Fool's Fate (70 page)

    “Thank you,” I said quietly when I could flex my hands again. There was too much to say to Burrich, and no privacy to say it in. So I looked at Chade and asked my most burning question. “How close are we to killing the dragon?”

    Chade came to sit beside me on his bed. “We are closer than when you vanished, but not close enough,” he said bitterly. “We were divided when you left. Now it's worse. We've been betrayed, Fitz. By a man we had all come to trust. Web sent his gull to Bingtown, bearing a message that tells the Traders everything, and bids them send Tintaglia to keep us from killing Icefyre.”

    I shifted my gaze to Dutiful and stared in disbelief. “You let him do this?”

    Dutiful sat on the end of his pallet, his dark eyes large in his face as he watched us. There were new lines in my prince's face, and his eyes were swollen as if he had wept freely in recent days. I scarce could bear to look at him.

    “He did not ask my permission,” Dutiful said painfully. “He said no man needs permission to do what is right.” He sighed. “Indeed, much has happened in the few days you were gone. In your absence, we continued to dig down into the ice. We reached a point where we could see a huge shadowy body below us. Realizing we had dug down to the torso of the creature, we began to tunnel out from the side of our pit, following the line of his back toward his head. It has been cramped work, but less difficult than excavating the entire area. We believe that what we can see below us now is the dragon's neck and part of his head. But the closer we came to him, the stronger grew the feeling of the Wit coterie that this is a creature which is not ours for the killing; that he harbors both life and intellect, although none of us can reliably sense him. My Old Bloods still dig alongside us each day, but I fear that they will side with the Hetgurd if I attempt to kill Icefyre.” He looked away from me, as if shamed that his trust had been betrayed. “Tonight, just before you came into camp, Web admitted to me that he had sent Risk. The contention was hot,” he said quietly.

    My hope for a swift end to the dragon waned. It required every bit of discipline I had ever been taught to recount my misadventure in detail and in order. Irrational shame burned me as I spoke of how I had walked away from Hest and Riddle. When I told them of the Fool's fate, and of his words about the Narcheska's mother and sister, Dutiful swayed where he sat. “At last, it all comes clear. Too late.”

    I knew he was right and despair claimed me anew. Even if I knew the way back, even if I could persuade them to muster our entire force and march on the Pale Woman's stronghold, we were too few. She could kill or Forge him in moments, and doubtless would. Nor could I hope to kill the dragon quickly and win his release. Clear the ice, and we must still get past the Hetgurd, our own Old Bloods, and perhaps Tintaglia.

    The Pale Woman's promise that he would not die was a thinly disguised threat. The Fool would be Forged. To me would fall the task of taking what remained of his life. I could not contemplate it.

    “If we went by stealth to the pit, could we kill Icefyre? In secret? Tonight?” It was the only plan I could think of.

    “Impossible,” the Prince said. His face and his voice were gray. “The ice between him and us is too thick. There are days of pick-and-shovel work ahead of us before we reach his flesh. And before then, I fear Tintaglia will be here.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “My quest has failed. I put my trust in the wrong place.”

    I looked at Chade. “How much time do we have?” How much time does the Fool have?

    He shook his head. “How fast can a gull fly? How swiftly will the Bingtown Traders react to Web's message? How fast can a dragon fly? No one knows those things. But I think the Prince is right. We have lost.”

    I gritted my teeth. “There is more than one way to move ice,” I said and looked at Chade meaningfully. The old man's eyes lit. But before he could reply, Swift's voice was lifted outside the tent.

    “Sir! I've brought Tom Badgerlock's pack, and food will follow. May I come in?”

    Dutiful nodded at Burrich, and he moved to beckon his son inside.

    The boy came in. His bow to his prince was stiffly formal and he did not look at his father or me. It pained me to see how the division between the Prince and his Wit coterie tore the boy. At Burrich's command Swift dug through my pack to pull out dry clothing for me. The lad did not seem well disposed toward his father, but he obeyed him. Burrich saw me observing them, and after the boy had left, he said quietly, “Swift was not exactly glad to see me when I got here. I didn't give him the thrashing he merited, but he's had the length of my tongue several times. He's not said much in reply, for he knew he deserved it. Here. Take off that wet robe.”

    As I struggled to pull up my leggings, Burrich suddenly leaned into the light, peering at me with his clouded eyes. “What's the matter with you? What's wrong with your arm?”

    “It's pulled out of the socket,” I choked out. My throat had closed up at the sight of his eyes. I wondered how much he could see anymore. How had he come to find us here, walking with clouded eyes across the snow?

