Fool’s Fate

Chade smiled archly. ‘Then perhaps I should do the same, on behalf of humanity. The world has provided us a time free of dragons. I think I shall take it.’

I watched the Fool. He was not upset by Chade’s words. For the space of two breaths he held his peace. Then he said, ‘As you will, sir. But when the time comes, that decision may not be yours. It may be mine. Or Fitz’s.’ As Chade’s eyes blazed with anger, he added, ‘And not only the world but humanity itself does need dragons.’

‘And why is that?’ Chade demanded disdainfully.

‘To keep the balance,’ the Fool replied. He glanced over at me, and then past me, out of the window and his eyes went far and pensive. ‘Humanity fears no rivals. You have forgotten what it was to share the world with creatures as arrogantly superior as yourselves. You think to arrange the world to your liking. So you map the land and draw lines across it, claiming ownership simply because you can draw a picture of it. The plants that grow and the beasts that rove, you mark as your own, claiming not only what lives today, but what might grow tomorrow, to do with as you please. Then, in your conceit and aggression, you wage wars and slay one another over the lines you have imagined on the world’s face.’

‘And I suppose dragons are better than we are because they don’t do such things, because they simply take whatever they see. Free spirits, nature’s creatures, possessing all the moral loftiness that comes from not being able to think.’

The Fool shook his head, smiling. ‘No. Dragons are no better than humans. They are little different at all from men. They will hold up a mirror to humanity’s selfishness. They will remind you that all your talk of owning this and claiming that is no more than the snarling of a chained dog or a sparrow’s challenge song. The reality of those claims lasts but for the instant of its sounding. Name it as you will, claim it as you will, the world does not belong to men. Men belong to the world. You will not own the earth that eventually your body will become, nor will it recall the name it once answered to.’

Chade did not reply immediately. I thought he was stunned by the Fool’s words, his view of reality reordered by them. But then he snorted disdainfully. ‘Pish. What you say only makes it plainer to me that no good will be worked for anyone by resurrecting this dragon.’ He rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘Oh, why do we bother with this fatuous debate? None of us knows what we will find when we get there. It’s all philosophical ramblings and nursery tales at this point. When I confront it, then I will think about what is best to do. There. Does that satisfy you?’

‘I scarcely believe that my satisfaction matters to you.’ And as he spoke those odd words, the Fool sent a sidelong glance my way. But it was not a look to catch my eye, but rather one that pointed me out to Chade.

‘You’re right,’ Chade agreed smoothly. ‘It is not your satisfaction, but Fitz’s agreement that matters to me. Yet I know that if this decision falls to him alone, he would give your satisfaction much weight, even, perhaps, at the risk of Farseer fortunes.’ My old master gave me a speculative look, as if I were a spavined horse that might or might not last through another battle. The smile he gave me was almost desperate. ‘Yet I hope he will hear my concerns as well.’ His gaze met mine. ‘When we confront it, then we will decide. Until then, the choice remains open. Is that acceptable?’

‘Almost,’ the Fool replied. His voice was cool as he proposed, ‘Give us your promise, as a Farseer, that when the time comes, Fitz may do as his judgment bids him.’

‘My promise as a Farseer!’ Chade was incensed.

‘Exactly,’ the Fool replied calmly. ‘Unless your words are just an empty sop thrown to keep Fitz on the path to doing your will.’ He leaned back in his chair, his wrists and hands lax on the arms of it, perfectly at ease. For a moment, I recognized that slender man in black with his shining hair bound back. This was the boy the Fool had been, grown to a man. Then he turned his head to regard Chade more directly, and the familiarity was gone. His face was a sculpted silhouette of determination. I had never seen anyone challenge Chade so confidently.

I was shocked at the words Chade spoke then. His smile was very strange as his eyes went from me to the Fool and back again. It was my gaze he met as he said, ‘I give my word as a Farseer. I will not ask him to do anything against his will. There. Are you content, man?’

