Fool's Errand (66 page)

And all the while the Prince stood in the circle of my arm, my knife to his throat, ransom for my friends’ lives. He stood very still, as if thinking of nothing at all. He met the cat’s gaze evenly. I dared not guess what passed between them, not even when the cat glanced aside and stared resolutely past him.

Anger hardened Laudwine’s features for a moment, but then he mastered them. “Of course you must report to the Queen. But when she has heard an accounting from her son of his experiences with us, perhaps she will be more sympathetic to our position.” He made a small motion with his hand, and after a pause, his followers parted. I did not envy Lord Golden his walk through that tunnel of animosity.

I looked down at Nighteyes. He leaned against my leg and pressed hard there for a moment. I focused my mind to the point of a pin.
Go to earth as soon as you may. Lead him off the road and hide as best you can.

Such a dolorous look he gave me. Then our minds parted. Nighteyes tottered after the Fool, stiff-legged but dignified. I did not know how far he would get, but at least he would not die in this cave surrounded by hounds and hunting cats that hated him. The Fool would be beside him. That was as much comfort as I could find for myself.

The mouth of the cave was an arch of light. In that halo, I saw Malta brought to the Fool. He took her reins but did not mount her. Instead, he led her in a slow walk, one that matched the pace Nighteyes could sustain. I stared after them, a man and a horse and a wolf walking away from me. Their figures dwindled smaller, and I became aware of Dutiful standing in the circle of my arm, his breathing matching mine. Life walked away from me, and I embraced death here. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered by his ear. “I’ll make it fast.”

He already knew. My son’s reply was the barest stirring of air. “Not yet. A small corner still belongs to me. I can hold her off for a time, I think. We will let them get as far as they can.”

chapter
XXVI

SACRIFICE

Although it is commonly spoken of as the Mountain Kingdom, that territory and its rulers do not at all follow the Six Duchies’ concept of what constitutes a true kingdom. A kingdom is most often visualized as a single people in a common territory, ruled over by a monarch. The Mountains do not lend themselves to any of those three defining limits. Rather than a single folk, there are the roving hunters, the migratory herd folk, traders and travelers with set patterns of routes, and those who choose to eke out a living on scattered little farms throughout the region. It is easy to understand that these folk may share few common interests.

It is natural, then, that the “ruler” of these folk is not a king in the traditional sense. Rather, the line began with a mediator, a wise man who was adept at arbitrating the disputes that were bound to arise between such disparate peoples. The legends of the Chyurda “kings” abound with tales of rulers willing to offer themselves as ransom, to risk not only wealth but also their own lives for their people. From this tradition comes the honorific the Mountain people bestow on their ruler. Not King or Queen do they call their monarch, but Sacrifice.

— CHIVALRY FARSEER,
“
OF THE MOUNTAIN KINGDOM
”

They moved in, drifting like silt, until Laudwine’s folk stood dark between the light and me. I gazed around at the staring circle of my enemies. The daylight behind them made it hard to distinguish their features in the dim cave, but as my eyes adjusted, I studied each face. They were mostly young men, and among them four young women. None looked older than Laudwine. No Old Blood elders here; the Piebalds were a young man’s cause. Four of the men had the same large, square teeth: brothers or at least cousins. Some seemed almost neutral, but none looked friendly. The only smiles I saw were gloatingly hostile. I loosened my collar again. If Jinna’s charm made any difference, I did not perceive it. I wondered if any were related to the man I had killed at the trailhead. There were animals with them, though not so many as I would have expected. Two hounds and a cat were there, and one man had a raven on his shoulder.

I kept my silence, waiting, with no idea as to what would happen next. The Prince’s cat had never moved from where she crouched on the floor before us. Several times I had seen her glance aside, but each time her eyes had eventually returned to the lad, burning with a peculiar fixation that made them seem human. Laudwine had gone to the mouth of the cave to make his false farewell to Lord Golden. Now he smiled confidently as he came back to confront us.

“I think we can dispense with your knife,” Laudwine observed evenly. “I’ve kept my part of the bargain.”

“It might not be wise,” I cautioned him. Then I lied. “The boy tried to get away just a minute ago. The only thing that kept him still was the knife. Best I keep it on him until she’s . . .” I sought for words. “All the way in,” I finished lamely. I saw one or two faces twitch with uneasiness. Deliberately, I added, “Until Peladine takes his body as her own completely.” I saw one woman swallow.

Laudwine seemed unaware that this troubled some of his followers. His affable manner never wavered. “I think not. It pains me to see you menace a throat that will soon belong to my kin. Your knife, sir. You are among your own kind here, you know. You have nothing to fear.” He extended a hand for it.

