The Willful Princess and the Piebald Prince (9 page)

My own Redbird became the prince’s minstrel, and not only sang to remind him and his friends of brave deeds from the past, but also began to create his own journeyman songs about the prince and his doings—mostly his hunts, but sometimes of a kind deed done for the sake of kindness.

I was often Redbird’s first audience for those songs. And as I have a fair hand with the pen, I was happy to put on paper what he sang, for I wished it to ever be remembered that such clever words were the work of Redbird the Motley Minstrel and no other. For so he came to be called, and dressed accordingly in red and black and white. Over and over my son stressed to me that Charger wished him to be absolutely truthful in what he sang, with no bragging. And so he was. And I have taken that lesson from my own son, and so what I record here is truth and only truth, even when it does not paint me fair. For so I promised Redbird this account would be.

In those days, none remarked unduly that all of those of the Motley Court shared one thing with their Piebald Prince, and that was that the beast-magic was in their families and blood. Sometimes they gathered with the Farseer court at Buckkeep for the amusements the castle offered: festivals and hunts and evenings of dance and music. But just as often they hunted separately from the true court and held their own gatherings and made their own merriment. And if dogs and hunting cats, hawks and ferrets and even goats attended their gatherings, no one made much of it.

Some will say that at these private parties they held dark ceremonies and made magic with the blood and hides of beasts, and took on the shapes of animals. Some will say that in such forms, they coupled with animals and worked other foul magic. Some will say that even in those early days the Motley Court pledged to carry the Piebald Prince to power, and them with him.

Some will sing now of how Lord Canny Farseer’s horse was gored by a mad bull that nearly killed the young man as well. Some will speak of ravens that perched in trees near his chambers and followed him, whether he hunted over the fields or walked in the gardens with a woman. Some will say that even in those years the Piebald Prince sent his companions in beast form against Lord Canny, to harvest his secrets and harm his person if they could. But of these charges no true minstrel sings, for they are as false as a cruel lie can be. So my own Redbird has attested to me, and so I know.

Thus matters stood in the year the Piebald Prince turned seventeen.

In that year, on a high summer day, King Virile Farseer summoned his dukes and duchesses to attend him at a great feast. He fed them well and the wine flowed more freely than the rains of winter. Then, when all were sated and mellow of mind, King Virile made a sign. A page entered, bearing with him the crown of the King-in-Waiting, the crown worn by one who trains to be the next Farseer monarch. Seventeen years had passed since last it had been seen! This the page set on the table before the king on a cushion of rich blue velvet. All stared in wonder, and Lord Canny Farseer, who unsummoned had still come with his father, smiled to see it there, deeming it his already.

King Virile stood, stooped with his years, yet lordly still. He spoke to them all, apologizing for any follies of his youth, but hoping that he had ruled them well and justly in the past score of years. All his nobles pounded the board and agreed it was so. Then the king told them that his years had begun to weigh upon him and the time was ripe for him to assure the training of another who would follow him to the throne. He spoke of a young man grown in their midst, well taught and modest of mien. Canny Farseer did smile like the sun rising over the land. But then the king made another sign, and there entered the feasting hall the Piebald Prince. But now he walked as they had never seen him, proud in his carriage, regally clad in Buckkeep blue, the sleeves all embroidered with silver thread. To the high dais he ascended and stood before them all at the king’s side. For a time all was silent as the court looked upon him. He was a well-grown young man then, tall and wide of shoulders, though the darkness that mottled his face was thick as well, and rippled if he smiled or frowned. Yet, despite this marking, he was a well-made man: if not so flawed he might have been handsome.

Then King Virile set his hand on his grandson’s shoulder, and said that regardless of who this lad’s father might have been, no one could deny he was the true son of Queen-in-Waiting Caution and carried as much of the Farseer blood in his veins as any legitimate son. With that, the king formally recognized the Piebald Prince as his heir, calling him King-in-Waiting Charger and asked that his nobles accept him as such and declare him ready to assume the crown of the King-in-Waiting.

A silence stood in the hall, pressing down upon us all. Then, not with joy, but with a face full of duty, the Duke of Tilth said he would abide by his king’s will. Then Bearns rose to join him, and the Duchess of Farrow. The Duke of Rippon rose, and bowed silently, looking as if his mouth were full of rotten fish that he dared not spit out.

