measures this time."
Burrich shook his head at me as I freed my arm from its binding and carefully threaded my left hand into my shirtsleeve. It was sore, but I could use it. Carefully. The prospect that the dragon might be slain tonight had fired me. A calm part of me knew that all I had was the Pale Woman's word that she would release the Fool as soon as Icefyre was dead. It was scarcely reliable, and yet it was the only chance I had. And if Chade's powder did slay the beast, but did not win the Fool's release, then a second dose of it, used alongside the dragon's body, might very well open up a passageway into her realm under the ice. I kept that thought to myself for now. "What are the dangers?" Dutiful asked, but Chade waved a dismissive hand.
"I made extensive tests of it. I dug holes on the beach, built fires in the bottom of them, and when it was burning well, put in the box of powder and retreated. When the powder burst, it created a pit on the beach, the size proportionate to the amount of powder in the sealed container. Why should ice and snow be any different? Oh, I'll grant you that they are heavier and thicker, but that is why we'll use a larger container of powder. Now as for the fire—"
"Easily done," I said. My mind was already racing. I had found Chade's cloak. I settled it around my shoulders. "A container of some kind, a large cooking pot. That kettle we use for stew and melting snow for water. That will do. Kindling to start a small fire in the bottom of it, and then the Fool's burning oil. He had it with his tent, so it will be there still. I will crawl down the excavated tunnel, get the fire going, and then put in the powder and crawl out. Hastily." Chade and I grinned at one another. I was already infected with his enthusiasm.
Chade nodded, then knit his brows. "But the kettle's not big enough to hold the whole cask. Ah, let me think, let me think. I have it. Several layers of cured leather under the kettle. When you have the fire going well in the kettle, tip it over onto the leather. It will contain it well enough for the short time it will take. Then thrust the cask into the fire. And come out of the tunnel. Quickly." He grinned at me as if it were all a fine jest. Peottre looked alarmed, the Narcheska confused. Burrich was scowling, his face gone black as a thundercloud. Prince Dutiful looked torn between a boy's desire to make things happen and a monarch's need to consider all decisions carefully. When he spoke, I knew which side had won.
"I should do it, not Fi— Tom Badgerlock. His arm is all but useless. And I said I would do it. It's my task."
"No. You're the heir to the Farseer throne. We can't risk you!" Chade forbade it.
"Ah! Then you admit there is a risk!" Burrich growled as I dragged Chade's boots on to my feet. They were too big for me. I had never realized the skinny old man had such long feet.
My mind churned with plans. "I need the kettle, the oil from the Fool's supplies, kindling and tinder, a tinderbox, two treated hides. And the keg of powder."
"And a lantern. You'll need light to see what you're doing down there in the dark. I'll bring the lantern." Dutiful had ignored Chade's warning.
"No. No lantern. Well. Perhaps a small one. We go now and we go silently. If the rest of your Witted coterie gets wind of what we're up to… well. We just don't need that to happen." As I had struggled with the boots, I had realized I'd need someone to help me. My shoulder was still twinging at the slightest demand on it. The Prince would be that person. I'd send Dutiful out of the tunnel as soon as I had the fire started. He could stand beside me on the edge of the pit while we waited for the powder to burst. Surely that would be enough to fulfill his word as a Farseer that he would take the dragon's head. "Witted coterie!" Burrich exploded.
I felt impatient. I spoke as I sorted through Chade's and Dutiful's clothing. I took Chade's fur hat. "Yes. The circle of Witted ones who serve the Farseer King. Did you think the Skill was the only magic that could be employed that way? Ask Swift about it. He's close to being a member of it. And despite Web's betrayal of our plan, I do not think it a bad idea." Then, as Burrich stared at me, both dumbfounded and insulted, I reminded Chade, "Send Longwick to gather those supplies himself. He's tight-lipped and loyal; he won't let a rumor start."
"I'll go with him," Dutiful said. He did not wait for anyone to agree, but snatched up his cloak. He paused briefly near Elliania. His eyes did not meet hers but he offered, "I give you my word. If I can find clean death for your mother and sister, it will be theirs." Then he was gone.
