Golden Fool (41 page)

Amidst it all, my queen stood still and tall, silently regarding her son. I saw Chade’s mouth move as if he offered some quiet bit of counsel to her. She only sighed. I suspected I knew what he had said. Too late to change it; the Six Duchies must follow through on the Prince’s thrust. To one side of them, Peottre was struggling to mask his deep dismay. And before them, the Prince and the Narcheska still stood, their eyes locked in duel.

The Queen spoke, her voice low, the first words intended only to quell the sound in the hall. “My guests and my lords and ladies. Hear me, please.”

The uproar died slowly, ending with the thumping at the Outislander table that gradually slowed and ceased. Kettricken took a deep breath and I saw resolve firm her features. She turned, not to Arkon Bloodblade and his table, but to where she knew the true power resided now. She looked toward the Narcheska, but I knew her focus was actually on Peottre Blackwater. “It seems we now have a firm agreement. Prince Dutiful is hereby affianced to the Narcheska Elliania Blackwater of the God’s Runes. Providing that Prince Dutiful can bring to her the head of the black dragon Icefyre. And providing that Narcheska Elliania accompany him to witness the doing of this task.”

“BE IT SO!” roared out Arkon Bloodblade, unaware that the decision had never been his to make.

Peottre nodded twice, grave and silent. And to my queen, the Narcheska Elliania turned and lifted her chin. “Be it so,” she agreed quietly, and the deed was done.

“Bring in the food and wine!” the Queen commanded suddenly. It was not at all the proper way the meal should have been commanded, but I suspected she needed to sit down, and that a glass of wine to fortify her would be welcome. I was trembling myself, not just in fear of what must eventually come of this but from the thundering pain that Dutiful had inflicted on me in the course of severing my power over him. The minstrels struck up suddenly at a signal from Chade as the serving folk flooded into the hall. All resumed their seats, even Starling the Minstrel, stepping gracefully from the tabletop into her husband’s waiting arms. He swung her to the floor, infected with the court’s heady elation. It seemed whatever their quarrel had been, it was mended now.

As if Dutiful sensed me wondering at how he had freed himself of my Skill command, the Prince swept suddenly into my skull.
Tom Badgerlock. You will answer to me later for this.
As abruptly, he was gone. When I falteringly reached after him, he was simply unavailable to me. I knew he was there, but I could not find a handle to open his mind to mine. I drew a deep breath. This did not bode well. He was angry with me, and quite likely the trust between us was badly damaged. It would not make teaching him any easier. I pulled my blanket more tightly around my shoulders.

Below, in the hall, only the Bingtown Traders were subdued. Their talk was quiet and confined to their own group. Even so, it did not prevent them from filling their plates and their glasses generously. Alone amongst them, Selden Vestrit sat, seemingly in deep thought. His plate and his glass were empty and he seemed to stare at nothing.

But at every other table, the talk was lively and the eating as ravenous as if they were men-at-arms fresh returned from battle. The excitement in the hall was palpable, as was the sense of triumph. It was done. For now, at least, the Six Duchies and the Out Islands had a firm understanding with one another. The Queen had done it, well, yes, and the Prince, and the glances that were tossed his way seemed more appraising of him than previously. Obviously, this lad was proving himself spirited, to both his lords and ladies, and to the Outislander folk.

The guests in the hall settled down to their meat and drink. A minstrel struck up a lively tune, and the talk subsided as folk began to eat. I opened the bottle of wine I had brought with me. From my folded napkin, I took bread and meat and cheese. The ferret miraculously appeared at my elbow, his tiny paws on my knee. I broke off a piece of meat for him.

“A toast!” someone shouted in the hall. “To the Prince and the Narcheska!”

A lusty cheer followed the words.

