Fool's Quest (33 page)

Such a direct question. It was as if someone had flapped a black rag behind her eyes. There was a moment when she did not seem to see us or be in the room with us. Then she was back. She shook her head. “No, sir, I don't believe I do.”

“I see. And I've forgotten my manners, asking you here on such a cold day and offering you no comfort. Please. Do sit down. We've some cakes here. And may I pour a cup of tea for you? It's a special brew from Buckkeep Castle itself.”

“Why, thank you, sir. That would be kind.” Bulen brought her a chair and she sat carefully, arranging her skirts so they fell smoothly. As Chade poured tea and brought it to her, she offered, “You know, you might ask Hawthorn at the end of the lane. Her boy works in the stables; they might know.”

Chade brought her the cup himself. “It can be a bit strong. Let us know if you'd care for some honey,” he said as he gave it to her.

She smiled as she accepted the pretty china cup. “Thank you,” she said, and took a sip. She puckered her mouth in surprise at the bitterness, but she smiled. “It is a bit strong,” she said politely.

“It's something of a tonic,” Chade told her. “I enjoy the vigor it seems to give me, especially on chill winter days.” He gave her his most charming smile.

“Indeed, does it?” she asked. “At my age, I could use a bit of that!” She smiled back at him and took a second, polite sip. As she lowered the cup to the saucer, her face changed. The cup chattered on the saucer as her hand began to tremble. Chade rescued it from her failing grip. Her hands rose first to cover her mouth, and then to picket her whole face. She bowed forward from the waist. She began to shake badly and the first sound that came out of her was not a woman weeping but an animal's low cry of agony.

Perseverance flew across the room. He knelt before her and put his good arm around her. He did not tell her that it would be all right. He said nothing, but put his cheek beside hers. No one in the room spoke as she continued to grieve. After a time, she lifted her head, put her arms around her son, and said, “I sent you away. How can you ever forgive me? You were all I had left, and I sent you away.”

“I'm here now. Oh, Ma, I thank Eda you know me.” He lifted his head and looked at me. “Thank you, sir. I've got my ma back. Thank you.”

“What happened to me?” The query was a shaking moan.

“A bad magic,” the stable boy comforted her. “The same bad magic that happened to everyone else here. It made everyone forget what happened on Winterfest eve. Everyone but me.” He knit his brows. “Why not me?”

Chade and I conferred with a look. Neither of us had an answer. Thick spoke in a soft voice. “'Cause they didn't have you with the others. When they told them to sing the forgetting song. So they couldn't make you forget. And you don't hear the song at all. Not any songs.” He looked sad for the boy.

Bulen startled us all when he strode forward. I'd almost forgotten he was in the room. Without a word, he lifted the cup from the saucer Chade still held. He drained off the cup of tea, stood like a statue, and then, unbidden, sank into a nearby chair. For a time, he simply sat. When he looked up, his face was pale. “I was there,” he said. He rolled a glance at Lant. “I saw them kick you in the head, after they stabbed you, and I stood there. I saw that same horseman knock Lady Shun to the ground. He called her filthy names and said if she dared to get up, he would—” He paused, obviously sickened. “He threatened her. Then they herded us into a tighter group, as if we were sheep being bunched. And other people came to join us, the folk from the cottages. A lot of the children had been hiding somewhere, but they came out in a group. And the soldiers began to shout at us about a pale boy.

“Then a woman came out of the manor. I'd never seen her before. She was dressed all in white, very warmly. At first she scolded the old man in charge. He was cruel and seemed to care little about what she said. She was angry that people had been killed. The bodies would have to be dealt with, and it would make everything harder to conceal. She said he had done it badly, that it was not the path she had wanted. And he told her to leave him to the business of war, that she had no idea how territory was captured. And that when they had finished, they could set fire to the stables and get rid of the bodies that way. I could tell she was not happy with him.

“But when she turned to us, she was calm and smiling. She didn't yell. She spoke so kindly that all I wanted was to find whatever would please her. She was seeking a boy or a young man who had come recently to stay with us. She promised they were not there to hurt him, only to take him back to where he belonged. Someone, Tavia, I think, shouted that they'd killed the only young man who had recently joined us. But the woman began to walk among us, looking each of us in the face. I think someone was with her …” Bulen's voice and expression went bland. I sensed he pushed against a barrier he could not pass. There was yet another layer to all this.

“You!” Bulen said suddenly. He pointed a finger at Perseverance. “It was you on the brown horse, and Lady Bee on the gray, wasn't it? Everything changed in the instant. The woman was urging and urging us to think of a boy who had come recently, and then one of the soldiers shouted and pointed, and we all looked. And you were running the horses dead-out, and then three of the soldiers wheeled their horses about and went after you. Including that cruel old man. And one was drawing his bow and shooting as he rode. I remember seeing him do that, guiding the horse with his knees.”

