The Tawny Man 1 - Fool's Errand

by Robin Hobb

  "Dare we ask for word of the Prince?" Laurel asked. Our weary horses seemed to sense there might be something better than grass and creek water for them tonight. They picked up their pace as they went down the hill. I saw no sign of Nighteyes, but I had not expected to.

  "I'll make some quiet inquiries," I volunteered. I imagined that Nighteyes already was doing that. If they had passed through the village and paused at all, the cat would have left some sign.

  With unerring instinct, Lord Golden led us to an inn. It was a grand building for such a small town, built of black stone and boasting a second story. The hanging signboard chilled my heart. It was the Piebald Prince, neatly divided into his head and four quarters. It was not the first time I had seen him depicted that way; in fact, it was the com- monest way to see him, but a sense of foreboding hung over me. If either Lord Golden or Laurel were given pause by the sign, they did not betray it. Light spilled wide from the inn's open door, and talk and good cheer flowed out with it. I smelled cooking food and Smoke and beer. The level of the laughter and shouted conversation was a pleasant roar. Lord Golden dismounted and told me to take the horses to the hostler. Laurel accompanied him into the noisy common room as I led the animals around to the darkened back of the inn. In a few moments, a door was flung open, and light stabbed out into the dusty innyard. The hostler appeared, wiping his interrupted meal from his lips, and bearing a lantern. He took the horses from me and led them off to the stable. I more felt than saw Nighteyes in the deeperdarkness at the corner of the inn. As I approached the inn door, a shadow detached itself and brushed past me. In that brief touch, I knew his thoughts.

  They were here. Be cautious. I smell man's blood in the street in front of this place . And dogs . LJsmlly dogs are here, but not tonight.

  He blurred into the night before I could ask him any details. I went in through the back door with an uneasy heart and an empty belly. Inside, the innkeeper informed me that my master had already commanded his finest room, and was to bring all the bags up. Wearily I turned back to the stables. While I appreciated Lord Golden's ruse to let me have a good look inside the stables, I was suddenly afflicted with a weariness that could barely be suppressed. Food and sleep. I didn't even need a bed. I would have been happy to drop where I stood.

  The hostler was still putting grain into our horses' feed bins. Perhaps because I was there, they got a more generous shake of oats. I saw nothing unusual in the stables. There were three plug horses of the kind such a place usually kept for hire, and a battered cart. A cow in a byre probably provided the milk for the guests' porridge. I disapproved of the chickens roosting in the rafters. Their droppings would foul the horses' food and water, but there was little I could do about it. There were only two other horses stabled there, not enough to be the mounts of those we followed. There were no hunting cats tethered in empty stalls. Well, nothing was ever easy. The hostler was competent at his work, but not talkative, nor even curious. His clothing was pungent with Smoke; I suspected the herbs had mellowed him past caring much about anything. I got our bags and, heavily laden, made my way back to the inn.

  The finest room was up a flight of worn wooden steps. The climb taxed me more than it should have. I knocked at the door, then managed to open it for myself. It was the finest room in the sense that it was the best sitting room at the inn. Lord Golden was enthroned in a cushioned chair at the head of a scarred table. Laurel sat at his right hand. There were mugs in front of them and a large earthenware pitcher. I smelled ale. I managed to set the bags down inside i the door instead of just dropping them. Lord Golden deigned to notice me. "I've ordered food, Tom Badgerlock. And arranged rooms for us. As soon as they've made the beds up, they'll show you where to take the bags. Until then, do be seated, my good man. You've well earned your keep today. There's a mug for you."

