Fool's Fate Part 11

Chade opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. After an instant, he opened his mouth, but again subsided. Irritation vied with admiration when he said quietly, "Very well. I follow your logic. I do not necessarily agree with the conclusion, but I follow it."

"That is all I ask," the Prince replied and in his words I heard the echo of the monarch he would be.

Chade turned his beetling gaze on me. "Why did you bring this up?" he asked me crossly, as if I had sought to precipitate a quarrel between them.

"Because I need to know what it is that Web seeks from me. I sense that he courts me, that he tries to draw me closer into his confidence. Why?"

There is no true silence on board a ship. Always there are the ongoing conversations between wood and water, canvas and wind. Those voices were the only ones in the cabin for a time. Then Dutiful gave a small snort. "Unlikely as you think it, Fitz, perhaps he only wishes to be your friend. I see nothing here for him to gain."

"He holds a secret," Chade said sourly. "There is always power in holding a secret."

"And danger," the Prince countered. "Revealing this secret is as dangerous to Web as it is to Fitz. Think what would follow if he revealed it. Would it not undermine my reign? Would not some of the n.o.bles turn on my mother the Queen, angered that she had kept this secret from them and preserved Fitz's life?" In a lower voice he added, "Do not forget that in revealing to Fitz that he knew his ident.i.ty, Web put himself at risk, also. This is a secret that some men would kill to preserve."

I watched Chade sift it through his mind. "Truly, the threat is to your reign as much as to Fitz," he conceded worriedly. "Right now, you are correct. It benefits Web most to keep the secret a secret. As long as your reign is amiable toward the Witted, they have no interest in deposing you. But if you ever turned against them? What then?"

"What then, indeed?" the Prince scoffed. "Chade, ask yourself as you have so often asked me, 'What would happen next?' If my mother and I were overthrown, who would seize power? Why, those who had overthrown us. And they would be the enemy of the Witted, a harsher enemy than Old Blood has had to confront in my lifetime. No. I think Fitz's secret is safe. More, I think he should set aside his wariness and become Web's friend."

I nodded, wondering why such an idea made me so uneasy.

"I still see little benefit in this Witted coterie," Chade muttered.

"Do you not? Then why do you ask me each day what Web's bird has seen? Does it not ease your mind to know that all the ships she has shown Web have been honest merchant or fishing vessels? And think what tidings she gave us today. She has flown over the harbor and town of Zylig, and Web has looked down on it through the bird's eyes. She has seen no ma.s.sing of folk as for battle or treachery. True, the city is swelled with people, but it seems to flaunt a festive air. Do you not take comfort in that?"

"I suppose. But it is a thin comfort, given that treachery is so easy to disguise."

Thick rolled over muttering, and I made that my excuse to leave them. Not long after, Chade departed for his own cabin, the Prince went to his bed, and I made up my pallet beside Thick's bunk. I thought of Web and Risk, and tried to imagine seeing the ocean and the Out Islands through a bird's eyes. It would be a marvel and a wonder. Yet before my imagination could capture me completely, a wave of longing for Nighteyes swept over me. That night, I dreamed my own dreams, and they were of wolves hunting in the summer-seared hills.

chapter 8.

THE HETGURD.

This is how it was. Eda and El coupled in the darkness, but he did not find favor with her. Then she gave birth to the land, and the outrush of her waters which accompanied that birth was the sea. The land was shapeless, clay and still, until Eda took it in her hands. One at a time, she molded the runes of her secret name, and El's too did she fashion. She spelled out the G.o.d name with the G.o.d's Runes, setting them in careful order in the ocean. And all this El watched.But when he would have taken up clay of his own to fashion his own runes, Eda would not give any over to him. "You gave me but a rush of fluid from your body as seed to make all this. The flesh of it came from me. So take back only what was yours to start with, and be content with it."El was little content with that. So he made for himself men, and gave them ships and put them on the sea's face. Laughing to himself, he said, "There are too many for her to watch them all. Soon they will walk on her land and shape it to my liking, so it spells my name instead of hers."But Eda had already thought before him. And when El's men came to land, they found Eda's women, already walking on it and ordering the growing of fruit and grain and the proliferation of the cattle. And the women would not suffer the men to shape the lands, nor even to abide on them for long. Instead, the women said to the men, "We will let you give us the brine of your loins, with which we will shape flesh to follow ours. But never will the land that Eda bore belong to your sons, but only to our daughters."- BIRTH OF THE WORLD, AS TOLD BY OUT ISLAND BARDS BIRTH OF THE WORLD, AS TOLD BY OUT ISLAND BARDS Despite Chade's misgivings, Web's bird had shown him accurately what we could expect. The next morning, the lookout cried out his sighting, and by afternoon the nearest islets of the Out Islands were streaming past on our port side. Green-banked islands, tiny houses, and small fishing vessels enlivened a view that had been watery for too long. I tried to convince Thick to rise and come on deck to see how close we were to the end of our journey but he refused to be tempted. When he spoke, his words were slow and measured. "It won't be home," he moaned. "We're too far from home, and we'll never get back there again. Never." Coughing, he turned away from me.

