The Tawny Man Series Books 2 and 3: The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate

And so I reported to him, as I had never expected to do again. As I had when I was a boy, I spoke to him the exact words I had overheard, and afterwards he quizzed me as to what I had thought those words had meant. I spoke bluntly. ‘I do not know the man’s status in the Narcheska’s offering to Queen Kettricken. But I do not think he feels bound by the betrothal, and his advice to the girl affirms to her that she need not feel bound.’

‘I find that most interesting. It is a valuable titbit, Fitz, and no mistake. Their strange servant intrigues me as well. When your time permits, you could look in on them again, and let me know what you discover.’

‘Cannot your new apprentice do that just as well?’

‘You are prying again, and you know it. But this time, I will answer. No. My apprentice is no more privy to the network of spy passages in the castle than you were. That is not a matter for apprentices. They have enough to do with minding themselves and their own secrets without being entrusted with mine. But I think I shall have my apprentice pay special attention to the serving-woman. That is the piece I fear most in this new puzzle you have handed me. But the spy tunnels and secret ways of Buckkeep remain ours alone. So,’ and here a strange smile crooked his mouth, ‘I suppose you could see yourself as having reached journeyman status. Not, of course, that you are an assassin any more. We both know that is not so.’

That jest prodded me in a tender place. I did not want to think about how deeply I had slipped back into my old roles as spy and assassin. I’d already killed again for Prince Dutiful, several times. That had been in the heat of anger, while defending myself and rescuing him. Would I kill again, in secret, by poison, in the cold knowledge of necessity, for the Farseers? The most disturbing part of that question was that I could not answer it. I reined my mind to more productive paths.

‘Who is the man in the Narcheska’s chamber? Besides being her Uncle Peottre, I mean.’

‘Ah. Well, your question unwittingly gives you the answer. He is her uncle, her mother’s brother. In the old ways of the Outislands, that was more significant than being her father. To them, the mother’s lineage was the significant one. A woman’s brothers were the important men in the lives of her children. Husbands joined the clans of their wives, and the children took on the clan symbol of their mothers.’

I nodded silently to his words. During the Red Ship War, I had read what scrolls about the Outislanders that the Buckkeep library held, trying to make sense of their war against us. I had also served alongside dissident Outisland warriors on the warship Rurisk, and from them learned something of their lands and customs. What he said now matched my recollections on the topic.

Chade tugged at his chin thoughtfully. ‘When Arkon Bloodblade approached us with this offer of an alliance, he had the support of his hetgurd behind him. I accepted that, and accepted that as her father, he could arrange Elliania’s marriage. I thought perhaps the Outislands had left their matriarchal ways behind them but now I wonder if perhaps Elliania’s family clings to them still. But why, then, is there no female relative here, to speak on Elliania’s behalf and negotiate the betrothal? Arkon Bloodblade seems to be the one doing the bargaining. Peottre Blackwater has been acting as the Narcheska’s chaperon and bodyguard. But now I perceive that he is her advisor as well. Hmm. Perhaps our attentions to her father have been misplaced; I will see that Peottre is accorded more respect.’ He furrowed his brow, hastily restructuring his concept of the marriage offer. ‘I knew of the woman-servant. I thought she would be the Narcheska’s confidante, perhaps her old nursemaid or a poor relative. Yet your spying seems to put her at odds with both Elliania and Peottre. Something is not right here, Fitz.’ He sighed heavily, and reluctantly admitted his error. ‘I thought we were negotiating this marriage with Bloodblade, Elliania’s father. Perhaps it is Elliania’s mother’s family that I should know more about. But if they are truly the ones offering Elliania, then is Bloodblade a dupe or a puppet? Does he speak with any true authority at all?’

His forehead was graven deep with thoughtfulness as he pondered these things and I realized that the Piebald threat against me had been reduced to a minor concern, something that Chade expected I could largely manage on my own. I could not decide if his confidence in me flattered me, or diminished me to a lesser game-piece. An instant later he recalled me to myself.