“He got me, too,” Perseverance said quietly. He lifted his good hand to his bandaged shoulder. His mother gave a gasp and pulled him closer.

“For a short time, while they were chasing you, there were just a few soldiers guarding us. And I remember that we started talking, asking one another what was going on, how had this happened? It was like waking from sleepwalking …” His gaze was unfocused. “But then we all calmed down. And there were other people there, younger and, well, softer people in the pale clothing. They were walking among us, telling us to be calm, be calm. They looked worried, but were trying to reassure us. For a time, though, I think I knew how wrong everything was. I knelt down by Lant because Shun was there, crying over him. And I told her he wasn't dead. Then the round-faced woman came back and she had Bee with her. But Bee looked as if she were asleep with her eyes open. She was calling to everyone that they had found him, they'd found an unexpected son. I remember now, I thought they meant the stable boy. But she had Bee with her and … someone else. Someone …”

Again he floundered, reaching after something buried beyond his ability to recall it. I heard his words with a rising chill in my heart. They'd captured Bee. And spoken of the Unexpected Son, the child from the White Prophecies. The boy upon whom the fate of the world turned. Once, the Fool had believed that was me. And now he thought it was a son he'd left behind, a child he had fathered without knowing he'd done it. However he meant those peculiar words. I could not imagine why anyone might think it was my daughter. The drive to do something, to do anything, was rising in me, an irrational storm that insisted I could not simply wait and gather information.

Bulen was speaking again. “They wrapped her in white robes and put her on their sleigh, as if she were a princess. By then the soldiers were back, circling us. And I couldn't think of anything else to do but wait and see what would happen. It just seemed the only proper thing to do was to be in that huddle of people.”

I asked the question. “You think they believed Bee was the boy they were looking for? The Unexpected Son?”

Bulen hesitated. “So they behaved, sir. After they had her, they stopped seeking for him.”

“I remember all that,” Diligent said as I was still trying to picture Bee as a boy. “I was in the cottage, putting a mend in Tallerman's good jacket and thinking about the fun we'd have at Midwinterfest. He was such a dancer!” Her voice caught on a sob, but she went on, “I was fretting that Perseverance had outgrown his good shirt and wondering if I could let it out any more for one more wearing. Then, suddenly, for no reason I can think of now, I decided I wanted to go up to the manor. I didn't wait, I left the cottage just as I was and walked up to the manor. Everyone from the cottages was going, just as if it were time for Winterfest, but no one was laughing or talking. We just all wanted to go to the manor. On the way, I walked right past the stables. They were on fire but I didn't think that was terrible. I didn't stop or call out to anyone …” Her voice faltered and I saw her wonder if her husband and father-in-law had still been alive; if she could have had one last word with them.

“Everyone was already dead, Ma.” Perseverance spoke the words aloud, and the woman gave a sudden sob. She clutched her son as if he were the last bit of floating wreckage in a stormy sea. Her grief strangled her into silence.

Bulen spoke into that gulf. “Yes. The cottage folk came, and the children. The children were coming willingly, but some of the soldiers were mocking them. I saw one of the men seize a little kitchen girl …”

The color left his face and his mouth fell ajar. For a time, none of us spoke. “They were brutes,” Diligent said at last. “And we were like sheep. I watched the stables burn, and we heard the screams of the horses left inside. Some of the beasts must have broken loose, for a few fled. I just watched the flames and I didn't even wonder where my husband was, or my son. It was just a thing that was happening.”

“Did they take Lady Shun?” Chade's voice was heavy with fear. It was unlike him to interrupt anyone giving such a complete telling of events, but I knew he could not stand the suspense. He had to know. I didn't blame him.

“Yes. They did.” Bulen spoke with certainty. “It happened later. It was evening. They had placed Bee on the sleigh. I seem to remember the woman urging the soldiers to leave as soon as possible. But the soldiers were looting and feasting on food from the kitchens and … taking the young women. The women were … empty. As if they did not care or notice, and one man complained it was not … satisfactory. The kind woman finally talked them into leaving, but the angry soldier dragged Shun away from the others. She was resisting, when no one else was. He threw her down in the snow. And he, he began to, he intended to rape her.”

Lant made a sound in the back of his throat. I glanced at him. His face was in his hands. Chade was as pale as chalk but silent.

