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‘The mother you scarcely remember.’
‘I remember her enough to say that my child looks like her. And I remember Molly well enough to know that Bee is my daughter. Without question. Fool, this is not worthy of you.’
He lowered his eyes and bowed his head. ‘So few things are, any more,’ he decided. He rose with a lurch that shook the table. ‘I’m going back to the bed. I don’t feel well.’ He shuffled away from me, one knotted hand feeling the air before him while the other curled protectively near his chin.
‘I know you’re not well,’ I replied, suddenly repentant for how harshly I’d rebuked him. ‘You are not yourself, Fool. But you will be again. You will be.’
‘Do you think so?’ he asked. He did not turn toward me but spoke to the empty air in front of him. ‘I am not certain of that myself. I’ve spent over a decade with people who insisted that I was never who I thought I was. Never the White Prophet, only a boy with vivid dreams. And what you have just told me makes me wonder if they did not have the right of it.’
I hated seeing him so defeated. ‘Fool. Remember what you told me so long ago. We move now in a time that you never foresaw. One where we are both alive.’
He made no response to my words. He reached the bed, groped along the edge, then turned and sat down on it. Then he more crumpled than lay down, pulled the covers up over his head and was completely still.
‘I tell you the truth, old friend. I have a daughter, a small girl who depends on me. And I cannot leave her. I must be the one to raise her, to teach her and protect her. It’s a duty I can’t forsake. And one I do not want to abandon.’ I tidied as I spoke, wiping away the food he had spilled, corking the remainder of the wine. I waited and my heart continued to sink as he made no response. Finally I said, ‘What you asked me to do last night. I’d do it for you. You know that. If I could, I would. But now I ask you, as you asked me last night; for my sake, understand that I must say no to you. For now.’
The silence unspooled like a dropped ball of yarn. I’d said the words I must, and the sense of them would soak into him. He was not a selfish man, nor a cruel one. He’d recognize the truth of what I had told him. I couldn’t go anywhere with him, no matter how badly someone needed to be killed. I had a child to raise and protect. Bee had to come first. I went to the bedside and smoothed the bedclothes on my side of the bed. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. I spoke softly.
‘I can’t be here this evening,’ I told him. ‘Chade has a task for me. It may be very late before I come back. Will you be all right alone here?’
Still no response. I wondered if he truly had fallen asleep that quickly, or if he were sulking. Leave it alone, Fitz, I counselled myself. He was a sick man. Rest would do more for him than anything else.
TWO (#u3d25a392-53b8-5238-8753-9c3fda3d1d09)
Lord Feldspar (#u3d25a392-53b8-5238-8753-9c3fda3d1d09)
What is a secret? It is much more than knowledge shared with only a few, or perhaps only one other. It is power. It is a bond. It may be a sign of deep trust, or the darkest threat possible.
There is power in the keeping of a secret, and power in the revelation of a secret. Sometimes it takes a very wise man to discern which is the path to greater power.
All men desirous of power should become collectors of secrets. There is no secret too small to be valuable. All men value their own secrets far above those of others. A scullery maid may be willing to betray a prince before allowing the name of her secret lover to be told.
Be very chary of telling your hoarded secrets. Many lose all power once they have been divulged. Be even more careful of sharing your own secrets lest you find yourself a puppet dancing on someone else’s strings.
Confidence Mayhen – The Assassin’s Other Tool
I’d not eaten much, but my appetite was gone. I tidied our table. The Fool was either asleep or feigning it perfectly. I resigned myself to silence from him. With some trepidation, I dressed myself in the clothing that Chade had provided for Lord Feldspar. It fitted me well enough, though it was looser around the chest and belly than I had expected it to be. I was surprised at how comfortable it was. I transferred a few of the items from one concealed pocket to another. I sat down to put on the shoes. They had more of a heel than I was accustomed to, and extended far past my foot before terminating in upcurled toes decorated with little tassels. I tried a few steps in them, and then walked the length of the chamber five times until I was certain that I could move with confidence and not trip myself.
