Читать книгу Fool’s Fate - Робин Хобб - Страница 15

This is how it was. Eda and El coupled in the darkness, but he did not find favour with her. Then she gave birth to the land, and the outrush of her waters which accompanied that birth was the sea. The land was shapeless, clay and still, until Eda took it in her hands. One at a time, she moulded the runes of her secret name, and El’s too, did she fashion. She spelled out the god name with the God’s Runes, setting them in careful order in the ocean. And all this El watched.

But when he would have taken up clay of his own to fashion his own runes, Eda would not give any over to him. ‘You gave me but a rush of fluid from your body as seed to make all this. The flesh of it came from me. So take back only what was yours to start with, and be content with it.’

El was little content with that. So he made for himself men, and gave them ships and put them on the sea’s face. Laughing to himself, he said, ‘There are too many for her to watch them all. Soon they will walk on her land and shape it to my liking, so it spells my name instead of hers.’

But Eda had already thought before him. And when El’s men came to land, they found Eda’s women, already walking on it and ordering the growing of fruit and grain and the proliferation of the cattle. And the women would not suffer the men to shape the lands, nor even to abide on them for long. Instead, the women said to the men, ‘We will let you give us the brine of your loins, with which we will shape flesh to follow ours. But never will the land that Eda bore belong to your sons, but only to our daughters.’

Birth of the World, as told by Out Island bards

Despite Chade’s misgivings, Web’s bird had shown him accurately what we could expect. The next morning, the lookout cried out his sighting, and by afternoon the nearest islets of the Out Islands were streaming past on our port side. Green banked islands, tiny houses and small fishing vessels enlivened a view that had been watery for too long. I tried to convince Thick to rise and come on deck to see how close we were to the end of our journey but he refused to be tempted. When he spoke, his words were slow and measured. ‘It won’t be home,’ he moaned. ‘We’re too far from home, and we’ll never get back there again. Never.’ Coughing, he turned away from me.

Yet even his sour attitude could not dampen my relief. I convinced myself that once he was on shore, he would regain both his health and spirits. The knowledge that we were close to getting off that cramped vessel made every moment stretch into a day. It was only the next afternoon that we sighted Zylig, but it seemed a month had passed. When small boats rowed out to greet us and guide our ships through the narrow channel to their harbour, I longed to be on deck with Chade and Prince Dutiful.

Instead, I paced the Prince’s cabin, staring out at the frustrating view from the aft windows. I could hear our captain bellowing and the thunder of the sailors’ feet on the deck. Chade and Prince Dutiful and his contingent of nobles and his Witted coterie were all up on the deck, looking on as the ship approached Zylig. I felt like a dog chained in the kennel while the hounds streamed off to the hunt. I felt the change in the ship’s movements as our canvas was lowered and the towlines of our pilot boats took up their slack. When they had us in position, the Out Island guides brought us about so that our stern now faced Zylig. As I heard the splash of our anchor, I stared restlessly out at the foreign city that awaited us. The other Six Duchies ships were being manoeuvred into anchorage nearby.

I do not think there is anything so ponderously slow as a ship coming into port, save perhaps the process of unloading. Suddenly the water about us swarmed with small craft, their oars dipping and rising as if they were many-legged water bugs. One, grander than the rest, soon bore Prince Dutiful, Chade, a selected entourage and a handful of his guards away from the ship. I watched them go, certain they had forgotten about Thick and me. Then there was a tap at the door. It was Riddle, freshly attired in his guard’s uniform. His eyes shone with excitement.

‘I’m to watch your half-wit while you get yourself ready. There’s a boat waiting to take you and him and the rest of the guard ashore. Step lively now. Everyone else is ready to go.’

So they had not forgotten me, but neither had they served me with much warning of their plans. I took Riddle at his word, leaving him with Thick while I went below. The guards’ area was deserted. The others had donned their clean uniforms as soon as we’d approached harbour. Those who hadn’t accompanied the Prince lined the railing on deck, eager to be away. I changed swiftly and hurried back to the Prince’s quarters. Harrying Thick into clean clothing was not going to be pleasant or easy, but when I arrived, I found that Riddle had already undertaken that task.

Thick swayed on the edge of his bunk. His blue tunic and trousers hung on his wasted frame. Until I saw him dressed, I had not realized how much flesh he had lost. Riddle knelt by the bunk, good-naturedly trying to chivvy him into his shoes. Thick was moaning feebly and making vaguely helpful motions. His face was crumpled with misery. If I had doubted it at all before, I was now certain that Riddle was one of Chade’s men. No ordinary guardsman would have undertaken that task.

‘I’ll finish that,’ I told him, and could not keep the brusqueness from my voice. I could not have said why I felt protective of the small man looking at me blearily from his little round eyes, but I did.

‘Thick,’ I told him as I finished getting his shoes on. ‘We’re going ashore. Once we’re on solid ground again, you’re going to feel much better. You’ll see.’

‘No, I won’t,’ he promised me. He coughed again and the rattle in it frightened me. Nonetheless, I found a cloak for him and heaved him to his feet. He staggered along beside me as we left the cabin. Out on the deck in the fresh wind for the first time in days, he shivered and clutched his cloak tightly around him. The sun shone brightly, but the day was not as warm as a summer day in Buck. Snow still owned the peaks of the higher hills, and the wind carried its chill to us.

The Outislanders provided our transportation to shore. Getting Thick from the deck into the dancing boat below required both Riddle and myself. I silently cursed at those guards who laughed at our predicament. At their oars, the Outislanders discussed us freely in their own tongue, unaware that I understood the disdain they expressed for a Prince who chose an idiot as his companion. Once settled on the seat beside Thick, I had to put my arm around him to settle him against the terrors of a small, open boat. He wept, the round tears rolling down his cheeks as our little dory rose and fell with every passing wave. I blinked at the bright sunlight glancing off the moving water and stared stolidly at the wharves and houses of Zylig as the straining sailors rowed us to our destination.

It was not an inspiring view. Peottre Blackwater’s disdain for the city was not misplaced. Zylig offered all the worst aspects of a lively port. Wharves and docks jutted haphazardly into the bay. Vessels of every description crowded them. Most were fat-hulled, greasy whale-hunters, with a permanent reek of oil and butchery clinging to them. A few were merchanters from the Six Duchies. I saw one that looked Chalcedean and one that could have been Jamaillian. Moving amongst them were the small fishing boats that daily fed the bustling town, and even smaller craft that were hawking smoked fish, dried seaweed and other provisions to the outward bound vessels. Masts forested the skyline and the docked ships grew taller as we approached them.