‘Well. I think we’ve resolved this as much as we can just now. Extend my regrets to your master, Tom Badgerlock. Let him know that a headache prevents me from enjoying the pleasures of his company this afternoon, but that my prince has been most happy to accept his invitation. That will give Dutiful the time with you that he has been pestering me for. I don’t need to remind you to be discreet in your contact with the boy. We don’t want to rouse any speculation. And I suggest that you keep your ride either to areas where your privacy is assured, or to very public areas where the Piebalds would have to be bold to seek a contact. In truth, I do not know which to offer as the wiser selection.’ He took a breath and his tone changed. ‘Fitz. Do not underestimate your influence on the Prince. In our private conversations, he speaks freely of you, with admiration. I am not sure you were wise to reveal your connection to me, but there, it is done. It is not just Skill-instruction he seeks from you, but a man’s advice on all aspects of his life. Be careful. An incautious word from you could set our wilful prince’s feet on a path where none of us could safely follow him. Please speak positively of his betrothal and encourage him to undertake his royal duties with a willing heart. And in the matter of the Piebalds threatening you … well, today might not be the best day to burden him with concerns for you. As it is, some may look askance that our prince chooses to go riding with a foreign noble and his bodyguard on such an important day in his life.’ He paused suddenly. ‘Not that I’m trying to dictate how you behave with our prince. I know that you have formed a relationship of your own.’

‘That’s correct,’ I said, and tried to keep from sounding brusque. In truth, I had known a moment of anger as he started his long list of directives. Now I took a deep breath. ‘Chade. As you have said, the boy is looking to me for a man’s advice. I am not a courtier, nor an advisor. If I endeavoured to steer Dutiful merely to suit the goals of the Six Duchies …’ I let my words drain away before I told him that such a course would be false to all of us. I cleared my throat. ‘I wish always to be honest with Dutiful. If he asks for advice, I will tell him what I truly think. But I don’t think you need to fear that much. Kettricken has shaped her son. I think he will be true to that training. As for me, well, I suspect the boy does not want to have someone talk to him so much as he wants someone to listen to him. Today I will listen. And regarding my encounter with the Piebalds this morning, I see little need for Dutiful to know about that right now. I may warn him that they are not to be entirely dismissed from his thoughts. They are definitely a force to be reckoned with. Which brings me to a question of my own. Will the Bresingas be present for the Prince’s betrothal ceremony?’

‘I assume so. They have been invited, and are expected to arrive sometime today.’

I scratched the back of my neck. My headache was not fading, but it seemed to be changing to an ordinary one rather than one of the Skill variety. ‘If you would share such information with me, I would like to know who accompanies them, as well as what horses they rode, the coursing beasts that journeyed with them, hawks, even pets. All in as much detail as can be discovered. Oh, and one other thing. I think we should acquire a ferret or rat-dog for these chambers; something small and light-footed to patrol for rats and other vermin. One of the Wit-beasts I encountered this morning was a rat, or perhaps a weasel or squirrel. Such a creature could be a versatile spy in the castle.’

Chade looked dismayed. ‘I’ll request a ferret, I think. They are more quiet than a rat-dog, and could accompany you through the corridors.’ He cocked his head. ‘Are you thinking of taking it as a bond-beast?’

I winced at the question. ‘Chade. It doesn’t work that way.’ I tried to remind myself that he had asked the question out of ignorance, not callously. ‘I feel like a newly-widowed man, Chade. I’ve no wish to bond with any creature just now.’

‘I’m sorry, Fitz. It’s a difficult thing for me to understand. The words may sound odd, but I meant no disrespect to his memory.’

I changed the subject. ‘Well. I’d best tidy myself if I’m to ride with the Prince this afternoon. And we should both ponder what to do about this servant of yours.’

‘I think I shall arrange a meeting for all three of us. But not today, nor tonight. Nor even tomorrow, perhaps. The betrothal is what must be managed right now. Nothing must go wrong with that. Do you think that the situation with Thick can wait?’

I shrugged. ‘It will have to, I suppose. Good luck with the rest of it.’ I rose to go, picking up the basin and wet cloth to tidy up in passage.

‘Fitz.’ His voice made me pause. ‘You know, I have not said so directly, but you should treat these chambers as your own now. I know that a man in your position needs a private spot sometimes. If you wish things changed … the bed’s position, the hangings, or if you wish food left out for you here, or a supply of brandy. Whatever … let me know.’

The offer put a chill down my back. I never wanted this assassin’s workroom to belong to me. ‘No. Thank you, but no. Let’s just leave all as it is for now. Though I may keep some of my things up here. Verity’s sword, private things.’