Chade had a large looking-glass of excellent quality, as much for his own vanity as for the training of his apprentices. I recalled one long night when he had me stand in front of it for most of a watch, trying to smile first sincerely, then disarmingly, then sarcastically, then humbly … his list had gone on and on, until my face ached. Now I lifted a branch of candles and looked at Lord Feldspar of Spiretop. There was also a hat, rather like a soft bag, edged with gilt embroidery and a row of decorative buttons and incorporating a fine wig of brown ringlets. I set it on my head and wondered if it was supposed to wilt over to one side as much as it did.
Chade kept a tinker’s tray of odd jewellery in the cupboard. I chose two showy rings for myself and hoped they would not turn my fingers green. I warmed water and shaved and inspected myself again. I had just resigned myself to creeping out of the room under the smelly garments in Lady Thyme’s old room when I felt a slight draught. I stood still, listening, and at just the right moment, I asked, ‘Don’t you think it’s time you entrusted me with the trick of triggering that door?’
‘I suppose I will have to, now that you are Lord Feldspar and inhabiting the room below.’ Chade stepped around the corner, halted, and then nodded his approval at my attire. ‘The trigger is not where you’d think it would be. It’s not even on this wall. Look here.’ He walked to the hearth, swung a brick aside, mortar and all, and showed me a black iron lever. ‘It’s a bit stiff. I’ll have the boy grease it later.’ And so saying, he pulled the lever and the draught was abruptly closed off.
‘How do you open the door from my old room?’ I’d lost count of how many hours I’d spent searching for that trigger when I was a boy.
He sighed and then smiled. ‘One after another, my secrets have fallen to you. I’ll confess, I’ve always been amused by your inability to find that one. I thought that surely you would stumble on it by accident if nothing else. It’s in the drapery pull. Close the curtains completely, and then give a final tug. You won’t see or hear a thing, but then you can push the door open. And now you know.’
‘And now I know,’ I agreed. ‘After half a century of wondering.’
‘Surely not half a century.’
‘I’m sixty,’ I reminded him. ‘And you started me in the trade when I was less than ten. So, yes, half a century and more.’
‘Don’t remind me of my years,’ he told me, and then sat down with a sigh. ‘It’s unfair of you to prate of passing time when it seems to touch you not at all. Tip your hat a bit more to the back. That’s it. Before you go, we’ll redden your nose a little and give you higher colour in your cheeks so it will appear you’ve begun your drinking early. And we’ll thicken your brows.’ He tilted his head to consider me critically. ‘And that should be enough to keep anyone from recognizing you. What’s this?’ he demanded, pulling Bee’s parcel toward him.
‘Something that I’d like to dispatch immediately to Withywoods. Things for Bee. I had to leave her quite abruptly, in a very peculiar way. It’s the first Winterfest since her mother died. I’d hoped to be there with her.’
‘It will be on its way within the day,’ he promised me gravely. ‘I sent a small troop of guards there this morning. If I’d known you had a message, I would have sent it with them. They’ll travel swiftly.’
‘It has little gifts for her from the market. For a late Winterfest surprise. Wait, you sent a troop of guards? Why?’
‘Fitz, where are your wits? You’ve left Shun and FitzVigilant there, unprotected. You haven’t even doorguards. Luckily I’ve one or two fellows about the place who know their business. Not much muscle among them, but keen eyes. They’ll warn Lant if they see anything threatening. And weather permitting, my troop will be there in three days or so. They’re a rough band, but I’ve seen that their commander is bringing them around. Captain Stout keeps them on a taut lead, until he lets them loose. And then nothing stops them.’ He sounded very satisfied with his choice. He drummed his fingers on the table edge. ‘Though the daily bird hasn’t arrived, but sometimes that happens when the weather is foul.’
‘Daily bird?’
‘Fitz, I am a thorough man. I watch over my own. That includes you, for all your years there. And now when a messageless bird arrives, I know that all is well for Lant and Shun as well. It’s only sensible.’