Beyond them, I caught glimpses of warehouses, sailors’ inns and supply stores. Stone structures predominated over wood. Narrow streets, some little more than trails, meandered amongst the crowded little buildings. At one end of the bay where the water ran shallower and rocky, unfit for anchorage, little stone houses clustered by the water. Rowing-boats were pulled out above the tide-line, and spread fish hung like laundry drying from poles. Smoking fires in trenches beneath the fish added flavour as it preserved the catch. I glimpsed a pack of children racing along the beach, shrieking raucously in some wild game.

The section of the town we were approaching seemed recently built. In contrast to the rest of the settlement, the streets were wide and straight. Timber supplemented the native stone, and most of the structures were taller. Some had windows of swirled glass in the upper storeys. I recalled hearing that the Six Duchies dragons had visited this port city, bringing death and destruction to our enemies. The structures in this area were all of an age, the streets straight and well cobbled. It was strange to see this orderly section amongst the haphazard port town and wonder what it had looked like before Verity as Dragon had paid a call here. Stranger still to think that the destruction of war could result in such rebuilt tidiness.

Above the harbour, the land rose in rocky hillsides. Dark evergreens hunched in sheltered areas. Cart tracks wound among the hillsides where sheep and goats grazed. Smoke wandered up through the tree cover from scarcely visible huts. Mountains and taller hills, crowned still with snow, loomed beyond them.

We had arrived on a low tide, and the docks towered above us, supported on thick timbers crusted with barnacles and black mussels. The rungs of the ladder up to the dock were still wet from the retreating tide, and festoons of seaweed hung from them. The Prince and several boatloads of nobles had already disembarked. More Buckkeep noblemen were unloading as we approached. Grudgingly they gave way to us, to allow the Prince’s guard to clamber up the ladders onto the docks and form up to escort Dutiful to his welcome.

I was the last out of the tippy little boat, having shoved a moaning Thick ahead of me up the slippery ladder. Once on the docks, I moved us away from the edge and looked around me. The Prince, flanked by his advisors, was being greeted by the Hetgurd. I was left standing to one side with Thick, unsure of what was expected of me. I needed to get him to a place where he would be comfortable and out of the public eye. I wondered uneasily if it would not have been wiser for me to remain on the ship with him. The open looks of disgust and dismay that he was receiving did not indicate a warm welcome for us. Evidently the Outislanders shared the Mountain opinion of children that were born less than perfect. If Thick had been born in Zylig, his life would not have lasted a day.

My status as both bastard and assassin had often left me lurking in the shadows at official proceedings so I did not feel slighted. If I had been alone, I would have known that my task was to mingle and observe while being nondescript. But here, in a foreign land, saddled with a sick and miserable simpleton and clad in a guard’s uniform, I could do neither. So I stood awkwardly at the edge of the crowd, my arm supporting Thick, and listened to the exchange of carefully-phrased greetings, welcome and thanks. The Prince seemed to be acquitting himself well, but the look of concentration on his face warned me not to distract him with a Skill-query. Those who had come to meet him represented a variety of clans, judging by the differing animal sigils featured in their jewellery and tattoos. Most were men, richly attired in the lush furs and heavy jewellery that signified both rank and wealth among the Outislanders; but there were four women also. They wore woven wool garments trimmed with fur, and I wondered if this was to show the wealth of their land holdings. The Narcheska’s father, Arkon Bloodblade, was there, along with at least six others displaying the boar of his clan. Peottre Blackwater accompanied him, his narwhal an ivory carving on a gold chain around his neck. It seemed odd to me that I saw no other narwhal sigils. That was the Narcheska’s maternal clan, and among the Outislanders, her significant family line. We were here to finalize the terms of the marriage between Dutiful and her. Surely it was a momentous occasion for her clan. Why did only Peottre come to represent them? Did the rest oppose this alliance?

The formalities of greeting satisfied at length, the Prince and his entourage were escorted away. The guard formed up without me and marched off behind him. For a moment I feared that Thick and I would be left standing on the docks. Just as I was wondering if I could bribe someone to take us back to the ship, an old man approached us. He wore a collar of wolf fur and sported the boar sigil of Bloodblade’s clan, but did not seem as prosperous as the other men. He obviously believed he could speak my language, for I could understand about one word in four of his barbarously mangled Duchy tongue. Fearing to insult him by asking him to speak Outislander, I waited and finally grasped that the Boar Clan had appointed him to guide Thick and I to our lodging.

He made no offer to assist me with Thick. In fact, he assiduously avoided getting any closer to him than was absolutely necessary, as if the little man’s mental deficiency was a contagion that might leap to him like a plague of lice. I felt it as a slur, but counselled myself to patience. He walked briskly ahead of us, and did not slacken his pace, even though he often had to halt completely to wait for us. Obviously, he did not wish to share the gawking stares we attracted. We made a strange sight, me in my guard’s uniform and poor miserable Thick, swathed in a cloak and staggering along under my arm.

Our guide led us through the reconstructed part of town and then up a steeper, narrower road. Thick’s breath was a moaning wheeze. ‘How much farther?’ I demanded of our guide, calling the words to him as he hastened ahead of us.

He turned abruptly, scowling, and made a brusque motion for me to keep my voice down. He gestured up the street at an old building, all of stone and much larger than the houses we had passed in the lower part of town. It was rectangular, with a peaked roof of slates, and three storeys high. Windows interrupted the stonework at regular intervals. It was a plain and functional building, stoutly built and probably amongst the oldest structures in the town. I nodded, unspeaking. A boar, his tusks and tail lifted defiantly, was etched into the stone above the entry. So. We would be housed in the Boar Clan’s stronghouse.

By the time we reached the courtyard around the building, our guide was practically chewing his moustache in his teeth-gnashing impatience at our slow pace. I no longer cared. When he opened a side door and gestured to me to hurry, I slowly drew myself up to my full height and glared down at him. In my best Outislander, and all too aware of how poor my accent was, I told him, ‘It is not the pleasure of the Prince’s companion that we hurry. I serve at his command, not yours.’

I saw uncertainty wash over the man’s face as he wondered if he had offended someone of a much higher rank than he knew. He was somewhat more courteous as he showed us up two steep flights of stairs and into a chamber that looked out over the town and the harbour through a swirl of thick glass. By then I’d had enough of him. I gauged him as a lesser lackey to some minor Boar war-leader. As such, I dismissed him brusquely once we were inside, and shut the door even though he lingered in the hallway.

I sat Thick down on the bed and then assessed the room quickly. There was a door that connected to another, much grander chamber. I decided that we had been put in a servant’s room adjacent to the Prince’s quarters. The bed was adequate, the furnishings simple in Thick’s small room. Even so, it seemed a palace after his closet on the ship. ‘Sit there,’ I told Thick. ‘Don’t go to sleep yet.’

