Fool's Errand (63 page)

“I didn’t like that at all.” His voice shook, and I knew instinctively that he was not speaking about the creature on the beach. Going through a pillar was a harrowing experience for an untrained mind. Regal had used the pillars recklessly in transporting his young Skill-users, little caring how many of them went mad from the process. I would not use my Prince so recklessly. Except that I had no other choice, and no time.

“I know,” I said gently. “But we have to go now, before the tide comes in any deeper.” He stared at me without comprehension. I weighed him keeping his sanity against what the woman might know through him. Then I threw that concern aside. He had to understand, at least a little, or I’d emerge from the pillar with a drooling idiot. “We have to go back to the pillar on the beach. We know it has a facet that will take us back to Buck. We’ll have to discover which one.”

The boy made a small retching sound. He hunkered down on the cobblestones, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples. “I don’t think I can,” he said faintly.

My heart smote me. “Waiting won’t make it any better,” I warned him. “I’ll hold you together as best I can. But we have to go now, my Prince.”

“That thing might be waiting for us!” he cried wildly, but I think he feared the passage more than any lurking creature.

I stooped and put my arms around him, and although he struggled wildly, I dragged him back into the pillar with me.

I had never used a pillar twice in such swift succession. I was unprepared for the sharp sensation of heat. As we emerged, I accidentally snuffed warm seawater up my nose. I stood up, holding Dutiful’s head above water. The water around the pillar was seething with the heat from it. And the Prince had been right. As I held his lax body in my arms and shook water from my face, I heard startled grunts from the beach. Not one, but four of the ungainly creatures had congregated there. At the sight of us, they charged, hunching across the sand and into the waves. No time to think or look or choose. The Prince was limp and lolling. I clutched him to me, and risked dropping my Skill-walls to try to hold his mind intact. As an incoming wave drove me to my knees, I slapped a hand to the steaming surface of the Skill-pillar. It dragged me in.

The transit this time seemed unbearable. I swear I smelled a strange odor, oddly familiar and yet repulsive.
Dutiful. Dutiful, prince. Heir to the Farseer throne. Son of Kettricken.
I wrapped his tattering thoughts in my own and named him by every name I could think of.

Then came a moment he reached back to me.
I know you.
That was all I sensed from him, but after that, he held on to himself and to me. There was a queer passivity to our bond, and when at length we washed out onto green grass under a lowering sky, I wondered if the Prince’s mind had survived our escape from the treasure beach.

chapter
XXV

RANSOM

By these signs may you know one who has the potential for the Skill:

A child who comes of Skilled parents.

A child who wins often at games of physical skill, and his opponents stumble, lose heart, or play poorly against him.

A child who possesses memories not rightfully his.

A child who dreams, and his dreams are detailed and contain knowledge beyond the child’s own experience.

— DUN NEEDLESON, SKILLMASTER TO KING WIELDER

The barrow crouched on the hillside above us. It was raining, a misty but determined fall of water. The grass was deep and wet. I suddenly didn’t have the strength to stand by myself, let alone support the Prince. As one, we sank down until I knelt on the wet earth. I lowered his body to the sward. His eyes were open but they stared blindly. Only the rasping of his breath showed me he was alive. We were back in Buck, but our situation was only marginally better than when we had last left here.

We were both soaking wet. After a moment, I became aware of an odd smell and realized that the pillar behind us was radiating warmth. The smell was the dampness forced out of the stone. I decided I would rather be cold than get too close to it. The figurine still dangled from the chain tangled in the Prince’s fingers. I plucked it free, gathered up the chain, and put it inside my pouch. The Prince made no response to any of this. “Dutiful?” I leaned closer and looked directly into his eyes. They didn’t focus on me. The rain was falling on his face and his open eyes. I tapped him lightly on the cheek. “Prince Dutiful? Do you hear me?”

He blinked slowly. It was not much of a response, but it was better than nothing.

“You’ll feel better in a little while. Just rest here for a time.” I wasn’t sure that was true, but I left him on the wet grass and climbed up on top of the barrow. I surveyed the surrounding lands, but saw no other humans. There wasn’t much of anything to see, just rolling countryside and a few copses of trees. A flock of starlings wheeled in unison, and settled again, squabbling over feed. Beyond the wild meadow, there was forest. There was nothing that looked like an immediate threat, but nothing that looked like food, drink, and shelter, either. I was fairly certain that Dutiful would benefit from all three, and feared that without them he would sink further into unresponsiveness, but what I needed was even more basic. I wanted to know if my friends lived. I wanted beyond all rationality to reach out for my wolf. I longed to howl for him, to put my whole heart into that questing. I also knew it was the most foolish and reckless thing I could do. It would not only alert any Witted ones nearby that I was here, it would also warn them that I was coming.

