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What are you trying to tell me?
You already know.
And I did. Like myself, the Prince had been brought up amongst folk who did not use the Wit. And as I had, unguided, he seemed to have not only fallen into his magic, but to be wallowing in it. Untaught, I had bonded far too deeply. In my case, I had first bonded to a dog when we were both young, and far too immature to consider the implications of such a joining. Burrich had forcibly separated us. At the time, I had hated him for it, a hate that lasted years. Now I looked at the Prince, in the full throes of his obsession with the cat, and counted myself lucky that when I had bonded, there had only been the puppy involved. Somehow, his attachment to his cat had grown to include a young woman of Old Blood. When I took him back to Buckkeep, he would lose not only his companion, but also a woman he believed he loved.
What woman?
He speaks of a woman, one of Old Blood. Probably one of those women who rode with him.
He speaks of a woman, but he does not smell of a woman. Does not that strike you odd?
I pondered that on my way back to camp. I dropped the wood in a small tumble. As I set my fuel and then shaved a dry stick for tinder, I watched the boy. He had tidied away the linen napkin but left out the bottle of wine. Now he sat morosely on a blanket, his knees drawn up to his chin, staring out at the deepening night.
I dropped all my guards and quested towards him. The wolf was right. He keened for his Wit-partner, but I was not sure if he was even aware of doing it. It was a sad little seeking he sent forth, like a lost pup whimpering for its mother. It grated on my nerves, once I was aware of it. It was not just that he would call his friends down on us; it was the whining aspect of it that appalled me. It made me want to cuff him. Instead, as I worked with my tinder and flint, I asked callously, ‘Thinking of your girl?’
His head swivelled towards me, startled. Lord Golden flinched at the directness of my question. I bent deeper to puff gently at the tiny spark I had conjured up. It glowed, then became a pale, licking flame.
The Prince reached for a measure of dignity. ‘I am always thinking of her,’ he said softly.
I tented several skinny sticks over my tiny fire. ‘So. What’s she look like?’ I spoke with a soldier’s crude interest, the inflection learned from many a meal with the guardsmen at Buckkeep. ‘Is she …?’ I made the unmistakable, universal gesture, ‘any good?’
‘Shut up!’ He spat the words savagely.
I leered at Lord Golden knowingly. ‘Ah, we both know what that means. It means he don’t know. At least, not first hand. Or maybe it’s only his hand that knows.’ I leaned back and smirked at him challengingly.
‘Badgerlock!’ Lord Golden rebuked me. I think I had truly scandalized him.
I didn’t take the hint. ‘Well, that’s always how it is, isn’t it? He’s just a moony boy for her. Bet he’s never even kissed her, let alone …’ I repeated the gesture.
The taunting had the desired effect. As I added larger sticks to the flames, the Prince stood up indignantly. The firelight revealed that his colour was high and his nostrils pinched with anger. ‘It isn’t like that!’ he grated. ‘She isn’t some … Not that I expect you to understand anything other than whores! She’s a woman worth waiting for, and when we come together, it will be a higher and sweeter thing than you can imagine. Hers is a love to be earned, and I will prove myself worthy of her.’
Inside, I bled for him. They were a boy’s words, taken from minstrel tellings, a lad’s imaginings of something he had never experienced. The innocence of his passion blazed in him, and his idealistic expectations shone in his eyes. I tried to summon some withering crudity worthy of the role I had chosen, but could not force it past my lips. The Fool saved me.
‘Badgerlock!’ Lord Golden snapped. ‘Enough of this. Just cook the meat.’
‘My lord,’ I acknowledged gruffly. I gave Dutiful a sidelong sneer that he refused to see. As I picked up the stiff rabbit and the knife, Lord Golden spoke more gently to the Prince.
‘Does she have a name, this lady you so admire? Have I met her at court?’ Lord Golden was courteously curious. Somehow the warmth in his voice made it flattering that he would care to ask such a question. Dutiful was instantly charmed, not only despite his earlier irritation with me, but perhaps because of it. Here was a chance for him to prove himself a well-bred gentleman, to ignore my crass interest and reply as politely as if I did not exist.
He smiled as he looked down at his hands, the smile of a boy with a secret sweetheart. ‘Oh, you will not have met her at court, Lord Golden. Her kind is not to be found there. She is a lady of the wild woods, a huntress and a forester. She does not hem handkerchiefs in a garden on a summer’s day, nor huddle within walls by a hearth when the wind begins to blow. She is free to the open world, her hair blowing in the wind, her eyes full of the night’s mysteries.’