I’d known he had at least one watcher in place at Withywoods. I hadn’t realized that a daily report had been sent to him. Well, not a report. A bird with no message meant all was well. ‘Chade, I’m ashamed that I gave no thought to Shun and FitzVigilant when I brought the Fool here. You entrusted them to me. It was a dire situation: I’m afraid it drove all other thoughts out of my head.’
He was nodding as I spoke, his face grave and his mouth without expression. I’d disappointed him. He cleared his throat and very deliberately shifted the topic. ‘So. Do you think you can masquerade as Lord Feldspar for an evening or three? It would be very handy for me if I had a man mingling with the crowd who knew how to listen and how to steer a conversation.’
‘I think I can still do that.’ I felt abashed at failing him. This was the least I could do. ‘What were you hoping to discover?’
‘Oh, the usual. Anything interesting. Who is trying to make deals out of sight of the crown? Who has been offering bribes to get better trading terms; who has been taking bribes? What is the general feeling about placating the dragons? Of course, the most valuable information you can discover would be any little facts that we aren’t expecting.’
‘Do I have any specific targets?’
‘Five. No, six, perhaps.’ He scratched his ear. ‘I trust you to find a trail and follow it. I’ll make some suggestions, but keep your ears open for any interesting propositions.’
And for the next few hours he educated me in the various seesaws of power currently in play in the Six Duchies. He described each of the four men and two women that he wished me to spy upon, right down to their preferences for drink, which ones used smoke and the two that were rumoured to be meeting behind their spouses’ backs. Chade gave me a swift tutoring on copper mining so that I could at least appear knowledgeable, and advised me to maintain a crafty silence should anyone ask me detailed questions about my operations or the new vein of ore we had reportedly discovered.
And for a time, I put my life and time back in the old man’s hands. It would not be fair to say that I forgot my grief at losing Molly or stopped worrying about Bee or resigned myself to the Fool’s declining health. What I did was to step outside of my real life and step back into one in which all I had to do was obey Chade’s directives and report back to him what I had learned. There was deep comfort in that. It was almost healing to discover that despite all I had been through, all my losses and all my daily fears and worries, I was still Fitz and this was something I was still very good at.
When he had finished informing me for my task, he tilted his head toward the Fool’s bed. ‘How is he?’
‘Not himself. In pain and emotionally frail. I upset him and he went back to his bed. And immediately fell asleep.’
‘Not surprising. You’re wise to let him sleep.’ He picked up Bee’s parcel, weighed it in his hand and smiled indulgently. ‘I doubt that any child in Buckkeep Castle will get a heftier sack of holiday loot than this. I’ve an excellent courier. He’ll ride out tonight with this.’
‘Thank you,’ I said humbly.
He wagged a dismissive finger at me and then left, taking the package with him. I descended the hidden staircase to the room that had been mine when I was young and closed the door behind me. I halted there briefly to admire the staging of the room. There was a travelling case, of good quality, but dusty and battered as if it had come a long way. It was open and partially unpacked, with items of clothing draped carelessly over the chair. Several of the new-appearing items featured a plenitude of buttons. I made a cursory examination of the trunk’s contents. In addition to a selection of clothes that would fit me and were not obviously new, there was all that a man would be likely to pack for an extended stay. Anyone who sought to slip the lock on my room and inspect my things would most likely be convinced that I was indeed Lord Feldspar, right down to my monogrammed kerchiefs. I tucked one of those into my pocket and descended to the merrymaking of Winterfest Eve in Buckkeep.
And, oh, how I loved it. There was music and excellent food and drink of all manner flowed freely. Some people were enjoying smoke in tiny braziers at their tables. Young ladies in their best dresses flirted outrageously with young men in bright and impractical garb. More buttons. And I was not the only one in heeled slippers with twirled toes. Indeed my footwear was among the more modest in that regard. It made the lively dances of Winterfest a true contest of agility, and more than one youngster was brought low by an untimely slip.