“She was fighting back, but not with any hope of winning. And I, I was just watching it happen. As you watch snow fall or wind move in the trees. I am so ashamed to say that. Not a man of Withywoods objected or raised a hand to stop him. But suddenly Bee came running and threw herself on the man. He flung her aside, but Bee was shouting that she would die if they hurt Shun. And a whole swarm of the pale people attacked the soldier then and dragged him off Lady Shun.”

“Then she was not violated?” Chade barely had breath to push the words out.

Bulen looked at him. He flushed a deep scarlet and lowered his eyes in shame. “Then? No. But before then, or after they took her, I cannot say.” He lifted his gaze and met Chade's eyes with honest pain. “I consider it likely.”

Lant groaned aloud.

Chade rose abruptly. “A moment,” he said in a voice I did not recognize, and hurried out of the room.

“Lad.” Bulen spoke quietly. “Please forgive me for doubting you.”

Before Perseverance could speak, his mother let out a loud wail. “All I had left, and I turned you from my door! What would your father have said to me? Oh, son, son, whatever shall we do now? How shall we earn our bread?” She clutched at Perseverance and sobbed against him. The boy had gone pale. He gave me a look and then spoke to her bowed head.

“I've sworn myself to Badgerlock, Mother. I'll earn our keep. Only he's not Badgerlock. Grandfather was right. He is truly FitzChivalry Farseer and he's accepted me into his service. I will take care of you.”

“Truly?” It was Bulen who spoke. “He is truly FitzChivalry, the Witted … Farseer?” He near fell over his tongue dodging the word
bastard.

“He is,” Perseverance said proudly before I could think of a sufficient lie.

“He is,” Lant echoed. “But I thought it was to be kept always a secret.” He stared at me in consternation.

“It was an interesting Winterfest at Buckkeep Castle,” I said, and his eyes grew rounder.

“Then everyone knows?”

“Not in full.” But now they would. The woven lies of decades were suddenly unraveling. How much of the truth could I bear?

Before anyone could speak again, Chade walked back into the room. He looked cadaverous. His voice was hoarse and thick. “They seem to have struck first at the stables and then destroyed the messenger birds. We must now speak with anyone who may have survived that first part of the attack.” He cleared his throat. “Eventually, we will speak with everyone who endured this. But we must start at the beginning.”

Chade was true to his word. Long after I thought we had every bit of information that we could use, he continued to summon my folk to the study and offer them elfbark tea. In a soft conversation, we had decided against Thick's “remembering song.” The tea was working and we needed results more than we needed to experiment with the Skill. We took the safe road. Nettle's courier from Buckkeep arrived with the supply of the Outislander elfbark known as delvenbark from Chade's hoard. When my older and less potent stock gave out, Chade began to brew tea with the more virulent form of the herb. Even the smell of it made me giddy, and Thick left the study and would not return. Dixon returned with supplies from Withy and demanded to know how many folk the kitchen should expect for dinner. I was less patient with him than I might have been. Pragmatically, Chade and I decided that neither Dixon nor any of the kitchen staff were to be restored until after the evening meal was prepared and served.

The captain of the Rousters returned to report to us that no one they encountered on any of the main roads or even the lesser trails had any recollection of a troop of soldiers and several large sleighs. He was obviously disappointed that no one would claim Chade's reward but by that time, neither Chade nor I was surprised at his news. With every piece of evidence of how well they had planned their attack and escape, my heart sank. I was virtually certain the raiders were the Servants that the Fool had described. He had said they would stop for nothing in their quest for the Unexpected Son.

“So why take our daughters?” Chade demanded in an almost-quiet moment between victims of our tea.

I spoke aloud my best theory. “As hostages. They think we know where this other child is, and so they take our daughters to hold hostage. If I am correct, they will soon send some sort of a message, offering to exchange our children for the boy they seek.”

Chade shook his head. “They should have sent the message already, then. Or left it here for us to find. Why cover their tracks so well if they only wanted to frighten us? And why brutalize Shine, if they hope to sell her back to me? Why treat Bee like a princess and drag Shine off as if she were plunder?”

I had one other possible theory. “Bulen said they seemed to think Bee was the boy they sought. The Unexpected Son.”

He frowned at me in consternation. “You think that is possible? Does your daughter look like a boy?”

“Not to me,” I said tersely. Then I had to add, “But she is not fond of ruffles or lace. Nor is she the most feminine of little girls.” I thought of her in her tunic and leggings, with dirt on her knees. Her hair chopped short for mourning. “I'm going back to Buckkeep,” I announced, surprising even myself.

“Why?” Chade demanded.

