Fool's Fate (58 page)

    “I think you are right,” Chade agreed. “I noticed that tonight, as we were retiring, they set up yet another offering to him at the outskirts of camp.”

    I shook my head at Chade. “I know what you are thinking. Even if I could do it, I don't think it would be wise. If the offering was taken now, would not they interpret it as him finally approving of them, because they had spoken out against the Prince's quest? Too late for chicanery in that area, Chade.”

    “I suppose you are right,” he said without apologies. “And if you were caught stealing the offering, it might rouse them to immediate action. No. Best to wait.” He sighed and rubbed his arms vigorously. “I am so tired of this cold. I'm too old to be this chilled all the time.”

    The Prince rolled his eyes silently.

    I changed the subject. “Please be careful, both of you, when you reach after Thick. And Dutiful, be very wary contacting Nettle. I am sure I did not imagine what happened to Thick and me that day. Someone was using the Skill to turn us against each other. Whoever it is, he is still out there. He found Thick's mind once. When you Skill to Thick, you may be betraying yourselves to him. And if he follows you, Dutiful, he may find Nettle when you reach for her tonight. Or, you may attract the dragon Tintaglia to yourself.” I suddenly felt a coward because I could no longer hope to protect either of them. “Be careful,” I said again.

    “I will,” Dutiful replied irritably, and I was sure he was not giving my warning the weight it deserved. I looked at Chade.

    “Have you ever known me to be anything but careful?” my old mentor asked me.

    Yes, I have, I nearly said. When you went after the Skill, you went after it with abandon. I fear you will do so again and risk all I hold dear in the process. But I held my tongue and contented myself with a nod to his question. “It feels strange to know you have so much to do tonight and there is no way I can help you accomplish it. I feel useless. If you have nothing for me here, then I'll be seeking my bed. I'm exhausted.” I rolled my shoulders. “I should have been practicing with a shovel those last months in Buckkeep instead of a sword.”

    The Prince gave me a grudging chuckle. Chade asked gravely, “Are you going to see the Fool tonight?”

    “Yes.” I waited, on guard.

    “Will you sleep there again?”

    I didn't ask how he knew I'd slept in the Fool's tent before. There was no emotion in my voice as I replied, “Possibly. I don't know. If we talk late or if he wants company, I may.”

    “It looks odd to the others, you know. No, don't scowl at me, that's not my concern. I've known you too long to have any illusions about your preferences in bedmates. I mean only that it may appear to the others that you share his opinion on Icefyre; that we must dig down to the dragon and free it rather than fulfilling the task the Narcheska has put upon our prince.”

    I stood silent for a moment, pondering that. Then I said quietly, “I can't help what people think, Chade.”

    “You won't avoid him?”

    I met his eyes. “No. He's my friend.”

    Chade folded his lips for a moment. Then, very cautiously he asked, “Is there any chance that you could persuade him to our way of thinking?”

    “To your way of thinking?” I corrected him. “I doubt it. This isn't some whim he has suddenly conceived, Chade. All his life, he has believed he is the White Prophet. Part of his mission in life is to restore dragons to the world. I don't think I can persuade him that is not a good idea.”

    “You've been friends for a very long time. He cares deeply about you,” Chade observed delicately.

    “Which is exactly why I wouldn't attempt to influence him that way.” I pushed my hair back out of my face. The drying sweat from my digging was beginning to chill me. I ached, and not just in body. “Chade. In this, you will have to trust me. I cannot be your tool, and I cannot promise that I will act in a certain way regardless of what we dig up. This one time in my life, I have to be true to myself.”

    Anger twitched his face, and then in a flash so swift I almost missed it, hurt. He turned aside from me, putting his countenance in shadow as he said, “I see. I had thought your vow to the Farseers meant more to you than that. And, foolishly, I had thought that perhaps we had been friends a long time, perhaps even longer than you and the Fool.”

    “Oh, Chade.” I was suddenly so weary I could scarcely speak. “You are far more to me than friend. You have been my mentor, and my parent and my protector when many hands were lifted against me. Never doubt that I would lay down my life for you.”