Yet even his sour att.i.tude could not dampen my relief. I convinced myself that once he was on sh.o.r.e, he would regain both his health and spirits. The knowledge that we were close to getting off that cramped vessel made every moment stretch into a day. It was only the next afternoon that we sighted Zylig harbor, but it seemed a month had pa.s.sed. When small boats rowed out to greet us and guide our ships through the narrow channel to their harbor, I longed to be on deck with Chade and Prince Dutiful.

Instead, I paced the Prince's cabin, staring out the frustrating view from the aft windows. I could hear our captain bellowing and the thunder of the sailors' feet on the deck. Chade and Prince Dutiful and his contingent of n.o.bles and his Witted coterie were all up on the deck, looking on as the ship approached Zylig. I felt like a dog chained in the kennel while the hounds streamed off to the hunt. I felt the change in the ship's movements as our canvas was lowered and the towlines of our pilot boats took up their slack. When they had us in position, the Out Island guides brought us about so that our stern now faced Zylig. As I heard the splash of our anchor, I stared restlessly out at the foreign city that awaited us. The other Six Duchies ships were being maneuvered into anchorage nearby.

I do not think there is anything so ponderously slow as a ship coming into port, save perhaps the process of unloading. Suddenly the water about our ships swarmed with small craft, their oars dipping and rising as if they were many-legged water bugs. One, grander than the rest, soon bore Prince Dutiful, Chade, a selected entourage, and a handful of his guards away from the ship. I watched them go, certain they had completely forgotten about Thick and me. Then there was a tap at the door. It was Riddle, freshly attired in his guard's uniform. His eyes shone with excitement.

"I'm to watch your half-wit while you get yourself ready. There's a boat waiting to take you and him and the rest of the guard ash.o.r.e. Step lively now. Everyone else is ready to go."

So they had not forgotten me, but neither had they served me with much warning of their plans. I took Riddle at his word, leaving him with Thick while I went below. The guards' area was deserted. The others had donned their clean uniforms as soon as we'd approached harbor. Those who hadn't accompanied the Prince lined the railing on deck, eager to be away. I changed swiftly and hurried back to the Prince's quarters. Harrying Thick into clean clothing was not going to be pleasant or easy, but when I arrived, I found that Riddle had already undertaken that task.

Thick swayed on the edge of his bunk. His blue tunic and trousers hung on his wasted frame. Until I saw him dressed, I had not realized how much flesh he had lost. Riddle knelt by the bunk, good-naturedly trying to chivy him into his shoes. Thick was moaning feebly and making vaguely helpful motions. His face was crumpled with misery. If I had doubted it at all before, I was now certain that Riddle was one of Chade's men. No ordinary guardsman would have undertaken that task.

"I'll finish that," I told him, and could not keep the brusqueness from my voice. I could not have said why I felt protective of the small man looking at me blearily from his little round eyes, but I did.

"Thick," I told him as I finished getting his shoes on. "We're going ash.o.r.e. Once we're on solid ground again, you're going to feel much better. You'll see."

"No I won't," he promised me. He coughed again and the rattle in it frightened me. Nonetheless, I found a cloak for him and heaved him to his feet. He staggered along beside me as we left the cabin. Out on the deck in the fresh wind for the first time in days, he shivered and clutched his cloak tightly around him. The sun shone brightly, but the day was not as warm as a summer day in Buck. Snow still owned the peaks of the higher hills, and the wind carried its chill to us.

The Outislanders provided our transportation to sh.o.r.e. Getting Thick from the deck into the dancing boat below required both Riddle and myself. I silently cursed at those guards who laughed at our predicament. At their oars, the Outislanders discussed us freely in their own tongue, unaware that I understood the disdain they expressed for a prince who chose an idiot as his companion. Once settled on the seat beside Thick, I had to put my arm around him to settle him against the terrors of a small, open boat. He wept, the round tears rolling down his cheeks as our little dory rose and fell with every pa.s.sing wave. I blinked at the bright sunlight glancing off the moving water and stared stolidly at the wharves and houses of Zylig as the straining sailors rowed us to our destination.