I had only one bad moment, and that was when I glimpsed Web across the room. I became aware of Buckkeep’s Witmaster in a way that I can’t describe. I think as he quested toward me with his Wit, wondering why I seemed familiar, I somehow became aware of the magic’s touch on me. I turned away and made an excuse to leave that area of the room. I did not see him again that evening.
I located those Chade had bid me find, and insinuated myself into conversations. I appeared to drink a great deal more than I really did, and thoroughly enjoyed playing the role of a mildly inebriated lordling who bragged indiscreetly about the newfound wealth of his holdings. I moved among the merchants and tradesfolk rather than near the dais where the nobility and royalty congregated to socialize with trade delegates from Bingtown, Jamaillia and Kelsingra. I caught only passing glimpses of Lady Kettricken, dressed in a simple gown of pale yellow with trim of Buckkeep blue.
King Dutiful and Queen Elliania passed through the chamber, pacing sedately, accepting and bestowing greetings from the lesser nobles and well-placed merchants. King Dutiful was appropriately solemn and kingly. He had recently begun to cultivate a well-groomed beard which added to his gravitas. The queen smiled, and her hand rode on the back of Dutiful’s forearm. Her crown rode on a short crop of black curls not much longer than mine; I’d heard she had not allowed her hair to grow since she had lost a girl infant. This marked sign of her continued mourning troubled me even as I too well understood it, but I was glad to see her at the gathering.
The wild girl I had once watched leaping her pony over obstacles was a child no longer. She was small and dark and one might have expected tall, blonde Kettricken, the former Queen of the Six Duchies, to dominate the festivities. But she did not. The two had come into an accord years ago, and balanced one another well. Whereas Kettricken urged the kingdom to embrace new ways, new trading partners and new ways of doing things, Elliania was a traditionalist. Her matriarchal upbringing in the OutIslands had imbued her with confidence in her right to rule. Her two sons walked behind her, impeccably attired in Buckkeep blue, yet every silver button on their garments featured their mother’s leaping narwhal. I’d known them as babies and as small boys. Those days were long gone now. They were young men now, and Prince Integrity wore the simple crown of the King-in-Waiting. Prince Prosper favoured his OutIslander mother but had developed the Farseer brow. I smiled as the royal family passed, tears of pride stinging my eyes. Our doing, the Fool’s and mine. Peace between the Six Duchies and the OutIslands at last. I feigned a cough to dab at my watering eyes. I turned aside hastily and pushed my way deeper into the crowd. That sort of behaviour would never suit Lord Feldspar. Control yourself, Fitz.
Lord Feldspar, Chade and I had decided, bore a greedy merchant’s heart beneath his noble title. He would have no tender feelings toward his rulers, only a stony resolve to retain as much of his tax-money as he could. I played my role well. To every minor noble that deigned introduce himself to me, I muttered disconsolately over how much of my taxes had gone to fund these festivities and snarled at the thought of my money used to subsidize meat herds for dragons. Dragons! Those with the bad fortune to live near the dragons’ hunting territories should feed them. Or move. It was not up to me to pay for their poor choices! I insinuated myself into conversations near my targets, and made sure my complaints were audible.
I had expected that one of our noble guests would be the one to propose bypassing the tax collectors of the Six Duchies, but when I was finally targeted it was by a young man from Farrow. He was not a lord or a merchant, but the son of a man who operated freight barges on the river. He smiled and spoke me fair and made a dedicated effort to ply me with stronger drink. He was not one of Chade’s targets, but his sly hints that there was money to be made by a man who knew how to bypass the taxing agents at the river and sea-ports made me think that he was a thread that would bear following. I used the Skill to reach out mentally to Chade and became aware that my old mentor was using Thick’s strength to help him be fully aware not only of King Dutiful but of several of the coterie members. I kept my sending to him private and small as I drew his attention to my drinking partner.
Ah. Well done. That was all he Skilled back to me, but I shared his sense of satisfaction and knew I had given him the bit of information that made sense of some puzzle he had been working to solve.
