The Complete Tawny Man Trilogy Omnibus (218 page)

… that our King-in-Waiting Chivalry is not at all the son whom King Shrewd supposed him to be. As you can well imagine, this has grieved my good husband beyond telling, but as ever, Prince Regal has done all in his power to be a comfort to his beloved father. It was my sad duty to inform both my lord and our wayward prince that in light of his besprinkling the countryside with bastards (for where there is one, can we doubt there are others?) my dukes of the Inland Duchies have expressed doubt as to Chivalry’s worthiness to follow his father as king. In light of that, Chivalry has been persuaded to step aside.

I have been less successful in persuading my lord that the presence of this by-blow at Buckkeep Castle is an affront to myself and every true married woman. He maintains that if the child is restricted to the stable and the stableman’s care, it should not concern the rest of us that this physical evidence of Lord Chivalry’s failing is ever flaunted before us. I have begged in vain for a more permanent solution …

Letter from Queen Desire to Lady Peony of Tilth

We had emerged from a crevice that overlooked a steep slope. My guardians laughed. Before I could deduce the reason, I flew through cold darkness, then hit frozen snow. I broke through the crust, found my balance and rolled to my feet. Darkness surrounded me and when I took a step, I stumbled, fell, slid, regained my feet, fell and slid some more. I was clad only in the wool robe and felted shoes the Pale Woman had given me. It was small protection. Snow found me and clung to me, melting on my sweaty face and then cooling swiftly. My left arm was a thing that flopped and flailed against
me. I finally found my footing and looked up and back whence I had come. Clouds obscured the night sky and the usual wind was blowing. I could not see any sign of an entry to the Pale Woman’s realm. I knew that the blowing snow would very soon obscure all trace of my tracks.

If I did not go back now, I’d never find it again.

If I went back there now, what good could I do? My left arm hung useless and I had no weapons at all.

But a stone dragon was slowly devouring the Fool.

I stood and staggered up the hill, trying to find my own trail where I had slid. The slope became too steep. I felt I was treading in place, making no uphill progress and all the while getting colder. I swung wide of my trodden trail and tried again to force my way up through the snow. The wool of the robe grew heavy with clinging snow and was no protection at all to my bared legs. I lost my balance, and holding my injured arm tight to my chest, fell and rolled downhill. For a time, I just lay there, panting. Then, as I struggled to my feet, I saw a tiny yellow light in the vale below me.

I stood and stared at it, trying to resolve what it was. It bobbed with the rhythm of a man walking. It was a lantern, and someone was carrying it. It could be one of the Pale Woman’s people. What worse could they do to me than what had been done? It might be someone from our camp. It might be a total stranger.

I lifted my voice and shouted through the wind. The lantern halted. I shouted again, and again, and suddenly the lantern began moving again. Toward me. I breathed a prayer, addressed to any god who would help me, and began a staggering slide down the hill. With every step I took, I slid three, and soon I was running, trying to leap through the snow to avoid sprawling face down in it. The lantern had halted at the bottom of the slope.

But, when I was almost close enough to make out the shape of the man holding it, the lantern resumed its bobbing motion. He was walking away and leaving me. I shouted, but he did not pause. A terrible sob welled up in me. I couldn’t go on any further by myself, and yet I must. My teeth were chattering, my whole body aching as the cold stiffened the bruises from my beating, and he was leaving me there. I staggered after him. I shouted twice more,
but the lantern didn’t pause. I tried to hurry, but I could not seem to get any closer to it. I reached the place where the light-bearer had briefly paused, and after that I followed his broken trail through the snow, finding the going a bit easier.

I don’t know how long I walked. The dark, the cold and the pain in my shoulder made it seem an endless trudge through night and wind. My feet hurt and then grew numb. My calves were scalded with the cold. I followed him across the face of a hill, and along a ridge, down into a dip, ploughing through deeper snow, and then began a long, slow climb across another slope. I could not feel my feet and did not know if my flimsy shoes were still on them or not. The robe slapped against me as I walked, whipping my calves with its frosty burden of clinging snow. And with every step I took, I knew the Fool was still shackled to the dragon, hunching wearily away from the stone that would, at a touch, plunder him of his humanity.

Then, miraculously, the swinging of the lantern stopped. Whoever my guide was, he was now awaiting me at the top of the ridge we had gradually ascended. I shouted again from my raw throat and redoubled my efforts. Closer I drew, and closer, bowing my head against a wind which was angrier along the ridge top. Then, as I again lifted my eyes to mark my progress, I saw clearly who held the lantern and awaited me.

It was the Black Man.

A nameless dread filled me, and yet, having followed him that far, what else was I to do but go on? I came closer, close enough that when he lifted the lantern, I could briefly make out the aquiline features inside his black hood. Then he set the lantern down by his feet and waited. I clutched my arm to my chest and staggered uphill doggedly. The light grew brighter, but I could no longer see the Black Man standing beside it. When I reached the lantern, I found it resting upon an outcrop of rock that protruded through the shallower snow on the windswept ridge.