There was some secret regret in his eyes as he nodded. ‘If that’s all you wish, that’s fine. For now,’ he conceded. He looked at me critically, but his voice was very gentle as he added, ‘I know you still grieve. But you should let me even your hair out for you, or let someone else do it. It draws attention to you, as it is now.’

‘I’ll see to it myself. Today. Oh. And there is something else.’ Strange, how that first urgent concern had almost been driven from my mind by other fears. I took a breath. It seemed even more difficult to confess my carelessness to him now. ‘I’ve been foolish, Chade. When I left my cottage, I did so expecting to return to it soon. I left things there … dangerous things, perhaps. Scrolls where I have written down my own thoughts, as well as a history of our waking of the dragons that is, perhaps, too accurate to bear sharing. I need to go back there, soon, to either put those scrolls into a safer place or to destroy them.’

His face had grown graver as I spoke. Now he blew out a long breath. ‘Some things are better left unwritten,’ he observed quietly. Mild as the rebuke was, it still stung. He stared at the wall but seemed to see into a distance. ‘But I confess, I think it is valuable to have the truth recorded somewhere. Think what it would have saved Verity in his quest for the Elderlings if even one accurate scroll had been preserved. So gather your writings, boy, and bring them to safety here. I advise you to wait a day or so before you depart. The Piebalds may be expecting you to bolt. If you went now, likely you’d have some following you. Let me arrange a time and a way for you to go. Do you want me to send some trustworthy men with you? They’d not know who you were or what you went to retrieve, only that they were to aid you.’

I considered it, then shook my head. ‘No. I’ve left too many edges of my secrets showing as it is. I’ll take care of this myself, Chade. But there is one other concern I have. I think the guards on the gates of Buckkeep are entirely too relaxed. With Piebalds about and the Prince’s betrothal and Outislanders visiting, I think they ought to be more vigilant.’

‘I suppose I should see to that as well. Odd. I had thought that persuading you to come here would have eased some of my work onto you and left me more time to be an old man. Instead, you seem intent on giving me ever more to think about and to do. No, do not look at me like that … I suppose it is for the best. Work, the old people say, keeps a man young. But perhaps that is something old folk say just because they know they must go on working. Be off with you, Fitz. And try not to discover any more crises for me before the day is out.’

And so I left him sitting in his chair by his cold fireside, looking both thoughtful yet somehow pleased with himself.

THREE Echoes (#ulink_238e63e9-144a-5a73-bb80-b940609f8065)

On the night that the dastardly Witted bastard murdered King Shrewd in his room, King-in-Waiting Verity’s Mountain-born queen chose to flee the safety of Buckkeep Castle. Alone and gravid with child, she fled into the cold and inhospitable night. Some say that King Shrewd’s jester, fearing for his own life, begged her protection and accompanied her, but this may be but castle legend to account for his disappearance that night. With the clandestine aid of those sympathetic to her cause, Queen Kettricken crossed the Six Duchies and returned to her childhood home in the Mountain Kingdom. There, she made efforts of her own to discover what had become of her husband, King-in-Waiting Verity. For if he lived, she reasoned, he was now the rightful King of the Six Duchies and their last hope against the depredations of the Red Ships.

She reached the Mountain Kingdom, but her king was not there. She was told that he had left Jhaampe and pressed on in his quest. Nothing had been heard from him since then. Only some few of his men had returned, their wits scattered and some injured as from battle. Her heart knew despair. For a time, she sheltered amongst her native people. One of the tragedies of her arduous journey was the stillbirth of the heir to the Six Duchies throne. It is said that this blow hardened her heart to the necessity of finding her king, for if she did not, his line would die with him and the throne pass to Regal the Pretender. Possessed of a copy of the same map that King Verity had hoped would take him to the land of the Elderlings, Queen Kettricken set out to follow him. Accompanied by the faithful minstrel Starling Birdsong and several servants, the Queen led her band ever deeper into the Mountain fastness. Trolls, pecksies and the mysterious magic of those forbidding lands were but a few of the obstacles she faced. Nevertheless, eventually she won through to the land of the Elderlings.