All the while, the face of the Duke of Buck grew darker with blood, till it near was black as a dead man’s. When finally he rose, he leaped to his feet, saying, “Is this how you pay back the loyalty of years, my brother? To put a bastard upon the throne of the Six Duchies?”

Yet it was Canny of Buck who stood then and coming to his father’s side, grasped his sleeve, and pleaded with him in words too quiet for any man to hear. The Duke of Buck, chest heaving with his angry breath, forced himself to calm. Before King Virile could answer his younger brother, Strategy bowed head and knee to the king and begged his pardon for his hasty words. “For any man might speak awry when a hope so long cherished is dashed away. Yet, I remain your most loyal subject, my king and brother. My son likewise.” Then both Strategy and Canny of Buck stood and recognized the king’s choice of Prince Charger to be the King-in-Waiting.

Yet the king’s choice seemed in truth to make no change at all, at first, for all continued much as it had. Charger stood at his grandfather’s shoulder and listened as he passed his judgments. He sat at his right now at meals, and wore the circlet of the King-in-Waiting upon his brow, but still the most influential nobles of the court paid him little heed. Still he gave most of his time to those lesser men who had befriended him before he was proclaimed the King-in-Waiting. Still Lord Canny of Buck presided over his Canny Court, and still many a lordly parent presented a daughter to him, hoping to make a match with the young noble. For though he might be only the son of the Duke of Buck, and though every one of the Six Duchies had recognized the Piebald Prince as the heir to the throne, Lord Canny remained the heir to their hearts.

Perhaps few save my Redbird perceived that a man who holds the loyalty of many small men might have near as much power as the man who holds the hearts of a few great ones. The king began to give over power to the King-in-Waiting, as was fitting, and sometimes it was the king who sat at judgment over his noble’s disagreements, and sometimes it was Charger. It was then that some of the lords of the Six Duchies began to complain that Charger was prone to decide in the favor of his favorites, regardless of right or wrong. Yet some said the opposite, saying that he judged wisely, not basing his decrees on how wealthy a man was or how noble his title, but on what was right and wrong. The truth of how it was will vary with every man that speaks of it, but I will repeat what Redbird wrote into his songs. He was a fair judge, true to honesty before any friendship or favor.

The King-in-Waiting began to make more secure the loyalties of those that followed him. To each of his friends he gave a piebald mount, the get of the Spotted Stud, and when they rode forth together to hunt, they hunted with spotted hounds. So the prince made his symbol from that which men used to mock him, and some admired him for his spirit. And his minstrel, Redbird, forsook the bright garments that most of his guild wore and donned garments of red and black and white to signify who he served.

Grants of land the Piebald Prince gave as well, and special entertainments for those who followed him. Their companion beasts were welcomed to these entertainments as well, and those who were not Witted often came with a Witted servant or companion, so soon it seemed that to have the Wit might be a path to the King-in-Waiting’s favor. Not all thought well of that, and many indeed disparaged it, saying that a man’s intelligence and good heart should count more than the happenstance of being born with a kind of magic. Yet the mutterings were small, and if Canny and his father were discontent, it was an unrest that few spoke about.

Now, one morning the king awoke, and all was not well. His left arm lay cold outside the bedclothes, and the side of his face drooped and he drooled from his mouth. His left eye hung half-closed, and he could not form words to tell the healer what ailed him. Now some will tell the tale that at the moment he was stricken a great black bird alighted on the parapet outside his window and there remained, both day and night. But any that tell this tale are attempting to be prophets after the event had passed. No such bird was noticed at that time, for the simple reason that the parapet was home to all manner of feathered creatures. So minstrels who sing such a song should keep company with those who prate of dragons and pecksies. The truth of the matter was that King Virile was an old man and an old man’s fate had found him.

For long days the king was ill. All his court attended him and remedies from many a healer were offered and tried but as the days passed, though he grew no worse, he grew little better. So the King-in-Waiting took up the duties of the king, and yet he dared not declare himself king, for King Virile still lived and some said he would soon recover. Canny Farseer was one of these, and he spoke softly to his noble friends, but they spoke his words louder: that it ill befitted King-in-Waiting Charger to take up the mantle of King Virile when the king had neither offered it nor died from it. Nor had the dukes convened to beg him to wear the crown. So Charger Farseer was a man caught between, neither king nor prince, and bound to be faulted whether he shirked his royal duties or claimed them.