I separated myself from the young man and mingled and wandered for several hours more. Winterfest was a significant holiday and the dukes and duchesses of all the Six Duchies were in attendance. I saw and was not seen as I recognized many an old friend or acquaintance from my earlier years. Duchess Celerity of Bearns had aged gracefully. Several lifetimes ago she had taken a fancy to FitzChivalry. I hoped she had had a good life. The little lad trotting at her heels was probably a grandson. Perhaps even a great-grandson. There were others, not just nobles but serving folk and tradesmen. Not as many as I would have recognized a score of years ago. Time’s nets had dragged many of them from this life.
The night grew deep, and the room was warm with the press of bodies and the sweat of the dancers. I was not surprised when the young river trader sought me out to introduce me to a very friendly sea captain from Bingtown. He introduced himself as a New Trader, and immediately shared with me that he had little patience for the Bingtown system of tithes and levies on foreign goods. ‘The Old Traders are wedged in their ways. If they will not shake off the past and realize they must open their doors to less restricted trade, well, there are those who will find a window.’ I nodded to him and asked if I might call on him the day after Winterfest. He gave me a small shingle of wood with the name of his ship and his own name lettered onto its smooth surface. He was staying at the Bloody Hounds near the warehouse docks and would look forward to my visit. Another fish for Chade’s net.
For a time, I indulged myself and took a seat at one of the lesser hearths to hear a minstrel recite one of the traditional Winterfest tales. When I went seeking some chilled cider, a young woman who had had too much to drink caught me by the arm and demanded that I dance the next measure with her. She could not have been more than twenty, and to me she suddenly seemed a foolish child in a dangerous place. I wondered where her parents were and how they could leave her drunken and alone in the midst of the festival.
But I danced with her, one of the old partner-dances, and despite my fancy toes and lifted heels managed to keep to the steps and mark the time correctly. It was a merry dance and she was a pretty girl with dark curls and brown eyes and layers upon layers of skirts, all in shades of blue. Yet by the end of the dance I was filled to brimming with loneliness and a deep sadness for all the years that were now behind me. I thanked her and escorted her to a seat near the hearth and then slipped away. My Winterfest Eve, I thought, was over and I suddenly missed a little hand in mine and big blue eyes looking up at me. For the first time in my life, I wished my little girl had the Skill so that I could reach out to her across the snowy distance and assure her that I loved her and missed her.
As I sought my room, I knew that Chade would be as good as his word. Doubtless a messenger was already in the saddle on his way to Withywoods, my parcel and note in his pack. Yet it would be days before she received it and knew that I had thought of her in the midst of the festivities. Why had I never accepted Chade’s offer to give me a Skilled apprentice at Withywoods, one who could, in my absence, relay news and messages from there? It would have still been a poor substitute for holding my child in my arms and whirling her in a dance at midnight, but it would have been something.
Bee, I love you I Skilled out, as if somehow that errant thought could reach her. I felt the soft brush of both Nettle’s and Chade’s shared thought: I’d had as much drink as was good for me. And perhaps I had, for I Skilled to them, I miss her so.
Neither one had a reply to that, so I bade them goodnight.
THREE (#ulink_2822cff0-f7cc-541a-b0ef-82613b76f169)
The Taking of Bee (#ulink_2822cff0-f7cc-541a-b0ef-82613b76f169)
Sometimes, it is true, a great leader arises who, by virtue of charisma, persuades others to follow him into a path that leads to greater good. Some would have you believe that to create great and powerful change, one must be that leader.
The truth is that dozens, hundreds, thousands of people have conspired to bring the leader to that moment. The midwife who delivered his grandmother is as essential to that change as is the man who shod his horse so that he might ride forth to rally his followers. The absence of any one of those people can tumble the leader from power as swiftly as an arrow through his chest.
Thus, to effect change does not demand military might nor the ruthlessness of murder. Nor must one be prescient. Gifted with the records of hundreds of prescient Whites, anyone can become a Catalyst. Anyone can precipitate the tiny change that tumbles one man from power and boosts another into his place. This is the change that hundreds of Servants before you have made possible. We are no longer dependent on a single White Prophet to find a better path for the world. It is now within the power of the Servants to smooth the path we all seek to follow.
