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With unerring instinct, Lord Golden led us to an inn. It was a grand building for such a small town, built of black stone and boasting a second storey. The hanging signboard chilled my heart. It was the Piebald Prince, neatly divided into his head and four quarters. It was not the first time I had seen him depicted that way; in fact, it was the commonest way to see him, but a sense of foreboding hung over me. If either Golden or Laurel were given pause by the sign, they did not betray it. Light spilled wide from the inn’s open door, and talk and good cheer flowed out with it. I smelled cooking food and Smoke and beer. The level of the laughter and shouted conversation was a pleasant roar. Lord Golden dismounted and told me to take the horses to the hostler. Laurel accompanied him into the noisy common room as I led the animals around to the darkened back of the inn. In a few moments, a door was flung open, and light stabbed out into the dusty innyard. The hostler appeared, wiping his interrupted meal from his lips, and bearing a lantern. He took the horses from me and led them off to the stable. I more felt than saw Nighteyes in the deeper darkness at the corner of the inn. As I approached the inn door, a shadow detached itself and brushed past me. In that brief touch, I knew his thoughts.
They were here. Be cautious. I smell man’s blood in the street in front of this place. And dogs. Usually dogs are here, but not tonight.
He blurred into the night before I could ask him any details. I went in through the back door with an uneasy heart and an empty belly. Inside, the innkeeper informed me that my master had already commanded his finest room, and I was to bring all the bags up. Wearily I turned back to the stables. While I appreciated Lord Golden’s ruse to let me have a good look inside the stables, I was suddenly afflicted with a weariness that could barely be suppressed. Food and sleep. I didn’t even need a bed. I would have been happy to drop where I stood.
The hostler was still putting grain into our horses’ feed-bins. Perhaps because I was there, they got a more generous shake of oats. I saw nothing unusual in the stables. There were three plug-horses of the kind such a place usually kept for hire, and a battered cart. A cow in a byre probably provided the milk for the guests’ porridge. I disapproved of the chickens roosting in the rafters. Their droppings would foul the horses’ food and water, but there was little I could do about it. There were only two other horses stabled there, not enough to be the mounts of those we followed. There were no hunting cats tethered in empty stalls. Well, nothing was ever easy. The hostler was competent at his work, but not talkative, nor even curious. His clothing was pungent with Smoke; I suspected the herbs had mellowed him past caring much about anything. I got our bags and, heavily-laden, made my way back to the inn.
The finest room was up a flight of worn wooden steps. The climb taxed me more than it should have. I knocked at the door, then managed to open it for myself. It was the finest room in the sense that it was the best sitting room at the inn. Lord Golden was enthroned in a cushioned chair at the head of a scarred table. Laurel sat at his right hand. There were mugs in front of them and a large earthenware pitcher. I smelled ale. I managed to set the bags down inside the door instead of just dropping them. Lord Golden deigned to notice me. ‘I’ve ordered food, Tom Badgerlock. And arranged rooms for us. As soon as they’ve made the beds up, they’ll show you where to take the bags. Until then, do be seated, my good man. You’ve well earned your keep today. There’s a mug for you.’
He nodded to a seat at his left, and I took it. Someone had already poured the ale for me. I’m afraid I drained off that first mug without any other thought than that it was sustenance after a long day. It was neither the best nor the worst brew I’d ever tasted, but few draughts had been as welcome as that one. I set the empty mug down on the table and Lord Golden nodded permission at the pitcher. As I refilled our mugs, the food arrived. There was a roast fowl, a large bowl of buttered peas, a meal pudding with treacle and cream, crisp trout on a platter, bread, butter and more ale. Before the serving-boy left, Lord Golden added another request. He had badly bruised his shoulder that morning; would the boy bring him a slab of raw meat from the kitchen to draw the soreness from the swelling? Laurel served Lord Golden and herself and then passed the dishes on to me. We ate in near silence, all of us very intent on the food. In a short time, the fowl and fish had been reduced to bones on the platters. Lord Golden rang for the servants to clear away. They brought a berry pie with clotted cream for a sweet, and more ale. The slab of raw meat came with it. As soon as the servant was gone, Lord Golden neatly wrapped it in his napkin and handed it to me. I wondered with weary gratitude if anyone would notice its later disappearance. A short time later I became aware that I had eaten more than I should have done, and drunk more than was wise. I had that sodden, overly full feeling that is so miserable after one has been hungry all day. Lassitude crept over me. I tried to hide my yawns behind my hand and pay attention to the hushed conversation between Lord Golden and Laurel. Their voices seemed distant, as if a noisy river rushed between them and me.