Experience had taught me that those most like me presented the greatest threat to me. But I let a slow smile spread over my face and took my knife from the Prince’s throat. I did not give it to Laudwine, but sheathed it at my belt. I kept one hand always on Dutiful’s shoulder, holding him at my side. Here, where the cave narrowed, I could thrust him behind me if need be. I doubted that need would arise. I intended to kill him myself. Twenty years ago, Chade had drilled me repeatedly in all the ways there were to kill a man with my hands. I had learned silent ways, and swift ways, and ways that were slow. I hoped I would be as quick and accurate as I had once been. The most satisfying tactic would be to wait until the woman took the boy’s body, and then kill Dutiful so quickly that the woman would die with him, unable to flee back into her little cat’s body. Would I still have time to kill myself before they pulled me down? I doubted it. Best not to dwell on such thoughts.

Suddenly, the Prince spoke up for himself. “I won’t struggle.” He shrugged clear of my hand on his shoulder and stood as straight as the low ceiling would allow. “I’ve been a fool. Perhaps I deserve this for my foolishness. But I thought . . .” His gaze had been traveling the faces that surrounded us. His eyes seemed to know where to linger, and in the wake of his glance, I saw uncertainty kindle on a few faces. “I thought you genuinely believed me one of your own. Your welcome and aid seemed so real. My bond with the cat—I had never felt anything like that. And when the woman came into my mind and said that she, that she loved me—” His voice hesitated over those words, but he forced it on. “I thought I had found something real, something worth more than my crown or my family or even my own duty to my people. I was a fool. So. Her name was Peladine, was it? She never told me her name, and of course I never saw her face. Well.” He folded his knees and sat cross-legged. He opened his arms to the staring cat. “Come, cat. You, at least, loved me for myself. I know you like this no better than I do. Let us both be done with this.”

He glanced up at me, a swift glance fraught with a meaning I could not discern. It chilled me. “Don’t despise me as a complete fool. The cat loves me, and I love the cat. That much, at least, was always true.” I knew that when the creature climbed into his lap, the contact would strengthen their bond. The woman would cross into him easily. His dark eyes were steady on mine. I saw Kettricken suddenly in his features, in his calm acceptance of what would be. His words were for me. “If by doing this I would be freeing the cat of her, I would rejoice. Instead, I go to share her entrapment. We shall be two that she bonded to, simply for the use of our bodies. She never had any need for our hearts, save to use them against us.”

Dutiful Farseer turned away from me, closing his eyes. He bowed his head to the advancing animal. There was not a sound, not even an indrawn breath, in the cave. All watched, all waited. Several faces were white and taut. One young man turned aside, shuddering, as the cat stalked up to him. She pressed her striped brow to the Prince’s, marking him as cats do. As she swiped her face against his, her green gaze brushed mine.

Kill me now.

The sharp mind-to-mind contact was so unexpected, I could not react to it.

What had Jinna’s cat told me? That all cats can speak, but that they choose when and to whom. The mind that touched mine was a cat’s mind, not a woman’s. I stared at the little hunting cat, unmoving. She opened her jaws wide but soundlessly, as if a twinge of pain too great to express had passed through her. Then she gave her head a shake.

Stupid brother-to-a-dog! You waste our chance. Kill me now!

These words struck my mind with the impact of a blow. “No!” cried Dutiful and belatedly I realized he had not been privy to her first words to me. He clutched at the mistcat but she launched, from the floor to Dutiful’s shoulder and at me, heedless of how her claws scored him in that spring. She flew at me, claws raw and mouth wide. What is so white as a cat’s teeth against her red mouth? I tried to reach my knife, but she was too fast. She landed on my chest, the curved claws of her front paws hooking securely into my flesh as her hind legs ripped at my belly. She turned her face sideways, and all I saw were teeth descending on my face as I fell backward into the corner of the cave.

Other voices shouted. “Peladine!” Laudwine roared, and I heard the Prince’s agonized cry of “No, no!” but I was occupied with saving my eyes. I pushed at the cat with one hand as I dragged at my sheathed knife with the other, but her claws were well set in my flesh. I could not budge her. I twisted my face aside as we went down, inadvertently baring my throat to her fangs. She seized that opportunity quite literally, and as I felt her teeth enter my flesh, thwarted only by the beads of Jinna’s charm, I managed to pull my knife free. I did not know if I fought the woman or the cat, only that the creature intended to kill me. It mattered, but not in a way that would stay my hand. It was awkward to stab her as she clung to my chest, for her spine and ribs turned my blade twice. On the third time, I finally managed to sink the metal into her. She let go of my throat to sound her death yowl, but her claws remained firmly fixed in my chest. Her hind legs had shredded my shirt. My belly was striped with fire. I pulled her body off mine, cursing, but when I would have flung it aside, Dutiful snatched it from me.

“Cat, oh, cat!” he cried, and clutched the lifeless body to his as if it were his child. “You killed her!” he cried accusingly.