‘I see.’ Lord Golden’s voice was warm with a worldly man’s tolerance for a youth’s first romance. He came to sit on his saddle, next to the boy and yet slightly above him. ‘And does this paragon of the forest have a name? Or a family?’ he asked paternally.
Dutiful looked up at him and shook his head wearily. ‘There, you see what you ask? That is why I am so weary of the court. As if I cared whether she has family or fortune! It is she whom I love.’
‘But she must have a name,’ Lord Golden protested tolerantly as I slid my knife blade under the rabbit’s hide and loosened it. ‘Else what do you whisper to the stars at night when you dream of her?’ I peeled the hide from the rabbit as Lord Golden stripped the layers of secrets from the boy’s romance. ‘Come. How did you meet her?’ Lord Golden picked up the wine bottle, drank delicately from it, and then handed it to the Prince.
The lad turned it in his hands thoughtfully, glanced up at Golden’s smile, and drank. Then he sat, the bottle held loosely in his hands, the neck of it pointed towards the small fire that limned his features against the night. ‘My cat took me to her,’ he confided at last. He took another sip of the wine. ‘I had slipped out one night to go hunting with her. Sometimes, I just have to get away on my own. You know what it is like at court. If I say I will ride at dawn, I arise and there are six gentlemen ready to accompany me, and a dozen ladies to bid us farewell. If I say I will walk in the gardens after dinner, I cannot turn a corner in the path without finding a lady writing poetry beneath a tree, or encountering some noble who wishes me to have a word with the Queen on his behalf. It’s stifling, Lord Golden. In truth, I do not know why so many choose to come to court when they do not have to. Had I the privilege of freedom, I would leave it.’ He drew himself up suddenly and looked all around at the night. ‘I have left it,’ he declared abruptly, almost as if it surprised him. ‘I’m here, away from all that pretence and manipulation. And I’m happy. Or I was happy, until you came to drag me back.’ And he glared at me, as if it were all my doing, and Lord Golden an innocent bystander.
‘So. You went out hunting with your cat one night, and this lady …?’ Lord Golden deftly picked up the threads that had interested him.
‘I went out hunting with my cat and –’
The cat’s name? Nighteyes pressed with sudden urgency.
I grunted mockingly. ‘Sounds to me as if the cat and the lady got the same name. “Neverspeakit.”’ I skewered the rabbit on my sword. I didn’t like to cook on the end of my blade; it was bad for the tempering, but to get a green branch I would have had to leave the conversation and go to the forest’s edge and I wanted to hear what he had to say.
The Prince replied scathingly to my comment. ‘I would think that you, as a Piebald, would know that beasts have their own names, which they reveal to you at a time they think is proper. My cat has not shared her true name with me yet. When I am worthy of that confidence, I will have it.’
‘I’m not a “Piebald”,’ I asserted gruffly.
Dutiful ignored me. He took a breath and spoke earnestly to Lord Golden. ‘And the same is true of my lady. I do not need to know her name when it is her essence that I love.’
‘Of course, of course,’ Lord Golden comforted him. He hitched himself closer to the Prince and went on, ‘But I would hear of your first meeting with the fair one. For I confess that at heart, I am as soft a romantic as any court lady weeping at a minstrel’s tale.’ He spoke as if what Dutiful had said was of no consequence. But a profound sense of wrongness washed through me. It was true that Nighteyes had not immediately shared his true name with me, but the cat and the Prince had been together for months. I turned the sword, but the rabbit flopped around on the blade, its body cavity a loose fit, the seared side turning back to the flames. Grumbling, I pulled it out of the fire and burnt my fingers jamming it more firmly onto the weapon. I thrust it back over the flames and held it there.
‘Our first meeting,’ Dutiful mused. A rueful smile curved his mouth. ‘I fear that has yet to happen. In some ways. In all the important ways, I have met her. The cat showed her to me, or rather, she revealed herself to me through the cat.’
Lord Golden cocked his head and gave the boy an interested, if confused look. The lad’s smile widened.
‘It is hard to explain to someone with no experience of the Wit. But I will try. Through my magic, I can share thoughts with the cat. Her senses enhance my own. Sometimes, I can lie abed at night, and surrender my mind to hers, and become one with her. I see what she sees, feel what she feels. It’s wonderful, Lord Golden. Not debased and bestial as others would have you believe. It brought the world to life around me. If there was some way I could share the experience with you, I would, just so that you could understand it.’
