by neetha Napew
“I looked around and saw that I was at the edge of a milky river, on a very small clay beach. A great forest of immense trees stood at my back. They were taller than towers and shaded the day to dusk. I didn’t see anything else at first. Then I noticed a tiny creature, like a lizard, only plumper. It was on the wide leaf of a tree, watching me. Yet once I saw it, it began to grow. Or perhaps I shrank. I’m not sure. The forest grew bigger as well, until when the animal stepped down onto the clay, it was a dragon. Blue and silver, immense and beautiful. And she spoke to me, saying, ‘So. You’ve seen me. Well, I don’t care. But you will. You’re one of his. Tell me. What do you know of a black dragon?’ Then, and this part was very odd, I couldn’t find myself. It was as if I had looked at her too hard and forgotten to remember that I existed. And then I decided I would be behind a tree, and I was.”
“This doesn’t sound like the Skill,” Chade interrupted irritably. “It sounds like a dream.”
“Exactly. And so I dismissed it when I awoke. I knew I had Skilled briefly, but I thought that then sleep had crept up on me, and all that followed was a dream. So, in this dream, in the odd way that dreams have, Thick was suddenly with me. I didn’t know if he had seen the dragon, so I reached for him and told him to be quiet and hide from her. So we were hiding, and she became very angry, I think because she knew we were still there but hiding. Then suddenly Thick was gone. And it startled me so much that I opened my eyes.” The Prince shrugged. “I was in my bedroom. I thought it had just been a very vivid dream.”
“So it could have been, one that you and Thick shared,” Chade replied. “I think we can leave this now and settle to our real business here.”
“I think not,” I said. Something in Chade’s easy dismissal warned me that the old man did not want us to speak of this but I was willing to sacrifice part of my secret to discover his. “I think the dragon is real. Moreover, I think we have heard of her before. Tintaglia, the Bingtown dragon. The one that masked boy spoke of.”
“Selden Vestrit.” Dutiful supplied his name quietly. “Can dragons Skill, then? Why would she demand to know what we knew of a black dragon? Does she mean Icefyre?”
“Almost certainly she does. But that is the only one of your questions that I can answer.” I turned reluctantly to face Chade’s scowl. “She has touched my dreams before, with the same demand. That I tell her what I knew of a black dragon and an island. She knows of our quest, most likely from the Bingtown contingent that came to invite us so cordially to their war with Chalced. But I think that she only knows as much as they did. That there is a dragon trapped in ice, and that Dutiful goes to slay him.”
Chade made a sound almost like a growl. “Then she’ll know the name of the island as well. Aslevjal. It is only a matter of time before she discovers where that is. The Bingtown Traders are famous for doing just that: trading. If they want a chart that shows the way to Aslevjal, they’ll obtain one.”
I spread my hands, displaying a calm I didn’t feel. “There is nothing we can do about that, Chade. We’ll have to deal with whatever develops.”
He pushed back his chair. “Well, I could deal with it better if I knew enough to expect it,” he said. His voice rose as he did. He stalked to the window and stared out over the sea. Then he turned his head to glare at me over his shoulder. “What else have you not told me?”
Had we been alone then, I might have told him about how the dragon had threatened Nettle and how she had dismissed the creature. But I did not wish to speak of my daughter in Dutiful’s presence, so I only shook my head. He turned back to gaze out over the sea.
“So we may have another enemy to face, besides the cold and ice of Aslevjal. Well. At least tell me how big is this creature? How strong?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only seen her in dreams, and in my dreams, she shifted her size. I don’t think we can be sure of anything she has shown us in dreams.”
“Oh, well, that’s useful,” Chade replied, discouraged. He came back to the table and dropped into his chair. “Did you sense anything of this dragon last night?” he suddenly asked me.
“No. I didn’t.”
“But you did Skill-walk.”
“Briefly.” I’d visited Nettle. I wasn’t going to discuss that here. He didn’t seem to notice my reticence.