"The Farseer Prince uses magic?" Peottre demanded as he stared after him.
Chade hastily devised a lie. "That was not what Tom said. The Prince has a circle of friends here who can use the Wit, what is sometimes called Old Blood Magic in the Six Duchies. They came with him to help him."
"Magic is dirty stuff," Peottre opined. "At least a sword is honest and a man sees his death coming. Magic is the way the Pale Woman has enchained our folk and shamed us of them. Magic is how she binds us still, to do her low tasks."
Burrich nodded slowly to his words. "Would that the magic of the sword could be worked on her. It is never fitting that a strong man falls to guile, especially the guile of an evil and ambitious woman." I know he thought of my father then, and how Queen Desire had plotted his death. I do not know what Peottre made of his words. The Narwhal Clan kaempra stood slowly, as if some thought were uncurling uncomfortably in his mind. He nodded, as if to himself. Beside him, the Narcheska stood. "Please tell Prince Dutiful that I said farewell," she said quietly, to no one in particular.
"And I," Peottre said in his deep voice. "I am grieved that it came down to this. Would that there had been a better path for all of us." They left slowly, Peottre moving as if heavily burdened. Dutiful returned quickly, carrying some of the supplies for our mission. A few moments later, Longwick brought the rest. He stood after he had been relieved of the objects. Plainly, he wished to ask questions, but no explanations were offered to him before Chade dismissed him with thanks. The man looked worried. Obviously Dutiful and I were preparing some sort of foray. Little or no explanation of my return had been offered to anyone. Yet, like any good soldier, Longwick accepted the lack of explanation as reasonable and returned to his post outside the tent. There was some little delay, for Chade had decided that a fire on hides over ice might not burn hot enough to set off his powder. Chade experimented with the kettle to see how large a container of powder would fit into it. This demanded a hasty comparison of packed items to find a container that would both fit within the kettle and sufficiently seal in the powder. At last he settled on a small crock with a pottery stopper that had been full of tea herbs. I suspected the tea was one of his special blends from the way he grumbled over dumping it out. That done, he opened the cask I had carried from the beach and carefully transferred a coarse powder from it into the crock. He did this well away from the tiny candle fire, tamping the powder down with his fingers and muttering to himself as he worked. "It's a little damp," he grumbled as he turned back to me with the sealed crock. "But, well, the flask that we put in your hearth was a bit damp inside too, and it still worked. Not that I had expected it to blow up like it did, but, well, that is how we learn these things, I suppose. Now, keep this well away from kettle fire until it is going very well, as hot as you judge you can get it. Then put this into the kettle, centered, so it doesn't extinguish the fire. Then get out as quickly as you can."
These directions were for me. To the Prince he said, "You are to get out as soon as the fire is started in the kettle. Don't wait for Fitz to put the powder in, get out and away and wait for him well back from the excavation edge. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, yes," Dutiful replied impatiently. He was packing our fire-making supplies into a sack.
"Promise me, then. Promise me that you'll leave as soon as he starts the fire in the kettle."
"I said I would kill the dragon. I should stay at least to see the powder go into the kettle."
"He'll leave before the powder goes into the kettle," I told Chade as I took the sealed crock. "I promise you that. Let's go, Dutiful. We don't have much of the night left."
As we moved toward the door flap, Burrich stood. "Want me to carry some of that?" he asked me. I looked at him blankly for a moment. Then I understood him and said, "You aren't going, Burrich. Wait here for us. I won't be long."
He didn't sit down. "We need to talk. You and I. About many things."
"And we will. For a long time. There is much I wish to say to you, also. But as it has kept this many years, so it will keep until this task is done. And then we will have time to sit down together. Privately." I emphasized the last word.
"Young men are so confident that there will always be more time, later." He made this observation to Chade. Burrich reached over casually to take part of Dutiful's armload. "Old men know better. We remember all the times when we thought there would be more time, and there wasn't. All the things I thought I would say to your father, someday, remain in my heart, unsaid. Let's go."
I sighed. Dutiful was still standing there with his jaw slightly ajar. I shrugged at him. "There's no use arguing with Burrich. It's like arguing with your mother. Let's go."