  He nodded to a seat at his left, and I took it. Someone had already poured the ale for me. I'm afraid I drained off that first mug without any other thought than that it was sustenance after a long day. It was neither the best nor the worst brew I'd ever tasted, but few draughts had been as welcome as that one. I set the empty mug down on the table and Lord Golden nodded permission at the pitcher. As I refilled our mugs, the food arrived. There was a roast fowl, a large bowl of buttered peas, a meal pudding with treacle and cream, crisp trout on a platter, bread, butter, and more ale. Before the servingboy left, Lord Golden added another request. He had badly bruised his shoulder that morning; would the boy bring him a slab of raw meat from the kitchen to draw the soreness from the swelling? Laurel served Lord Golden and herself and then passed the dishes on to me. We ate in near silence, all of us very intent on the food. In a short time, the fowl and fish had been reduced to bones on the platters. Lord Golden rang for the inn servants to clear away. They brought a berry pie with clotted cream for a sweet, and more ale. The slab of raw meat came with it. As soon as the servant was gone, Lord Golden neatly wrapped it in his napkin and handed it to me. I wondered with weary gratitude if anyone would notice its disappearance. A short time later I became aware that I had eaten more than I should have done, and drunk more than was wise. I had that sodden, overly full feeling that is so miserable after one has been hungry all day. Lassitude crept over me. I tried to hide my yawns behind my hand and pay attention to the hushed conversation between Lord Golden and Laurel. Their voices seemed distant, as if a noisy river rushed between them and me.

  "One of us should have a quiet look around," Laurel was insisting. "Perhaps some questions asked downstairs would discover where they were going, or if they are known around here. It could be they are close by."

  "Tom?" Lord Golden prodded me.

  "I already have," I said softly. "They were here. But they either moved on already, or are at a different inn. If a town this size has more than one inn." I leaned back in my chair.

  "Tom?" Lord Golden asked me with some annoyance. In an aside to Laurel he observed, "It's probably the Smoke. He's never had any head for it. Just walking through the fumes puts him into a fog."

  I pried open my eyes. "Beg pardon?" I asked. My own voice sounded thick and distant in my ears.

  "How do you know they were here?" Laurel demanded. Had she asked that before?

  I was too tired to think of a good answer. "I just do," I replied shortly, and then directed my words to Lord Golden as if we had been interrupted. "There's also been blood spilled in the street outside the inn. We should go carefully around here."

  He nodded sagely. "I think our wisest course is an early bed and an earlier start tomorrow." Without letting Laurel voice any objections, he rang the servants' bell again. He was told that his rooms were, indeed, ready. Laurel had a tiny room to herself up at the end of the hall. Lord Golden had a more substantial chamber, with room for a cot for his man in it. The maidservant who had come at the bell insisted that she would carry Laurel's bag up to her chamber for her, so we said good night there. I avoided her eyes. I was suddenly tremendously weary, too weary to even attempt our roles. It was all I could do to shoulder a share of our bags and follow the servant to Lord Golden's rooms. He -, stayed behind, chatting with the innkeeper about replenishing our travel supplies before we left in the morning.

  Our room was at the back of the inn, on the ground floor. I dragged our baggage inside, closed the door behind the departing servant, and opened wide the window. I found a nightshirt for Lord Golden and laid it out on his turned-down bed. I put the meat inside my shirt, to take to Nighteyes later. Then I sat down on my bed to await Lord Golden's return.

  I awoke to someone shaking my shoulder gently. "Fitz? Are you all right?"

  I came up slowly out of my dream. It took a moment or two to recall who I was. In my dream, I had been in another city, a populous, well-lit city. There had been music and many torches and lights. A celebration. I had not been a servant, but was "It's gone," I told the Fool sleepily.

  I heard an odd scrabbling noise and then a thump as Nighteyes heaved himself over the windowsill and then dr
opped into the room. He thrust his nose into my face. I petted him absently. I felt so drowsy. My ears buzzed.

  The Fool shook me again. "Fitz. Stay awake and talk to me. What's wrong? Is it the Smoke?"

  "Nothing. It's just so peaceful. I want to go back to sleep." Sleep pulled at me like a retreating tide. I longed to recede with it. Nighteyes poked me again.

  Stupid. It's the black stone, like the Elderling road. You're getting lost in it again. Come outside.

  I forced my eyes open wider. I looked up into the Fool's concerned face, and then dazedly gazed at the walls that surrounded me. Black stone. Veined with silver. And when I looked at it, I recognized it for what it was, stone scavenged from a much older building. The stones of the inner wall of the room fitted almost seamlessly together, but the outer wall was built more roughly. No, I suddenly knew, that wasn't completely right. The building predated the town, but it had been a ruin, rebuilt from the same ancient stone. And that ancient stone was memory stone, worked by Elderling hands.