‘Where are we? I want to go home,’ he mumbled. I ignored him and stole through into the Prince’s chamber. There I helped myself to a pitcher of wash water and a basin and drying cloths. There was a platter of food on the table. I was not sure exactly what it was, but took several pieces of a dark, sticky stuff cut in squares, and an oily-looking cake covered with seed. I also took a bottle of what I thought was wine and a cup.

Thick had toppled over on his bed. Painstakingly I hauled him upright again. Despite his groaning protests I made him wash his face and hands. I wished that I had a tub to put him in, for he smelled strongly of his days of sickness. Then I forced food down him, and a glass of the wine. He complained and snivelled until he hiccupped. Once I felt him marshal his Skill-strength against me but it was a weak and childish swipe that did not even challenge my walls. I pulled off his tunic and shoes and put him to bed. ‘The room is still moving,’ he muttered petulantly. Then he closed his eyes and was still. A few moments later he gave a great sigh, stretched out in the bed and fell into a true sleep. I closed my own eyes and cautiously tiptoed into his dream. The kitten slept in a tiny curled ball upon the embroidered pillow. He felt safe. I opened my eyes, suddenly so weary that I could have cast myself down on the floor and slept where I fell.

I didn’t. Instead I used what was left of the clean water. I sampled the food, found it unpalatable and ate it anyway. The oily one was probably intended to be some sort of sweet; the other tasted strongly of fish paste. The ‘wine’ was something fermented from fruit; other than that, I had few ideas about it. It didn’t quite take away the fish taste from my mouth. Then, armed with the basin of soiled water, I left the chamber to venture out into our lodgings. If anyone questioned me, I was simply looking for a place to dump the slops.

The building was as much stronghold as clan residence. We were on the highest floor, and I heard no sounds of other occupants. The interior walls featured carved and painted boars and tusk motifs. The other doors on the hall were not locked. They seemed to alternate between small chambers such as Thick had and larger ones, more generously furnished. None of them met the Buckkeep standard for guest housing even for lesser nobles. I reserved judgment on that. I doubted they intended to insult us: I knew the Outislanders had different customs for hospitality than the Six Duchies did. Generally speaking, houseguests were expected to provide their own victuals and comforts. We had come here knowing that. The wine and food in the Prince’s room seemed to be a nod to the Six Duchies hospitality the Narcheska’s entourage had enjoyed at Buckkeep. There were no signs of any servants on this upper floor, and I doubted that any would be supplied to us.

The next floor down seemed much the same. These rooms smelled as if they had been recently used; odours of smoke, food and, in one case, wet dog lingered in them. I wondered if they had been vacated for our use. The chambers here were slightly smaller, and the windows were of oiled skin rather than glass. Heavy wooden shutters, some bearing the old scars of arrows, offered protection from any determined assault. Evidently the highest chambers were accorded to those of highest ranks; very different from the Six Duchies, where servants were given the upper rooms so that nobility need not climb too many flights of steps. I had just closed a door when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. An ant trail of servants suddenly appeared, bearing belongings, comforts and victuals for their Six Duchies masters. They halted in confusion, milling in the hallway, and one asked me, ‘How do we know which chamber is for who?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ I replied pleasantly. ‘I’m not even certain where we are to dump slops.’

I slipped away from them, leaving them to sort out the rooms, suspecting that the best ones would go to the nobles with the most aggressive servants. On the ground floor I found a back door that led out to a waste pit behind the privies and dumped my water there. Another door led down a corridor to a large kitchen where several young Outislander men were tending a large roast on a spit, chopping potatoes and onions, and kneading bread. They seemed intent on their tasks and all but ignored me as I peered in at them. A quick tour of the outside of the building showed me that a second, much grander door led to a large open hall that made up much of the ground floor of the building. These doors stood open to admit both light and air. Within, I glimpsed what was undoubtedly the welcome gathering for the Prince. I abandoned my basin in the deep grass at one end of the building, and hastily straightened my uniform and smoothed back my hair into a tail.

Unnoticed, I slipped into the back of the room. My fellow guardsmen were ranged against the wall. They looked as alert as men do when they are stiflingly bored and ignored. In truth, there seemed little for them to guard against.

The large room was long and low ceilinged. The main part of it was taken up with benches, all of a height and all full of seated men. There was no throne or dais of any kind. Nor were the benches oriented to focus attention on one person. Rather, they ringed the room, leaving the centre open. A bowed old kaempra, or war leader of the Fox Clan was speaking. His short jacket was fringed with the tips of fox tails, white as his unruly hair. He was missing three fingers on his sword hand, but wore a necklace of his enemies’ fingerbones to compensate. He tugged at them nervously as he spoke, glancing often at Bloodblade as if reluctant to give offence and yet too angry to keep silent. I only caught his closing words. ‘No one clan can speak for all of us! No one clan has the right to bring bad luck down on us all.’

As I watched, the Fox kaempra nodded gravely to each corner of the room and then retired to his bench. Another man stood and made his way to the centre and began speaking. I saw the Prince and Lord Chade seated amongst the nobles who attended him in one section of the benches. His Wit-coterie was ranged behind him. The Hetgurd, for so I recognized this assembly – the gathering of the warrior leaders of the clans – had accorded my prince no indication of his rank. Here, he was seated as a warrior leader among his warriors, just as the other clan warrior-leaders were. This was a gathering of equals, come together to discuss the Narcheska’s betrothal. Did they see him so? I tried not to scowl at the thought.

All this I grasped in the time it took my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the hall after the summer sunshine outside. I found a piece of wall to lean on next to Riddle in the back row of guardsmen. Riddle spoke out of the side of his mouth. ‘Not like us at all, my friend. No feast or gifts or songs to welcome our Prince. Just a how-d’ye-do greeting on the docks and then they brought him straight here and began discussing the betrothal. Right to business for these people. Some don’t like the idea of one of their women leaving her motherlands to go live in the Six Duchies. They think it’s unnatural and probably bad luck. But most don’t care much about that, one way or another. They seem to think that would be Clan Narwhal’s bad luck, not theirs. The real sticking point is the dragon-slaying bit.’

I nodded to his swift summary. Chade had a good man in Riddle. I wondered where he had recruited him and then focused my attention on the man who was speaking. I noticed now that he stood in the middle of a ring painted on the floor. It was intricate and stylized, and yet still recognizable as a serpent grasping its own tail. The man did not give his name before he began speaking. Perhaps he assumed that everyone knew it, or perhaps the only important part of his identity was the sea otter tattooed on his forehead. He spoke simply, without anger, as if explaining something obvious to rather stupid children.

