The Tawny Man 1 - Fool's Errand

by Robin Hobb

  I stood, making just enough sound to let her know I was there. She flinched, spinning to confront us.

  "How long ago?" I asked the night.

  Laurel sighed out a small breath as she recognized us. Then, "Just this afternoon," she answered quietly. "My maid told me about it. Bragged, actually, of how the lad she is to marry was right in the thick of it, getting rid of the Piebald. That's what they call them in this valley. Piebalds."

  The river wind blew between us. "So you came out here ... ?"

  "To see what was left to be seen. Which isn't much. I feared it might be our Prince, but "

  "No." Nighteyes was leaning heavily against me, and I shared what we both suspected. "But I think it was one of his companions."

  "If you know that much, then you know the others fled."

  I hadn't known that, but I was shamefully relieved to hear it. "Were they pursued?"

  "Yes. And the men who chased them off have not returned yet. Some chased, some stayed to kill the one they had caught. It is planned that the ones who did this" and she indicated the rope and the fire circle with a disdainful kick "will ride out in the morning. There is some anxiety that their friends have not returned yet. Tonight they'll drink, and build up both their courage and anger. Tomorrow they'll ride."

  "Then we had best ride out before them, and swifter."

  "Yes." Her glance traveled from me to Nighteyes and back again. We both looked around at the trampled ground and the dangling rope and the burned-out place. It seemed as if there should have been something for us to do, some gesture to make, but if there was, it escaped me.

  We walked back to the inn together in near silence. I marked her dark garments and the soft-soled boots she wore, and once again I thought that Queen Kettricken had chosen well. I dirtied the night with a question whose answer I dreaded. "Did she tell you many details? How or why they were attacked, if the boy and the cat were with them?" Laurel drew a deep breath. "The one they killed was not a stranger. He was one of their own, and they had suspected him of Beast Magic for a long time. The usual stupid stories . . . that when other lambs died of the scours, his survived. That a man angered him, and after that, the man's chickens died off. He came to town today with strangers, one a big man on a warhorse, one with a cat riding behind him. The others with him were also known to these folk, boys who had grown up on outlying farms. There are usually dogs at the inn. The innkeeper's son keeps rabbit hounds, and he had just returned from the hunt. The dogs were still excited. At the sight of the cat, the dogs went mad. They surrounded the horse, leaping and snapping. The man with the cat our Prince, most likely drew his blade to defend the cat, and slashed at the hounds, cutting an ear off one. But that was not all he did. He opened his mouth wide, and snarled, hissing like a cat.

  "At the commotion, other men boiled out of the inn. Someone shouted 'Piebald!' Another cried for a rope and a torch. The man on the warhorse laughed at them, and put his horse to kicking out at both dogs and men. One man was kicked to the ground by the horse. The mob responded with rocks and curses, and more men came out of the tavern. The Piebalds broke the circle and tried to ride off, but a lucky stone caught one of the riders on the temple and knocked him from his saddle. The mob closed on him, and he yelled at the others to ride. The girl made them all out to be cowards for fleeing, but I suspect that the one they caught delayed the mob so his companions could escape." "He bought the Prince's life with his own." "So it would seem." I was silent for a moment, tallying my facts. They had ROBIN HOB Bnot denied what they were. None of them had attempted to placate the mob. It was confrontational behavior, a harbinger of things to come. And one of their company had sacrificed himself, and the others had accepted it as necessary and right. That indicated not only the value they placed on the Prince, but deep loyalty to an organized cause. Had Dutiful been won completely to their side? I wondered what role these "Piebalds" had assigned to the Prince, and if he concurred in it. Had Dutiful accepted that the man should die for him? When he rode on, did he know then that the man they left behind faced an agonizing death? I would have given much to know that. "But Dutiful was not recognized as the Prince?"

  She shook her head. The night was growing darkeraround us and I felt more than saw the movement.

  "So. If the others caught up with him, they would nothesitate to kill him."

  "Even knowing he was the Prince would not delaythem. The hatred of the Old Blood runs deep here. Theywould think they were cleansing the royal line, not destroying it."

  Some small part of me marked that she called them "Old Blood" now. I did not think I had heard her use the phrase before. "Well. I think time becomes even more precious."