  I do not know what the Fool thought as I tottered to my feet. "Stones. Memory stone," I told him thickly as I groped my way toward the fresh air. I heard his astonished cry when I threw myself out of the window into the dusty innyard. The wolf landed more softly beside me. An instant later, Nighteyes faded into the shadows as someone leaned out of a window and demanded, "What goes on there?"

  "It's my idiot servingman!" Lord Golden retorted in disgust. "So drunk he has fallen out the window trying to close it for me. Well, let him lie there. Serves the soddenoaf right."

  I lay still in the dust of the innyard and felt the plucking dreams recede. In a moment or two, I would stand and walk farther from the stone walls. I just needed a momentor two.

  The terrible tiredness that had been burdening me all evening gradually eased. I floated in relief. I stared up into the night sky and felt as if I could rise right up into it. Somewhere a couple was arguing. He was miserable but she was insistent. It was too much trouble to focus on their words, but then they came closer, and I could not avoid overhearing them.

  "I should go home," he said. He sounded very young. "I should go back to my mother. If I had not left her, none of this would have happened. Arno would still be alive. And those others."

  She inserted her head under his arm, and then rested it on his chest. That's true. And we would be apart, you forever given to another. Is that truly what you want?

  They had drifted closer. With him, I breathed the sweet scent of her, musky and wild. He held her close. The wind blew through my dream of them, tattering the edges. He stroked her fur; her long dark hair threaded through his fingers. "It isn't what I want. But perhaps it is my duty."

  Your duty is to your people. And to me. She wrapped her hand around his forearm. Her fingernails pressed against his flesh like claws. She tugged at him with them. Come on. Itis time to get up again. We cannot tarry, we must ride.

  He looked down into her green eyes. "My love, I must go back. I would be more useful to all of us there. I could speak out, I could press for change. I could We would be apart. Could you stand that? "I would find a way for us to be together." No.' She cuffed his cheek, and her palm rasped against his skin. There was a hint of claws in the gesture. No. They would not understand. They would force us apart. They would kill me, and perhaps you, too. Recall the tale of the Piebald Prince. His royal blood was not enough to protect him. Yours would be no shield to you. A pause, then: I am the only one who truly cares about you. Only can save you. But I dare not come to you completely until you have proven you are one of us. Always you hold back. Are you ashamed of your Old Blood? No. Never that.

  Then open yourself. Be what you know you are. He was silent for a long time. "I have a duty," he said softly. Infinite regret was in his voice.

  "Get him up!" The man's voice came from behind me. "There's no time for delay. We need to gain some distance." I twisted on the ground to see who spoke but saw no one.

  Green eyes stared into his. I could have fallen forever into those eyes. Trust me, she begged him, and he had to do as she requested. Later you can think of these things. Later you can think of duty. For now, think of living. And of me. Get up. The Fool took my arm and draped it across his shoulders. "Up you come," he said persuasively, and heaved me to my feet. He was dressed all in black. More time must have passed than I had thought. Laughter and talk still spilled from the common room of the inn along with light. Once I was up, I found I could walk, but the Fool still insisted on keeping my arm as he guided me to a dark corner of the innyard. I leaned against the rough wood of the stable wall and collected myself.

  "Are you going to be all right?" the Fool asked me again.

  "I think so." The cobwebs were clearing from my mind. But the feel of these cobwebs was more familiar. felt the familiar twinges of a Skill-headache, but they were less determined than usual. I drew a deep breath. "I'll be all right. But I don't think I should try to sleep in the inn tonight. It's built from memory stone, Fool, like the black road. Like the stone in the quarry."

  "Like the dragon Verity carved," he filled in.

  I took a deep breath. My head was clearing rapidly. "It's full of memories. That's so strange, to find stone like that here in Buck. I never supposed the Elderlings had come this far."

  "Of course they had. Think about it. What do you think the old Witness Stones are, if not Elderling handiwork?"