“Because I need to talk to the Fool. I need to tell him what has happened here, describe the people involved, and see if he has any insights into what they might want and where they might take our daughters. I doubt you will wring much more from my folk.” I did not admit that I dreaded hearing what my kitchen servants would recall, especially little Elm. Several of the stablefolk had been reduced to incoherency when given the tea and allowed to recall what they had experienced. Families had been decimated by the silent slaughter in the stables. With each retainer re-woken to that horror, the susurrus of
forget, forget, forget
lessened. Even those who had not yet been dosed appeared uneasy now, and as each person who entered my study emerged weeping or silent or drained, the atmosphere of dread in the manor increased. When I left my study, I noticed servants staring at the damaged doors or slashed tapestries as they came to terms with what they had experienced, forgotten, and now recalled.

Chade cleared his throat, drawing my wandering attention back. “We will both return to Buckkeep. I suggest that after the evening meal we summon all the remaining servants and offer them the tea together. We can ask then for specific information about the appearance of the invaders and the fate of Shine and Bee. I doubt that we shall discover much that is new, but we would be foolish to ignore the chance that any one of them might hold one more hint of what we are up against.”

I resented that he was right. I longed to do something more than sit and listen to my people recount how they had been brutalized. I excused myself from the remainder of his tea parties, knowing that if he discovered anything of great significance, he would summon me. I checked on Thick to be sure he was occupied and comfortable, and found him with FitzVigilant. No. Lant, I reminded myself. A bastard, but never Vigilant's. The two were well known to each other from their time together at Buckkeep and I was pleased that Lant seemed genuinely fond of Thick. A somewhat subdued Lant was allowing Thick to draw on the wax tablets we had acquired for his students, and he was fascinated that he could scribe onto the surface and then watch it smoothed away.

I left them and moved slowly through Withywoods. Nowhere could I hide from the disaster that had befallen me. The faces of the servants I encountered were pale and troubled. The raiders had wantonly destroyed items too large to carry off with them. Blinded by forgetfulness, my people had not cleaned or repaired any of the damage. An arc of blood droplets on one wall spoke of someone's death; I did not even know whose.

My people and my home, I would have said at one time. I'd been proud of how I'd taken care of the folk here, paid them well, and treated them well. Now that illusion was as broken as a smashed egg. I'd failed to protect them. The pretty rainbow of rooms that we had restored for Bee and Shun seemed a useless vanity. The heart of my home had been stolen; I could not even bring myself to visit the mounded snow on Molly's grave. As a holder and as a father, I had failed miserably. I'd grown slovenly and careless, let my guard down so far that it had protected nothing at all. I could not distinguish the shame I felt from the fear that coiled and writhed in my guts. Was Bee alive and abused and terrified? Or dead and discarded in the snow at the edge of some seldom-used road? If they believed her the son and discovered she was a girl, how would they react? None of my answers to that question pleased me. Would they torment her before they killed her? Did they torture her even now, as they had tortured the Fool? I could not stand to consider those questions and I could not afford to focus on them.

I put people to work. It was the only exercise I knew that might occupy their minds as they absorbed what had been done to them. I visited the temporary quarters for what horses remained to us and found my stableworkers already mustering there. I spoke briefly of our losses, and listened longer to what they had to tell me. None of them faulted me, and somehow that woke the coals of my shame and guilt to a hotter fire. I told Cinch to step up to being stablemaster for Withywoods. He'd served under Tallerman, and I valued Perseverance's tight nod to my decision. I gave him the authority to send for carpenters and lumber, and to order the cleanup of the burnt building.

“We'll set a fire and burn what remains, then,” he informed me. “There are bodies of men in there, alongside the remains of creatures they cared for. We'll let them go to smoke and ash together, and this time as they burn, we'll remember well who they were.”

I thanked him. My hair had not grown much in the months since I'd sheared it for Molly's death; I could not even band it into a warrior's tail. But with my knife I cut as long a lock as I could from my scalp and gave it to Cinch, asking that he be sure it was burned when they torched the stable again. He took my emblem of mourning from me gravely and promised me it would burn alongside his own.

I asked for a keeper for the messenger birds, and a woman of perhaps fourteen years presented herself, saying it had been her parents' task and now it would be her own. A shy young man from the stables said he'd be certain to help her tidy the dovecote and she accepted his offer gratefully.

And so it went. Dixon was blithely forgetful still, but many of my household staff had begun to get back to work. By the time I returned to the manor, I found that several damaged tapestries had been removed, and the front entry doors temporarily repaired so that they could fully close.