The boy was so earnest in his proselytizing. I glimpsed the quick flash of amusement through Lord Golden’s eyes, but I am sure the Prince saw only his sympathetic warmth. ‘I shall have to imagine it,’ he murmured.
Prince Dutiful shook his head. ‘Ah, but you cannot. No one can, who is not born with this magic. That is why all persecute us. Because, lacking this magic, they become filled with envy and it turns to hatred.’
‘I think fear might have something to do with it,’ I muttered, but the Fool shot me a glance that bade me shut up. Chastened, I turned away from them and rotated the smoking rabbit.
‘I think I can imagine your communion with the cat. How wondrous it must be to share the thoughts of such a noble creature! How rich to experience the night and the hunt with one so attuned to the natural world! But I confess, I do not understand how she could reveal this wondrous lady to you … unless she guided you to her?’
How pleasant to feel her filthy claws raking your belly!
Shush.
Cats noble creatures? Spitting, carrion-breathed sneaks.
With difficulty, I ignored Nighteyes’ asides and focused on the conversation while appearing to be engrossed with the rabbit. The Prince was smiling and shaking his head at Lord Golden, totally enraptured now with speaking of his love. Had I ever been that young?
‘It was not like that. One night, as the cat and I moved through a forest of black trees, lit to silver by the moon’s radiance, I perceived we were not alone. It was not that uncomfortable sensation of being watched. This was more like … Imagine if the wind was the breath of a woman on the back of your neck, if the scent of the forest was her perfume, the chuckling of a brook her amusement. There was nothing there I had not seen or heard or felt a hundred times, and yet that night it was more than it had ever been before. At first, I thought I was imagining it, and then, through the cat, I began to know more of her. I felt her watching us as we hunted together, and I knew that she approved of me. When I shared fresh meat with the cat from her kill, I sensed that the woman shared its savour. The cat’s senses sharpen my own, I told you that. But suddenly I was seeing things, not as the cat or as myself, but as she saw things. I saw how the tumbled gap in a stone wall framed a struggling sapling, I saw the infinite pattern in the ripple of moonlight on a stream’s rapids, I saw … I saw the night world as her poetry.’
Prince Dutiful sighed slowly. He was lost in his romance, but the slow suspicion forming in my mind sent a chill up my back. I could feel the perk of the wolf’s ears and the readiness in his muscles as he shared my foreboding.
‘That was how it began. As shared glimpses of the beauty of the world. I was so foolish. At first, I thought she must be near us, watching us from a hiding place. I kept asking the cat to take me to her. And she did, but not in the manner I had expected. It was like approaching a castle through a fog. Layer after layer of mist lifted like veils. The closer I came to her, the more I longed to behold her in the flesh. Yet she taught me it would be nobler to wait for that. First, I must complete my lessons in the Wit. I must learn to surrender my human boundaries and self, and let the cat possess me. When I let the cat inside me, when I become the cat completely, then am I most aware of my lady. For we are both bonded to the same creature.’
Can that happen? The wolf’s question was incredulous and sharp.
I don’t know, I admitted. Then, more strongly. But I don’t think so.
‘It doesn’t work that way,’ I said aloud. I tried to say it in an unthreatening way, but I wanted the Fool to know that immediately. Nevertheless, the Prince bristled at me.
‘I said that it did. Do you call me a liar?’
I slumped back into my thuggish personality. ‘If I wanted to call you a liar,’ I greased my threatening words, ‘I would have said, “You’re a liar.” I didn’t. I said, “It doesn’t work that way.”’ I smiled, showing my teeth. ‘Why don’t you take it that I think that you don’t know what you’re talking about? That you’re just spilling out what someone else has filled you full of.’
‘For the last time, Badgerlock, be silent. You are interrupting a fascinating tale, and neither the Prince nor I particularly care if you believe it. I simply want to hear how it ends. So. When you finally did meet?’ Lord Golden’s tone implied he was on the edge of his seat.
The warm romanticism of Dutiful’s voice crashed suddenly into heartsick desperation. ‘We haven’t. Not yet. That was where I was going. She called me to her, and I left Buckkeep. She promised she would send folk to help me on my path to her. And she did. She promised that as I learned my magic, as my bond with the cat deepened and became truer, I would know more and more of her. I would have to prove myself worthy, of course. My love would be tested, as would my true willingness to be one with my Old Blood. I would have to learn to drop all barriers between the cat and myself. She told me it would be arduous, she warned me that I would have to change the way I thought about things. But, when I was ready,’ and despite the darkness, I could see the flush rise to the Prince’s cheeks, ‘she promised we would be joined, in a way that would be more compelling and true than anything I could imagine.’ His young voice went husky on those last words.
