Fool's Fate (25 page)

    Many heads in the assembly nodded to this. Dutiful nodded gravely back to them and then added, “So what am I to do now? My word has been given, before your warriors and mine, in the hall of my parents. I have said I will attempt to do this thing. I know of no honorable way to unsay such words. Is there a custom here, among the people of the Narcheska, that allows a man to call back the words that have issued from his mouth?”

    The Prince moved his hands, imitating the same gesture that the Otter Kaempra had used to cede him the speaker's circle. He bowed to the four corners of the hall, and then retreated to his bench again. As he took his seat, Otter spoke again.

    “If this was the manner of your accepting the challenge, then I will take no affront toward you. I reserve what I think of Clan Blackwater's daughter for issuing such a challenge. Regardless of the circumstances.”

    I had previously noticed Peottre Blackwater sitting almost by himself on one of the front benches. He scowled at the Otter's remark but made no indication that he wished to speak. The Narcheska's father, Arkon Bloodblade, sat a small distance away from Peottre, his Boar warriors ranked about him. Arkon's brow remained smooth, as if the rebuke had nothing to do with him, and perhaps by his lights that was correct. The Otter had rebuked Elliania as a daughter of the Blackwater family of the Narwhal Clan. Arkon Bloodblade was a Boar. Here, within his own people, he assumed the role that they expected of him. He was only the Narcheska's father. Her mother's brother, Peottre Blackwater, was responsible for the quality of her upbringing.

    When the silence had stretched enough that it was obvious no one would offer a defense for what the Narcheska had done, the Otter leader cleared his throat. "It is true that as a man you cannot call back your word, Prince of the Farseer Buck Clan. You have said you will try to do this thing, and I will concede that you must do it, or be judged no man at all.

    “Yet that does not release us of the Out Islands of our duties. Icefyre is ours. What do our great mothers tell us? He came to us, in the years before years were counted, and asked asylum from his grief. Our wisewomen granted it to him. And in return for our sheltering, he promised that his protection should be ours. We know the power of his spirit and the invulnerability of his flesh, and fear little that you shall slay him. But if, by some strange twist of fate, you manage to do him injury, on whom will his anger fall after he has killed you? On us.” He turned slowly in a circle as he spoke, including all the clans as he warned them, “If Icefyre is ours, we also belong to him. Like a kin pledge we should see the debt woven between us. If his blood is shed, must not we shed blood in return? If, as his kin, we fail to come to his aid, cannot he exact from us the blood price ten times over, according to our law? This prince must honor his word as a man. That is so. But after, must not war come to us again, regardless of whether he lives or dies?”

    I saw Arkon Bloodblade draw a long slow breath. I noted now what I had not before, that he held his hand in a certain way, open yet with the fingers pointing toward his sternum. Several men, I now saw, were making the same gesture. A request to speak? Yes, for when the Otter warrior made the now familiar gesture, Bloodblade stood and came to take the man's place in the circle.

    “None of us want war again. Not here in the God's Runes, nor in the Prince's farmers' fields across the water. Yet a man's word must be satisfied. And though we all be men here, there is a woman's will in this, as well. What warrior can stand before a woman's will? What sword can cut her stubbornness? To women Eda has given the islands themselves, and we walk upon them only by her leave. It is not for men to set aside the challenge of a woman, lest our own mothers say, 'You do not respect the flesh you sprang from. Walk no more on the earth that Eda has granted us. Be abandoned by us, with only water under your keel and never sand under your feet.' Is that easier than war? We are caught between a man's word and a woman's will. Neither can be broken without disgrace to all.”

    I had understood Bloodblade's words but the full import of their meaning escaped me. Obviously there was custom here we were not familiar with, and I questioned what we had blundered into with our matchmaking. Bleakly I wondered if we had not fallen into a trap. Was the Blackwater family of the Narwhal Clan intent on kindling war between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands? Had their offer of the Narcheska been a sham, to draw us into a situation in which, regardless of the outcome, we had invited bloodshed yet again to our shores?