    He closed his eyes and shook his head. Then, “Come here,” he said tersely. He turned me, and sat me down on the floor at his feet. His fingers walked my shoulder, and the pain they woke was oddly reassuring. He knew what he was doing. I knew it would hurt, but that he would also mend me. I could sense that from his fingers, just as I had when I was a boy, just as I had felt when he restored me after Galen had nearly killed me.

    “We've brought the food. May we come in?”

    The voice outside the tent was Web's. The Prince nodded curtly, his mouth a flat line, and again Burrich lifted the door flap. As Web entered, he greeted me with “It's good to see you alive, Tom Badgerlock.” I nodded gravely, not trusting myself to find words. He met my eyes and accepted my hostility. The Prince looked aside from the man, his hurt plain in every line of his body. Chade glowered at him. Web's expression remained as kindly and calm as ever.

    The small kettle he carried smelled like good beef rather than the fish I'd been expecting. Swift was behind him with a pot of tea. They crowded into the tent to set their burdens down within my reach.

    Burrich continued to investigate my shoulder as if they were not there. He ignored Web, but the Witmaster watched Burrich intently. When Burrich spoke, it was to Dutiful. “Prince Dutiful, my lord. You could be of great help to me right now, if you would. I'll need someone to hold him firmly round the chest and brace him while I do what must be done. If you would sit there, and lock your arms around him...Higher. Like so.”

    The Prince came to Burrich's request and sat behind me. When Burrich had arranged the Prince's grip around me to his liking, he spoke to me. “This is going to take a sharp tug. Don't look at me while I do it. Look straight ahead, and be as loose as you can. Don't tighten in fear for the pain to come or I'll only have to jerk it harder the second time. Steady. Hold him firm, my lord. Trust me, now, lad. Trust me.” As he spoke calmingly, he'd been slowly lifting my arm. I listened to his words, letting them drown out the pain, his touch filling me with calm and trust. “Be easy, be easy, and...Now!”

    I roared with the sudden shock, and in the next instant, Burrich was on his knee on the floor beside me, his big callused hands holding my arm firmly to my shoulder. It tingled and it hurt, but it hurt the right way, and I leaned against him, weak with the relief of it. Even as I panted, I noticed how he held his game leg out at an angle, the knee scarce bending. I thought of what it had cost him to come all this way, near blind and half-lame, and I felt humbled.

    He spoke quietly into my ear as he embraced me. “You're a man grown, all these many years, but when I see you hurt, I swear, you are eight years old and I'm thinking, 'I promised his father I'd look after his son. I promised.' ”

    “You did,” I assured him. “You have.”

    Web spoke quietly, his voice deep. “I stand amazed. That is a bit of Old Blood magic I thought was lost to us. I saw that kind of healing done on animals a few times when I was a lad, before old Bendry died in the Red Ship War. But I've never seen it used that way on a man, nor so smoothly. Who taught you? Where have you been all these years?”

    “I don't use Beast Magic,” Burrich said emphatically.

    “I know what I just saw,” Web replied implacably. “Call it by any dirty name you like. You're a master of it, in a way that is near lost to us. Who taught you, and why have not you passed on the teaching?”

    “No one taught me anything. Get out. And stay away from Swift.” There was dark threat in Burrich's words, and almost fear.

    Web remained calm. “I'll leave, for I think Fitz needs quiet, and a time for private speech with you. But I'll not let your son walk in ignorance. He gets his magic from you. You should have taught him your skills with it.”

    “My father has the Wit?” Swift looked shocked to his core.

    “It all makes sense now,” Web said quietly. He leaned toward Burrich, looking at him in a way that went beyond the touch of eyes. “The Stablemaster. And a master in the Wit, as well. How many creatures can speak to you? Dogs? Horses? What else? Where did you come from, why have you hidden yourself?”

    “Get out!” Burrich flared.

    “How could you?” Swift demanded, suddenly in tears. “How could you make me feel so dirty and low, when it came from you, when you had it, too? I'll never forgive you. Never!”

    “I don't need your forgiveness,” Burrich said flatly. “Only your obedience, and I'll take that if I have to. Now both of you, out. I've work to do and you're in my way.”

    The boy set down the teapot blindly and stumbled from the tent. I could hear the sobs that wracked him as he ran off into the night.

    Web rose more slowly, setting the kettle of soup down carefully. “I'll go, man. Now isn't our time. But our time to talk is going to come, and you'll hear me out, even if we must come to blows first.” Then he turned to me. “Good night, Fitz. I'm glad you're not dead. I mourn that Lord Golden did not return with you.”