It was not an inspiring view. Peottre Blackwater's disdain for the city was not misplaced. Zylig offered all the worst aspects of a lively port. Wharves and docks jutted haphazardly into the bay. Vessels of every description crowded them. Most were fat-hulled greasy whale-hunters, with a permanent reek of oil and butchery clinging to them. A few were merchanters from the Six Duchies. I saw one that looked Chalcedean and one that could have been Jamaillian. Moving amongst them were the small fishing boats that daily fed the bustling town, and even smaller craft that were hawking smoked fish, dried seaweed, and other provisions to the outward-bound vessels. Masts forested the skyline and the docked ships grew taller as we approached them.

Beyond them, I caught glimpses of warehouses, sailors' inns, and supply stores. Stone structures predominated over wood. Narrow streets, some little more than trails, meandered amongst the crowded little buildings. At one end of the bay where the water ran shallower and rocky, unfit for anchorage, little stone houses cl.u.s.tered by the water. Rowboats were pulled out above the tideline, and spread fish hung like laundry drying from poles. Smoking fires in trenches beneath the fish added flavor as they preserved the catch. I glimpsed a pack of children racing along the beach, shrieking raucously in some wild game.

The section of the town we were approaching seemed recently built. In contrast to the rest of the settlement, the streets were wide and straight. Timber supplemented the native stone, and most of the structures were taller. Some had windows of swirled gla.s.s in the upper stories. I recalled hearing that the Six Duchies dragons had visited this port city, bringing death and destruction to our enemies. The structures in this area were all of an age, the streets straight and well cobbled. It was strange to see this orderly section amongst the haphazard port town and I wondered what it had looked like before Verity-as-Dragon had paid a call here. Stranger still to think that the destruction of war could result in such rebuilt tidiness.

Above the harbor, the land rose in rocky hillsides. Dark evergreens hunched in sheltered areas. Cart tracks wound among the hillsides where sheep and goats grazed. Smoke wandered up through the tree cover from scarcely visible huts. Mountains and taller hills, crowned still with snow, loomed beyond them.

We had arrived on a low tide, and the docks towered above us, supported on thick timbers crusted with barnacles and black mussels. The rungs of the ladder up to the dock were still wet from the retreating tide, and festoons of seaweed hung from them. The Prince and several boatloads of n.o.bles had already disembarked. More Buckkeep n.o.blemen were unloading as we approached. Grudgingly they gave way to us, to allow the Prince's Guard to clamber up the ladders onto the docks and form up to escort Dutiful to his welcome.

I was the last out of the tippy little boat, having shoved a moaning Thick ahead of me up the slippery ladder. Once on the docks, I moved us away from the edge and looked around me. The Prince, flanked by his advisers, was being greeted by the Hetgurd. I was left standing to one side with Thick, unsure of what was expected of me. I needed to get him to a place where he would be comfortable and out of the public eye. I wondered uneasily if it would not have been wiser for me to remain on the ship with him. The open looks of disgust and dismay that he was receiving did not indicate a warm welcome for us. Evidently the Outislanders shared the Mountain opinion of children that were born less than perfect. If Thick had been born in Zylig, his life would not have lasted a day.

My status as both b.a.s.t.a.r.d and a.s.sa.s.sin had often left me lurking in the shadows at official proceedings so I did not feel slighted. If I had been alone, I would have known that my task was to mingle and observe while being nondescript. But here, in a foreign land, saddled with a sick and miserable simpleton and clad in a guard's uniform, I could do neither. So I stood awkwardly at the edge of the crowd, my arm supporting Thick, and listened to the exchange of carefully phrased greetings, welcome, and thanks. The Prince seemed to be acquitting himself well, but the look of concentration on his face warned me not to distract him with a Skill-query. Those who had come to meet him represented a variety of clans, judging from the differing animal sigils featured in their jewelry and tattoos. Most were men, richly attired in the lush furs and heavy jewelry that signified both rank and wealth among the Outislanders; but there were four women also. They wore woven wool garments trimmed with fur, and I wondered if this was to show the wealth of their land holdings. The Narcheska's father, Arkon Bloodblade, was there, along with at least six others displaying the boar of his clan. Peottre Blackwater accompanied him, his narwhal an ivory carving on a gold chain around his neck. It seemed odd to me that I saw no other narwhal sigils. That was the Narcheska's maternal clan, and among the Outislanders, her significant family line. We were here to finalize the terms of the marriage between Dutiful and her. Surely it was a momentous occasion for her clan. Why did only Peottre come to represent them? Did the rest oppose this alliance?