  "We should ride on tonight."

  The very thought made me ache. I no longer had the resilience of youth. In the past fifteen years, I had grown used to regular meals and rest every night. I was tired and sick with dread of what must come when we caught up with the Prince. And my wolf was weary beyond weariness. I knew it was a false strength that moved his limbs now. Soon, his body would demand rest, no matter how hard the circumstances. He needed food and healing time, not to be dragged on tonight.

  I'll keep up. Or you'll leave me behind and do what you must.

  The fatalism in the thought shamed me. The sacrifice was too close to what a man had done today for a prince. The inarguable truth was that once more I spent all our strength for a king and a cause. The wolf yielded up the days of his life to me for an allegiance he understood only in terms of his love for me. Black Rolf had been right all those years ago. It was wrong of me to use him so. I made a child's promise to myself that when this was over, I would make it up to him somehow. We would go somewhere he wanted to go, and do something he longed to do.

  Our cabin and the fireside. That would be enough for me.

  It is yours.

  I know.

  We returned to the inn by a roundabout path, avoiding the better traveled roads of the village. In the dark of the innyard, she put her mouth close to my ear. "I'll slip up to my room to pack my things. You wake Lord Golden and let him know that we must ride."

  She disappeared into the shadows near the back door. I made my own entrance through the front, presenting the scowling face of a chastised servant as I hastened through the main room. The hour was late now and the mood more one of brooding than celebration. No one took notice of me. I made my way to our room. Outside the door, the sounds of argument reached me. Lord Golden's voice was raised in aristocratic fury. "Bedbugs, sir! Thick as swarming bees. I've most delicate skin. I cannot stay where such vermin thrives!"

  Our landlord, garbed in nightshirt and cap and clutching a candle, sounded horrified. "Please, Lord Golden, I've other bedding, if you would "No. I shall not spend the night here. Prepare an accounting immediately."

  I knocked on the door. At my entrance, Lord Golden transferred his temper to me. "There you are, you worthless scoundrel! Out carousing, I don't doubt, while I've had to pack my own things and yours, as well. Well, make yourself r-Bl, useful in some way! Run and knock on Huntswoman Laurel's door and tell her we must leave immediately. Then roust the hostler and have our horses made ready. I cannot spend the night at an inn infested with vermin!"

  I hastened away from the innkeeper's insistence that he ran a good, clean inn. In a surprisingly short time, we found ourselves outside and ready to ride. I'd saddled our mounts myself; the hostler had not responded to my efforts to roust him. The innkeeper had followed Lord Golden out into the yard, remonstrating that we would find no other inn tonight, but the noble was adamant. He mounted, and without a word to us, stirred Malta to a walk. Laurel and I followed.

  For a time, we kept our sedate pace. The moon had risen, but the crowding houses thwarted her light, and the occasional lamplight leaking through shutters made more shadows than illumination for us. Lord Golden's voice carried softly to both of us. "I heard the gossip in the taproom and judged it best we leave immediately. They fled on the road."

  "By
going in the dark, we take a large chance on missing their trail," I pointed out.

  "I know. But by waiting, we might arrive too late to do anything but bury him. Besides, none of us could sleep, and this way we go ahead of those who will ride out tomorrow."

  Nighteyes ghosted up to join us. I quested toward him, and as we joined, the night seemed lighter around us. He snorted at our dust, then trotted up to lead the way. Linked by the Wit, he could not hide from me the effort that cost him. I winced but accepted his decision. I nudged Myblack to keep pace with him.

  "Our saddle packs seem bulkier than when we first arrived," I observed to the night as Myblack came abreast of Malta.

  Lord Golden lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Blankets. Candles. Anything else that I thought might prove useful to us. I ghosted the kitchens, once I knew that we'd have to be on the road swiftly, so there is bread in that sack, as well. And apples. If I'd taken much more than that, it would have been noticed. Try not to crush the loaves."

  "One would think you two had done this sort of thing before, Lord Golden." There was an edge to Laurel's tone, and just enough query on the honorific to sober us both. When neither of us came up with words, she added, "I don't think it quite fair that I share the risks of this venture, but still go blindfolded between you."