I forced order onto my thoughts. I needed a refuge, and quickly. It seemed likely to me that the woman and the cat would be constantly questing for the Prince. Even now, they might be coming for him. The afternoon was already venturing toward evening. Dutiful had told me the Piebalds would kill Nighteyes and the Fool at sunset if I had not returned him. Somehow, I must get the Prince to a safe place before the woman could find us, then slip off on my own to discover where the Piebalds held my friends and then free them. Before sunset. I racked my brain. The closest inn I knew of was the Piebald Prince. I doubted that Dutiful would get a fond welcome there. Yet Buckkeep was a long walk and a river-fording away. I pondered but could think of no other refuge for him. In his present condition, I could scarcely leave him here alone, and another trip through a pillar would be the end of Dutiful’s mind, even if we emerged physically unscathed. I once more scanned the empty landscape. I reluctantly admitted that though I had choices, none of them were good. I abruptly decided that I would get us moving, and try to think of something better along the way.

I gave one final glance around before descending from the barrow. As I did so, my eye caught something, not a shape, but a movement beyond a cluster of trees. I crouched low and stared at it, trying to resolve what I had seen. In a few moments, the animal emerged. A horse. Black and tall. Myblack. She stared toward me. Slowly I stood again. She was too far off to go chasing after her. She must have fled when the Piebalds captured Nighteyes and the Fool. I wondered what had become of Malta. I watched her for a moment longer, but she only stood and stared back at me. I turned my back on her and descended to the Prince.

He was no more coherent, but at least had reacted to the chill rain by drawing into a ball and shivering. My apprehension for him was mixed with a guilty hope. Perhaps in his present condition, he could not use his Wit to let the Piebalds know where we were. I set my hand to his shoulder and tried to make my voice gentle as I told him, “Let’s get you up and walking. It will warm both of us.”

I don’t know if my words made sense to him. He stared ahead blankly as I pulled him to his feet. Once up, he hunched over his crossed arms. The shivering did not abate. “Let’s walk,” I suggested, but he did not move until I put an arm around him and told him, “Walk with me. Now.” Then he did, but it was a stumbling, staggering gait. At a snail’s pace, we traversed the wet hillside.

Very gradually, I became aware of the thud of hooves behind us. A glance back showed Myblack following us, but when I stopped, she stopped also. When I let go of the Prince, he sagged toward the earth and the horse immediately became suspicious. I dragged the Prince back to his feet. As we plodded on again, I could hear her uneven hoofbeats behind us again.

I ignored Myblack until she had nearly caught up with us. Then I sat down and let Dutiful lean against me until her curiosity overcame her native wariness. I paid no attention to her until her breath was actually warm on the back of my neck. Even then I did not turn to her, but snaked a hand stealthily around to catch hold of the dangling reins.

I think she was almost glad to be caught. I stood slowly and stroked her neck. Her coat was streaked with dried lather, and all her tack was damp. She had been grazing around her bit. Mud was crusted into one side of the saddle where she had tried to roll. I led her in a slow circle and confirmed what I feared. She was lamed. Something, perhaps the Wit-hounds, had tried to run her down, but her fleetness had saved her. I was amazed that she had even stayed in the area, let alone come back to me when she saw me. Yet there would be no wild gallop to safety for any of us. The best we would do was a halting walk.

I spent some little time trying to cajole the Prince into standing and mounting the horse. It was only when I lost my patience and ordered him to get to his feet and get on the damned horse that he obeyed me. Dutiful did not respond to conversation, but he obeyed simple orders from me. Then I appreciated how deep that jolt of Skill-command had gone, and how firmly linked we remained. “Don’t fight me,” I had charged him, and some part of him interpreted that as “don’t disobey me.” Even with his cooperation, the mount was an awkward maneuver. As I heaved him up into the saddle, I feared he would topple off the other side. I didn’t try to ride behind him. I doubted that Myblack would have tolerated it. Instead I led her. The Prince swayed with Myblack’s hitching gait but did not fall. He looked terrible. All the maturity had been stripped from his features, leaving him a sick child, his dark-circled eyes wide, his mouth drooping. He looked as if he could die. The full impact of that possibility seized my heart in a cold grip. The Prince dead. The end of the Farseer line and the shattering of the Six Duchies. A messy and painful death for Nettle. I could not let it happen that way. We entered a strip of open woods, startling a crow who rose, cawing like a prophet of doom. It seemed an ill omen.

I found myself talking to both Prince and horse as we walked. I spoke in Burrich’s soothing cadence, using his reassuring words, in a calming ritual remembered from my childhood. “Come along now, we’re all going to be fine, there, there, the worst part is over, that’s right, that’s right.”