‘Icefyre is not a cow that belongs to any one of us. He is not cattle to be offered as part of a bride price. Even less does he belong to the foreigner Prince. How then can he offer the head of a creature that does not belong to him as payment to the Blackwater Mothershouse of the Narwhal Clan? We can only see his promise in one of two ways. Either he has made his offer in ignorance, or it is an affront to us.’

He paused then and made a strange gesture with his hand. In a moment its meaning was made clear as Prince Dutiful slowly stood and then came to join him in the speaker’s circle. ‘No, Kaempra Otter.’ Dutiful addressed him as warrior-leader for his clan. ‘It was not ignorance. It was not intended as affront. The Narcheska presented this deed to me as a challenge to prove myself worthy of her.’ The Prince lifted his hands and let them fall helplessly. ‘What could I do but accept it? If a woman issued such a challenge to you, saying before your gathered warriors, “accept it or admit cowardice”, what would you do? What would any of you do?’

Many heads in the assembly nodded to this. Dutiful nodded gravely back to them and then added, ‘So what am I to do now? My word has been given, before your warriors and mine, in the hall of my parents. I have said I will attempt to do this thing. I know of no honourable way to unsay such words. Is there a custom here, among the people of the Narcheska, that allows a man to call back the words that have issued from his mouth?’

The Prince moved his hands, imitating the same gesture that the Otter kaempra had used to cede him the speaker’s circle. He bowed to the four corners of the hall, and then retreated to his bench again. As he took his seat, Otter spoke again.

‘If this was the manner of your accepting the challenge, then I will take no affront toward you. I reserve what I think of clan Blackwater’s daughter for issuing such a challenge. Regardless of the circumstances.’

I had previously noticed Peottre Blackwater sitting almost by himself on one of the front benches. He scowled at the Otter’s remark but made no indication that he wished to speak. The Narcheska’s father, Arkon Bloodblade, sat a small distance away from Peottre, his Boar warriors ranked about him. Arkon’s brow remained smooth, as if the rebuke had nothing to do with him, and perhaps by his lights that was correct. The Otter had rebuked Elliania as a daughter of the Blackwater family of the Narwhal Clan. Arkon Bloodblade was a Boar. Here, within his own people, he assumed the role that they expected of him. He was only the Narcheska’s father. Her mother’s brother, Peottre Blackwater, was responsible for the quality of her upbringing.

When the silence had stretched enough that it was obvious no one would offer a defence for what the Narcheska had done, the Otter leader cleared his throat. ‘It is true that as a man you cannot call back your word, Prince of the Farseer Buck Clan. You have said you will try to do this thing, and I will concede that you must do it, or be judged no man at all.

‘Yet that does not release us of the Out Islands of our duties. Icefyre is ours. What do our great mothers tell us? He came to us, in the years before years were counted, and asked asylum from his grief. Our wise women granted it to him. And in return for our sheltering, he promised that his protection should be ours. We know the power of his spirit and the invulnerability of his flesh, and fear little that you shall slay him. But if, by some strange twist of fate, you manage to do him injury, on whom will his anger fall after he has killed you? On us.’ He turned slowly in a circle as he spoke, including all the clans as he warned them, ‘If Icefyre is ours, we also belong to him. Like a kin pledge we should see the debt woven between us. If his blood is shed, must not we shed blood in return? If, as his kin, we fail to come to his aid, cannot he exact from us the blood price ten times over, according to our law? This Prince must honour his word as a man. That is so. But after, must not war come to us again, regardless of whether he lives or dies?’

I saw Arkon Bloodblade draw a long slow breath. I noted now what I had not before, that he held his hand in a certain way, open yet with the fingers pointing toward his sternum. Several men, I now saw, were making the same gesture. A request to speak? Yes, for when the Otter warrior made the now familiar gesture, Bloodblade stood and came to take the man’s place in the circle.

‘None of us want war again. Not here in the God Runes, nor in the Prince’s farmers’ fields across the water. Yet a man’s word must be satisfied. And though we all be men here, there is a woman’s will in this as well. What warrior can stand before a woman’s will? What sword can cut her stubbornness? To women Eda has given the islands themselves, and we walk upon them only by her leave. It is not for men to set aside the challenge of a woman, lest our own mothers say, “you do not respect the flesh you sprang from. Walk no more on the earth that Eda has granted us. Be abandoned by us, with only water under your keel and never sand under your feet.” Is that easier than war? We are caught between a man’s word and a woman’s will. Neither can be broken without disgrace to all.’

I had understood Bloodblade’s words but the full import of their meaning escaped me. Obviously there was custom here we were not familiar with, and I questioned what we had blundered into with our matchmaking. Bleakly I wondered if we had not fallen into a trap. Was the Blackwater family of the Narwhal Clan intent on kindling war between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands? Had their offer of the Narcheska been a sham, to draw us into a situation in which regardless of the outcome, we had invited bloodshed yet again to our shores?

I studied Peottre Blackwater’s face. His expression was stolid and still, his eyes turned inward. He seemed impassive to the dilemma his sister-daughter had set us, and yet I felt he was not. I sensed rather that we balanced on the knife blade that had already cut deep into him. He looked, I suddenly thought, like a man without choices. A man who could no longer hope, because he knows that no action of his own can save him. He was waiting. He did not plan or plot. He had already done the task he had set out to do. Now he could only wait to see how other men would carry it out. I was certain I was right, and yet what I could not understand or even imagine was why. Why had he done it? Or, as her father had said, was it beyond his control, the will of a woman who might be younger than he was and dependent on him, and yet controlled who might walk on the earth of his mother-holdings?

I looked around me. There were simply too many differences between us, I decided. How could the Six Duchies ever make a peace with the Out Islands when our customs varied so widely? Yet, tradition had it that the Farseer line had its roots in the Out Islands, that Taker, the first Farseer monarch, had begun his life as an Out Island raider who had seen the log fortress that Buckkeep once was and decided to make it his own. Our lines and our ways had diverged far since those days. Peace and prosperity depended on us finding some common ground.

The likelihood of that did not seem great.

I lifted my eyes to find the Prince’s gaze fixed on me. I had not wanted to distract him before. Now I sent him a reassuring thought. Thick is resting in his chamber upstairs. He ate and drank before he went to sleep.

I wish I could be doing the same. They did not give me so much as a chance to wash my face before they convened the Hetgurd. And now it shows no sign of ending.

Patience, my prince. They’ll end this eventually. Even Outislanders must eat, drink, and sleep some time.