“Peladine?” Laudwine asked wildly. “Peladine!”

Perhaps if his bond-animal had not just been slain, Dutiful would have had the presence of mind to pretend his body held the woman’s mind. But he did not, and before I could regain my feet, I saw Laudwine’s boot flying toward my head. I flung myself aside into a roll and sprang to my feet in a performance worthy of the Fool’s younger self. My knife was still in the cat’s body, but my sword hung at my belt. I dragged it free and charged at Laudwine.

“Run!” I bellowed at the Prince. “Get away. She bought your freedom with her life. Don’t waste that!”

Laudwine was a bigger man than I, and the sword he was drawing would give him a sizable advantage in reach. I gripped my hilt two-handed and took off his forearm before his weapon cleared its sheath. He went down with a shriek, clutching at the spurting stump as if it were a cup held aloft in a toast. Shock held the mob back for an instant, barely time for me to take two steps and crowd Dutiful into the alcove behind me. He had not fled and now it was too late. Perhaps it had always been too late. He went to his knees, the cat in his arms. I swung my blade in a madman’s wild arc, forcing the mob back. “Get up!” I roared at him. “Use that knife!”

I was peripherally aware of him coming to his feet behind me. I had no idea if he had the knife from the cat’s body. Fleetingly, I wondered if he would put it in my back. Then the wave of men surged forward, some in the front propelled only by the push of men behind them. Two grabbed Laudwine and dragged his curled body out of my reach. Someone jumped past them to confront me. The quarters were too close for anything except butchery. My first wide cut laid open his belly and slashed the face of another man as it finished. That slowed their rush, but then they bunched toward me. The men attacking us were hampered by their own numbers. When I was forced back, I felt the Prince step aside, and suddenly both our backs were to the wall of the cave. He darted past me to stab a man who had just managed to slip inside my guard, and then spun to his right to defend himself. He screamed like a wildcat as he struck out at his man, and the man answered with a shriek of pain.

I knew we had no chance, so when the arrow flew past my ear to shatter on the wall behind me, I was not too alarmed. Some fool wasted breath sounding a horn. I ignored it, as I ignored the cries of the men falling in front of me. One was dying and I finished another on the backstroke. I swung my blade wide, and unbelievably, they gave ground before me. I roared my triumph and stepped forward into the gap. My body shielded Dutiful’s now. “Come and die!” I snarled at them all. My free hand beckoned them in.

“Blades down!” someone shouted.

I swung my sword again, but those confronting me gave ground, tossing their swords to the earth. They cleared the way for an archer to advance on me. Other bowmen backed him, but his nocked arrow pointed straight at my chest. “Put it down!” he shouted again. It was the boy who had ambushed us, the one who had shot Laurel, and then fled with her. As I stood panting, wondering if I should force him to kill me, Laurel spoke behind him. She tried to speak calmingly, but her voice shook.

“Blade down, Tom Badgerlock. You’re among friends.”

Battle makes the world a small place, makes all life no bigger than the sweep of your sword’s length. It took me a time to come back to myself, and I was fortunate that they allotted me that time. I stared about, trying to make sense of what I saw, the archer and Laurel, and the folk who stood behind her, bows drawn. These were strangers, older folk than Laudwine’s band. Six men, two women. Most carried bows but a few had only staffs. Some of the arrows were pointed at Laudwine’s folk. They had dropped their swords and stood as much at bay as I was. Laudwine was on the floor, rolling in their midst, still clutching at his stump. Two steps and I could finish him at least. I drew a breath. Then I felt Dutiful’s hand on my upper arm. He pushed down firmly. “Blade down, Tom,” he said evenly, and for a moment it was Verity’s calming voice in my ear. The strength went out of my arm and I let the tip of my weapon drop to the floor. Each panting breath I took was a flow of torment down my parched throat.

“Drop it!” the archer repeated. He stepped closer, and I heard the small sounds of a bow drawn tauter. I felt my heart begin to race again. I calculated the distance I’d have to cover.

“Hold!” Lord Golden interceded suddenly. “Give him a moment to come to himself. Battle-fury takes him and his mind is not his own.” He came, pushing his way to the front of the massed archers and then stepped out between them and me with a fine disregard for the arrows that now pointed at his back. He did not even glance at the Piebalds who grudgingly parted to let him through. “Easy, Tom.” He addressed me as if calming a horse. “It’s done now. It’s all done.”

He stepped forward and set his hand on my arm, and I heard a murmur run through the crowd as if he had done something amazingly brave. At his touch, the sword fell from my grasp. Beside me, Dutiful dropped suddenly to his knees. I looked down at him. There was blood on his hand and shirtfront, but it did not seem to be his. He dropped my knife now and gathered the limp cat from the floor into his arms. He held it to his breast as if it were a child and rocked back and forth, keening. “My cat, my friend.”