  Lord Golden spoke in his best aristocratic tone. "You're right, Huntswoman. It is not fair, yet that is how it must remain for a time. For unless I am mistaken, we need to put on some speed. As our Prince left this town at a gallop, soshall we."

  He acted as he spoke, setting his heels to Malta, who sprang forward joyously to challenge Myblack for the lead. Laurel was at his side in an instant. Later, my brother. I felt Nighteyes part himself from me, both mentally and physically. He knew he could not keep up with the running horses. He would follow at his own pace and on his own path. That sundering wrenched me, even as I knew it was his choice and the wisest course of action. Naked of him, stripped of his night vision, I rode on, letting Myblack choose her path as we cantered three abreast past the huddled houses.

  The village was small. We reached the outskirts swiftly. The moon's light spilled down the ribbon of road. Malta broke into a gallop, and both the other horses bolted forward to keep up with her. We passed farmsteads, and fields both harvested and standing. I tried to keep watch for the tracks of running horses leaving the road, but saw nothing. We let the horses run until they wanted to slow down and breathe. As soon as Malta tugged at her bit, Lord Golden let her have her head and we were off again. The two were more of one mind than I had realized. It was his complete trust that gave her such cheeky confidence. We rode through what remained of the night, and Lord Golden set our pace.

  As dawn grayed the skies, Laurel spoke my thoughts aloud. "At least we have a good start on those who intended to ride out at dawn to see what luck their fellows had in hunting Piebalds, And clearer heads."

  She left unspoken a fear I knew we all shared; that we had lost the Prince's trail in our haste to follow him. As the strengthening day hid the moon from us, we rode on. Sometimes one has to trust to luck, or to believe in fate as the Fool did.

  Chapter XX

  STONES

  There are techniques a man can use to deal with torture. One is to learn to divorce the mind from the body. Half the anguish that a skilled torturer inflicts is not the physical pain, but the victim's knowledge of the level of damage done. The torturer must walk a fine line if he wishes his victim to talk. If he takes his destruction past what the victim knows can heal, then the victim loses all incentive to talk. He but wishes to plunge more swiftly into death. But if he can hold the torment short of that line, then the torturer can make the victim an accomplice in his own torment. Suspended in pain, the anguish for the victim is wondering how long he can maintain his silence without pushing his tormentor over the line into irrevocable damage. As long as the victim refuses to talk, then the torturer proceeds, venturing closer, ever closer to damage the body cannot repair.

  Once a man has been broken by pain, he remains forever a victim. He cannot ever forget that place he has visited, the moment when he decided that he would surrender everything rather than endure more pain. It is a shame no man ever completely recovers from. Some try to drown it by becoming the perpetrator of similar pain, and creating a new victim to bear for them that shame. Cruelty is a skill taught not only by example but by experience of it.

  tTH, FROM THE SCROLL "VERSAAY'S USES OF PAIN"

  As the sun rose, we rode on. Farmsteads, cultivated fields, and pastures became less common, and then vanished to be replaced by rocky hillsides and open forest. My anxiety was, -av, divided between fear for my wolf and for my young Prince. All in all, I had greater faith in my four-legged companion's ability to take care of himself than I did in Dutiful. With a resolution Nighteyes would have approved, I set him out of my thoughts and concentrated on the road beside me. The increasing heat of the day was exacerbated by the thickness of the air. I could feel a storm brewing. A heavy rainfall might take all trace of their trail from the road. Tension chewed at me.

  Without speaking of it, Laurel rode close to the left-hand side of the road and I the right. We looked for any sign of horses leaving the road; specifically, we looked for sign of at least three horses, galloping in flight. I knew that if I were fleeing mounted pursuers my first thought would have been to get off the road and take to the woods where there was a better chance of losing them. I assumed the Prince and his companions would do the same.

  My fears that we had missed their trail in the dark built, but suddenly Laurel cried out that she had them. I no sooner looked at the marks than I was sure she was right. Here were a plentitude of shod hooves leaving the road, and all in haste. The wide tracks of the great warhorse were unmistakable. I was certain we had discovered where the Prince had left the road with his companions, and where the mob had pursued them.

  As the others left the road and followed, I paused and dismounted briefly on the pretense of securing our baggage better to Myblack's saddle. I used the opportunity to relieve myself at the side of the road, knowing Nighteyes would be seeking sign of my passage.