    I studied Peottre Blackwater's face. His expression was stolid and still, his eyes turned inward. He seemed impassive to the dilemma his sister-daughter had set us, and yet I felt he was not. I sensed rather that we balanced on the knife blade that had already cut deep into him. He looked, I suddenly thought, like a man without choices. A man who could no longer hope, because he knows that no action of his own can save him. He was waiting. He did not plan or plot. He had already done the task he had set out to do. Now he could only wait to see how other men would carry it out. I was certain I was right, and yet what I could not understand or even imagine was why. Why had he done it? Or, as her father had said, was it beyond his control, the will of a woman who might be younger than he was and dependent on him, and yet controlled who might walk on the earth of his mother-holdings?

    I looked around me. There were simply too many differences between us, I decided. How could the Six Duchies ever make a peace with the Out Islands when our customs varied so widely? Yet, tradition had it that the Farseer line had its roots in the Out Islands, that Taker, the first Farseer monarch, had begun his life as an Out Island raider who had seen the log fortress that Buckkeep once was and decided to make it his own. Our lines and our ways had diverged far since those days. Peace and prosperity depended on our finding some common ground.

    The likelihood of that did not seem great.

    I lifted my eyes to find the Prince's gaze fixed on me. I had not wanted to distract him before. Now I sent him a reassuring thought. Thick is resting in his chamber upstairs. He ate and drank before he went to sleep.

    I wish I could be doing the same. They did not give me so much as a chance to wash my face before they convened the Hetgurd. And now it shows no sign of ending.

    Patience, my prince. They'll end this eventually. Even Outislanders must eat, drink, and sleep sometime.

    Do they piss, do you think? That's starting to be a very immediate concern to me. I've thought of excusing myself quietly, but don't know how it would be interpreted if I stood and walked out now.

    The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I felt a fumbling Skill-touch. Thick?

    It was Chade. I saw Dutiful start to reach out his hand, to touch Chade and add his strength to the old man's. I stopped him. No. Don't. Let him try it on his own. Chade, can you hear us?

    Barely.

    Thick is asleep upstairs. He ate and drank before he fell asleep.

    Good. I sensed the effort he put into that brief reply. Nonetheless, I was grinning. He was doing it.

    Stop. Silly grin, he scolded me. He looked around the room gravely. Bad situation. Need time to think. Need to stop this before it goes too far without us.

    I made my face solemn. The expression was far more in keeping with that of those around me. Arkon Bloodblade was surrendering the speaking circle to a man who wore an Eagle badge. They paused to clasp wrists in a warrior's greeting before the Eagle entered the circle. The Eagle Kaempra was an old man, possibly the oldest man in the assembly. Gray and white streaked his thinning hair, yet he still moved like a warrior. He stared around at us accusingly, and then spoke abruptly, the ends of his words softened by his missing teeth.

    “Doubtless a man must do what he has said he will do. It wastes our day to even discuss that. And men must honor their kinship bonds. If this foreign prince came here and said, 'I have promised a woman that I would kill Orig of the Eagle Clan,' all of you would say, 'Then you must try, if you have promised to do it.' But we would also say, 'But know that some of us have kinship bonds with Orig. And we will kill you before we let you do this thing.' And we would expect the Prince to accept that as obviously correct, also.” His slow gaze traveled the assembly disdainfully. “I smell merchants and traders here, who used to be warriors and honorable men. Shall we sniff after Six Duchies goods like a dog groveling after a bitch? Will you trade your own kin for brandy and summer apples and red wheat? Not this Eagle.”

    He gave a snort of contempt for all who thought there was any need of more discussion. He left the circle and crabbed back to his seat amongst his warriors. A silence fell as we all pondered his words. Some exchanged glances; I sensed the old man had cut close to the bone. There were many here uneasy at the thought of letting the Prince kill their dragon, but they were also hungry for peace and trade. War with the Six Duchies had cut them off from all trade from points south of us. Now the Chalcedean quarrel with the Bingtown Traders was throttling that route. If they did not gain free trade with the Six Duchies, they would have to forgo all goods and luxuries that warmer countries could provide for them. It was not a thought to relish. Yet no one there could oppose the Eagle's stance without taking the name of greedy trader to himself.