“I did neither. Despite my best efforts.” His voice was as anguished as an injured child’s. I met his eyes and saw, not just frustration there, but pain. He looked at me as if I had excluded him from some precious secret or wonderful adventure.
“Chade. It will come in time. Sometimes I think you try too hard.” I spoke the words, but I wasn’t sure of them. Yet I could not bring myself to say what I secretly suspected: that he had come to these lessons too late, and would never master the magic so long denied him.
“So you keep saying,” he said hollowly.
And there seemed nothing to reply to that. For the remainder of our session, we worked through several exercises from one of the scrolls, but with limited success. Chade’s discouragement seemed to have damped all his ability that day. With hands linked, he could receive the images and words I sent him, but when we separated and moved to different parts of the room, I could not reach him, nor could he touch minds with Dutiful or Thick. His growing frustration disrupted all of us. When Dutiful and Thick departed to their day’s tasks, we had not only made no progress, but had failed to equal the previous day’s level of Skill.
“Another day spent, and we are no closer to having a working coterie,” Chade observed bitterly to me when we were alone in the room. He walked over to the sideboard and poured brandy for himself. When he gestured questioningly at me, I shook my head.
“No, thank you. I’ve not even broken my fast yet.”
“Nor I.”
“Chade, you look exhausted. I think an hour or two of rest and a solid meal would do you better than brandy.”
“Find me two empty hours in my day, and I’ll be happy to sleep,” he offered without rancor. Chade walked to the window with his cup and gazed out over the water. “It all closes in on me, Fitz. We must have this alliance with the Out Islands. With Chalced and Bingtown warring, our trade to the south has dwindled to a trickle. If Chalced defeats Bingtown, as it well may, it will next turn its swords against us. We must ally with the Out Islands before Chalced does.
“Yet it isn’t just the preparations for the journey. It’s all the safeguards I must put in place to be sure Buckkeep runs smoothly while I am gone.” He sipped from his cup then added, “In twelve days we depart for Aslevjal. Twelve days, when six weeks would scarcely be enough time for all I must arrange so that things will run smoothly in my absence.”
I knew he was not speaking of things like Buckkeep’s provisions and taxes and the training of the guard. There were others who routinely administered all such systems and reported directly to the Queen. Chade worried about his network of spies and informants. No one was certain how long our diplomatic mission to the Out Islands would take; let alone how much time would be consumed by the Prince’s quest to Aslevjal. I still harbored a fading hope that his “slaying of the dragon” would be some strange Outislander ritual, but Chade was convinced there was an actual dragon carcass encased in glacial ice and that Dutiful would have to uncover it enough to sever the head and publicly present it to the Narcheska.
“Surely your apprentice can handle those matters in your absence.” I kept my voice level. I had never confronted Chade over his choice of apprentice. I was still not ready to trust Lady Rosemary as a member of the Queen’s court, let alone as an apprentice assassin. As a child, she had been Regal’s tool, and the Pretender had used her ruthlessly against us. But now would be a poor time to reveal to Chade that I had discovered who his new apprentice was. His spirits were already low.
He shook his head irritably. “Some of my contacts trust only me. They will report to no one else. And the truth is that half of my knack is that I know when to ask more questions and which rumors to follo
w. No, Fitz, I must resign myself that though my apprentice will attempt to handle my affairs, there will be gaps in my knowledge-gathering when I return.”
“You left Buckkeep Castle once before, during the Red Ship War. How did you manage then?”
“Ah, that was a very different situation. Then, I followed the threat, pursuing the intrigues to their hearts. This time, in truth, I will be present for a very critical negotiation. But there is still much happening here at Buckkeep that needs to be watched.”
“The Piebalds,” I filled in.
“Exactly. Among others. But they are still the ones I fear most, though they have been quiescent of late.”