The Black Man was gone.

I used my right arm to lower my left hand to my side as gently as I could. My shoulder screamed when my left arm dangled its full weight, but I gritted my teeth and ignored it. I picked up
the lantern and held it aloft and shouted. I saw nothing of the Black Man, only blowing snow. I trudged on, following his trail. It ended in a wind-scoured ridge of rock. But in the next valley, not far below me, I saw the dimly lit tents of our camp and I immediately abandoned all thoughts of the Black Man. Below were friends, warmth and possible rescue for the Fool. I staggered through the snow toward the tents, calling out Chade’s name. At my second shout, Longwick roared a challenge up at me.

‘It’s me, it’s Fitz. No, I mean, it’s Tom, it’s me!’ I doubt that he deciphered anything I said. I was hoarse from shouting and competing with the wind. I well recall my deep relief when I saw the other men stumbling from their tents and lanterns being kindled and held aloft. I staggered and slid down the hill toward them as they fanned out to meet me. I recognized Chade’s silhouette and then the Prince’s. There was no squat Thick amongst them, and I felt a sob build in my chest. Then I was finally within hearing of the line of men, breathlessly calling, ‘It’s me, it’s Tom, let me through, let me in, I’m so cold. Where is Thick, did you find Thick?’

From their midst a broad-shouldered man stepped forth, past Longwick who tried vainly to motion him back. He ran three strides toward me, and I took a deep, unbelieving breath of his scent just before he enfolded me in a bear hug. Despite the pain to my shoulder, I didn’t struggle. I dropped my head on his shoulder, and let him support me, feeling safer than I had in years. Suddenly, it seemed as if everything would be all right, as if everything could be mended. Heart of the Pack was here and he had never let us come to harm.

Over my bent head, Burrich spoke to Chade angrily. ‘Just look at him! I always knew I never should have trusted him to you. Never!’

In the chaos that had erupted, I stood still on my icy feet, ignoring the shouted questions around me. Burrich spoke by my ear. ‘Easy, lad. I’m here to take you home, both of you, you and my Swift. You should have come home years ago. What were you thinking? Whatever were you thinking?’

‘I have to kill the dragon,’ I told him. ‘As soon as possible. If I kill the dragon, she’ll let the Fool live. I have to cut off Icefyre’s head, Burrich. I must.’

‘If you must, then you will,’ he said comfortingly. ‘But not right this moment.’ Then, to Swift, ‘Stop gawking, boy. Fetch dry clothes and make food and hot tea for him. Quickly.’

I gratefully surrendered myself to the steady hands I had always trusted. He steered me through the cluster of staring men to the Prince’s tent, where my heart nearly broke with relief at the sight of Thick sitting up sleepily on his pallet. He looked none the worse for wear, and even seemed glad to see me until he was told he’d have to move his bed for the night to make room for me. He went off with Longwick in charge of him, but not graciously. Thick had Skilled to Chade and the Prince as soon as we’d vanished in the crevice and Chade had immediately sent Longwick and Cockle to fetch him back. He’d spent a miserable night sitting on the sled in the cold, with only his Skill-contact to sustain him. When his rescuers had reached him the next day, they’d found no sign of Lord Golden and me except for the sunken snow that had filled the crevasse.

I sat down, dazed with cold and exhaustion, on Chade’s bedding. Burrich spoke to me as he built up the little fire in the pot. His deep voice and the rhythm of his speech was a familiar comfort from my childhood. For a time I heard his voice without paying attention to the words, and then I realized he was reporting to me just as I had once reported to him. Once he had decided he must fetch Swift and me home, he had come as swiftly as he could, and he was sorry, so sorry that he had taken so long to find us. The Queen herself had helped him hire a boat to Aslevjal, but no man of the crew would willingly set foot on the island. When he had landed, he had tried to persuade Chade’s guards to guide him to us, but they had righteously refused to leave their tent on the beach and the supplies they guarded. And so he had come on by himself, following Peottre’s pennanted poles. He had reached Thick’s sled at almost the same time as Cockle and Longwick. Only their shouts of warning had prevented him from plunging into the same abyss that had claimed the Fool and me. Once he had found a safe crossing point, he had come back to the camp with Cockle and Longwick, bearing the news of the loss of Tom Badgerlock and Lord Golden. Chade had brought him to the privacy of the Prince’s tent, and
quietly told him that those names also belonged to the Fool and me. Burrich had journeyed all the way to Aslevjal, only to hear yet again of my death. His voice was impassive as he related this to me, as if his own pain at hearing such words were of no consequence. ‘I am glad to see they were wrong. Again.’ His hands were busy chafing my hands and feet back to painful life.

‘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 towards 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 harbours 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 grey. ‘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.’