    We have to end this somehow. Now, before anyone adds their spoken approval to his words. Chade's thin Skilling sounded desperate.

    No one else stepped forward into the speaking circle. No one had a solution to offer. The longer the silence stretched, the more charged the room became. I knew Chade was right. We needed time to think of a diplomatic solution to our position. And if there wasn't one, we still needed time to discover how many of the Outislander clans would actively oppose us and how many would simply disapprove. Given the disapproval of the other clans, would the Narcheska persist in her challenge to Dutiful or would she withdraw it? Could she honorably recall it? Here we were, not even a full day on this island's soil and already we seemed on the verge of confrontation.

    Adding to my discomfort was that I was becoming aware of Dutiful's need to urinate. I started to shield myself from his Skill, and then had a different idea. I recalled how Thick's uneasiness aboard the ship had spread to infect the sailors. I wondered if Dutiful's current discomfort could be used in a like manner.

    I opened myself to his unwitting sending, amplified it, and then sent my Skill-questing out through the room. None of the Outislanders that I touched had any strong aptitude for the Skill, but many were susceptible to its influence in varying degrees. Once Verity had used a similar technique to baffle Red Ship navigators, convincing them that they'd already passed key landmarks and thus sending their ships onto the rocks. Now I used it to end this Hetgurd gathering by reminding every man my Skill could touch of his urgent need to empty his bladder.

    All around the room, men began to shift in their seats. Doing? Chade demanded.

    Ending this meeting, I told him grimly.

    Ah! I felt Dutiful's sudden comprehension, and then felt him join his persuasion to mine.

    Who is in charge? I asked him.

    No one. They share authority here. Or so they say. Dutiful obviously thought it a poor system.

    Bear opened meeting, Chade told me tersely. I felt him draw my attention to a man who wore a bear's-tooth necklace. I was suddenly aware of how much strength it was taking from Chade for him to do this feeble Skilling.

    Don't tax yourself, I warned him.

    Know my own strength! His reply was angry but even from where I stood, I could see his shoulders drooping.

    I singled out the Bear and focused my attention on him. Fortunately for me, he had little wall against the Skill and a full bladder. I pressed urgency on him and he suddenly stood up. He came forward to claim the speaking circle. The others ceded it to him with hand motions of giving.

    “We need to ponder on this. All of us,” he suggested. “Let us go apart, to talk with our own clans and see what thoughts they have for us. Tomorrow, let us gather again and speak of what we have learned and thought. Do any think this is wise?”

    A forest of hands rose in spiraling gestures of assent.

    “Then let our meeting be over for this day,” the Bear suggested.

    And just that quickly, it was over. Men stood immediately and began moving toward the door. There was no ceremony to it, no precedence for those of higher rank, just a push of men toward the exit, some with a greater insistence than others.

    Tell your captain that you must check on your ward. That, until he is fit, I have commanded that you continue to tend him. We'll soon join you upstairs.

    I obeyed my prince's command. When Longwick released me, I retrieved the washing basin I'd left outside the door and returned to Thick's chamber. He had not stirred that I could see. I felt his forehead. He was still feverish, but it did not burn as it had aboard the ship. Nonetheless, I roused him and coaxed him to drink water. He took little urging to down a whole mug of it, and then settled back into the bed again. I was relieved. Here, in this strange room and away from the perspective of his sickbed on the ship, I could truly see how wasted Thick was. Well, he would recover now. He had all he needed: quiet, a bed, food and drink. Soon he would be better. I tried to convince myself that my hope was a fact.

    I heard Prince Dutiful and Chade conversing in the hall with someone. I stood and went to the door, ear pressed to it. I heard Dutiful pleading weariness, and then the closing of the door of the next chamber. His servants must have been waiting for him there. Again, there was a murmur of conversation, and then I heard him dismiss them. A little time passed and then the connecting door opened and Dutiful wandered in. He held a small black square of the food in his hand. He looked depressed. He held the food up and asked me, “Any idea what this is?”