The evening meal was a gloomy affair. The captain of the Rousters joined us at table with his lieutenant. Captain Stout was a match for me in years and had belatedly connected that Tom Badgerlock and FitzChivalry Farseer were one and the same. He surprised me by recalling my duties against the Forged during the Red-Ship Wars. “That was dirty, bloody work. Dangerous, too. I admired you then. Not always in the years that followed, but I always knew you had grit.” Plainspoken he was, and direct. He'd been commander of the Rousters for two years now and was well on the way to making something of them other than a band of brigands and horse thieves.

His lieutenant, Crafty, however, was a different sort of fellow. He seemed quite satisfied with himself and smiled and winked at every serving maid who ventured into the hall. For their part, they were either horrified or terrified at his flagrant flirtation, a reaction that at first seemed to puzzle and then insult him. The food set out was plain and simple, products of a greatly reduced larder, and the captain looked pained when Crafty observed that they were accustomed to better fare at Buckkeep Castle. I refrained from replying that we were accustomed to better manners at Withywoods. The serving staff moved awkwardly through their duties, scarcely able to keep their minds on their tasks, and I was quietly incensed to see Crafty's barely masked disdain for our rural hospitality.

But what followed was worse. We summoned everyone who served in Withywoods, tall or small, to gather in the Great Hall. There we brewed the elfbark tea in a great cauldron in the hearth. Those who had already imbibed stood grim-faced and silent, ready to offer comfort to those who would soon share what they knew. Tattered remnants of the Winterfest decorations, hung for a celebration that never had been, still dangled on the walls. I ordered spirits and ale and wine, not judging any who might wish to find courage in those. Chade, Thick, and I took seats at the high table. Lant and Bulen were placed in charge of ladling tiny servings of the potent tea into cups. Together they gravely bore the hard task of watching folk, one by one, transform from confused to grieved or shattered. Of each they asked two questions:
Do you recall anything that might identify the raiders?
And,
Did you see aught of Lady Shun or small Lady Bee?

Most of what we sieved from them was useless, or information we already had. One avaricious rapist was described to us in detail four times. So handsome, and so cruel. Golden hair worn in two long braids, blue eyes, and a finely trimmed mustache and beard. But it was an older man with dirty hands who stank that my kitchen maid remembered vividly. Little Elm became hysterical and the healer carried her off to a warmed bed and valerian tea laced with brandy, her mother tottering along beside her.

The Rousters and their officers withdrew to one end of the hall, with a keg of ale. Chade requested that the captain keep order among their men. Captain Stout seemed to grasp the situation, and sternly ordered his men not to mingle with the Withywoods folk. They obeyed, but even from a distance I was aware of their coarse humor and callous attitude toward my shattered people. War and hardship had hardened them; I understood that, but it did not mean that I wished to see my own folk mocked or disdained that they were not likewise hardened.

Was it only yesterday that I had stood in Buckkeep Castle and been hailed as Prince FitzChivalry, crowned with steel and welcomed home? And now, here in my own home, I listened to wailing and shrieks, or saw men struck dumb by the memory of what they had witnessed and done. Shepherd Lin stood before me and begged my forgiveness for how, at the bidding of the pleasant woman, he had helped to gather bodies and throw them into the flames. It shamed me to see the man so broken by what he had done under a magical influence. Chade confirmed with him that Shun had not been among those he had burned.

And so that long evening went. As the undercurrent of tiny Skill-voices muttering
forget, forget
faded, I was able to reach for Nettle. She locked her mind to mine, looked through my eyes, and heard with my ears the full tale of the woes of Withywoods. It was not long before I felt Riddle lending her strength, and soon Dutiful joined us, with Steady supporting the coterie. There was a thin comfort in opening my mind to theirs and letting them know all I had gleaned. I felt Nettle's agony at the uncertainty of Bee's fate, and Dutiful's fury that such a thing could happen within Buck, and no one the wiser. I felt a deep and agonized sorrow for the death of Revel and was surprised to sense it was Riddle's. I offered them no excuses for my failure. I had none. Like a travesty of Winterfest, the gathering was a dance of sorrow and horror, a feast of bitter tea and tears.

But all fires, of wood or grief, burn down to ashes eventually. The Great Hall emptied slowly. Folk returned to cottages or bedchambers, some emptier than they should have been. Some went drunk, some coldly sober. Even the Rousters eventually trundled drunkenly from my hall to their beds in the servants' wing. Lant sent Bulen to get what rest he could, and I firmly insisted that Perseverance return to his mother's cottage. “But I'm sworn to you now,” he insisted, and I had to tell him, “And I tell you where your duty is this night. Go.” At last only Chade and Lant and I remained. Thick had been long abed. The little man tired easily these days, and I had seen no reason to expose him to such pain. Chade and I sat together on a cushioned bench before the last of the fire. Lant sat morosely alone, staring into the dying flames.