Fool's Quest (40 page)

“If he doesn't, he should,” Foxglove responded tartly, and mugs thumped the table in agreement. “I don't recall your asking permission before the white fox badge marked a guard troop.”

“Oh, that was you and Whistle, not I!” I rejoined, and she laughed.

“Perhaps. But I recall it differently.” Then her face grew sober. “Ah, Whistle. She went too fast, didn't she?” She cleared her throat. “My infants, draw your knives and present them to Fitz … to Prince FitzChivalry. We'll do this the old way.”

Old it was, so old I did not know it, but she walked us through it, and five others followed. She nicked the back of my left hand, and as the tip of her knife moved my blood onto the outstretched palm of the boy, she told him, “The blood of the Farseers rests in your hands, for you to protect. You hold his life in your hands, now and whenever you draw blade in his name. Do not dishonor it, nor put your life ahead of his.”

There was more and I became aware of first Dutiful and then Nettle joining me as the guards wearing my badge came to me one at a time. They swore their blades to me and took my blood into their hands and I tried to breathe and keep some measure of royal poise as I did so. As the last one rose, taking back from me his sworn blade, I felt a breath of Skill from Nettle.
That was beautiful.

I'll wager Fitz is weeping like a maiden.
This from Dutiful, wryly, but I could feel that he was as moved as Nettle had been.

Or weeping like a man who is finally welcomed home,
Nettle responded tartly.

What do I do with them now?
I was a bit dazed.

Quarter them.
Clothe them. Pay them. Make sure they keep discipline and practice daily. Isn't being royal fun? You're going to need staff, Fitz. The people who do all the things that need doing.

I don't have time for this! I have to go after Bee!

With them at your heels, Fitz. You'll need them. But most of them look as green as grass. Do you want me to choose one of my captains and send him to you?

I think I've a better idea. I hope.

My silence during my conversation with Dutiful had been taken for gravitas. I turned my gaze on Foxglove. “Captain Foxglove, I'd like your blade now.”

She stared at me. “I'm an old woman, Fitz. I left the guard many years ago, after our king drove the Red Ships from our shores. I liked peace. I wed, I had children, and I saw them every day. Now I'm old. I've a bad elbow, and my knees are stiff, and my eyesight is not what it was.”

“But your mind is. You can refuse me if you wish. I imagine you've a home and a husband and …”

“Red Ross is gone for many a year now.” She stood very still. I watched memories flicker through her eyes. Then she spoke in a whisper as she drew a humble hip-knife from her belt. “If you still wish to have my blade, I'll swear it to you, Fitz.”

“I do. I'll need someone to keep these puppies in order.”

And so I opened the small wound on my hand afresh, and put my blood into the palm of one who had already held the lives of Farseers in her hands. I would not allow her to go down on her knees to me, but took her promise from her standing. “Face-to-face, as we once stood back-to-back,” I told her. She smiled and every guardsman in the room cheered her.

“And my orders, sir?” she asked.

“To do what you think best. You know far better than I how to captain them. Quarter them, clothe them, see they don't break discipline, and take them to the practice yards. And pay them when their pay is due.” I tried not to betray that I had no idea where those funds would be coming from.

Guards are paid from the treasury. I'll let Lady Lightfoot know that we've a new troop. Right now Chade is awake and almost sensible. My mother is with him. Nettle and I will meet you there.

On my way.

But it took me some little time to pry myself loose from the guards' mess. I had to lift a toast to my new captain of the guard, and confirm several tales she had told of the battle of Neat Bay. Thankfully none of them touched on my legendary ability to change myself into a wolf and rip out throats. Finally I was able to leave Foxglove at the head of the table with her two grandchildren beaming with pride as I slipped away.