Now, to court at this time came Lord Elfwise and his Lady Kyart, to offer to King Virile a remedy made only in the valleys of their tiny holding in Bearns. With them came their daughter, Lady Wiffen. The remedy they brought to court proved of no benefit to the king, but none faulted them for this. Many such remedies had already failed. Yet Copper Songsmith tells that they also brought with them that which was the downfall of the Piebald Prince, and that downfall’s name was Lady Wiffen. And in this perhaps Copper Songsmith sings true.

Was Lady Wiffen lovely? Not as you might think. From her mother’s line she had blue eyes, and from her father’s hair of midnight. Copper Songsmith says of her that she walked like a swordsman, danced like a butterfly, and laughed with the music of the wind in her voice. He also says of her that she ate like a guardsman and drank as if hollow and sang many a bawdy song more lustily than well. Copper says of her that she was as unlike a well-bred lady as could be imagined. Yet this was the woman who captivated not only King-in-Waiting Charger but his cousin Lord Canny as well. All this Copper Songsmith sings, and I will record that here, but note that Redbird himself does not say such things. Of Lady Wiffen, Redbird says that I am to say only that she came to Buckkeep Castle, and that both Lord Canny and King-in-Waiting Charger found her comely and alluring.

Gifts and attentions they showered upon her, to the astonishment of her parents and her undisguised delight. A piebald mare, a ring with three emeralds, a music box, a Jamaillian tapestry, chimes from Bingtown, perfumes from Candalay…each man’s gift was more expensive than his rival’s previous one. Two minstrels sent to sing outside her chamber window by moonlight came to blows in their masters’ names, and were both well doused with the lady’s wash-water. For a time, such antics amused both courts at Buckkeep, and no one disparaged the lady for being unable to decide between two such determined suitors. She might arise to ride with one, dine with the other, and dance that evening with the first one again. To Lord Canny, on his name day, she gifted a silver cup. When it was King-in-Waiting Charger’s birthday, she presented him with a hip-knife with a buck’s head on the hilt. Some sing that she was just a simple country girl come to court, with no idea how to deal with her illustrious admirers. Others say that her father urged her to smile on Lord Canny, while her mother matched her with the Piebald Prince.

Of these things, Redbird said this: it may have been the girl and her charms, but it seemed most likely to him that she was no more than a target for their rivalry and a cause to make their long contention loud and bloody. The competition that had festered between them since the Piebald Prince was born finally had a place where it could be clearly won or lost, with no fears of anyone saying shame upon them or muttering of traitors to the crown of the Six Duchies. If the Lady Wiffen had clearly declared for one or the other perhaps their infatuation would have burned out within a fortnight. But as it was, what neither could possess became bitter dispute between them, and their quiet war finally gained a public face.

Redbird has said that opinions may have truth in them but that truth must be free of opinions. So, for him, I shall say now not what men speculated, but what happened. Lady Wiffen declared no favorite. As first the weeks passed and then the months, the courts’ amusement turned to irritation and then open hostility. The Canny Court muttered that Charger had first stolen Lord Canny’s rightful throne and now he would steal his true love. The Motley Court rejoined that Lady Wiffen had not given her hand to anyone and that the rightful king was as free to court her as any man. The quarrel grew from pointed jests to harsh words, and yet never openly between the two rivals but always amongst the men that followed them.

Then blood was shed outside the Great Hall in a drawing of weapons based on what one man had said of the other’s lord. It was Lord Ulder, of Blackearth in Buck, whose bright blood spattered the snow, and it was Lord Elkwin, holder of the tiny fief of Tower Rock in Farrow, a follower of the Piebald Prince, who shed it. The battle was swift and fairly fought, and perhaps it might have been ignored save that Ulder’s wound went to foulness and pus. He died within the week, and there were mutterings of filth on Elkwin’s blade, deliberately treated to cause a festering wound. On the night following Ulder of Blackearth’s death someone went to the stables. Fully a dozen piebald steeds were slain before the uproar of the other horses and dogs put the varlet to flight. Some said it was Ulder’s younger brother Curl who struck such a cowardly blow, yet as no minstrel witnessed it, no minstrel should sing of it as true, and so I tell it here as Redbird himself would.