The Fool nodded slowly. ‘Oh, yes. I am content. For the decision will come to him, and that I see as clearly as anything that remains to me to see.’ He nodded to himself. ‘There are still things we must discuss, you and I, but once we are on board ship and under way, there will be time for that. But, the day rushes on without us, and I still have much to do to prepare for my departure. Good day, Lord Fallstar.’

A very slight smile hung about his mouth. His glance went from me to Chade. And then he made a most curious gesture. Sweeping his arms wide, he made a graceful bow to Chade, as if they had afforded one another some great courtesy. When he straightened he spoke to me. His tone was warmer. ‘It was good to have a few moments with you today, Fitz. I’ve missed you.’ Then he gave a sudden small sigh, as if he had recalled an unpleasant duty. I suspected that his predicted death had just pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. His smile faded. ‘Gentlemen, you will excuse me,’ he murmured. And he departed, exiting through the cramped panel concealed in the side of the hearth as gracefully as a lord departing a banquet.

I sat staring after him. Our recent Skill-encounter rattled in my mind with his strange words and stranger gestures. He had clashed with Chade over something, and triumphed. Yet I was not quite sure what, if anything, had just been settled between them.

My old mentor spoke as if he could hear my thoughts. ‘He challenges me for your loyalty! How dare he? Me, who practically raised you! How can he think there would be any chance of us disagreeing, when we both know how much rests upon the successful completion of this quest? My word as a Farseer indeed! And what does he think you are, when all is said and done?’

He turned and put the question to me as if he expected an unthinking assent from me. ‘Perhaps,’ I said quietly, ‘he believes that he is the White Prophet and I am his Catalyst.’ Then I took a stronger breath and spoke a question of my own. ‘How can the two of you quarrel over my loyalty, as if I had no thought of my own to give to any decision I might make?’ I gave a snort of disgust. ‘I would not think a horse or a dog as mindless a game piece as you both seem to think I am.’

He was staring past me out of the window when he spoke, and I do not think he truly considered the import of his words. ‘Not a horse or a dog, Fitz, no. I’d never think of you that way. No. You’re a sword. So you were made to be, by me, a weapon to be wielded. And he thinks you fit his hand the best.’ The old man snorted in contempt. ‘The man is, still, a fool.’ He looked at me and nodded. ‘You were wise to tell me of his plans. It is good we shall be leaving him behind.’

There seemed nothing to say to that. I left the Seawatch Tower, going as I had come through the dark maze hidden within the walls of Buckkeep. I had seen both my friend and my mentor more clearly today than I liked. I wondered if the Fool’s touch on my wrist had been a demonstration for both Chade and me of the influence he had over me. And yet, and yet, it had not felt that way. Had he not asked me first if I wished for it? Still, it had felt as if it were a thing he wished to display to me. Yet had it been only circumstances that had made him reveal it to Chade as well? Or had his intent been that I see clearly how Chade regarded me, how he assumed he could always depend on me to do his will? I shook my head. Could the Fool imagine I did not already know that? I clenched my teeth. There would come a moment when the Fool realized Chade and I had conspired against him, a moment when he knew how I had held my tongue today.

I went back to my workroom, and I did not like any of the thoughts I took there with me.

As I pushed open the door, I instantly knew that the Fool had been there before me. He’d left his gift on the table beside my chair. I walked over to it and ran a finger down Nighteyes’ spine. My wolf was in his prime in the carving. A dead rabbit sprawled between his forepaws. His head was lifted, his dark eyes regarding me intelligently, patiently.

I picked it up. I had seen the Fool begin the carving when he sat at the table in my cabin. I had never guessed what it might be, had almost forgotten that he had promised to show it to me when it was finished. I touched the points of Nighteyes’ pricked ears. Then I sat down in the chair and stared into the fire, my wolf cradled in my hands.

