Fool's Fate (49 page)

    “Follow the Prince and stay at his side. I think it best if you sleep in his tent tonight, for you've a keen set of ears and the Wit to warn you if any should approach the tent from outside. Remind them of that, and let them know I suggested you be his guard tonight. Now go quickly, get your blankets and join them before they're abed.”

    He looked at me, mouth agape for an instant. Then he flashed me a look of pure gratitude. His eyes met mine, without resentment or restraint, and he said, “You know I'm loyal to my prince.”

    “I do.” I confirmed it for him. I wondered if Burrich's face had shone like that the first time Chivalry had proclaimed that he belonged to him. I suddenly felt he was too cheaply bought, this son of Burrich. If he had half the loyalty and courage of his father, then Dutiful had acquired a jewel indeed. As Swift ran off into the darkened camp, I turned to the sound of footsteps behind me. Web approached, with Civil a scant two steps behind him. As if he could read my thoughts, he said, “The boy will be a good man.”

    “If he's allowed to grow that way, without interference or the creation of unnatural appetites,” Civil appended to his words. He stepped into the circle, and never have I seen a man more ready to fight. His cat was a snowy ghost at his heels. I didn't want this. I didn't want the allegations and I didn't want the fight. I saw no way to avoid any of it. The Fool spoke before I could.

    “You willfully persist in laboring under that misapprehension,” he said quietly. “Yet if it must be said to you yet again, then I shall. I am no threat to that boy. What passed between us at your mother's home was a subterfuge, designed to make my quick departure easily explained. You are not a simpleton. You have seen that both Tom Badgerlock and I serve the Prince, in ways that no one has fully explained to you. Nor will anyone. So set that hope aside. This is as much as you get from me, and I speak it plainly. I feel no physical attraction to that boy, and I have no designs on his flesh. The same is true of how I feel toward you.”

    That should have put him at ease, if that had been his true concern. But it wasn't, of course. I could tell it by the way his Wit-cat flattened his ears. Civil spoke in a low voice. “And she who was affianced to me, Sydel? Will you say you felt no physical attraction to her and never had any designs on her flesh when you ruined the trust that was between us?”

    The silence and cold that closed tight around us was not entirely of the glacier's making. I had seldom seen the Fool weigh his words so carefully. I became aware that Cockle stood just outside our circle, witnessing our words, and those who had started to return to their tents had also halted to watch this play. I wondered what the minstrel would make of what he had already heard, let alone what the Fool might say next. “Sydel was a lovely child when last I saw her,” the Fool said quietly. “And like a child, she was given to quick turns of fantasy and fascination. I took advantage of her interest in me. I admit that. And I have told you already why I did so. But I did not ruin the trust between you. Only the two of you could do that, and that is indeed what you did. Some time has passed and perhaps, if you look back now, you will see that the trust she gave you was just that: the trust of a child, not the love of a young woman. I would wager that she had known few other young men besides you; she did not truly choose you, Civil. You were simply there and her parents approved. And when I came along and she perceived there might be a choice--”

    “Don't try to blame it all on me!” Civil's voice was a low growl. His cat echoed it. “You seduced her and stole her from me. And then you cast her aside, and left her to her shame.”

    “I...” The Fool's shock was palpable to me. He seemed at a loss for words. But when he spoke, his voice was firm and in control again. “You are wrong. All that passed between Sydel and me, you saw. Such, of course, was my intent! There were no private moments between us, and certainly no seduction. I left her, certainly, but I did not shame her.”

    Civil shook his head, a bit wildly. The more calmly the Fool spoke, the more agitated the lad seemed to become. “No! No, you ruined everything between us, with your loathsome appetites! And now you will say it was some sort of game or ruse. You shattered my mother's dreams for us, and humiliated her father so that he cannot bear to be in the same room with her. All this for a jest? No. No, I refuse to believe it.”