    “And he is a Farseer,” Dutiful suddenly interjected, startling both of us. “One whose vow to his family has already cost him many things. So, this time, as your prince, I command this, FitzChivalry Farseer. Keep your vow, to yourself. Be as true to your own heart as you were to Verity's, and to King Shrewd's before him. That is the command of your king.”

    I looked at him, amazed, not just at the generosity of his command, a freedom that no other Farseer king had ever thought to grant me, but also at his sudden change from sulky fifteen-year-old to heir to the throne. He frowned slightly at my puzzled look, completely unaware of what he had done. I found my tongue. “Thank you, my prince. That is the greatest boon that any Farseer king has ever granted me.”

    “You're welcome. I just hope that I haven't done something truly foolish. For we must both recall that regardless of what decision you make for yourself, I must hew to my promise to the Narcheska. I am here to take the dragon's head. And much joy may she have of a frozen skull.” Abruptly, he was a morose boy again. I looked at him, and was newly reminded of how difficult all this must be for him. He had left stolen kisses behind on Mayle Island. I doubted he had had a private word with Elliania since we'd left her mothershouse. He shook his head to my sympathetic look. “I can only try to do right, and hope that this time I have truly guessed what 'right' is.”

    “That makes two of us,” Chade grumbled.

    “No. Three,” I contradicted him. He was bent over by the little firepot and had succeeded in waking the embers to a single tongue of flame. He took a small piece of coal and added it to the tiny fire.

    “I'm too old to be doing this anymore.” He repeated his favorite complaint.

    “No. You're not. You'll only be old when you try to stop doing this. I think this trip has done you good.” I hunkered down beside him. “Chade. Please believe this of me. This isn't about whether you or the Fool pulls my strings. It isn't a contest of wills between you two to see who holds my heart.”

    “Then what is it?” he demanded grudgingly.

    I tried to give him an answer. “I need to see what is true, before I decide what stance I'll support. We've all known, since before we left Buckkeep, that there is an undercurrent to the Narcheska's request. There may come a time when you are glad I hesitated and did not blindly obey her will. Her handmaid, Henja, was connected somehow to the Piebalds. I'll wager whatever you like on that. She and Peottre and their mothershouse defy the majority of the Hetgurd to put this condition on the Prince. Why? What do they gain? What value to them is a rotting dragon's head?”

    “She does not seem pleased with having to ask this of me,” Dutiful observed quietly. “She is hard as stone in her determination that I must do this thing for her. Yet she does not seem to regard it with anticipation or eagerness, but dread and reluctance. As if it is not of her will that she asks this.”

    “Then whose? Peottre's?”

    Chade slowly shook his head. “No. His interests run with hers, and she is loyal to him. I think that if she asked this to please him, she would take more pleasure in it. No. So. Fitz asks our basic question. Whose will?”

    I gave my best guess. “Henja's. She has power over them somehow. We have seen that. And she is connected to the Piebalds, who have no love for us.”

    “The Piebalds.” Chade pondered this. “Do you discount the Fool's Pale Woman, then?” He asked the question keenly.

    “I do not know. What have we seen or heard of her? Nothing save what the Fool has told us. The Outislanders speak of her as an old evil, a malevolence from the past to be avoided, but not with the dread of something that lurks now. Our Six Duchies dragons killed her and Kebal Rawbread, or so I have often heard. Yet the Outislanders still connect them with this island. They say they mined the black stone here to ballast their White Ships. And there is no denying that the aborted stone dragon back at our landing spot stinks of Red Ship Forging.” A sudden yawn ambushed me.

    “Oh, go to bed,” Chade rebuked me. “At least you can rest. Tonight the Prince and I shall reach far and see if we cannot persuade Nettle to aid us. I will admit that I long to know what is passing in the Six Duchies these days. If the Piebalds have stirred to action there, it might tell us that they play a double game.”

    “Perhaps,” Dutiful agreed with a yawn, and I suddenly pitied him. I was going to honest sleep. He had a night's work ahead of him. Yet, as I bade them good night and left their tent, I sensed that he regarded Nettle as a challenge he anticipated as well as dreaded. I set aside worrying about that as I left the tent. It was pointless. I was out of that game for now. Perhaps for always. I felt the earth lurch under me as I considered that thought, and then forced myself to go on. Would it be so terrible to go through the rest of my life unSkilled? Could not I think of it as being free of the Skill?