I knew what he meant. The absence of Piebald activity was not reassuring. I had killed the head of their organization, but I feared another would rise to take Laudwine’s place. We had gone far to gain the respect and cooperation of the Witted community. Perhaps that mellowing would leech away the anger and hatred that the extremist Piebalds throve on. Our strategy had been that by offering amnesty to the Witted, we might steal the force that drove the Piebalds. If the Witted were welcomed by the Farseer Queen into common society, welcomed and even encouraged to declare their magic openly, then they would have less interest in overthrowing the Farseer reign. So we had hoped, and so it seemed to be working. But if it did not, then they might still move against the Prince, and attempt to discredit him with his own nobles by showing that he was Witted. A royal proclamation that the Wit Magic was no longer to be considered a taint could not undo generations of prejudice and mistrust. That, we hoped, would fall before the benign presence of Witted ones in the Queen’s own court. Not just boys such as Swift, but men such as Web the Witted.
Chade still gazed out over the water, his eyes troubled.
I winced as I said them, but could not keep the words back. “Is there anything I could do to help?”
He swung his gaze to meet mine. “Do you offer that sincerely?”
His tone warned me. “I think I do. Why? What would you ask of me?”
“Let me send for Nettle. You needn’t acknowledge her as your daughter. Just let me approach Burrich again about bringing her to court, and teaching her the Skill. I think there is still enough of his old oath to the Farseers left in his heart that if I told him she was needed by her prince, he’d let her come. And surely it would be a comfort to Swift, to have his sister close by.”
“Oh, Chade.” I shook my head. “Ask me anything else. Only leave my child in peace.”
He shook his head and held his silence. For a time longer I stood by his side, but finally I accepted that silence as a dismissal. I left him standing there, staring out over the water, looking east and north, to the Out Islands.
chapter2
SONS
Taker was the first man to call himself a king at Buckkeep Castle. He came to these shores from the Out Islands, a raider and looter, as so many others had come before him. He saw in the timbered fort upon the cliffs that overlooked the river an ideal location to establish a permanent foothold in the land. So some say. Others tell it that he was a cold, wet, and queasy sailor, anxious to be off the ocean’s heaving belly and onto shore again. Whatever his initial motivation might have been, he successfully attacked and seized the wooden castle on its ancient stone foundation and became the first Farseer king at Buckkeep. He burned his way in; henceforth, he built all his further fortifications of Buckkeep from the black stone so plentiful there. Thus, from the earliest days, the Six Duchies ruling family has roots that reach back to the Out Islands. They are not, of course, alone in this. Six Duchies and Outislander folk have mingled blood as often as they have shed one another’s.
—VENTURN ’S“HISTORIES”
With only five days remaining until our departure date, the journey began to seem real to me. Up to that point, I had been able to push it out of my mind and consider it an abstract thing. I had prepared for it, but only as an eventuality. I had studied their writing symbols, and spent many of my evenings in a tavern frequented by Outislander traders and sailors. There I had worked on learning as much of the language as I could. Listening was my best technique for that. Outislander shared many roots with our own tongue, and after a number of evenings, it no longer rang so strange against my ears. I could not speak it well, but I could make myself understood and, more important, understand most of what I heard. I hoped that would be enough.
My lessons with Swift had progressed well. In some ways, I would miss the boy when we sailed. In others, I’d be just as glad to be free of him. True to his word, he was a superb bowman for a boy of ten. Once I’d alerted Cresswell to this, the Weaponsmaster had been very glad to take him in hand. “He’s got a feel for it. He isn’t one to stand and take a long and careful aim. With this lad, the arrow flies from his eye as much as from his bow. He’d be wasted on the axe. Let’s build his strength instead, and move him into a longer and more powerful bow as he grows.” So Cresswell evaluated him, and when I passed on his words to Chade, the old assassin agreed in part.
“We’ll start him on the axe, as well,” Chade directed me. “It cannot hurt him.”
Less time with the boy was more of a relief than I cared to admit. He was a bright lad, and pleasant to deal with in all ways save two: he reminded me far too much of both Molly and Burrich, and he could not leave the topic of his magic alone. No matter what lesson I began with, he found a way to transform it to a discussion of the Wit. The depth of his ignorance appalled me, and yet I was not comfortable correcting his misconceptions. I decided to consult with Web about him.