I raised my bottle, grinned grimly, and drank.

chapter
XIV

SCROLLS

Owan, a fisherman, lived on the rune island called Fedois. His wife’s mothers’ house was of wood and stone, and stood well above the tide line, for tides can run both exceedingly high and very low in that place. It was a good place. There were clams on the beach to the north, and enough pasturage below the glacier that his wife could keep three goats of her own in a flock of many, even though she was a younger daughter. She bore for them two sons and a daughter, and all helped him fish. They had enough and it should have been enough for him. But it was not.

From Fedois, on a clear day, a keen-eyed man can see Aslevjal with its glacier glinting blue beneath the azure sky. Now all know that when the lowest tide of the winter season comes, a boat can venture under the glacier’s skirts and find a way to the heart of the island. There, as all know, the dragon sleeps with a hoard of treasure scattered about him. Some say a bold man can go there and ask a favor of Icefyre as he sleeps locked in the glacier’s cold, and some say it is only a man both greedy and foolish who would do such a thing. For it is told that Icefyre will give such a man not only what he asks, but what he deserves, and that is not always good luck and gold. To visit Icefyre by that path, a man must go swift, waiting for the tide to lower away from the ice, and then darting under it as soon as his boat will slide between the water and the icy roof. Once in that cold sapphire place, he must count the beats of his own pulse, for if he tarries too long, the tide will return to grind him and his boat between water and ice. And that is not the worst thing that can befall a man who ventures there. Few are there who tell the tale of visiting that place, and even fewer are truthful men.

Owan knew this well, for his mother had told him, and so had his wife and his wife’s mother. “No call have you to go begging at the dragon’s door,” they warned him. “For you will get no better of Icefyre than would an impudent beggar that came to our own door.” Even his younger son knew this was so, and he was a lad of only six winters. But his older son had seventeen years, and his heart and his loins burned hot for Gedrena, daughter of Sindre of the Linsfall mothers. She was a rich bride, high above choosing the son of a fisherman for her mate. So his older son buzzed in Owan’s ear like a gnat by night, whining and humming that if they had the courage to visit Icefyre, they both could be the richer for it.

—
OUTISLANDER SCROLL,
“
ICEFYRE
’
S LAIR
”

The following morning, the Outislanders departed, sailing with the dawn tide. I didn’t envy them their trip. The day was rough and cold, spray flying from the tips of the waves. Yet they seemed to make little of the harsh weather, accepting it as routine. I heard that there was a procession down to the docks, and a formal farewell as Elliania boarded the ship that would carry her back to the God’s Runes. Dutiful bent over her hand and kissed it. She curtsied to him and to the Queen. Then Bloodblade made his formal farewells, followed by his nobles. Peottre was the last to bid good-bye to the Farseers. He was also the one who escorted the Narcheska aboard the ship. They all stood on the deck to wave as the ship was pulled out of the harbor. I think the folk who went to witness it were disappointed that there were no last-minute dramatics. Almost, it was a calm following a storm. Perhaps Elliania was still too dazed from the previous evening’s late night and cataclysmic agreements to present any final hurdles.

I knew that a quiet meeting of the Queen and Chade with Blackwater and Bloodblade had followed the formal banquet. It had been hastily arranged and lasted into the early hours of the morning. The behavior of the wayward Prince and Narcheska had doubtless been discussed, but more important, the Prince’s quest had now metamorphosed into but one element of an extended visit to the Out Islands. Chade told me later that the slaying of the questionable dragon had not been discussed so much as the schedule for the Prince to meet not only the Hetgurd of the Out Islands but to visit the motherhouse of Elliania’s family. The Hetgurd was a loose alliance of headmen and tribal chiefs who functioned more as trade negotiators than any sort of a government. Elliania’s motherhouse was a different matter. Chade told me later that Peottre had seemed very uneasy when Blackwater had calmly assumed that it must be a part of Dutiful’s visit to the Out Islands, almost as if he would have refused it if he could. The Prince and his entourage would depart for the Out Islands in the spring. My private response to that was that it gave Chade precious little time for his information-gathering.