It was an arduous search, but eventually she came to the hidden castle of the Elderlings, a vast hall built all of black and silver stone. There she found that her king had persuaded the Dragon-King of the Elderlings to come to the aid of the Six Duchies. This same Dragon-King, recalling the ancient Elderling oath of alliance with the Six Duchies, bent his knee to Queen Kettricken and King Verity. On his back he carried home not only King Verity and Queen Kettricken but the loyal minstrel Starling Birdsong. King Verity saw his queen and her minstrel safely delivered to Buckkeep. Before his loyal subjects could greet him, before his people even knew he had returned, he left them again. Sword blazing in the sun, he bestrode the Elderling Dragon-King as together they rose into the sky to do battle against the Red Ships.

For the rest of that long and triumphantly bloody season, King Verity led his Elderling allies against the Red Ships. Whenever his folk saw the jewel-bright wings of the dragons in the sky, they knew their king was with them. As the King’s forces struck the Red Ship strongholds and fleet, his loyal dukes rallied to his example. The few Red Ships that were not destroyed fled our shores to carry word of the Farseer wrath back to the Outislands. When our shores were cleared of marauding invaders and peace restored to the Six Duchies, King Verity kept his pledge to the Elderlings. The price of their aid was that he would reside with them in their distant land, never to return to the Six Duchies. Some say that our king took a deadly injury in the last days of the Red Ship War, and that it was but his body the Elderlings bore away. It is said by those ones that the body of King Verity lies in a vault of ebony and gleaming gold in a vast cave in their mountain keep. There the Elderlings honour forever the valiant man who sacrificed all to seek aid for his people. But others say that King Verity lives still, well-feasted and highly acclaimed in the Elderling kingdom, and that if ever again the Six Duchies is in need, he will return with his heroic allies to aid his people.

‘The Brief Reign of Verity Farseer’, Nolus the Scribe

I returned to the stuffy darkness of my little cell. Once I had closed the access to the secret passage, I opened the door to the Fool’s chambers in the hopes of gaining at least some natural light. It didn’t help much, but there was little I needed to do. I tidied my bedding and looked around my austere room. Safely anonymous. Anyone might live here. Or no one, I thought sarcastically. I buckled on my ugly sword, and made sure of the knife at my belt before I left the room.

The Fool had left a generous share of the food for me. Cold, it was not especially appetizing, but my hunger made up for it. I finished his breakfast and then, recalling his instructions to Tom Badgerlock, took the dishes down to the kitchen. On my return trip, I hauled wood for the hearth and water for the pitchers. I dumped and wiped the washing basins and did the other small and necessary chores of the room. I opened the window shutters wide to air the chamber. The view from his window showed me that we would have a fine if chill day. I closed them again before I left.

I had the hours until our afternoon ride to myself, I decided. I thought of going down to Buckkeep Town but swiftly decided against it. I needed to put my thoughts about Jinna in order before I saw her again and I wished to ponder her worries about young Hap. Nor would I risk that Piebalds might be spying on me. The less interest I took in Jinna or my son, the safer they were.

So I took myself down to the practice courts. Weaponsmaster Cresswell greeted me by name and asked if Delleree had been sufficient challenge to my skills. Even as I groaned appreciatively, I was somewhat surprised to be so well recalled. It was both welcoming and disconcerting. I had to remind myself that perhaps the best way to ensure I was never recognized as the FitzChivalry that had lived in Buckkeep Castle sixteen years ago was to make solid my recognition as Badgerlock. So I deliberately paused to talk with the man, and humbly admitted that Delleree had indeed been more than a match for me. I asked him to recommend a partner for this day’s challenge, and he yelled across the courts to a man who moved with the centred ease of a veteran fighter.

Wim’s beard was shot with streaks of grey and his waist thickened with his years. I guessed his age at forty-five, a good ten years older than my true age, yet he proved a good match for me. Both his wind and endurance were better than mine, but I knew a few tricks with a blade that made up for some of that. Even so, he was kind enough, after he had beaten me three times, to assure me that my proficiency and stamina would return with repeated practice. It was small solace. A man likes to think that he has kept his body in good trim, and in truth mine was hardened to the tasks of a small farm as well as to the skills of a frequent hunter. But the muscles and wind of a fighter are a different matter, and I would have to rebuild mine. I hoped I would not need those abilities, but sourly resigned myself to daily practice. Despite the chill day, my shirt was stuck to my back with sweat when I left the courts.