    I felt queasy. I had been a part of that deception. We had guested in Civil Bresinga's home, in guise of enjoying the hunting there while actually tracking Prince Dutiful and the Piebalds who had taken him. When we needed to depart abruptly on the Prince's trail, Lord Golden had created a reason for Lady Bresinga to welcome our departure. He had made blatant advances toward Lady Sydel, Civil's fiancée, turning her young head with his wealth and charm and flattery. When Civil had attempted to intervene, he had drunkenly informed the young man that he too would be welcome to share Lord Golden's bed. We had done it for the Prince's sake, that we might more swiftly follow him and leave no one wondering why we departed so suddenly. But the trail of destruction we had left behind us sickened me now. I suddenly feared where this must lead. My prince, I fear I must beg your intervention between Civil and the Fool. They quarrel, and I think Civil will take it to blows.

    “I am sorry,” the Fool said, and he put a depth of feeling into those words that could leave no one doubting his sincerity. He halted, then offered, “Truly, Civil, it is never too late. If you love the girl as you seem to, then go to her when you return to the Six Duchies and tell her so. Give her time to become a woman and see if she reciprocates your feelings. If she does, take joy in one another. If she does not, well, then know that it would not have lasted between you, regardless of whether I had come along or not.”

    It wasn't what Civil wanted to hear. His face went from scarlet to white, and he suddenly shrieked out, “I demand satisfaction of you!” And he launched himself at the Fool.

    An instant too late, Web reached for his shoulder. A moment too late, I tried to block him. He pounced on the Fool like a cat on a mouse, and together they went rolling into the snow. Civil snarled like a cat as he fought. Something Web did, I think, restrained Civil's cat from leaping into the fray. I stepped forward to intervene, but felt the Prince inside my mind as he arrived, half-clothed, on the scene.

    Let them have it out, Fitz. Better that the two of them settle it than that you become involved and we suddenly have the whole party taking sides. This has festered long with Civil and words will not suffice to settle it.

    But the Fool doesn't fight. Never have I seen him fight!

    Nonetheless. And this from Chade, with a grim sort of satisfaction. He will now.

    I think they expected to see Civil triumph quickly. There, I knew the Fool better. Slight he might appear, but even when I was in fighting trim, he had always seemed able to pit his strength against mine. Once, when I was injured, he had carried me through the snow back to his home. His tumbler's tricks had always demanded strength as well as agility. So I knew he had the power to defeat Civil if he chose. What I feared was that he would choose not to do so. And my fears were well grounded. Civil straddled the Fool. I winced to the solid sound of Civil's fists striking him, chest and shoulder and jaw.

    Stop this! I begged the Prince. Command them to stop!

    Let them finish it and let it be over, Chade suggested, and I glowered at him, thinking he had other reasons why he would see the Fool defeated before the men who had so swiftly gathered.

    Then I'll stop it! But as I stepped forward, I saw that the tide of the battle had already turned. The Fool had writhed beneath Civil until he had his hip under him. He caught one of Civil's legs in the crook of his knee. Then by some twisting trick, the Fool suddenly unseated him and reversed their positions. In the next instant, he had flung himself on top of Civil. I was shocked even as I waited to see the Fool take his revenge.

    He didn't. He caught Civil's flailing arms and restrained them, seemingly without effort. Dark red blood was running from one of the Fool's nostrils. It dripped down onto Civil as the lad struggled. The Fool's grip only tightened, and I saw how reluctantly he twisted down on one of Civil's elbows until the young man grunted with pain. Nearby, his cat snarled savagely. Web's touch on his back looked effortless, but the cat seemed to strain against iron restraints.

    The Fool held the struggling young man down. I could sense Civil's outrage that the tawny man did so without apparent effort. When one has insulted someone's manliness, he does not expect to be easily mastered by the man. “It's done.” The Fool spoke firmly, not just to Civil but to all of us. “It's over. I won't discuss this with you again.”

    Suddenly Civil went limp. The Fool held him down an instant longer, then pushed himself up off his prone body, took a staggering step, and then drew himself up straight. Just as he began to walk away, Civil rolled to his feet and sprang at him. I leaped forward at the same instant that the Fool, without so much as a glance back, moved lithely to one side. Civil and I were suddenly chest to chest in the night, the boy gawking up at me as I stared him down. He stumbled back a step, then he spun and hissed the insult at the Fool. “You say he isn't your lover, yet he stands ready to fight your battles for you.”