A slow anger began to build in me. I knew what he was imagining, and I was almost certain that what she was offering him had nothing to do with that. He thought he would be consummating their relationship. I feared he was about to be consumed by it.
‘I understand,’ said Lord Golden, and there was compassion in his voice. For my part, I was certain that he did not understand at all.
Hope flamed in the boy. ‘So now you understand why you must let me go? I have to go back. I do not ask that you take me back to my guides. I know they will be furious and a danger to you. All I ask is that you give me my horse and let me go. It is easy for you to do. Go back to Buckkeep; say you never found me. No one will know any better.’
‘I would,’ I pointed out sweetly as I took the rabbit from the fire. ‘The meat’s cooked,’ I added.
Charred to the bone.
The look the Prince gave me was venomous. I almost felt the clear solution flash through his mind. Kill the servant. Silence him. I would wager that Kettricken’s son had not been schooled in such ruthlessness before the Piebalds taught him. Yet it was an idea truly worthy of his Farseer forebears. I met his gaze, and let my mouth curl slightly, daring him. I saw his chest swell, and then I saw him master himself. He glanced away, veiling his hatred. Admirable self-control. I wondered if he’d try to kill me in my sleep.
I kept my gaze on him, challenging him to meet my eyes as I tore the rabbit into smoking pieces. The grease and soot coated my fingers. I passed a portion to Lord Golden, who took it with genteel distaste. Knowing how ravenous the Fool had been earlier in the day, I recognized it was but a show.
‘Meat, my prince?’ Lord Golden asked him.
‘No. Thank you.’ His voice was cold. He was too proud to accept anything from me, for I had mocked him.
The wolf declined a share of the well-cooked meat, so Lord Golden and I silently devoured it down to the bones. The Prince sat apart from us as we ate, staring off into the darkness. After a time, he lay down on his blanket. I sensed his Wit-keening grow in volume.
Lord Golden broke the leg-bone he held, sucked a bit of marrow from it, and tossed it into the embers of the fire. In its fading light, he looked at me with the Fool’s eyes. That gaze held such a mixture of sympathy and rebuke that I did not know how to react to it. We both looked over at the lad. He appeared to be asleep.
‘I’ll check on the horses,’ I offered.
‘I want to check on Malta myself,’ he replied. We both rose. My back clenched for a moment as I got up, and then eased. I was no longer accustomed to this type of life.
I’ll watch him, the wolf volunteered wearily. With a sigh he got up from where he lay, and walked stiffly over to the blankets, saddles and sleeping prince. Unerringly he chose the blanket I had put out for myself. He scuffed it up to suit himself and then lay down on it. He blinked his eyes at me, and then transferred his gaze to the boy.
The horses were in fine shape, considering how badly we’d treated them. Malta went to the Fool eagerly, rubbing her head against his shoulder as he petted her. Myblack, without apparently ever noticing me, still managed to sidle away whenever I tried to approach her. The Prince’s horse was neutral, neither welcoming nor shy about my touching her. After I’d petted her for a few moments, Myblack was suddenly behind me. She gave me a nudge, and when I turned to her, she allowed me to stroke her. The Fool spoke quietly, to Malta rather than to me.
‘It must be hard for you, meeting him for the first time like this.’
I wasn’t going to reply. There seemed nothing to say. Then I surprised myself by saying, ‘He isn’t really mine that way. He’s Verity’s heir, and Kettricken’s son. My body was there, but not me. Verity wore my body.’
I tried to rein my mind away from that memory. When Verity had told me that there was a way to wake his dragon, that my life and passion were the key, I had thought my King was asking me to give him my life. In my loyalty and my misery, I had been glad to surrender it. Instead he had used the Skill to take the use of my body, leaving me trapped in the shambling wreckage of his while he went in to his young wife and conceived an heir with her. I had no memories of their hours together. Instead, I recalled a long evening spent as an old man. Not even Kettricken was completely aware of what had happened. Only the Fool shared my knowledge of Dutiful’s conception. Now his voice jolted me from my painful musing.
‘He looks so like you at that age that it makes my heart ache.’
I knew there was nothing to say to that.
‘He makes me want to hold him tight and keep him safe. Protect him from all the terrible things that were done to you in the name of the Farseer reign.’ The Fool paused. ‘I lie,’ he admitted. ‘I would protect him from all the terrible things that were done to you because I used you as my Catalyst.’