I lowered my head as if in deep thought and strode hastily through the corridors and up the stairs of Buckkeep Castle, everything about me saying I was a man who had no time to stop for words. My concern for Bee vied with my concern for Chade. I needed him to help me sort through all the Fool had told me about the Servants. Chade, if anyone, would know how to outfox them. I needed him for every aspect of my return to life at Buckkeep. It was unmanning to realize how much I depended on him. I tried to imagine the court at Buckkeep without him. Or my life without him manipulating all sorts of events from behind the curtains like a very clever puppeteer. I'd been counting on him to manufacture and release plausible explanations for where I had been and my connection to Tom Badgerlock, if there was to be one. How quickly would the news flow from Withywoods to Withy and then to Oaksbywater? I would deal with it. Once I had Bee back, I would deal with everything else, I vowed to myself, and took the last flight of steps two at a time.

A page with a tray of emptied dishes was just leaving Chade's room, and behind her came a cavalcade of healers with basins and soiled bandages and baskets of supplies for treating wounds. They bobbed greetings to me as they passed, and I returned them. As the last one left, I slipped in the open door.

Chade rested in grand fashion in the midst of his emerald-green bedding and cushions. The heavy curtains around his bed had been pulled back. A large, cheery fire burned on the hearth, and the room was warmly lit with candles. Kettricken was there, gowned simply in white and purple. She sat in a chair near the head of Chade's bed, some bit of needlework in her hands. King Dutiful stood at the foot of his bed, formally attired in heavy robes. His crown dangled from his fingertips. I suspected he had just come from the Judgment Chambers. Nettle was gazing out the window, her back toward me. As she turned, I fancied I could see a slight swell in her belly. A growing child. A baby for her and Riddle to cherish.

I turned back to Chade. Pillows propped him all around. He was looking at me. The rims of his eyes were pink as if recently cleansed of a crust, and the flesh looked loose on his face. His long-fingered hands rested on the edges of the coverlet, still as I had seldom seen them still. But his gaze met mine and recognized me. “You look terrible,” I greeted him.

“I feel terrible. That bit of scum's sword did more damage than I thought it had.”

“But you still made an end of him.”

“I did.”

There we stopped. I had not told anyone there how Chade had ended the traitor. Or had I? Oh. I recalled what Dutiful had told me of the Rousters and I wondered what they would make of cut hamstrings, a notched nose, and a slashed throat. Later. Deal with it later.

I wanted to ask if Shun's stepfather had already paid the price for his treachery. But that, too, was not a question to ask in front of others. I spoke to all of them. “I may have a bit of good news for us. It's thin soup but better than nothing to feed our hopes upon. The Fool confirms what I've suspected. The attack on Withywoods came from Servants of the White Prophet. The Chalcedeans there were most likely mercenaries hired to wield swords, with the Servants directing the attack. The Fool has listened to all the Withywoods folk told us about that terrible evening. He is convinced from the way they dressed Bee in white and bundled her into their sleigh that they believe she is a, uh, a shaysa—that is, a White Prophet candidate. Or something like that. They will value her and will attempt to take her back to their home in Clerres.”

“And Shun?” Chade demanded.

“You heard what the folk of Withywoods said. Bee did her best to protect her. If the Servants value Bee as the Fool believes they do, I hope that means Bee can continue to extend some protection to Shun.”

There was a silence. “So we can hope,” Kettricken offered us quietly.

“Thin soup indeed.” Chade was slowly shaking his head. “You should never have left them alone there, Fitz.”

“I know,” I said simply. Little else I could say to that.

Nettle cleared her throat. “Chade's messenger has proven his usefulness. I had believed his level of Skill-talent too low for him to belong to a formal coterie, but in this he has functioned well, and we will now train Sildwell as a Solo.”

“You've word from Withywoods?”

“Yes. Once the Skill-fog was cleared, Chade's messenger was able to reach us clearly, as did my journeyman Grand. But little of it is cheery. FitzVigilant is on his way back to Buckkeep, accompanied by the remaining Rousters. I am leaving Grand in place there. They are bringing the bodies of those who attacked you on Gallows Hill. We have led them to believe you and Chade were attacked by unknown assailants, who fled after the Rousters had loyally protected your entry into the stones.”

“That galls me,” Chade said bitterly from his bed.

“But it best protects FitzVigilant and Thick as they journey with the Rousters back to Buckkeep. At least one of the dead men deserves a hero's funeral, Chade. When they are here in Buckkeep we will sort the sheep from the goats, and we are already digging to see how such treachery could occur within their ranks. The Rousters has always been a ‘final chance' troop among the guards. Perhaps it is time we disband them altogether.” Dutiful's voice fell on those last words.