Do they piss, do you think? That’s starting to be a very immediate concern to me. I’ve thought of excusing myself quietly, but don’t know how it would be interpreted if I stood and walked out now.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I felt a fumbling Skill-touch. Thick?

It was Chade. I saw Dutiful start to reach out his hand, to touch Chade and add his strength to the old man’s. I stopped him. No. Don’t. Let him try it on his own. Chade, can you hear us?

Barely.

Thick is asleep upstairs. He ate and drank before he fell asleep.

Good. I sensed the effort he put into that brief reply. Nonetheless, I was grinning. He was doing it.

Stop. Silly grin. He scolded me. He looked around the room gravely. Bad situation. Need time to think. Need to stop this before it goes too far without us.

I made my face solemn. The expression was far more in keeping with that of those around me. Arkon Bloodblade was surrendering the speaking circle to a man who wore an Eagle badge. They paused to clasp wrists in a warrior’s greeting before the Eagle entered the circle. The Eagle kaempra was an old man, possibly the oldest man in the assembly. Grey and white streaked his thinning hair, yet he still moved like a warrior. He stared around at us accusingly, and then spoke abruptly, the ends of his words softened by his missing teeth.

‘Doubtless a man must do what he has said he will do. It wastes our day to even discuss that. And men must honour their kinship bonds. If this foreign Prince came here and said, “I have promised a woman that I would kill Orig of the Eagle Clan”, all of you would say, “Then you must try, if you have promised to do it”. But we would also say, “But know that some of us have kinship bonds with Orig. And we will kill you before we let you do this thing.” And we would expect the Prince to accept that as obviously correct, also.’ His slow gaze travelled the assembly disdainfully. ‘I smell merchants and traders here, who used to be warriors and honourable men. Shall we sniff after Six Duchies goods like a dog grovelling after a bitch? Will you trade your own kin for brandy and summer apples and red wheat? Not this Eagle.’

He gave a snort of contempt for all who thought there was any need of more discussion, left the circle and crabbed back to sit amongst his warriors. A silence fell as we all pondered his words. Some exchanged glances: I sensed the old man had cut close to the bone. There were many here uneasy at the thought of letting the Prince kill their dragon, but they were also hungry for peace and trade. War with the Six Duchies had cut them off from all trade from points south of us. Now the Chalcedean quarrel with the Bingtown Traders was throttling that route. If they did not gain free trade with the Six Duchies, they would have to forgo all goods and luxuries that warmer countries could provide for them. It was not a thought to relish. Yet no one there could oppose the Eagle’s stance without taking the name of greedy trader to himself.

We have to end this somehow. Now, before anyone adds their spoken approval to his words. Chade’s thin Skilling sounded desperate.

No one else stepped forward into the speaking circle. No one had a solution to offer. The longer the silence stretched, the more charged the room became. I knew Chade was right. We needed time to think of a diplomatic solution to our position. And if there wasn’t one, we still needed time to discover how many of the Outislander clans would actively oppose us and how many would simply disapprove. Given the disapproval of the other clans, would the Narcheska persist in her challenge to Dutiful or would she withdraw it? Could she honourably recall it? Here we were, not even a full day on this island’s soil and already we seemed on the verge of confrontation.

Adding to my discomfort was that I was becoming aware of Dutiful’s need to urinate. I started to shield myself from his Skill, and then had a different idea. I recalled how Thick’s uneasiness aboard the ship had spread to infect the sailors. I wondered if Dutiful’s current discomfort could be used in a like manner.

I opened myself to his unwitting sending, amplified it and then sent my Skill questing out through the room. None of the Outislanders that I touched had any strong aptitude for the Skill, but many were susceptible to its influence in varying degrees. Once Verity had used a similar technique to baffle Red Ship navigators, convincing them that they’d already passed key landmarks and thus sending their ships onto the rocks. Now I used it to end this Hetgurd gathering by reminding every man my Skill could touch of his urgent need to empty his bladder.

All around the room, men began to shift in their seats.

Doing? Chade demanded.

Ending this meeting, I told him grimly.

Ah! I felt Dutiful’s sudden comprehension, and then felt him join his persuasion to mine.

Who is in charge? I asked him.

No one. They share authority here. Or so they say. Dutiful obviously thought it a poor system.

Bear opened meeting. Chade told me tersely. I felt him draw my attention to a man who wore a bear’s tooth necklace. I was suddenly aware of how much strength it was taking from Chade for him to do this feeble Skilling.

Don’t tax yourself, I warned him.

Know my own strength! His reply was angry but even from where I stood, I could see his shoulders drooping.

I singled out the Bear and focused my attention on him. Fortunately for me, he had little wall against the Skill and a full bladder. I pressed urgency on him and he suddenly stood up. He came forward to claim the speaking circle and the others ceded it to him with hand motions of giving.

‘We need to ponder on this. All of us.’ He suggested, ‘let us go apart, to talk with our own clans and see what thoughts they have for us. Tomorrow, let us gather again and speak of what we have learned and thought. Do any think this is wise?’

A forest of hands rose in spiralling gestures of assent.

‘Then let our meeting be over for this day,’ the Bear suggested.

And just that quickly, it was over. Men stood immediately and began moving toward the door. There was no ceremony to it, no precedence for those of higher rank, just a push of men toward the exit, some with a greater insistence than others.

Tell your captain that you must check on your ward. That, until he is fit, I have commanded that you continue to tend him. We’ll soon join you upstairs.

I obeyed my prince’s command. When Longwick released me, I retrieved the washing basin I’d left outside the door and returned to Thick’s chamber. He had not stirred that I could see. I felt his forehead. He was still feverish, but it did not burn as it had aboard the ship. Nonetheless, I roused him and coaxed him to drink water. He took little urging to down a whole mug of it, and then settled back into the bed again. I was relieved. Here, in this strange room and away from the perspective of his sick bed on the ship, I could truly see how wasted Thick was. Well, he would recover now. He had all he needed: quiet, a bed, food and drink. Soon he would be better. I tried to convince myself that my hope was a fact.

I heard Prince Dutiful and Chade conversing in the hall with someone. I stood and went to the door, ear pressed to it. I heard Dutiful pleading weariness, and then the closing of the door of the next chamber. His servants must have been waiting for him there. Again, there was a murmur of conversation, and then I heard him dismiss them. A little time passed and then the connecting door opened and Dutiful wandered in. He held a small black square of the food in his hand. He looked depressed. He held the food up and asked me, ‘Any idea what this is?’

‘Not really, but it has fish paste in it. Maybe seaweed, too. The cakes with the seeds are sweet. Oily but sweet.’