The night was too black and our enemies were too near for me to want to hear any more of that. ‘You should sleep near him, near the fire. The wolf will stay there, too. Keep your sword handy.’
‘And you?’ he said after a moment. Was he disappointed that I had turned the conversation so firmly?
I tossed my head towards the row of trees along the streambed. ‘I’m going to climb one of those and keep watch. You should get a few hours of sleep. If they try to fall on us, they’ll have to cross the whole meadow. I’ll see them against the firelight in time to take action.’
‘What action?’
I shrugged. ‘If there’s a few, we fight. If there’s many, we run.’
‘Complex strategy. Chade taught you well.’
‘Rest while you can. We ride at moonrise.’
And we parted. I had the nagging sense that something had been left unspoken between us, something important. Well. There would be a better time later.
Anyone who thinks it is easy to find a good climbing tree in the dark has never tried it. On my third try, I found one that had a limb broad enough to sit on that still afforded me an unencumbered view of our campsite. I could have sat and pondered the vagaries of fate that had made me the father of two children and the parent of neither. Instead, I decided to worry about Hap. I knew Chade would keep his word, but could Hap hold up his end of the bargain? Had I taught him how to work well enough, would he have enough care for what he did, would he listen well and endure correction humbly?
The darkness was pitch. I looked in vain for the waning moon to rise. She and her dwindling light would not appear until the dead of night. Against the black-red smear of our campfire, I could just make out the shapes of Lord Golden and the boy in their blankets. Time passed. A friendly branch-stub nudged against the small of my back and prevented me from getting too comfortable.
Come down.
I had dozed. I could not see the wolf, but I knew that he was in the shadows at the base of my tree. Something’s wrong?
Come down. Be silent.
I came down, but not as quietly as I had hoped. I hung by my hands and then dropped, only to discover there was a hollow beneath the tree and the fall was greater than I had expected. The jar clacked my teeth together and jolted my spine against the base of my skull. I’m too old to do this sort of thing any more.
No. You only wish you were. Come.
I followed him, my teeth gritted. He took me silently back to the campsite. The Fool sat up noiselessly as I drew near. Even in the dark, I could make out his questioning look. I made a small motion for silence and watched.
The wolf went to where the Prince was curled like a kitten in his blankets. He put his muzzle close to Dutiful’s ear. I gestured at him not to wake the boy, but he ignored me. In fact, he levered his nose under the Prince’s cheek and nudged him. The boy’s head gave limply to his touch, lolling like a dead man’s. My heart stood still, and then I heard the rasp of his sleeping breath. The wolf nudged him again. He still didn’t wake.
I met the Fool’s wide-eyed stare, then I went to kneel by the boy. Nighteyes looked up into my face.
He was questing for them, questing and reaching, and then suddenly, he was just gone. I can’t feel him. Nighteyes was anxious.
He’s gone far and deep. I considered a moment. This is not the Wit.
‘Watch over us,’ I bade the Fool. Then I lay down beside Dutiful. I closed my eyes. As if I were steeling myself to dive into deep water, I measured each breath I drew into myself. I matched the rhythm to the boy’s breathing. Verity, I thought, for no reason at all save that it seemed to centre me. I hesitated, then I groped for and found the boy’s hand. I held it in mine, and it pleased me unreasonably that his palm was callused with work. I drew a final breath and plunged into the flow of the Skill. Skin to skin, I found him immediately.
I attached my consciousness to his and flowed with him. This, I suddenly knew, was how Galen’s coterie had spied on King Shrewd all those years ago. Then I had despised that leeching of knowledge. Now I seized onto it relentlessly and followed my prince.
There had been a shock of recognition, a jolt of kinship when I had first seen the boy. It did not compare to what I experienced now. I knew this boy’s wild seeking, his artless and fearless Skilling. It was as my own had been, a wild reaching with no knowledge of how I did it or the dangers it posed. He quested with his Wit and did not know that he Skilled out as well. For a daunting moment, I realized that like my own Skill-magic, his was tainted with the Wit. Having taught himself to Skill this way, could he ever learn to use the Skill-magic purely?
Then that consideration was pushed completely aside. Cloaked within the Skill, I witnessed his Wit-magic, and I was appalled.
Prince Dutiful was the cat. He was not merely bonded with the animal; he flowed completely into it, reserving nothing of himself. I knew that the wolf and I had interwoven our consciousness to a deep and dangerous level, but it was superficial compared to the Prince’s complete surrender to his bond.