‘One of us should have a quiet look round,’ Laurel was insisting. ‘Perhaps some questions asked downstairs would discover where they were going, or if they are known around here. It could be they are close by.’
‘Tom?’ Lord Golden prodded me.
‘I already have,’ I said softly. ‘They were here. But they either moved on already, or are at a different inn. If a town this size has more than one inn.’ I leaned back in my chair.
‘Tom?’ Lord Golden asked me with some annoyance. In an aside to Laurel he observed, ‘It’s probably the Smoke. He’s never had any head for it. Just walking through the fumes puts him into a fog.’
I pried open my eyes. ‘Beg pardon?’ I asked. My own voice sounded thick and distant in my ears.
‘How do you know they were here?’ Laurel demanded. Had she asked that before?
I was too tired to think of a good answer. ‘I just do,’ I replied shortly, and then directed my words to Lord Golden as if we had been interrupted. ‘There’s also been blood spilled in the street outside the inn. We should go carefully around here.’
He nodded sagely. ‘I think our wisest course is an early bed and an earlier start tomorrow.’ Without letting Laurel voice any objections, he rang the servants’ bell again. He was told that his rooms were, indeed, ready. Laurel had a tiny room to herself up at the end of the hall. Lord Golden had a more substantial chamber, with room for a cot for his man in it. The maidservant who had come at the bell insisted that she would carry Laurel’s bag up to her chamber for her, so we said goodnight there. I avoided her eyes. I was suddenly tremendously weary, too weary to even attempt our roles. It was all I could do to shoulder a share of our bags and follow the servant to Lord Golden’s rooms. He stayed behind, chatting with the innkeeper about replenishing our travel supplies before we left in the morning.
Our room was at the back of the inn, on the ground floor. I dragged our baggage inside, closed the door behind the departing servant and opened wide the window. I found a nightshirt for Lord Golden and laid it out on his turned-down bed. I put the meat inside my shirt, to take to Nighteyes later. Then I sat down on my bed to await Lord Golden’s return.
I awoke to someone shaking my shoulder gently. ‘Fitz? Are you all right?’
I came up slowly out of my dream. It took a moment or two to recall who I was. In my dream, I had been in another city, a populous, well-lit city. There had been music and many torches and lights. A celebration. I had not been a servant, but was – ‘It’s gone,’ I told the Fool sleepily.
I heard an odd scrabbling noise and then a thump as Nighteyes heaved himself over the windowsill and then dropped into the room. He thrust his nose into my face. I petted him absently. I felt so drowsy. My ears buzzed.
The Fool shook me again. ‘Fitz. Stay awake and talk to me. What’s wrong? Is it the Smoke?’
‘Nothing. It’s just so peaceful. I want to go back to sleep.’ Sleep pulled at me like a retreating tide. I longed to recede with it. Nighteyes poked me again.
Stupid. It’s the black stone, like the Elderling road. You’re getting lost in it again. Come outside.
I forced my eyes open wider. I looked up into the Fool’s concerned face, and then dazedly gazed at the walls that surrounded me. Black stone. Veined with silver. And when I looked at it, I recognized it for what it was, stone scavenged from a much older building. The stones of the inner wall of the room fitted almost seamlessly together, but the outer wall was built more roughly. No, I suddenly knew, that wasn’t completely right. The building predated the town, but it had been a ruin, rebuilt from the same ancient stone. And that ancient stone was memory stone, worked by Elderling hands.
I do not know what the Fool thought as I tottered to my feet. ‘Stones. Memory stone,’ I told him thickly as I groped my way towards the fresh air. I heard his astonished cry when I threw myself out of the window into the dusty innyard. The wolf landed more softly beside me. An instant later, Nighteyes faded into the shadows as someone leaned out of a window and demanded, ‘What goes on there?’
‘It’s my idiot serving-man!’ Lord Golden retorted in disgust. ‘So drunk he has fallen out the window trying to close it for me. Well, let him lie there. Serves the sodden oaf right.’
I lay still in the dust of the innyard and felt the plucking dreams recede. In a moment or two, I would stand and walk further from the stone walls. I just needed a moment or two.
The terrible tiredness that had been burdening me all evening gradually eased. I floated in relief. I stared up into the night sky and felt as if I could rise right up into it. Somewhere a couple was arguing. He was miserable but she was insistent. It was too much trouble to focus on their words, but then they came closer, and I could not avoid overhearing them.