Servant Imakiahen – Instructions
Snow was falling, white stars cascading down from the black sky. I was on my back, staring up at the night. The cold white flakes melting on my face had wakened me. Not from sleep, I thought. Not from rest, but from a peculiar stillness. I sat up slowly, feeling giddy and sick.
I had been hearing the sounds and smelling the smells for some time. In my dazed state, the roasting meat of Winterfest had been enticing, and the crackling was the sound of the huge logs in the grand hearth in the Great Hall. A minstrel was tuning some sea-pipes, the deepest voiced of traditional wind instruments.
But now I was awake and I stared in horror. This was no celebration of Winterfest Eve. This was the opposite of a gathering to drive darkness from our homes. This was a wallowing in destruction. The stables were burning. The charring meat was dead horses and men. The long low tones that had seemed to be the slow awakening of musical instruments were the confused moaning of the folk of Withywoods.
My folk.
I rubbed my eyes, wondering what had happened. My hands were heavy and floppy with no strength in them. They were stuffed into immense fur mittens. Or were they huge white furry paws? Not mine?
A jolt. Was I me? Was I someone else, thinking my thoughts? I shivered all over. ‘I’m Bee,’ I whispered to myself. ‘I’m Bee Farseer. Who has attacked my home? And how came I to be here?’
I was bundled warmly against the cold, enthroned like a queen in the bed of an open sleigh I did not recognize. It was a marvellous sleigh. Two white horses in red-and-silver harness waited stoically to pull it. To either side of the driver’s seat, cleverly wrought iron hangers held lanterns with glass sides and worked iron scrolls as decorations. They illuminated the cushioned seat for the driver and a passenger, and the gracefully curved edges of the sleigh’s bed. I reached out, thinking to run my hand over the finely polished wood. I could not. I was rolled and wrapped and weighed with blankets and furs that bound my sleepy body as effectively as knotted ropes. The sleigh was drawn up at the edge of the carriageway that served the once grand doors of Withywoods. Those doors were caved in now, broken and useless.
I shook my head, trying to clear my mind of cobwebs. I should be doing something! I needed to do something, but my body felt heavy and soft, like bags of wet laundry. I could not remember how I had been returned to Withywoods, let alone dressed in a heavy fur robe and bundled into a sleigh. As if I were backtracking my day, trying to find a lost glove, I set what I could remember in order. I’d been in the schoolroom with the other children. Steward Revel, dying as he warned us to run. I’d hidden the other children in the secret passage in the walls of Withywoods, only to have the door closed to me. Fleeing with Perseverance. He’d been shot. I’d been captured. And I had been so happy to be captured. I recalled no more than that. But somehow I’d been brought back to Withywoods, buttoned into a heavy fur coat and swaddled into a dozen blankets. And now I was here, in a sleigh, watching my stables burn.
I turned my eyes away from the leaping orange flames of the burning stable and looked toward the manor. People, all the people I had known all my life, were gathered in front of the tall doors of Withywoods. They weren’t dressed for the snow. They wore the clothes they had donned that morning for the day’s work inside the manor. They huddled together, hugging themselves or clinging to one another for warmth. I saw several shorter figures and finally my blurry vision made out that they were the children I had earlier concealed. Against my stern admonition, they had come out and betrayed themselves. My slow thoughts put together the burning stable and the hidden children. Perhaps they had been wise to come out. Perhaps the raiders would next burn the house.
The raiders. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, fighting for clarity of vision and thought.
This attack made no sense to me. We had no enemies that I knew of. We were far inland in the duchy of Buck, and the Six Duchies were not at war with anyone. Yet these foreigners had come and attacked us. They had battered their way into our halls.
Why?
Because they wanted me.