Chade had a slight smile on his face. He pointed a finger at the king and said to me, “He learns. An excellent trait in a king.” He gave a small sigh and added, “When I feel a bit stronger, I will help in that digging. But don't disband my Rousters. I have a man …” His words trickled away. His mouth was slightly ajar as he stared into the flames. I turned my gaze to Nettle. She shook her head at me and lifted a finger to her lips.

Dutiful turned back to me and spoke almost in a whisper. “Thick rides with them, of course. He and Lant will look after each other. And we have Sildwell with them, to keep us informed. Still, it will be good to have both of them safely home again. Lant will stay at court, and this time he will be safe here. As he should have been all along. The sons of Lord Vigilant will not be presented at court for five years.” There seemed some small rebuke for Chade there. Had he never informed Dutiful that Lant's “stepmother” harbored hatred for him? Well, it meant that the boys had survived. I wondered about the stepmother's health but did not ask.

Dutiful drew a breath and informed me, “We have had no reports of the raiders after they left Withywoods. It is as if they vanished completely. We think it is that fogging they can do. I've asked several of the Skill-journeymen to look through the scrolls for any mention of such a use of it and how it can be detected. But we will continue to search for them and to watch key locations. Grand is in place at Withywoods, with directions that he continue queries and report back daily.”

“How are my people there?”

“Our folk are as well as could be expected,” Nettle replied quietly.

A silence fell in the room. I pondered the full import of those words. Nothing I could do about what had been done.

Chade spoke suddenly. “Ah, Fitz! There you are.”

I turned to Chade and forced a smile to my face. “How are you?” I asked him.

“I am … not good.” He looked around at the others as if he wished them gone. No one moved to leave. When he spoke again, I knew he was not telling the full truth. “I feel as if I have been away for a long time. A very long time. Dutiful and Nettle tell me we were less than the full turn of a day in the stones. But I feel as if we were there much longer. Much longer.” His eyes held mine, asking.

“It was almost a full day, Chade. Things can seem very strange in a Skill-passage.” I glanced at Dutiful. He was nodding, his gaze distant. “I think they are more dangerous to use than we know. There is more to them than we understand. When we travel through them, we traverse something much more than distance. We should not use them as if they were simple doors that go from here to there.”

“There, we agree,” Nettle said softly. She glanced at Dutiful, deferring to him.

He cleared his throat. “And how do you feel, Fitz?”

“I think I am almost myself.”

“I fear I have to disagree with you. And Nettle shares that opinion with me. Even now, both of you ring oddly against my Skill-sense, and you have ever since you returned from the stones. We believe your journey changed something in you both. And that perhaps both of you ought to refrain from using the Skill for a time.”

“Perhaps,” Chade agreed. He sighed heavily and then flinched.

I knew I would discuss the Skill-prohibition privately with Chade. I changed the subject. “How bad is your wound?”

“We think the blade sliced into his liver. The bleeding has stopped. The healer says we are wisest to leave well enough alone, that searching the injury may do more damage than simply letting him rest.” Dutiful spoke. Chade rolled his eyes.

“It seems a good plan to me.”

“It is,” Nettle asserted. “And we need another plan as well.” She came away from the window to stand directly in front of Dutiful. She cleared her throat. “My king, invaders have dared to bring Chalcedean mercenaries into the heart of your kingdom. They have attacked my home, killing and injuring my servants. And they have stolen my sister, a child of the Farseer lineage, even if as yet unacknowledged!” Dutiful listened to her gravely. “Such an invasion is not to be tolerated, not by me or by you. The Fool has told us that they will attempt to take them to Clerres. That is a place I have never heard of, but surely it must be on some map, somewhere in Buckkeep. And whether it be north, south, east, or west of us, we can block their path! I beg you, as your subject and your cousin, send out our troops now. If we cannot find them on their road, at least we can put a watch on every kingsway, on every ferry crossing, and in every harbor. Block them, stop them, and bring my sister and Lord Chade's daughter home safe to us.”