    I made a brief stop at the guardsmen's tent. Longwick kept a weary watch at the opening. He nodded at me silently as I slipped inside amongst the heavily sleeping men-at-arms and then out again. He did not ask what I was about. Chade's man. Chade's men, I corrected myself, looking around at the sleeping forms. Every guardsman on this island with us had been handpicked by him, for both discretion and loyalty. How ruthlessly would they obey his commands?

    I was still pondering that question when I paused outside the Fool's tent. I listened for a moment to the sweep of the wind that stirred flurries of ice crystals in a storm at ankle height. Every now and then a gust would propel a stinging onslaught into my face. But wind and rustling ice was all I heard. Within the Fool's tent, all was silent, but the bright figures on the outside of the thin, tight fabric glowed with the life of the tiny fire within. “May I come in?” I asked quietly.

    “A moment,” he replied as softly. I heard the rustle of fabric, almost indistinguishable from the wind, and after a brief wait, he untied the door flap and admitted me. Clinging frost came with me. It could not be helped, yet the Fool still winced as I brushed it from my clothes. I took the bundled Elderling robe from inside my coat. “Here. I brought it back.”

    He was reclining on his pallet, the covers already drawn up around him. The tiny kettle crouched hopefully over the candle fire. He lifted his brows and smiled. “But I thought you looked so fetching in it. Are you sure you won't keep it?”

    I sighed. His fey levity was too much at odds with all else I felt that evening. “Chade and Dutiful are going to try to reach Nettle tonight. With the Skill. They fear that the dragon is stealing Thick's mind, and hope that Nettle can distract Thick from Icefyre.”

    “And you choose not to help them?”

    “I cannot. I cannot find a single shred of the Skill inside me. I only know that Thick is troubled because of the way he hums. Always before, he Skilled out his music. Why does he hum and mutter now? It's a change, and I don't like changes, especially changes I don't understand.”

    “Life is change,” the Fool observed placidly. “And death is an even greater change. I think we must resign ourselves to change, Fitz.”

    “I'm tired of resigning myself to things. My entire life has been one long resignation.” I dropped the robe on his pallet and then sat down heavily on the end of it, forcing him to draw his feet up out of the way. I pulled my mittens off and held my hands out to his feeble fire, trying to warm myself.

    “Ah, Catalyst, can it be that you do not see all the changes you have made? Some by your resignation and acceptance of circumstance, some by your wild struggles. You can say that you hate change, but you are change.”

    “Oh, please.” I folded my arms upon my drawn-up knees and dropped my head onto them. “Don't talk about that tonight. Talk about anything else but that. Please. I can't think about choices and changes tonight.”

    “Very well.” His voice was gentle. “What do you want to talk about?”

    “Anything. Something about you. How did you get here, after we left you behind at Buckkeep Town?”

    “I told you. I flew.”

    I lifted my head from my arms to regard him sourly. He was smiling a small challenge at me. It was the Fool's old smile, the one that promised he was telling the truth when he was obviously lying. “No. You did not.” I spoke firmly.

    “Very well. If you say so.”

    “Kettricken must have helped you find passage, against Chade's advice. And you came here on a ship with a bird's name.” I was guessing wildly, knowing that there would be some small kernel of truth at the bottom of his wild tale.

    “Actually, Kettricken counseled me to stay in Buckkeep, in our very brief meeting. I think it taxed her will to say no more to me than that. It was sheer good fortune for me that I encountered Burrich arriving at Buckkeep Castle as I left it. But, as I have agreed to tell this tale, let me tell it in order. Let us go back to the moment at which I last saw you. When I thought that you were hastening to my aid.”

    I winced, but he went on evenly. “The Harbormaster summoned the City Guard, who were very efficient at removing Lord Golden and his belongings. As you probably have suspected, they detained me until after the ships had sailed. Then I was dismissed, with many apologies and assurances that it had all been a terrible error. But word of the incident spread. By the time Lord Golden returned to his lodgings with his baggage, his creditors had descended, convinced that he had intended to flee the city without paying them. As, indeed, he had. They were happy to confiscate most of his baggage and gear, all save one pack, containing the absolute minimum essentials for his survival, which he'd had the forethought to leave in his Buckkeep chambers.”