  Mounted again, I swiftly caught up with the others. A darkness gathered at the far horizon. We heard several long rumbling threats of thunder in the distance. The trampled path of the pursuit was easy to follow, and,we urged our weary beasts to a canter as we followed it. Over two open hills of grass and scrub we followed them. As we ascended the third hill, a forest of oak and alder came down to meet us. There we caught up with the pursuers. There were half a dozen of them, sprawled in the tall grass in the shadows ofthe trees.

  Their ambushers had killed their mounts and the dogs, as well. It was a wise thing to do; riderless horses returning to the village would have brought out the pursuit much sooner. Yet the act sickened me, the more so because it had been done by those of Old Blood. It seemed ruthless in a way that frightened me. The animals had done nothing to deserve death. What sort of folk were these that the Prince rode with now?

  Laurel covered her mouth and nose with her hand and held it there. She did not dismount. Lord Golden looked tired and sickened, but he dismounted alongside me. Together we moved among the dead, inspecting them. They were all young men, just at the age to be caught up in such madness. Yesterday afternoon, they had leapt onto their horses and ridden off to kill some Piebalds. Yesterday evening, they had died. Lying there, they did not look cruel or vicious or even stupid. Only dead.

  "There were archers in those trees," I decided. "And they were waiting here. I think the Prince's party rode through, relying on folk that already were in position here to protect them." I had found but one broken arrow, cast aside. The others had been frugally and coolly recovered from the bodies.

  "That is not the mark of an arrow." Lord Golden pointed out a body that lay apart from the others. There were deep puncture wounds in his throat. Powerful clawed hind legs had disemboweled him. His guts buzzed and clustering flies covered the look o
f horror in his eyes.

  "Look at the dogs. Cats attacked them, as well. All the Piebalds rounded and stood together here, and killed those who followed."

  "And then they rode on."

  "Yes." Had the Prince's cat killed this man? Had their minds been joined as the cat killed?

  "How many do you think we follow now?" Laurel had ridden a little way ahead. I suspected she did so to be away from the bloating bodies as much as to study the trail. I didn't blame her. Now she called back in a low voice, "I make it at least eight that we follow now."

  "And follow we must," Lord Golden said. "Immediately."

  Laurel nodded. "There will be others from the village riding out by now, wondering why these men have not returned. When they find these bodies, their fury will drive them mad. The Prince must be extricated before these two groups clash."

  Her words made it sound so simple. I went back to Myblack, who annoyed me by sidling away twice before I could catch her reins. She wanted schooling but now was not the time for it. I reminded myself that blood will unnerve the calmest animal, and that patience with her now would pay great dividends later. "A different rider would give you a fist between the ears for that," I told her mildly after I was mounted.

  Her shiver of apprehension surprised me. Evidently she was more aware of me than I supposed. "Don't worry. I don't do things like that," I reassured her. Horselike, she ignored my calming remark. Thunder rolled again in the distance and she laid her ears back flat.

  I think it bothered all of us to ride away and leave those bodies swelling in the heat. Realistically, it was the wise thing to do. Their fellows would find them soon enough, and to them should fall the burying. The delay it would cause them would work to our good. Wise or not, it felt wrong.

  The tracks we followed now were the deep cuts of hard-ridden horses. The soil under the forest roof was moister and held the trail better. At first, they had ridden for distance and speed, and a child could have followed their marks. But after a time, the trail descended into a ravine and followed a twisting stream. I rode with my eyes on the ass trees overhead, trusting Myblack to follow Malta's lead as I watched for possible ambush. An unspoken concern occupied my mind. The Piebalds the Prince rode with seemed very organized, almost to a military level. This was the second group of men who had waited for the Prince, and then ridden on with him. At least one member of the party had not hesitated to sacrifice his life for the others, nor had they scrupled at slaughtering all those who followed them. Their readiness and ruthlessness bespoke a great determination to keep the Prince and bear him on to whatever destination they had in mind. Retrieving him was very likely beyond our abilities, yet I could discover no alternatives save to follow them. Sending Laurel back to Buckkeep to fetch the guard was not feasible. By the time she returned, it would be too late. We would lose not only time, but the secrecy ofour mission.