‘I should go home,’ he said. He sounded very young. ‘I should go back to my mother. If I had not left her, none of this would have happened. Arno would still be alive. And those others.’
She inserted her head under his arm, and then rested it on his chest. That’s true. And we would be apart, you forever given to another. Is that truly what you want?
They had drifted closer. With him, I breathed the sweet scent of her, musky and wild. He held her close. The wind blew through my dream of them, tattering the edges. He stroked her fur; her long dark hair threaded through his fingers. ‘It isn’t what I want. But perhaps it is my duty.’
Your duty is to your people. And to me. She wrapped her hand around his forearm. Her fingernails pressed against his flesh like claws. She tugged at him with them. Come on. It is time to get up again. We cannot tarry, we must ride.
He looked down into her green eyes. ‘My love, I must go back. I would be more useful to all of us there. I could speak out, I could press for change. I could …’
We would be apart. Could you stand that?
‘I would find a way for us to be together.’
No! She cuffed his cheek, and her palm rasped against his skin. There was a hint of claws in the gesture. No. They would not understand. They would force us apart. They would kill me, and perhaps you, too. Recall the tale of the Piebald Prince. His royal blood was not enough to protect him. Yours would be no shield to you. A pause, then: I am the only one who truly cares about you. Only I can save you. But I dare not come to you completely until you have proven you are one of us. Always you hold back. Are you ashamed of your Old Blood?
No. Never that.
Then open yourself. Be what you know you are.
He was silent for a long time. ‘I have a duty,’ he said softly. Infinite regret was in his voice.
‘Get him up!’ The man’s voice came from behind me. ‘There’s no time for delay. We need to gain some distance.’ I twisted on the ground to see who spoke but saw no one.
Green eyes stared into his. I could have fallen forever into those eyes. Trust me, she begged him, and he had to do as she requested. Later, you can think of these things. Later you can think of duty. For now, think of living. And of me. Get up.
The Fool took my arm and draped it across his shoulders. ‘Up you come,’ he said persuasively, and heaved me to my feet. He was dressed all in black. More time must have passed than I had thought. Laughter and talk still spilled from the common room of the inn along with light. Once I was up, I found I could walk, but the Fool still insisted on keeping my arm as he guided me to a dark corner of the innyard. I leaned against the rough wood of the stable wall and collected myself.
‘Are you going to be all right?’ the Fool asked me again.
‘I think so.’ The cobwebs were clearing from my mind. But the feel of these cobwebs was more familiar. I felt the familiar twinges of a Skill-headache, but they were less determined than usual. I drew a deep breath. ‘I’ll be all right. But I don’t think I should try to sleep in the inn tonight. It’s built from memory stone, Fool, like the black road. Like the stone in the quarry.’
‘Like the dragon Verity carved,’ he filled in.
I took a deep breath. My head was clearing rapidly. ‘It’s full of memories. That’s so strange, to find stone like that here in Buck. I never supposed the Elderlings had come this far.’
‘Of course they had. Think about it. What do you think the old Witness Stones are, if not Elderling handiwork?’
His words shocked me. Then, it was so obvious that I didn’t waste time agreeing. ‘Yes, but standing stones are one thing. That inn is the rebuilt remains of an Elderling structure. I had never expected to see that here in Buck.’
He was silent for a time. As my eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness where we sheltered, I could see that he was actually chewing at the corner of his thumbnail. After a moment, he realized I was looking at him and snatched his hand away from his mouth. ‘Sometimes I get so caught up in the immediate puzzle that I overlook the pieces of the larger question that are all around us,’ he said as if confessing a fault. ‘So. You are all right now?’
‘I think I’ll be fine. I’ll find an empty stall in the stable and sleep there. If the hostler asks, I’ll tell him I’m in disgrace.’ I turned to go, then thought to ask, ‘Will you be able to get back into the inn, dressed like that?’
‘Just because I sometimes wear the clothes of a nobleman, don’t think I’ve forgotten all the tricks of a tumbler.’ He sounded almost offended. ‘I’ll get back in the way I got out: through the window.’
‘Good. I may take a walk about the town, to “clear my head”. And to see what I can discover. If you can make the opportunity, go to the common room. Stir the gossip-pot and see if you hear anything of strangers with a hunting cat passing through here yesterday.’ I started to add something about bloodshed in the street, but stopped myself. There was little chance it directly related to us.
‘Very well. Fitz. Go carefully.’
‘There’s no need to remind me of that.’