    Like a ship under full sail, the Fool seethed through the snowy night to stand aggressively close to the boy. He spoke flatly. “He is not my lover. He is far more than that to me, far more precious. I am the White Prophet and he is my Catalyst, and we are come here to change the course of time. I am here to see that Icefyre lives.”

    Peottre had ghosted up to the edge of the circle. In the dimness, he shuddered as if he had just taken an arrow. The Hetgurd men, gathered for the pleasure of watching a fight, suddenly muttered amongst themselves. But I had no time to watch them. Civil was like a crouching cat with a lashing tail. All his attention was focused on the Fool as he growled, “I don't care what you call yourself or him. I know what you are!”

    He all but spat the final words and again he sprang. But this time the Fool met his onslaught. Civil went in swinging heavy blows but the Fool swayed around them and stepped in to seize Civil by the body. He did not push him away, but pulled him forward, increasing his momentum so that the boy slammed face first into the crystallized snow. The Fool followed him down. He pinioned him again, wrapping one arm around the boy's throat and winding the other under Civil's arm and up, so that his right arm was bent up behind him. Civil was cursing wildly and close to tears when the Fool hoarsely warned him, “We can do this as many times as you like. Struggle and you'll dislocate your shoulder. That is true, I promise you. Let me know when you are calm and ready to give this up.”

    I feared the boy would be stupid enough to hurt himself. The Fool, his weight spread flat on the snow, held him down and let him struggle. Twice Civil flung himself back against the Fool's grip. Each time I heard him grunt with pain. Finally, having proven the Fool's words to himself, he lay still. But he was far from calm. He panted and cursed and then shouted, “It was all your fault! You can't deny it. You ruined everything, everything. And now my mother is dead and I have nothing. Nothing. Sydel is shamed and I cannot go to her and offer her marriage, for I have nothing, and her father blames my family for his daughter's fall. He will not let me see her. If you had not come there, none of it would have happened. I'd still have my life.”

    “And the Prince would be dead. Or worse.” Without realizing it, I had edged closer to the combatants. I wondered if anyone else heard the Fool's low comment.

    With a moan of defeat, Civil dropped his face into the snow. He lay still. The Fool did not make him speak his surrender. Instead, he released his hold from the boy and got up. I winced for the pain he must feel.

    The Fool spoke between gasps for breath. “It wasn't me. I didn't kill your mother. Or shame her. That was the Piebalds. Blame them. Not me. And don't fix blame on a young girl who did nothing more terrible than flirt with a stranger. Forgive her...and yourself. You were trapped and used. Both of you.”

    And the Fool's perceptive words lanced into Civil's soul, and his pain poured forth into the night. Wit and Skill, I felt it, like some hot, foul poison rushing out of him. When the Fool turned away, the young man didn't spring after him, but curled on his side in the snow, gagging with sorrow. His cat gave a low rumble of distress, and, released by Web, rushed to his side. The Fool stood well clear of them both. Panting, he dragged his sleeve across his face, and then shook his head at how he had marked the snowy white of it with the deep scarlet of his blood. He took several steps away from them, and then bent over, hands on his knees, taking deep panting breaths of the cold air.

    The Prince finally spoke. “Let this be an end to it now, right here. We are a small party and can ill afford any divisions amongst us. Civil, you made your challenge and this will have to be your satisfaction. Lord Golden, you are here on my tolerance. You have openly avowed that you oppose my mission. I accept that, just as I accept the conscience that puts the Hetgurd watchers among us. But if you carry any ill will against Civil because of this, my tolerance will end. We will put you out of our company to make your own way.”

    I felt those last words as a threat. I went to the Fool's side and waited while he caught his breath. Web had gone to Civil and crouched in the snow beside him. He lay there, hugging his cat as if he were a child's comforting doll. Web's voice was a low rumble as he spoke to him. I could not catch the words. Swift stood, caught in between, staring from one combatant to the other. I took the Fool's arm and started moving him toward his tent. Now that it was over, he seemed half-stunned. “Follow your prince, son,” I told Swift as I passed him. “It's done for now. We'll talk later.”

    He nodded, staring as we passed. The Fool stumbled a little and I firmed my grip on him. Behind us, I heard Longwick berating the guards for being distracted from their duty. Slowly, the camp dispersed back to their beds.