From that I progressed to humming, and again it was some tune that Burrich had often hummed when he worked on injured horses or laboring mares. I think the familiar song calmed and settled me more than it did the horse or the Prince. After a time, I found myself talking aloud, as much to myself as to them. “Well, it looks as if Chade was right. You’re going to Skill whether you’re taught to or not. And I’m afraid the same holds true for the Wit. It’s in your blood, lad, and unlike some, I don’t think it can be beaten out of you. I don’t think it should be. But it shouldn’t be indulged the way you’ve indulged it, either. It’s not that different from the Skill, really. A man has to set limits on his magic and on himself. Setting limits is part of being a man. So if we come out of this alive and intact, I’ll teach you. I guess I’ll teach myself as well. It’s probably time for me to look into all those old Skill scrolls and find out what’s really in them. It scares me, though. In the last two years, the Skill has come back on me like some sort of spreading ulcer. I don’t know where it’s taking me. And I fear what I don’t know. That’s the wolf in me, I guess. And Eda’s breath, let him be safe right now, and my Fool. Don’t let them be in pain or dying simply because they knew me. If anything happens to either of them . . . it’s strange, isn’t it, how you don’t know how big a part of you someone is until they’re threatened? And then you think that you can’t possibly go on if something happens to them, but the most frightening part is that, actually, you will go on, you’ll have to go on, with them or without them. There’s just no telling what you’ll become. What will I be, if Nighteyes is gone? Look at Small Ferret, all those years ago. He went on and on, even though the only thing left in his little mind was to kill—”

“What about my cat?”

His voice was soft. Relief washed through me that he had enough mind left to speak. At the same time, I hastily reviewed my thoughtless rambling and hoped he had not been paying too much attention.

“How do you feel, my Prince?”

“I can’t feel my cat.”

A long silence followed. I finally said, “I can’t feel my wolf, either. Sometimes he needs to be separate from me.”

He was silent for so long that I feared he wasn’t going to reply. Then he said, “It doesn’t feel like that. She’s holding us apart. It feels as if I am being punished.”

“Punished for what?” I kept my voice even and light, as if we discussed the weather.

“For not killing you. For not even trying to kill you. She can’t understand why I don’t. I can’t explain why I don’t. But it makes her angry with me.” There was a simplicity to his heart-spoken words, as if I conversed with the person behind all the manners and artifice of society. I sensed that our journey through the Skill-pillar had stripped away many layers of protection from him. He was vulnerable right now. He spoke and reasoned as soldiers do when they are in great pain, or when ill men try to speak through a fever. All his guards were dropped. It seemed as if he trusted me, that he spoke of such things. I counseled myself not to hope for that, nor believe it. It was only the hardships he had been through that opened him to me like this. Only that. I chose my words carefully.

“Is she with you now? The woman?”

He nodded slowly. “She is always with me now. She won’t let me think alone.” He swallowed and added hesitantly, “She doesn’t want me to talk to you. Or listen. It’s hard. She keeps pushing me.”

“Do
you
want to kill me?”

Again there was that pause before he spoke. It was as if he had to digest the words, not simply hear them. When he spoke, he didn’t answer my question.

“You said she was dead. It made her very angry.”

“Because it is true.”

“She said she would explain. Later. She said that should be enough for me.” He was not looking at me, but when I gazed at him, he turned his whole head aside as if to be sure he would not see me. “Then she . . . she was me. And she attacked you with the knife. Because I . . . hadn’t.” I couldn’t tell if he was confused or ashamed.

“
Wouldn’t
kill me?” I suggested the word.

“Wouldn’t,” the Prince admitted. I was amazed at how grateful I was for the small piece of knowledge. He had refused to kill me. I had thought only my Skill-command had stopped him. “I wouldn’t obey her. Sometimes I’ve disappointed her. But now she is truly angry with me.”

“And they’re punishing you for that disobedience. By leaving you alone.”

He gave his head one slow, grave shake. “No. The cat does not care if I kill you or not. She would always be with me. But the woman . . . she is disappointed that I am not more loyal. So she . . . separates us. Me from the cat. The woman thinks that I should have been willing to show that I was worthy of her. How can they trust me if I refuse to prove my loyalty?”

“And you prove your loyalty by killing when you’re told to kill?”

He was silent for a long time. It gave me time to reflect. I had killed when I was told to kill. It had been part of my loyalty to my King, part of my bargain with my grandfather. He would educate me if I would be loyal to him.

I discovered I did not want Kettricken’s son to be that loyal to anyone.

He sighed. “It was . . . even more than that. She wants to make the decisions. All the decisions. Every time. Just as she told the cat what to hunt, and when, and took her kills away. When she holds us close, it feels like love. But she can also hold back from us, and yet we are still held . . .” He could see that I did not understand. After a time he added quietly, “I didn’t like it when she used my body against you. Even if she hadn’t been trying to kill you, I wouldn’t have liked it. She pushed me to one side, just like . . .” He didn’t want to admit it. I admired that he forced himself to it. “Just like I’ve felt her push the cat aside, when she didn’t want to do cat things. When she was tired of grooming, or didn’t want to play. The cat doesn’t like it, either, but she doesn’t know how to push back. I did. I pushed her back and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like that the cat felt me do it, either. I think that’s the biggest reason why I’m being punished. That I pushed her back.” He shook his head, baffled himself, and then said, “She’s so real. How can you be sure she’s dead?”