I started to step away from him but he suddenly caught at my arm. ‘Don’t go just yet. I’ve wanted to talk to you all day.’ He abruptly let go of me and crossed his arms on his chest. He took a ragged breath. ‘I did not think this would be so hard. I’ve played so many roles in my life. I thought it would be easy, that it might even be fun to play master to your man. It’s not.’
‘No. It’s hard. But I think it’s wise.’
‘We’ve blundered too many times with Laurel.’
I shrugged helplessly. ‘That is as it is. She knows we were both chosen by the Queen. Perhaps we can leave her in confusion and let her draw her own conclusions. They might be more convincing than anything we could fabricate.’
He cocked his head and smiled. ‘Yes. That tactic pleases me. For now, we shall discover what we can tonight, and plan an early start in the morning.’
We separated at those words. He withdrew into the darkness, vanishing as adeptly as Nighteyes could. I watched for him to cross the innyard but did not see him. I caught one brief glimpse of him as he vaulted back through the darkened window. I did not hear a sound.
Nighteyes pressed heavily against my leg.
What news? I asked him. Our Wit was as silent as the warmth of his body against me.
Bad news. Keep silent and follow.
He took me, not through the main streets of town, but away from the centre of town. I wondered where we were going, but dared not reach forth to touch minds with him. I curbed my Wit, though it dulled my senses not to share the wolf’s awareness. We ended up in a rocky field near the river’s edge. He took me to the edge of it, where large trees grew. The tall dry grasses had been tramped down flat there. I caught a whiff of cooked meat and cold ashes. Then my eyes pieced together the length of rope still hanging from a tree, and the burned-out fire beneath it. I stood very still. The night wind off the river stirred the ashes and suddenly the smell of cooked meat sickened me. I put my hand over the extinguished coals. They were sodden and cold. A fire deliberately set and deliberately drowned. I poked at them, and felt the tell-tale greasiness of dripping fat. They had been more than thorough. Hung, cut in quarters, burned, and the remains thrown in the river.
I moved well away from the fire to the shelter of the trees. I sat down on a big rock there. The wolf came and sat beside me. After a time, I remembered his meat and gave it to him. He ate it without ceremony. I sat with my hand over my mouth, wondering. Coldness moved through me where blood had once flowed. Townsmen had done this, and now they ate and laughed and sang songs at the inn. They had done this to someone just like me. Perhaps to the son of my body.
No. The blood does not smell right. It was not him.
It was a small comfort. It only meant that he had not died today. Did the townsfolk hold him somewhere? Was the lively night at the inn an anticipation of more blood-sport on the morrow?
I became aware of someone coming softly through the night towards us. She came from the direction of the town lights, but did not walk on the road. She came through the trees at the edge of the road, moving near-soundlessly.
Huntingwoman.
Laurel stepped from the shadow of the trees. I watched her as she moved purposely towards the burned patch. As I had earlier, she crouched over it, sniffing, and then touching the ashes.
I stood, making just enough sound to let her know I was there. She flinched, spinning to confront us.
‘How long ago?’ I asked the night.
Laurel sighed out a small breath as she recognized us. Then ‘Just this afternoon,’ she answered quietly. ‘My maid told me about it. Bragged, actually, of how the lad she is to marry was right in the thick of it, getting rid of the Piebald. That’s what they call them in this valley. Piebalds.’
The river wind blew between us. ‘So you came out here …?’
‘To see what was left to be seen. Which isn’t much. I feared it might be our prince, but –’
‘No.’ Nighteyes was leaning heavily against me, and I shared what we both suspected. ‘But I think it was one of his companions.’
‘If you know that much, then you know the others fled.’
I hadn’t known that, but I was shamefully relieved to hear it. ‘Were they pursued?’
‘Yes. And the men who chased them off have not returned yet. Some chased, some stayed to kill the one they had caught. It is planned that the ones who did this,’ and she indicated the rope and the fire circle with a disdainful kick, ‘will ride out in the morning. There is some anxiety that their friends have not returned yet. Tonight they’ll drink, and build up both their courage and anger. Tomorrow they’ll ride.’
‘Then we had best ride out before them, and swifter.’
‘Yes.’ Her glance travelled from me to Nighteyes and back again. We both looked around at the trampled ground and the dangling rope and the burned out-place. It seemed as if there should have been something for us to do, some gesture to make, but if there was, it escaped me.
We walked back to the inn together in near silence. I marked her dark garments and the soft-soled boots she wore, and once again I thought that Queen Kettricken had chosen well. I dirtied the night with a question whose answer I dreaded. ‘Did she tell you many details? How or why they were attacked, if the boy and the cat were with them?’