    “You know who he is?” The words were torn from Burrich.

    “Yes. I do. And by him, I know who you are. And I know who used the Wit to pull him back from death and raise him from the grave. And so do you.” Web left on those words, letting the tent flap fall behind him.

    Burrich stared after him, then blinked his clouded eyes. “That man is a danger to my son,” he observed tightly. “It may come to blows between us.” Then, he seemed to dismiss that concern. Turning his head toward Chade and Dutiful, he said, “I need a strip of cloth or a leather strap or something to bind his arm to his shoulder for the night, until the swelling goes down and it holds firm on its own. What do we have?” Dutiful held up the robe the Pale Woman had given me. Burrich nodded in approval and Dutiful began cutting a strip off the bottom of it.

    “Thank you.” And then, to me, “You can eat with your right hand while I'm doing this. The hot food will warm you. Just try not to move too much.”

    Dutiful gave Burrich the strip of fabric and began dishing the soup from the kettle to a bowl and pouring tea for me as if he were my page. He spoke as he did so, and yet I do not think the words were addressed to anyone. “There is nothing more I can do here. I try to think what I am to do, but nothing comes to me.” A time of quiet followed his words. I ate and Burrich worked on my shoulder. When he had finished strapping my arm to my body, he sat back on the pallet, his game leg stretched out awkwardly before him. Chade looked as if he had aged a decade. He had been pondering the Prince's words, for he said slowly, “There are several paths you can take, my prince. We could simply leave tomorrow. That tempts me, I'll admit, if only for the prospect of abandoning all those who deceived and betrayed us. But it would be a petty vengeance, and in the end would win us nothing. Another choice is that we could fall in with Web's plan, and do all we can to free the dragon, abandoning our hopes of an alliance with the Out Islands, and hoping instead to win the goodwill of Tintaglia and the Bingtown Traders.”

    “Deserting the Fool,” I added quietly.

    “And Riddle and Hest. Abandoning Elliania's mother and sister, and breaking the word that I gave. Breaking my word, before not just my own dukes, but before the Outislanders as well.” He crossed his arms on his chest, looking ill. “A fine king I shall make.”

    “Abandoning the Fool cannot be helped,” Chade said. He spoke the words as gently as he could and yet they stabbed me. “Leaving behind Elliania's relatives and breaking your word can be forgiven, for they used deception to win your promise. As in so many things, much will depend on how it is presented.”

    Dutiful sounded subdued. “Deception. What would we have done? Elliania's mother and her little sister. No wonder there is so much sorrow in her eyes. And that is why our betrothal ceremony at her mothershouse was so odd, and why her mother has been absent through all our negotiations. I thought Forging was an evil in the past. I never thought it would reach out and touch my life today.”

    “But it has. And it explains much of Peottre's and the Narcheska's behavior,” Chade added.

    I flung all discretion to the winds. There was too much at stake for me to sit still through Chade's laborious plotting of possible courses. “We go now, tonight, Dutiful and I only, in secrecy. Chade has created an exploding powder, one that has the force of a lightning bolt. We use it to kill the dragon. We will get our people back, one way or another, from her. And when they are safe”--dead, I thought to myself coldly--“then I will find a way to get to her and kill her.”

    Chade and the Prince stared at me. Then Chade nodded slowly. The Prince looked as if he wondered who I was.

    “Think!” Burrich barked at me suddenly. “Think it through for yourself, with no assumptions. There is much here that makes no sense to me, questions that you should answer before you blindly do her wishes, regardless of what threat she holds over you. Why hasn't she simply killed the dragon herself? Why does she bid you do it, and then cast you out of her stronghold, when it would be easier for her to assist you in reaching him?” In an aside to no one, he muttered, “I hate this. I hate thinking this way, the intrigue and the plotting. I always have.” He stared blindly into the recesses of the dim tent. “All these intricate balances of power, ambition, and the Farseer drive to set forces in motion and ride them out. All the secrets. That is what killed your father, the finest man I ever knew. It killed his father, and it killed Verity, a man I was proud to have served. Must it kill yet another generation, must it end your whole line before you stop it?” He turned his gaze, and suddenly seemed to see the Prince. “End it, my lord. I beg you. Even at the cost of the Fool's life, even at the cost of your betrothal. End it now. Cut your losses, which are already far too high. Death is all you can buy for the Narcheska's family. Walk away from all of it. Leave here, sail home, marry a sensible woman, and have healthy children. Leave this woeful cup to the Outislanders who brewed it. Please, my prince, blood of my dearest friend. Leave this. Let us go home.”