Dutiful regarded the food in his hand with distaste, then gave the shrug of a fifteen-year-old who hasn’t been fed for several hours and ate it. He licked his fingers. ‘It’s not bad, as long as you expect it to taste like fish.’

‘Old fish,’ I observed.

He didn’t reply. He’d crossed over to where Thick slept and stood looking down on him. He shook his head slowly. ‘This is so unfair to him. Do you think he’s getting better now?’

‘I hope so.’

‘His music has become so much quieter, it worries me. Sometimes I feel as if Thick himself goes away from us when his fever rises.’

I opened myself to Thick’s music. Dutiful was right. It did seem less intense. ‘Well, he’s sick. It takes strength and energy to Skill.’ I didn’t want to worry about him just now. ‘Chade surprised me today.’

‘Did he? You must have known that he would keep at it until he could do at least that much. Nothing stops the old man once he has decided to do something.’ He turned away from me and headed toward the connecting door. Then he paused. ‘Did you want any of that stuff to eat?’

‘No, thank you. You go ahead.’

He spoke over his shoulder. He vanished for a moment into his own room, then returned with one hand stacked with the fish cakes. He bit into one of the squares, made a dismal face and then quickly ate the rest of it. He looked around the room hungrily. ‘Didn’t anyone bring us food yet?’

‘You’re eating it, I think.’

‘No. This is just an Out Island nod because we fed them. I know Chade told servants to find fresh food and buy it for us.’

‘Are you saying that Boar Clan isn’t going to feed us?’

‘They may. They may not. Chade seems to think we should act as if we don’t expect it. Then, if they offer us food, we can accept it as a gift. And if they don’t, we don’t seem grasping or weak.’

‘Have you informed your nobles of their customs?’

He nodded. ‘Many of them came here as much to form new trading alliances and see what other opportunities the Out Islands offered as to support me in my courtship of the Narcheska. So they are just as glad to move about Zylig, seeing what is for sale here and what people might want to buy. But we’ll have to feed my guard, the servants and of course my Wit-coterie. I thought Chade had arranged provisions.’

‘The Hetgurd seem to accord you little respect,’ I said worriedly.

‘I do not think they truly understand what I am. It is a foreign concept to them, that a boy of my years, unproven as a warrior, is assured the ruling of such a large territory. Here, men do not claim sovereignty over an area of land, but instead show strength by the warriors they can command. In some ways, I am seen more as a son of my mother’s house. Queen Kettricken was in power when we defeated them at the end of the Red Ship War. They are in awe of that, that she not only kept the home lands safe but that she launched war against them in the form of the dragons she called down on them. That is how it is told here.’

‘You seem to have learned a great deal in a very short time.’

He nodded, pleased with himself. ‘Some of it comes from putting together what I hear here with what I experienced of the Outislanders at Buckkeep. Some from the reading I did on the way here.’ He gave a small sigh. ‘And it is not as useful as I hoped it would be. If they offer us hospitality, I mean, feed us, then we can see it as welcome, that they know it is our custom and honour it. Or we can see it as insult, that we are too weak to feed ourselves and too foolish to have come prepared. But no matter how we see it, we can’t be certain how they meant it.’

‘Like your dragon-slaying. Do you come to kill a beast and thus prove yourself a worthy mate for the Narcheska? Or do you come to kill the dragon that is the guardian of their land, proving that you can take whatever you want from them?’

Dutiful paled slightly. ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way.’

‘Nor had I. But some of them do. And, it brings us back to that one essential question. Why? Why did the Narcheska choose this particular task for you?’

‘Then you think it has significance to her besides my being willing to risk my life just to marry her?’

For a moment all I could do was stare at him. Had I ever been that young? ‘Well, of course it does. Don’t you think so?’

‘Civil had said that she probably wanted “proof of my love”. He said that girls were often like that, asking men to do things that were dangerous or illegal or next to impossible, simply to prove their love.’

I made a mental note of that. I wondered what Civil had been asked to do and by whom, and if it had related to the Farseer monarchy or was merely a boyish deed of derring-do that some girl had demanded of him.

‘Well, I doubt it would be anything that romantically frivolous with the Narcheska. How could she possibly think that you loved her, after the way she has treated you? And she’s certainly given no sign of being fond of your company.’

For a flashing moment, he stared at me with stricken eyes. Then he smoothed his expression so completely that I wondered if I had been mistaken. Surely the Prince could not be infatuated with the girl. They had nothing in common, and after he had accidentally insulted her, she had treated him as less than a whipped dog whining after her. I looked at him. A boy can believe almost anything when he is fifteen.

Dutiful gave a slight snort. ‘No. She has certainly given me no sign of even tolerating my company. Think on it. She did not journey here with her father and uncle to meet us and offer us welcome to these islands. She is the one who thought up this ridiculous quest, but I notice she is nowhere in sight when it must be justified to her countrymen. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it has nothing to do with me proving my love for her, or even proving my courage. Perhaps all along it was only to present a stumbling block to our marriage.’ In a glum voice, he added, ‘Perhaps she hopes I’ll die in the attempt.’

‘If we press forward with the task, it may block more than your marriage. It may send both our countries back to war.’

Chade entered on those words. He looked both worried and weary. He cast a disparaging look around the small chamber and observed, ‘Well, I see Thick has been afforded a chamber almost as lush as that allotted to Prince Dutiful and me. Is there anything to eat and drink?’

‘Nothing I’d recommend,’ I observed.

‘Fish and greasecakes,’ Prince Dutiful offered.

Chade winced. ‘Is that what the local market offers? I’ll send a man to bring us provisions from the ship. Foreign food will not ride well with me after this day. Come. Let us allow Thick some rest.’ He spoke over his shoulder as he led us through the connecting door to the Prince’s room. As he sat down on Dutiful’s bed, he added, ‘I do not approve of your putting the Skill to such a low use, Fitz. And yet, I must admit, you extricated us from a difficult situation. Please, consult with me before you use it in such a way again.’

It was both a rebuke and a compliment. I nodded, but Dutiful snorted. ‘Consult with you? Am not I to have any say in these matters?’

Chade recovered well. ‘Of course you are. I am merely conveying to Fitz that in matters of diplomacy he should not assume that he knows best which course we should set.’

The Prince opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment there came a rap at the hall door. At a gesture from Chade, I retreated to Thick’s room, drew the connecting door nearly closed and stood at an angle that allowed me to view a slice of the room without being observed.

Chade lifted his voice and asked, ‘Who is there?’