Laurel drew a deep breath. ‘The one they killed was not a stranger. He was one of their own, and they had suspected him of beast-magic for a long time. The usual stupid stories … that when other lambs died of the scours, his survived. That a man angered him, and after that, the man’s chickens died off. He came to town today with strangers, one a big man on a warhorse, one with a cat riding behind him. The others with him were also known to these folk, boys who had grown up on outlying farms. There are usually dogs at the inn. The innkeeper’s son keeps rabbit-hounds, and he had just returned from the hunt. The dogs were still excited. At the sight of the cat, the dogs went mad. They surrounded the horse, leaping and snapping. The man with the cat – our prince, most likely – drew his blade to defend the cat, and slashed at the hounds, cutting an ear off one. But that was not all he did. He opened his mouth wide, and snarled, hissing like a cat.
‘At the commotion, other men boiled out of the inn. Someone shouted “Piebald!” Another cried for a rope and a torch. The man on the warhorse laughed at them, and put his horse to kicking out at both dogs and men. One man was kicked to the ground by the horse. The mob responded with rocks and curses, and more men came out of the tavern. The Piebalds broke the circle and tried to ride off, but a lucky stone caught one of the riders on the temple and knocked him from his saddle. The mob closed on him, and he yelled at the others to ride. The girl made them all out to be cowards for fleeing, but I suspect that the one they caught delayed the mob so his companions could escape.’
‘He bought the Prince’s life with his own.’
‘So it would seem.’
I was silent for a moment, tallying my facts. They had not denied what they were. None of them had attempted to placate the mob. It was confrontational behaviour, a harbinger of things to come. And one of their company had sacrificed himself, and the others had accepted it as necessary and right. That indicated not only the value they placed on the Prince, but deep loyalty to an organized cause. Had Dutiful been won to their side? I wondered what role these ‘Piebalds’ had assigned to the Prince, and if he concurred in it. Had Dutiful accepted that the man should die for him? Did he ride on, knowing the man they left behind faced an agonizing death? I would have given much to know that. ‘But Dutiful was not recognized as the Prince?’
She shook her head. The night was growing darker around us and I felt more than saw the movement.
‘So. If the others caught up with him, they would not hesitate to kill him.’
‘Even knowing he was the Prince would not delay them. The hatred of the Old Blood runs deep here. They would think they were cleansing the royal line, not destroying it.’
Some small part of me marked that she called them Old Blood now. I did not think I had heard her use the phrase before. ‘Well. I think time becomes even more precious.’
‘We should ride on tonight.’
The very thought made me ache. I no longer had the resilience of youth. In the past fifteen years, I had grown used to regular meals and rest every night. I was tired and sick with dread of what must come when we caught up with the Prince. And my wolf was weary beyond weariness. I knew it was a false strength that moved his limbs now. Soon, his body would demand rest, no matter how hard the circumstances. He needed food and healing time, not to be dragged on tonight.
I’ll keep up. Or you’ll leave me behind and do what you must.
The fatalism in the thought shamed me. The sacrifice was too close to what a young man had done today for a prince. The inarguable truth was that once more I spent all our strength for a king and a cause. The wolf yielded up the days of his life to me for an allegiance he understood only in terms of his love for me. Black Rolf had been right all those years ago. It was wrong of me to use him so. I made a child’s promise to myself that when this was over, I would make it up to him somehow. We would go somewhere he wanted to go, and do something he longed to do.
Our cabin and the fireside. That would be enough for me.
It is yours.
I know.
We returned to the inn by a roundabout path, avoiding the better-travelled roads of the village. In the dark of the innyard, she put her mouth close to my ear. ‘I’ll slip up to my room to pack my things. You wake Lord Golden and let him know that we must ride.’
She disappeared into the shadows near the back door. I made my own entrance through the front, presenting the scowling face of a chastised servant as I hastened through the main room. The hour was late now and the mood more one of brooding than celebration. No one took notice of me. I made my way to our room. Outside the door, the sounds of argument reached me. Lord Golden’s voice was raised in aristocratic fury. ‘Bedbugs, sir! Thick as swarming bees. I’ve most delicate skin. I cannot stay where such vermin thrives!’
Our landlord, garbed in nightshirt and cap and clutching a candle, sounded horrified. ‘Please, Lord Golden, I’ve other bedding, if you would –’
‘No. I shall not spend the night here. Prepare an accounting immediately.’