I knew they were the territory of the guards and stablehands, yet I made my way to the steams behind the barracks anyway. I reasoned that at this time of day, they would be little occupied, and that using them would be more in keeping with Tom Badgerlock’s character than hauling water for a midday bath. The castle steams were in an old building of rough stone, built low and long. I shed my sweaty clothes in the outer chamber that fronted the steam and washing rooms, folding them onto a bench. I lifted Jinna’s goodwill charm necklace from around my neck and tucked it under my shirt. Naked, I went through the heavy wooden door that led to the steams. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The room was lined with tiered benches surrounding the squat stone firebox. The only light came from the deep red glow of the fire leaking from its stone dungeon. It had been well stoked. As I had suspected, the steams were mostly deserted, but there were three Outislanders there, guards from the Narcheska’s contingent. They kept to themselves at one end of the clouded room, conversing low in their own hard-edged language. They gave me a single glance, then dismissed me. I was more than willing to yield them their privacy.

I took water from the cask in the corner and splashed it liberally onto the hot stones. A fresh curtain of mist went up, and I breathed it deeply. I stood as close to the steaming stones as I could stand until I felt my sweat break and run freely over my skin. It stung in the healing scratches on my neck and back. There was a box of coarse salt and some sea sponges, just as there had been when I was a boy. I scrubbed my body with the salt, wincing at the necessary pain, and then dashed it clean with the sponges. I had nearly finished when the door opened and a dozen guardsmen crowded in. The veterans in the group looked weary, while the younger men-at-arms were shouting and elbowing one another in good-natured horseplay, energized by returning home from the long patrol they had just finished. Two young men proceeded to stuff more wood into the firebox while another slopped more water on the stones. Steam rose in a wall, and the roar of competing conversations suddenly filled the room.

Two old men followed them into the room, moving more slowly, obviously not a part of the first group. Their scarred and gnarled bodies were testimony to their long years of service. They were deep in talk, some complaint about the beer in the guardroom. They greeted me and I grunted a reply before turning aside. I kept my head down and my face turned away from them. One of the older men had known me when I was just a lad. Blade was his name, and the old guardsman had been a true friend to me. I listened to his familiar oaths as he roundly cursed his stiff back. I would have given much to greet him honestly and share talk with him. Instead I smiled to myself to hear his abuse of the beer and wished him well with all my heart.

I watched surreptitiously to see how our Buckkeep guards would mingle with the Outislanders. Oddly, it was the young men who avoided them and gave them suspicious glances. The guards old enough to have fought in the Red Ship War seemed more at ease. Perhaps when one is a man-at-arms for long enough, war becomes a job and it is easier to recognize another man as a fellow warrior rather than a former enemy. Whatever the reason, it seemed to me that the Outislanders were more reluctant to socialize than the Buck guards. But perhaps that was only the natural caution of soldiers disarmed and surrounded by a group of strangers. Staying to watch for longer would have been interesting, but also dangerous. Blade had always had a sharp eye. I would not invite his recognition by lingering in his company.

But as I rose to go, a young guardsman shouldered into me. It was not an accident, or even a well-feigned one. It was but his excuse to loudly exclaim, ‘Watch yourself, man! Who are you, anyway? Which guard company?’ He was a sandy-haired fellow, perhaps of Farrow stock, well-muscled and belligerent with youth. He looked about sixteen to me, a boy aching to prove himself before his more experienced fellows.

I gave him a glare of tolerant disgust, veteran to green soldier. To be too passive would only invite attack. I simply wanted to leave as swiftly as possible, attracting no more attention than necessary. ‘Watch your own step, lad,’ I warned him genially. I moved past him, only to have him shove me from behind. I turned to confront him, loose but not yet aggressive. He had his fists up ready to defend himself. I shook my head tolerantly at that, and several of his companions snickered. ‘Let it be, lad,’ I warned him.

‘I asked you a question,’ he snarled.

‘So you did,’ I agreed benignly. ‘If you’d cared to favour me with your name before you demanded mine, I might have answered. That used to be the custom at Buckkeep.’

He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Charl of Bright’s Guard. I’ve no need to be ashamed of my name or company.’

‘Nor I,’ I assured him. ‘Tom Badgerlock, man to Lord Golden. Who expects me shortly. Good day.’

‘Lord Golden’s serving-man. I might have known.’ He gave a snort of disgust and turned to his fellows to confirm his superiority. ‘You don’t belong in here. This place is for the guardsmen. Not pages and lackeys and “special servants”.’