The visitor interpreted that as permission to enter. The door opened and as I set my muscles in readiness, Peottre Blackwater came in. He closed the door behind him, and then swept a Buckkeep bow to the Prince and Chade. ‘I have come to tell you that there is no need for you or any of your nobles to venture forth in search of food and drink. It is the pleasure of clans Boar and Narwhal to provide for you as generously as you did for our folk when we visited your Six Duchies.’

The words were spoken perfectly. It was a well-rehearsed speech. Chade’s response was as practised. ‘It is a gracious offer, but our people have already seen to their own provisions.’

Peottre looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment, but then admitted, ‘We have already informed your nobles of our invitation, and are honoured that all have accepted it.’

Outwardly, both Chade and the Prince maintained a stiff silence, but Dutiful’s anguished worry rang in my mind. I should have cautioned all of them not to accept any offer of hospitality that was not conveyed through me. Will we be seen as weaklings now?

Peottre’s gaze moved worriedly from Chade’s face to the Prince’s. He seemed to sense he had mis-stepped. Then, ‘May I speak for a time with you?’ he asked.

‘Lord Blackwater, you are welcome to call upon me at any time,’ the Prince assured him reflexively.

A very slight smile twitched Peottre’s face. ‘Well you know I am no “lord”, Prince Dutiful, but only a kaempra of the Narwhal Clan. And even as that, I stand in the Hetgurd assembly with no warriors at my back. They tolerate me more for the sake of my sister’s husband, Arkon Bloodblade, than for any respect toward me. Our clan has fallen on very hard times in every way except the richness of our motherlands and the honour of our bloodlines.’

I privately wondered in what other ways a clan could experience hardship, but Peottre was still speaking. ‘I was not unprepared for what we heard from the Hetgurd this afternoon. In truth, ever since the Narcheska proposed her challenge, I have expected it. Arkon Bloodblade, too, saw that there were those who would be disgruntled by the test she has proposed. I wanted to tell you that we are not unprepared for this. We have made plans against it. The hospitality we offer, within this stronghouse, is but one safeguard we have put in place. We had hoped opposition would not be voiced so soon, nor by such a respected kaempra as the Eagle kaempra. It is our great good fortune that the Bear kaempra, who is allied with Boar, saw fit to dismiss the assembly so abruptly. Otherwise, discussion might have gone too far for us to mend it.’

‘You might have warned us of this opposition, Kaempra Peottre, before we faced the Hetgurd,’ Chade observed quietly, but the Prince cut through his words with, ‘So you think it can be mended? How?’

I winced at his eagerness. Chade was right. The man deserved a rebuke for having led us into a trap, not an unquestioning acceptance of his aid in getting out of it.

‘It will take time, but not too long – days rather than months. Since we returned from your country, we have spent much in both wealth and influence to buy allies. I speak bluntly, of course, of what cannot be openly acknowledged. Those who have agreed to support us must not swing too quickly to our side, but must seem to be persuaded by the arguments that Clan Boar will present in our favour. So, I wish to counsel you both to patience and to wariness until the Hetgurd is swayed.’

‘Wariness?’ Chade queried sharply. Assassins? His unspoken fear reached me clearly.

‘This is not the right word,’ Peottre apologized. ‘Sometimes, it seems, what one language says in one word another has many for. I would ask you to be … not as seen. Not as visible. Not as easy to find or to speak to.’

‘Unavailable?’ the Prince suggested.

Peottre smiled slightly and shrugged. ‘If that is how you would say it. We have a saying here, “It is difficult to insult the man you don’t speak to”. That is what I suggest. That the Farseer Buck Clan avoids giving offence by being … unavailable.’

‘While we trust Boar Clan to speak for us?’ Chade asked. He allowed a trace of scepticism into his voice. ‘And what are we to do in the meanwhile?’

Peottre smiled. I was not in the best position to observe him, but I thought I had glimpsed a look of relief that we seemed inclined to accept his advice. ‘I would suggest that we remove you completely from Zylig. All expect that you will visit the mothershouse of the Narcheska. It was almost surprising to the Hetgurd that you came here first. So, I suggest that tomorrow you board the Boar vessel Tusker and sail with us to Wuislington, the motherlands of the Narwhal Clan. There, you shall be welcomed and provided for, just as you welcomed and provided for us at Buckkeep. I have reported to my mothershouse of your customs in this regard. They find them unusual, but will concede the fairness of feeding you as you fed us.’

He could not conceal his hope as he offered this suggestion. His eagerness alarmed me. Did he shoo us away from danger, or lure us into it? I felt the same query cross Chade’s mind as he said, ‘But we have only arrived here today, and we are weary from the sea. The Prince’s man, Thick, does not fare well on the waves. He has taken ill and needs his rest. We cannot think of leaving tomorrow.’

I knew that we could, and that he was considering the cost of it even now. He but said these words to Peottre to see what the man would reply. For a moment, I almost pitied the Outislander. He could not know that Chade and the Prince were sharing their thoughts, let alone that I stood around the corner not only hearing his every word but also supporting their observations with mine. I saw dismay blossom behind his eyes, and confirmed to both Dutiful and Chade that I believed his discomfort was genuine, even as he exclaimed, ‘But you must! Leave the man here with someone to tend to him. He will be safe in the Boar’s stronghouse. To do murder in a clan’s stronghouse is a terrible insult to their mothershouse and the Boar Clan is powerful. No one will consider it.’

‘But they might consider it if he ventured outside the stronghouse? Or if I went out tonight, seeking a meal perhaps?’ The velvet courtesy of Chade’s tone did not quite mask the razor edge of his question.

From my concealment, I could see that Peottre regretted his hasty words. He considered lying and then boldly pushed that aside in favour of blunt truth. ‘You must have known it could come to this. You are not fools, either of you. I have seen you study men and balance the bargain you offer this one against what that one desires. I have seen you offer both honey and the spur to move others to your will. You would have come here knowing what Icefyre means to some of us. You would have anticipated this opposition.’

I felt Chade caution Dutiful to silence as he spoke out severely on his behalf. ‘Opposition, yes. Even a muttering of war. A threat of murder to the Prince’s man, or the Prince himself, no. Dutiful is the sole heir to the Farseer crown. You are not a fool, either. You know what that means. We have extended him as far into danger as we will risk him in allowing him to embark on this ridiculous quest. Now you admit that murder may hang over him, simply because he seeks to keep his word to your sister-daughter. The stakes for this alliance have become too high, Peottre. I will not wager the Prince’s life for the sake of this betrothal. The Narcheska’s demand has never made sense to me. Give us one good reason why we should proceed.’