  His words shocked me. Then, it was so obvious that I didn't waste time agreeing. "Yes, but standing stones are one thing. That inn is the rebuilt remains of an Elderling structure. I had never expected to see that here in Buck."

  He was silent for a time. As my eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness where we sheltered, I could see that he was actually chewing at the corner of his thumbnail. After a moment, he realized I was looking at him and snatched his hand away from his mouth. "Sometimes I get so caught up in the immediate puzzle that I overlook the pieces of the larger question that are all around us," he said as if confessing a fault. "So. You are all right now?"

  "I think I'll be fine. I'll find an empty stall in the stable and sleep there. If the hostler asks, I'll tell him I'm in disgrace." I turned to go, then thought to ask, "Will you be able to get back into the inn, dressed like that?"

  "Just because I sometimes wear the clothes of a nobleman, don't think I've forgotten all the tricks of a tumbler."

  He sounded almost offended. "I'll get back in the way I got out: through the window."

  "Good. I may take a walk about the town, to 'clear my head.' And to see what I can discover. If you can make the opportunity, go to the common room. Stir the gossip pot and see if you hear anything of strangers with a hunting cat passing through here yesterday." I started to add something about bloodshed in the street, but stopped myself. There was little chance it directly related to us. "Very well. Fitz. Go carefully." "There's no need to remind me of that." I started to step away from him but he suddenly caught at my arm. "Don't go just yet. I've wanted to talk to you all day." He abruptly let go of me and crossed his arms on his chest. He took a ragged breath. "I did not think this would be so hard. I've played so many roles in my life. I thought it would be easy, that it might even be fun to play master to your man. It's not."

  "No. It's hard. But I think it's wise." "We've blundered too many times with Laurel." I shrugged helplessly. "That is as it is. She knows we were both chosen by the Queen. Perhaps we can leave her in confusion and let her draw her own conclusions. They might be more convincing than anything we could fabricate."

  He cocked his head and smiled. "Yes. That tactic pleases me. For now, we shall discover what we can tonight, and plan an early start in the morning."

  We separated at those words. He withdrew into the darkness, vanishing as adeptly as Nighteyes could. I watched for him to cross the innyard but did not see him. I caught one brief glimpse of him as he vaulted back through the darkened window. I did not hear a sound.

  Nighteyes pressed heavily against my leg. What news? I as
ked him. Our Wit was as silent as the warmth of his body against me. Bad news. Keep silent and follow.

  He took me, not through the main streets of town, but away from its center. I wondered where we were going, but dared not reach forth to touch minds with him. I curbed my Wit, though it dulled my senses not to share the wolf's awareness. We ended up in a rocky field near the river's edge. He took me to the edge of it, where large trees grew. The tall dry grasses had been tramped down flat there. I caught a whiff of cooked meat and cold ashes. Then my eyes pieced together the length of rope still hanging from a tree, and the burned-out fire beneath it. I stood very still. The night wind off the river stirred the ashes and suddenly the smell of cooked meat sickened me. I put my hand over the extinguished coals. They were sodden and cold. A fire deliberately set and deliberately drowned. I poked at them, and felt the telltale greasiness of dripping fat. They had been more than thorough. Hung, cut in quarters, burned, and the remains thrown in the river.

  I moved well away from the fire to the shelter of the trees. I sat down on a big rock there. The wolf came and sat beside me. After a time, I remembered his meat and gave it to him. He ate it without ceremony. I sat with my hand over my mouth, wondering. Coldness moved through me where blood had once flowed. Townsmen had done this, and now they ate and laughed and sang songs at the inn. They had done this to someone just like me. Perhaps to the son of my body.

  No. The blood does not smell right. It was not him.

  It was a small comfort. It only meant that he had not died today. Did the townsfolk hold him somewhere? Was the lively night at the inn an anticipation of more blood sport on the morrow?

  I became aware of someone coming softly through the night toward us. She came from the direction of the town lights, but did not walk on the road. She came through the trees at the edge of the road, moving near soundlessly.

  Huntingwoman.

  Laurel stepped from the shadow of the trees. I watched , her as she moved purposefully toward the burned patch. As "I had earlier, she crouched over it, sniffing, and then touching the ashes.