We left the tent and moved quietly into the darkness. We moved as silently as Witted ones can, even when one of them won't admit he's Witted. Burrich set a hand lightly on my good shoulder. It was his only concession to his failing vision and I made no comment on it. I glanced back once to see Chade standing in the tent flap in his night robe, peering after us. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught at it; he let the flap drop down into place. But now I knew that he was worried, and I tried not to wonder how well he had tested his exploding powder. Longwick too stared after us.
The path to the excavation was uphill. It had not impressed me as a difficult climb, but the events of the last few days were making themselves felt to me. Now it seemed difficult, and I was blowing by the time we reached the ramp that led down into the pit. We stopped there, and I took the oil from Burrich, wincing a little at the weight of it.
"Wait for us here."
"You needn't worry I'll follow you. I know my vision is gone, and I won't put you in danger by going with you. But I'd have at least a word or two with you before you go. Alone, if you don't mind."
"Burrich. Every moment that I dally, the Fool may lose more of himelf to the dragon."
"Son, you know in your heart that we're too late to save him. But I know also that you must go on and do this." He turned his head, not looking at the Prince, but "seeing" him. At a pleading look from me, Dutiful retreated several steps to give us the privacy Burrich sought. He still lowered his voice. "I'm here to bring you and Swift home. I promised Nettle I'd bring her brother home, safe and sound, that I'd kill a dragon to do it if I had to, and that everything would be as it used to be. In some ways, she's still a child, believing that Papa will always be able to keep her safe. I'd like her to go on believing that, at least for a time."
I wasn't sure what he was asking me, but I was in too much of a hurry to quibble. "I'll do my best to let her keep that," I assured him. "Burrich, I have to go."
"I know you do. But… you know that we both believed you were dead. Molly and I. And that we only acted as we did in that belief. You know that?"
"Of course I do. Perhaps we'll talk about it later." I suddenly knew, by both the anger and pain that his words woke in me, that I wanted to talk about it never. That I did not want even to think of talking about it with him. Yet I drew a breath and said the words I'd told myself so often. "You were the better man for her. I slept well at night, knowing that you were there for her and Nettle. And afterward… I didn't come back. Because I never wanted you to feel that, that—"
"That I'd betrayed you," he finished quietly for me.
"Burrich, the sun will be coming up soon. I have to go."
"Listen to me!" he said, suddenly fierce. "Listen to me, and let me say this. These words have been choking me since I was first told what I'd done. I'm sorry, Fitz. I'm sorry for all I took from you, without knowing I had taken it. I'm sorry for the years I can't give back to you. But — but I can't be sorry I made Molly my wife, or for the children and life we had together. Have. I can't be. Because I was the better man for her. Just as Chivalry was better for Patience, when all unknowing he took her from me." He sighed suddenly, heavily. "Eda and El. What a strange, cruel spiral we've danced." My mouth was full of ashes. There was nothing to say.
Very, very softly, he asked me, "Are you going to come back and take her from me? Will you take her from our home, from our children? Because I know that you can. She always kept a place in her heart for the wild boy she loved. I… I never tried to change that. How could I? I loved him, too."
A lifetime spun by on the whirling wind. It whispered to me of might have been, could have been, should have been. Might yet could be. But would not. I finally spoke. "I won't come back and take her from you. I won't come back at all. I can't."
"But—"
"Burrich, I can't. You can't ask that of me. What, do you imagine that I could ride out to visit you, could sit at your table and drink a cup of tea, wrestle your youngest boy about, look at your horses, and not think, not think—"
"It would be hard," he cut in fiercely. "But you could learn to do it. As I learned to endure it. All the times I rode out behind Patience and Chivalry, when they went out on their horses together, seeing them and—" I couldn't bear to hear it. I knew I'd never have that sort of courage. "Burrich. I have to go. The Fool is counting on me to do this."
"Then go!" There was no anger in his voice, only desperation. "Go, Fitz. But we are going to talk of this, you and I. We are going to untangle it somehow. I promise. I will not lose you again."
"I have to go," I said a final time, and turned and fled from him. I left him standing there, blind in the cold wind, and he stood there alone, trusting that I would return.