The Prince was seething. His Skill-objections to Chade’s highhandedness drowned out my own thoughts. I thought I knew what Chade was doing, yet the only emotion I could experience was Dutiful’s affront that Chade would imply he would retreat from his word. Even Thick turned over with a heavy moan under the Prince’s Skill-onslaught.

Peottre’s glance darted to the Prince. Even without the Skill, he could read a young man’s spirit. ‘Because Prince Dutiful had said he will do it. To back away from his word now and flee home would make him seem both cowardly and weak. It might stave off war, but it would invite raiding again. You know our saying, I am sure: “a coward owns nothing for long”.’

In the Six Duchies we say, ‘Fear is the only thing that a man cannot take from a coward’. I supposed that it meant the same thing. That if our prince showed a cowardly nature, so all the Six Duchies would be judged, and the Outislanders would see us as ripe to be raided again.

Silence! Glare all you wish, but still your tongue! Chade’s command to Dutiful was as strong a bit of Skilling as I had ever experienced from him. Even more astonishing was the private command he arrowed solely to me. Watch Peottre’s face, Fitz. I felt what it cost Chade in strength, yet he kept his voice steady as he said coolly, ‘Kaempra Narwhal, you mistake me. I did not say the Prince would go back on his word to set the dragon’s head before your Narcheska. He has given his word, and a Farseer does not go back on his word. But having done that deed, I see no need to waste my prince’s bloodline on a woman who would connive to send him into such danger, from her own people as well as from a dragon. He will do this, but we will feel no duty to wed him to the Narcheska afterward.’

I had done as Chade bid me, but there was no reading the succession of expressions that flitted over Peottre’s visage. Astonishment, of course, followed by confoundment. I knew what Chade desired to discover. What did Peottre and the Narcheska seek most strongly: the death of the dragon or an alliance with the Farseers? Yet we were no closer to an answer when Peottre stammered out, ‘But is not that what the Six Duchies most desires? To create goodwill and an alliance by this marriage?’

‘The Narcheska is not the only woman of high stature in the Out Islands,’ Chade replied dismissively. Dutiful had grown very still. I could sense the racing of his thoughts, but not hear them. ‘Certainly Prince Dutiful can find a woman from amongst your people who does not frivolously risk his life. And if not, there are other alliances to be had. Do you think Chalced would not value such an arrangement with the Six Duchies? Here is an old Six Duchies saying for you to ponder: “There is more than one fish in the sea”.’

Peottre was still struggling to grasp the sudden change in situation. ‘But why risk the Prince’s life in slaying the dragon if there is no reward for doing so?’ he asked bewilderedly.

It was finally Dutiful’s turn to speak. Chade fed him the words, but I think he would have known them for himself even without the prompting. ‘To remind the Out Islands that what a Farseer says he will do, he does. A few years have passed since my father roused his Elderling allies and destroyed most of this city. Perhaps the best way for us to stave off war between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands is not with a wedding. Perhaps the best way is to remind your countrymen, again, that what we say we will do, we do.’ The Prince’s voice was soft and even. He spoke, not man to man, but as a king.

Even a warrior such as Peottre was not immune to such an assumption. He took less offence at my young prince’s words than he would if one of his fellow kaempras had spoken so to him. I saw him uncertain of his footing, yet I could not have said if he was dismayed at the thought that his sister-daughter might not be wed to the Prince, or relieved. ‘Truly, it must seem that we have resorted to trickery in tempting you to swear to such a task. And now that you have discovered the full import of your promise, you must feel twice tricked. It is a hero’s task that Elliania has laid upon you. You have sworn to do it. Did I desire to indulge in trickery, I would remind you that you had given your word, as well, to wed her. I might ask if you were not, as a Farseer, bound as tightly there to do as you had said you would do. But I release you from that without quibbling. You feel yourself betrayed by us. I cannot deny that it appears that way. I am certain that you recognize that if you perform this task and then refuse the Narcheska’s hand, you will shame us in proportion to the glory that you have won for yourself. Her name will become a word for the faithless trickery of a woman. I do not relish such a prospect. Nonetheless, I bow to your right to take such a stance. Nor will I bring blood-vengeance against you, but will hold my sword and acknowledge that you had a right to feel yourself wronged.’

From my place of concealment, I shook my head. What Peottre said obviously filled him with great emotion, yet I knew I was missing the full import of his words. Our traditions were simply too different. One thing I did know, and an instant later the Prince echoed my thought even as he looked at Peottre consideringly. Well, I have not bettered the situation. We both stand affronted by the other’s behaviour now. How can I improve this? Draw a sword and challenge him right now?

Don’t be a fool! Chade’s rebuke was as sharp as if Dutiful had been serious. Accept his offer of transport aboard the Tusker to Wuislington. We knew we would have to make that journey; as well to appear to concede it to him. Perhaps we may learn more when we are there. This riddle must be unravelled, and I would have you away from the Hetgurd and any assassination attempts until I know more.

Prince Dutiful lowered his head slightly. I knew it was at Chade’s suggestion, but it must have appeared to Peottre that he perhaps regretted the tenor of his earlier words. ‘We are pleased to accept your hospitality this night, Peottre Blackwater. And we will take passage on the Tusker tomorrow, to Wuislington.’

The relief that Peottre felt at Dutiful’s words was palpable. ‘I myself will vouch for the safety of your folk while we are gone from them.’

Dutiful shook his head slowly. His mind was racing. If Peottre were seeking to separate him from his guard and advisors, he would not allow it. ‘My nobles will, of course, remain here. As they are not of the Farseer line, I suspect that they will not be seen as of my clan and appropriate targets for vengeance. But certain of my entourage must accompany me. My guard, and my advisors. I am sure that you understand.’

What of Thick? He is still very sick. I asked the question urgently.

I cannot leave you behind, and I will not trust him to the dubious care he would receive from another. Hard as it will be for him, he must travel with us. He is a member of my Skill-coterie. Besides. Think of the havoc he could wreak in our absence did he go back to his old nightmares.

‘Farseer Prince of the Six Duchies, in that I think we can accommodate you.’ In his eagerness to be certain of our assent, Peottre almost babbled the words.

The conversation had moved into safer channels. In a short time, Peottre escorted them downstairs to a meal. Chade loudly observed to the Prince that they must arrange that a substantial meal be sent upstairs to Thick, to hasten his recovery. Peottre assured them that this would be done, and then I heard them leave. When they were clear of the Prince’s room, I let out my pent breath, rolled my shoulders and moved to check on Thick. He slept on, peacefully unaware that on the morrow he would be carted off to yet another miserable sea voyage. I looked down on him and sent calming thoughts into his dreams. Then I sat down by the door and awaited, without enthusiasm, whatever Outislander victuals would be sent up to me.