The thought made no sense, and yet it seemed to be true. These attackers had come to steal me. Armed men on horseback had run me down. Run us down. Oh, Perseverance. His own blood leaking between his fingers. Was he dead or hiding? How had I ended here, back at Withywoods? One of the men had seized me and dragged me back. The woman who seemed to be in charge of this raid had rejoiced at finding me, and told me that she was taking me home, to where I belonged. I frowned. I’d felt so happy at those words. So cherished. What had been wrong with me? The fog-man had greeted me and welcomed me as his brother.
Even though I was a girl. I had not told them that. I had been so suffused with happiness to see them that I could scarcely speak. I had opened my arms to the fog-man, and to the plump, motherly woman who had rescued me from the raider who had been choking me. But after that … I remembered a warm whiteness. That was all. The memory made no sense but it still filled me with shame. I’d embraced the woman who had brought these killers to my home.
I turned my head slowly. I felt as if I could not do anything quickly. I could not move quickly or think quickly. I took a bad fall, I remembered slowly. From a running horse. Had I struck my head? Was that what was wrong with me?
My unseeing eyes had been focused on the burning stables. Two men approached it now, carrying something. Withywoods men, dressed in our yellow and green, in their best clothes. For a Winterfest Eve that had become a winter slaughter. I recognized one as Lin, our shepherd. They were carrying something between them. Something that sagged. A body. Around the burning stables, the snow had melted to slush. They trudged on. Closer and closer. Would they walk right into the flames? But as they drew closer, they halted. ‘One, two, three!’ Lin’s voice cracked on the count as they swung the body and then, on three, they let go. It flew into the red mouth of the burning building. They turned. Like puppets traipsing across a stage, they walked away from the flames.
Was that why the stable was burning? To get rid of the bodies? A good hot bonfire was a very effective way to get rid of a body. I’d learned that from my father. ‘Papa?’ I whispered. Where was he? Would he come to save me? Could he save all our people? No. He’d gone to Buckkeep. He’d left me and gone off to Buckkeep Castle, to try to save the blind old beggar. He wasn’t going to save me, or our people. No one was.
‘I am cleverer than this.’ I whispered the words aloud. I had not known I was going to say them. It seemed as if some part of me strove to awaken the dull, deadened creature I had become. I looked around fearfully to see if anyone had heard me speak. They must not hear me speak. Because … if they did … If they did, they would know. Know what?
‘Know they aren’t controlling me any more.’
My whisper was even softer this time. The parts of me were coming back together. I sat very still in my warm nest, gathering my mind and my strength. I mustn’t betray myself until I could do something. The sleigh had been heaped with furs and woollen blankets from the manor. I was wrapped in a heavy robe of white fur, thick and soft, too big for me. It was not from Withywoods. It was no type of fur that I knew and it smelled foreign. A hat of the same fur covered my head. I moved my mittened hands, shifting my arms free of the heavy blankets. I was loaded up like a stolen treasure. I was what they were taking. Me and very little else. If they had come to plunder, I reasoned, the teams and wagons of Withywoods would be standing full of loot and the riches of my home. I saw none of that, not even our riding horses bunched to steal. I was the only thing they were carrying off. They had killed Revel to steal me.
So what would happen to everyone else?
I lifted my eyes. The huddled folk of Withywoods were limned against smaller fires. They stood like penned cattle in the snowy centre. Some were held up by their fellows. Faces were transformed by pain and horror into people I dared not recognize. The fires, built of the fine furniture of Withywoods, were not there to warm them but to light the night so they could not elude their captors. Most of the raiders were mounted on horses. Not our horses, nor our saddles. I’d never seen saddles like those, so high in the back. My numbed mind counted them. Not many, perhaps as few as ten. But they were men of blood and iron. Most of them were fair, with yellow hair and stained pale beards. They were tall and hard and some walked with bared blades in their hands. Those men were the killers, the soldiers that had come to do this task. Those men, with fair hair like mine. I saw the man who had chased me down, the one who had dragged me, half-strangled, back to the house. He stood face to face with the woman who had shouted at him, the plump woman who had made him drop me. And next to them, there, make my eyes see him, yes, there. He was there. The fog-man.
Today was not the first time I had seen him.