FOUR (#ulink_ac1f920e-3adf-56d0-957a-0dff388ddda3)

An Exchange of Weapons (#ulink_ac1f920e-3adf-56d0-957a-0dff388ddda3)

Weaponsmaster Hod ascended to that title after long service as journey-man to Weaponsmaster Crend. Her years in that position were well spent, for she became familiar not only with the use of each weapon, but the manufacture of good blades. Indeed, there are still some who say that her primary talent was in the creation of fine weapons, and that Buckkeep would have been better served to give another the title of Weaponsmaster and keep her at her forge. King Shrewd, however, did not see it that way. Upon Crend’s death, she was immediately moved into his position, and oversaw the training of all Buckkeep’s men-at-arms. She served the Farseer reign well, ultimately giving her life in battle for then King-in-Waiting Verity.

Fedwren’s Chronicles

The Fool’s carefully planned disposal of his possessions sparked in me a sudden desire to sort out my own belongings. That night, instead of packing, I sat on the corner of Chade’s old bed, surrounded by all I owned. If I had been inclined to the Fool’s fatalistic melancholy, perhaps it would have saddened me. Instead, I found myself grinning at the paucity of it. Even Gilly the ferret nosing through my trove seemed unimpressed.

The stack of clothing from the Fool’s chamber, and the marvellous sword with the over-decorated hilt comprised most of it. My clothing from my days in the cottage had largely been consigned to the rag heap near the worktable. I possessed two new uniforms as a Prince’s Guard. One was already carefully packed in a sea chest at the foot of my bed with my other changes of clothing. Concealed beneath them were a number of small packages of poisons, sedatives and restoratives which Chade and I had prepared. On the bed beside me, various small tools, lock picks and other handy oddments were in a small roll that could be concealed inside my shirt. I added it to the sea chest. I sorted through the rest of my strange collection as I waited for Dutiful.

The carving of Nighteyes was on the mantel over the hearth. I would not risk it on the journey with me. There was a charm necklace that Jinna the hedge-witch had made for me, when we were on friendlier terms. I’d never wear it again, and yet I was oddly reluctant to dispose of it. I set it with the clothing Lord Golden had inflicted on me. The little fox pin that Kettricken had given me rode where it always did, inside my shirt above my heart. I had no intention of parting from that. To one side I had placed a few items for Hap. Most were small things I’d made or acquired when he was a child: a spinning top, a jumping jack and the like. I packed them carefully into a box with an acorn carved on the lid. I’d give them to him when I bid him farewell.

In the centre of my bed was the bundle of carved feathers I’d taken from the Others’ beach. Once, I had tried to give them to the Fool, to try in his carved wooden crown. I was certain they would fit. But he had given them a single glance and rejected them. I unrolled the soft leather I’d wrapped them in, considered each of them briefly, and then wrapped them again. For a time I debated what to do with them. Then I tucked them into the corner of the sea chest. Into it also went my needles and various weights of thread for them. Extra shoes and smallclothes. A razor. Mug, bowl and spoon for the ship.

And that was it. There was nothing else to pack, and precious little else in the world that belonged to me. There was my horse, Myblack, but she had little interest in me beyond doing what she must. She preferred her own kind, and would not miss me at all. A stable-boy would exercise her regularly, and as long as Hands was in charge of Buckkeep’s stables I had no fear that she would be neglected or ill-used.

Gilly emerged from the heap of clothing and came romping across the bed to challenge me. ‘Small chance you’ll miss me either,’ I told him as he menaced my hand playfully. There were plenty of mice and rats in the walls of Buckkeep to keep him well fed. He’d probably enjoy having the whole bed to himself. He already believed that the pillow belonged to him. My gaze wandered over the room. Chade had taken possession of all the scrolls I’d brought back from my cabin. He’d sorted them, adding the harmless ones to the Buckkeep library and securing in his cabinets any that told too many truths too plainly. I felt no sense of loss.