I was not a witness to that hastily convened negotiation, nor to any of the farewell events. Lord Golden, much to Chade’s annoyance, still begged off from any public appearances, citing his health. I was just as glad not to go. I was cramped and stiff from an evening spent wedged in a wall peering through a spyhole. A nice stormy ride down to Buckkeep Town and back was not alluring.

In the wake of the departure of the Outislanders, many of the lesser lords and ladies of the Six Duchies began to leave the court also. The festivities and occasions of the Prince’s betrothal were over, and they had many stories to share with the folks at home. Buckkeep Castle emptied out like an upended bottle. The stables and servants’ quarters suddenly became roomier, and life settled into a quieter winter routine.

To my dismay, the Bingtown Traders lingered on. This meant that Lord Golden continued to keep to his rooms lest he be recognized, and that at any hour I might encounter Jek visiting with him. Propriety meant nothing to her. She had grown up rough, the daughter of fisherfolk, and had kept the carefree ways of that people. Several times I met her in the halls of Buckkeep Castle. Always she grinned at me and gave me a jovial good-day. Once, when our steps were carrying us in the same direction, she thumped me on the arm and told me not to be so somber all the time. I made some neutral reply to that, but before I could get away, she clamped her hand on my forearm and drew me to one side.

She glanced all about us to be sure the hall was deserted and then spoke in a low voice. “I suppose this will get me into trouble, but I can’t stand to see the two of you like this. I refuse to believe you don’t know ‘Lord Golden’s secret.’ And knowing it—” She paused a moment, then said quietly and urgently, “Open your eyes, man, and see what could be yours. Don’t wait. Love such as you could have doesn’t—”

I cut her off before she could say anything more. “Perhaps ‘Lord Golden’s secret’ is not what you think it is. Or perhaps you have lived among Jamaillians for too long,” I suggested, offended.

At my sour look, she had only laughed. “Look,” she said, “you might as well trust me. ‘Lord Golden’ has, for years now. Believe in my friendship for both of you, and know that, like you, I can keep a friend’s secrets, when they deserve to be kept.” She turned her head and regarded me as a bird looks at a worm. “But some secrets beg to be betrayed. The secret of undeclared love is like that. Amber is a fool not to voice her feelings for you. It does neither of you any good to ignore such a secret.” She stared into my eyes earnestly, her hand still gripping my wrist.

“I don’t know what secret you refer to,” I replied stiffly, even as I wondered uneasily just how many of my secrets the Fool had shared with her. At that moment, two serving maids appeared at the end of the hall and continued toward us, gossiping merrily.

She had dropped my wrist, sighed for me and shaken her head in mock pity. “Of course you don’t,” she replied, “and you won’t even see what is put right on the table before you. Men. If it was raining soup, you’d be out there with a fork.” She slapped me on the back, and then our ways parted, much to my relief.

After that, I began to long to have things out with the Fool. Like an aching tooth, I jiggled over and over what I would say to him. The frustration was that he excluded me from his bedchamber, even as he seemed to welcome Jek in for private talks. Not that I rapped at his door and demanded entrance. I had been maintaining a sullen silence toward him, waiting hungrily for him to demand just what ailed me. The problem was that he did not. He seemed focused elsewhere; it was as if he did not notice my silence or my surliness. Is there anything more provoking than waiting for someone to open the lowering quarrel? My mood became ever darker. That Jek believed the Fool was some woman named Amber did nothing to soothe my irritation. It only made the situation ever more bizarre.

In vain, I tried to distract myself with other mysteries. Laurel was gone. In the dwindling days of winter, I had noticed her absence. My discreet inquiries as to where the Huntswoman was had led me to rumors that she had gone to visit her family. Under the circumstances, I doubted that. When bluntly asked, Chade informed me that it was not my concern if the Queen had decided to send her Huntswoman out of harm’s way. When I asked where, he gave me a scathing look. “What you don’t know is less danger for you and for her.”