Finding Web alone was the initial difficulty. Since he had first arrived at the Buckkeep court as a speaker and advocate for his people and their maligned magic, he had gained the respect of many who had once despised the Wit and those who practiced it. He was often referred to now as the Witmaster. The title that had once been a mockery of the Queen’s acceptance of the outlawed magic was rapidly becoming an accepted honorific. Many sought his advice now, and not just on matters relating to his magic or his Old Blood people. Web was an affable man, interested in everyone and able to converse animatedly on almost any topic; but for all that he was not so much garrulous as an active listener. Folk react well to a man who hangs on their words. Even if he had not been our unofficial ambassador from the Witted folk of the realm, I think he would have become a court favorite. But this odd connection put him even more in regard, for if one wished to demonstrate to the Queen that one shared her politics about the Witted, how better than to invite Web to dine or partake of other amusement? Many nobles sought to curry the Queen’s favor this way. I am sure that nothing in Web’s previous experience had prepared him to be such a social novelty, and yet he took it in stride, as he seemed to do all things. Nor did it change him that I could tell. He was still as enraptured by the chatter of a serving girl as by the sophisticated discussions of the most elevated noble. I seldom saw him alone.
But there are still a few places where polite society does not follow a man. I was waiting for Web when he emerged from a backhouse. I greeted him and added, “I’d like to ask your advice on something. Have you time for a word or two, and a quiet stroll about the Women’s Gardens?”
He raised one graying eyebrow in curiosity, then nodded. Without a word, he followed me as I led the way, easily matching his rolling sailor’s gait to my stride. I’d always enjoyed the Women’s Gardens, ever since I was a boy. They supply much of the herbs and fresh greens for Buckkeep’s kitchens in summer, but are arranged to be a pleasure to stroll in as well as yielding a practical bounty. They are called the Women’s Gardens for no other reason than that they are mostly tended by women; no one would look askance at our being there. I plucked several leafy new fronds of copper fennel as we passed and offered one to Web. Above us, a birch tree was uncurling its leaves. There were beds of rhubarb around the bench that we chose. Fat red nubs thrust through the earth. On a few plants, the crinkling leaves were opening to the light. The plants would need boxing soon,
if the stems were to grow long enough to be useful. I mentioned this to Web.
He scratched his trimmed gray beard thoughtfully. There was a touch of merriment in his pale eyes as he asked me, “And rhubarb was what you wished to consult me about?” He put the end of the fennel stem between his teeth and nibbled at it as he waited for me to answer.
“No, of course not. And I know you are a busy man, so I will not keep you any longer than I must. I’m concerned about a boy who has been placed in my care for lessons and weapons training. His name is Swift, and he is the son of a man who was once the Stablemaster here at Buckkeep, Burrich. But he has parted ways with his father in a dispute over Swift’s use of the Wit, and so calls himself Swift Witted now.”
“Ah!” Web gave a great nod. “Yes, I know the lad. He often comes to the edge of the circle when I am telling tales at night, yet I do not recall that he has ever spoken to me.”
“I see. Well, I have urged him not just to listen to you, but to talk with you, as well. I am troubled over how he sees his magic. And how he speaks of it. He is untrained in it, as his father did not approve of the Wit at all. Yet his ignorance does not make him cautious, but reckless. He reveals his Wit to all he meets, thrusting it under their noses and insisting they acknowledge it. I have warned him that, Queen’s decree or no, there are many folk in Buckkeep who still find the Wit distasteful. He does not seem to grasp that a change in a law cannot force a change in people’s hearts. He flaunts his Wit in a way that may be a danger to him. And soon I must leave him on his own, when I depart with the Prince. I have five days left in which to instill some caution in him.”
I ran out of breath and Web commiserated. “I can see where that would make you very uncomfortable.”