I carried the armload of clothing over to one of Chade’s old wardrobes, intending to stuff it all inside. Then my conscience smote me, and I carefully shook out and folded each garment before putting it away. In the process, I realized that, taken individually, many of the garments were not as ostentatious as I had imagined them. I added the warmly-lined cloak to my sea chest. When all of the clothing was stored or packed, I set the jewelled sword on top of the chest. It would go with me. Despite its showy hilt, it was well made and finely balanced. Like the man who had given it to me, its glittering appearance obscured its true purpose.

There was a courteous tap and the wine rack swung out of the way. As Dutiful stepped wearily into the room, Gilly leapt from the bed and sprang to confront him, menacing him with white teeth as he made abortive springs at his feet.

‘Yes, I’m glad to see you, too,’ Dutiful greeted him and swept the little animal up in one hand. He scratched the ferret’s throat gently and then set him down. Gilly immediately attacked his feet. Being careful not to tread upon him, Dutiful came into the room, saying, ‘You had something extra for me to pack?’ With a heavy sigh, he dropped down on the bed beside me. ‘I’m so tired of packing,’ he confided. ‘I hope it’s something small.’

‘It’s on the table.’ I told him. ‘And it’s not small.’

As he walked toward the worktable, I knew a moment of intense regret and would have undone the gift if I could. How could it possibly mean to this boy what it had to me? He looked at it, and then looked up at me, shock on his face. ‘I don’t understand. You’re giving me a sword?’

I stood up. ‘It’s your father’s sword. Verity gave it to me, when last we parted. It’s yours, now,’ I said quietly.

The look that overtook Dutiful’s face in that moment erased any regret I might have felt. He put out a hand toward it, drew it back, and then looked at me. Incredulous wonder shone in his face. I smiled.

‘I said it was yours. Pick it up and get the feel of it. I’ve just cleaned and sharpened it, so be careful.’

He reached his hand down and set it on the hilt. I waited, watching, for him to lift it and discover its exquisite balance. But he drew his hand back.

‘No.’ The word shocked me. Then, ‘Wait here. Please. Just wait.’ And then he turned and fled the room. I heard the scuff of his running footsteps fade in the hidden corridor.

His reaction puzzled me. He had seemed so delighted at first. I walked over and looked again at the blade. Freshly oiled and wiped, it gleamed. It was both beautiful and elegant, yet there was nothing in its design that would interfere with its intended function. It was a tool for killing other men. It had been made for Verity by Hod, the same Weaponsmaster who had taught me to wield both blade and pike. When Verity had gone on his quest, she had gone with him, and died for him. It was a sword worthy of a king. Why had Dutiful rejected it?

I was sitting before the hearth, a cup of hot tea between my two hands, when he returned. He carried a long, wrapped bundle with him. He was talking and untying the leather thongs that bound it as he came through the door. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of this a long time ago, when my mother first told me who you were. I guess because it was given to me so long ago, and then my mother put it away for me. Here!’

The wrappings fell away from it and he flourished it aloft. Grinning widely, he suddenly reversed his grip on it, and proffered it to me, the hilt resting on his left forearm. He grinned at me, his eyes blazing with delight and anticipation. ‘Take it, FitzChivalry Farseer. Your father’s sword.’

A shiver ran over me, standing up every hair on my body. I set the teacup aside and came slowly to my feet. ‘Chivalry’s sword?’

‘Yes.’ I had not thought his grin could grow wider, but it did.

I stared at it. Yes. Even without his words, I would have known it. This blade was the elder brother to the one Verity had carried. It resembled the other sword, but this one was slightly more ornate and longer, designed for a man taller than Verity. There was a stylized buck on the cross guard. It was, I suddenly knew, a sword made for a prince who would be king. I knew I could never bear it. I longed for it all the same. ‘Where did you get it?’ I asked breathlessly.

‘Patience had it, of course. She’d left it at Withywoods when she came to Buckkeep. Then, when she was “sorting the clutter” as she put it, after the end of the Red Ship War, when she was moving her household to Tradeford, she came across it. In a closet. “Just as well I never took it to Buckkeep”, she told me when she gave it to me. “Regal would have taken it and sold it. Or kept it for himself.”’