“And is there more danger, then, that I should know of?”

He considered a moment before answering, then sighed heavily. “I don’t know. She begged a private audience with the Queen. What was said there, I don’t know, for Kettricken refuses to tell me. She gave some foolish promise to the Huntswoman that it would remain a secret between the two of them. Then, Laurel was gone. I don’t know if the Queen sent her away, or if she asked permission to leave, or if she simply fled. I have told Kettricken that it is not wise to leave me uninformed about this. But she will not budge from her promise.”

I thought of Laurel as I had last seen her. I suspected she had gone forth to fight the Piebalds in her own way. What that could be, I had no idea. But I feared for her. “Have we had any word about Laudwine and his followers?”

“Nothing that we know is absolutely true. But three rumors might as well be the truth, as the saying goes. And there are plentiful rumors that Laudwine has recovered from the injury you dealt him, and that he will once more take up the reins of power over the Piebalds. The closest we have to good news is that some may dispute his right to lead them. We can only hope that he has problems of his own.”

And so I hoped, fervently, but in my heart I did not believe it.

There was little to lighten my life elsewhere. The Prince had not come to the Skill tower on the morning of the Narcheska’s departure. I thought little of that. He had had a late night, and his presence was demanded early on the docks. But on the two mornings since then, I had waited in vain for him. I arrived at our appointed hour, I waited, laboring over scroll translations alone, and then I left. He sent me no word of explanation. After simmering in my own anger through the second morning, I made a firm decision that I would not contact him. It was, I told myself firmly, not my place. I tried to put myself in the Prince’s skin. How would I have felt if I had found that Verity had given me a Skill command to be loyal? I knew too well how I felt about Skillmaster Galen fogging my mind and masking my Skill talent from me. Dutiful had a right to both his anger and his royal contempt of me. I’d let them run their course. When he was ready, I’d give him the only explanation I could: the truth. I had not meant to bind him to obey me, only to keep him from attempting to kill me. I sighed at the thought and bent over my work again.

It was evening and I was sitting up in Chade’s tower. I had been there since afternoon, waiting for Thick. It was yet another meeting that he had missed. As I had pointed out to Chade, there was little he or I could do if the half-wit would not voluntarily come to meet me. Still, I had not wasted my time. In addition to several of the older and more obscure Skill scrolls that we were deciphering piecemeal, Chade had given me two old scrolls that dealt with Icefyre, the God’s Runes’ dragon. They both dealt with legends, but he hoped I could sift whatever seed of truth had begun them. He had already dispatched spies to the Out Islands. One had sailed secretly aboard the Narcheska’s vessel, ostensibly working his way across to visit relatives there. His true mission was to reach Aslevjal, or at least to discover as much about that isle as could be learned, and to report back to Chade with it. The old man feared that having committed himself to the quest, Dutiful must actually go. But he was determined the Prince would go well prepared and well accompanied. “I myself may go with him,” Chade had informed me at our last chance encounter in the tower. I had groaned, but managed to keep it a silent one. He was too old for such a trip. By an amazing effort of will, I managed to keep those words to myself also. For I knew what would follow any protest: “Who, then, do you think I should send?” I was no more in favor of visiting Aslevjal myself than I was for Chade going. Or Prince Dutiful, for that matter.

I pushed the Icefyre scroll to one side and rubbed my eyes. It was interesting, but I doubted that anything there was going to prepare the Prince for his quest. From what I knew of our stone dragons, even from what the Fool had told me of the Bingtown dragons, it seemed highly unlikely to me that there was a dragon asleep in a glacier on an Outislander isle. Far more likely that a “slumbering dragon” was fancifully blamed for earthquakes and glaciers calving. Besides, I’d had enough of dragons for a time. The more I worked on the scroll, the more troubling thoughts of the veiled Bingtowner menaced my sleep. Yet I could wish those were my only concerns.