He had been in Oaksbywater, at the market. He had been there, fogging the whole town. No one who had seen him had turned to look at him. He’d been in the alley, the one that no one was choosing to walk down. And what had been behind him? The raiders? The soft, kind woman with the voice and words that made me love her as soon as she spoke? I was not sure. I had not seen through his fog, had barely seen the fog-man himself. I could scarcely see him now. He stood by the woman.
He was doing something. Something hard. It was so hard for him that he had had to stop fogging me to do it. Knowing that helped me to peel my mind clear of his. With every passing moment, my thoughts were more my own. My body was more my own. I felt now the bruises of the day, and how my head ached. I ran my tongue around inside my mouth and found the place where I had bitten my cheek ragged. I pushed my tongue against it, tasting blood and waking the pain and suddenly my thoughts were my own and only my own.
Do something. Don’t sit still and warm and let them burn the bodies of your friends while Withywoods folk stand shivering in the snow. They were helpless, I perceived, their minds almost as fogged as mine had been. Perhaps I was only able to find myself because of my years of experience at withstanding the pressure of my father’s mind on mine. There they stood, in distress, as indecisive as sheep in a blizzard and as helpless. They knew something was wrong, and yet there they stood. They moaned, they lowed like penned cattle awaiting slaughter. Save for Lin and his partner. Here they came again, out of the darkness, a body slung between them. They trudged, wooden-faced, men carrying out an assigned task. One they had been told not to think about.
I looked at the fog-man. More of a fog-boy, I decided. His round face had the unfinished, chinless look of a boy. His body was soft, unused. Not so his mind, I suspected. His brow was wrinkled in concentration. The soldiers, I realized suddenly. He was ignoring the Withywoods folk, trusting that the haze he had left them in would not disperse quickly. He held the soldiers still, keeping them listening to the woman with the trustworthy words. His fog wrapped the old man who sat on a black horse.
The old man held his sword in his hand, and the tip that pointed at the ground dripped blackness. The fog was almost a haze I could see. Then I realized that actually I could not quite see through it. It reflected light, so the old man had an aura of red firelight around him. His was a terrifying face, old and fallen, as if he had melted. The bones were hard and his eyes were pale. He radiated bitterness and hatred of everyone who was not as miserable as he was. I groped within my mind and made a tiny hole in my wall so that I could feel what the fog-man told the old soldier. The fog-man was wrapping him in triumph and success, was feeding him satisfaction and satiation. The task was done. He would be well rewarded, rewarded far beyond his expectations. People would know what he had done. They would hear of it and remember who he had been. They’d regret how they had treated him. They’d grovel before him and beg for him to be merciful.
But now? Now it was time to turn away from the pillaging and raping, time for him and his men to take what they had come for and begin the journey home. If they delayed here, it could only cause complications. There would be more conflict, more killing … no. The fog shifted suddenly. Don’t feed him that prospect. Instead the fog became full of the cold and the darkness and how weary he was. The sword was heavy in his hand, his armour bowed his shoulders. They had what they had come for. The sooner they turned back toward Chalced, the sooner he would be in warmer lands with his well-earned prize. The sooner he would look down from his horse on the folk who would regret how they had scorned him.
‘We should burn it all. Kill all of them and burn it all,’ one of his men offered. He was mounted on a brown horse. He smiled, showing good teeth. His pale hair was bound back from his face to fall in two long braids. His brow was square and his chin firm. Such a handsome man. He rode the horse into the huddled people and they parted like butter melting before a hot spoon. In the midst of them, he wheeled his mount and looked at his commander. ‘Commander Ellik! Why should we leave one timber standing here?’
The plump woman spoke clearly into the night. ‘No. No, Hogen, that would be foolishness. Do not be hasty here. Listen to your commander. Ellik knows what is wise. Burn the stable and the bodies. Allow Vindeliar to take care of all the rest. Let us journey home knowing that no one will remember us or pursue us. We have what we came for. Let us go now. With no pursuit to worry about, we can move swiftly back to the warm lands.’