The formalities of greeting satisfied at length, the Prince and his entourage were escorted away. The guard formed up without me and marched off behind him. For a moment I feared that Thick and I would be left standing on the docks. Just as I was wondering if I could bribe someone to take us back to the ship, an old man approached us. He wore a collar of wolf fur and sported the boar sigil of Bloodblade's clan, but did not seem as prosperous as the other men. He obviously believed he could speak my language, for I could understand about one word in four of his barbarously mangled Duchy tongue. Fearing to insult him by asking him to speak Outislander, I waited and finally grasped that the Boar Clan had appointed him to guide Thick and me to our lodging.

He made no offer to a.s.sist me with Thick. In fact, he a.s.siduously avoided getting any closer to him than was absolutely necessary, as if the little man's mental deficiency were a contagion that might leap to him like a plague of lice. I felt it as a slur, but counseled myself to patience. He walked briskly ahead of us, and did not slacken his pace, even though he often had to halt completely to wait for us. Obviously, he did not wish to share the gawking stares we attracted. We made a strange sight, me in my guard's uniform and poor miserable Thick, swathed in a cloak and staggering along under my arm.

Our guide led us through the reconstructed part of town and then up a steeper, narrower road. Thick's breath was a moaning wheeze. "How much farther?" I demanded of our guide, calling the words to him as he hastened ahead of us.

He turned abruptly, scowling, and made a brusque motion for me to keep my voice down. He gestured up the street at an old building, all of stone and much larger than the houses we had pa.s.sed in the lower part of town. It was rectangular, with a peaked roof of slates, and three stories high. Windows interrupted the stonework at regular intervals. It was a plain and functional building, stoutly built and probably amongst the oldest structures in the town. I nodded, unspeaking. A boar, his tusks and tail lifted defiantly, was etched into the stone above the entry. So. We would be housed in the Boar Clan's stronghouse.

By the time we reached the courtyard around the building, our guide was practically chewing his mustache in his teeth-gnashing impatience at our slow pace. I no longer cared. When he opened a side door and gestured to me to hurry, I slowly drew myself up to my full height and glared down at him. In my best Outislander, and all too aware of how poor my accent was, I told him, "It is not the pleasure of the Prince's companion that we hurry. I serve at his command, not yours."

I saw uncertainty wash over the man's face as he wondered if he had offended someone of a much higher rank than he knew. He was somewhat more courteous as he showed us up two steep flights of stairs and into a chamber that looked out over the town and the harbor through a swirl of thick gla.s.s. By then I'd had enough of him. I gauged him as a lesser lackey to some minor Boar war leader. As such, I dismissed him brusquely once we were inside, and shut the door even though he lingered in the hallway.

I sat Thick down on the bed and then a.s.sessed the room quickly. There was a door that connected to another, much grander chamber. I decided that we had been put in a servant's room adjacent to the Prince's quarters. The bed was adequate, the furnishings simple in Thick's small room. Even so, it seemed a palace after his closet on the ship. "Sit there," I told Thick. "Don't go to sleep yet."

"Where are we? I want to go home," he mumbled. I ignored him and stole through into the Prince's chamber. There I helped myself to a pitcher of washwater and a basin and drying cloths. There was a platter of food on the table. I was not sure exactly what it was, but took several pieces of a dark, sticky stuff cut in squares, and an oily-looking cake covered with seed. I also took a bottle of what I thought was wine and a cup.

Thick had toppled over on his bed. Painstakingly I hauled him upright again. Despite his groaning protests I made him wash his face and hands. I wished that I had a tub to put him in, for he smelled strongly of his days of sickness. Then I forced food down him, and a gla.s.s of the wine. He complained and sniveled until he hiccupped. Once I felt him marshal his Skill-strength against me, but it was a weak and childish swipe that did not even challenge my walls. I pulled off his tunic and shoes and put him to bed. "The room is still moving," he muttered petulantly. Then he closed his eyes and was still. A few moments later he gave a great sigh, stretched out in the bed, and fell into a true sleep. I closed my own eyes and cautiously tiptoed into his dream. The kitten slept in a tiny curled ball upon the embroidered pillow. He felt safe. I opened my eyes, suddenly so weary that I could have cast myself down on the floor and slept where I fell.

I didn't. Instead I used what was left of the clean water. I sampled the food, found it unpalatable and ate it anyway. The oily one was probably intended to be some sort of sweet; the other tasted strongly of fish paste. The "wine" was something fermented from fruit; other than that, I had few ideas about it. It didn't quite take away the fish taste from my mouth.

Then, armed with the basin of soiled water, I left the chamber to venture out into our lodgings. If anyone questioned me, I was simply looking for a place to dump the slops.

The building was as much stronghold as clan residence. We were on the highest floor, and I heard no sounds of other occupants. The interior walls featured carved and painted boars and tusk motifs. The other doors on the hall were not locked. They seemed to alternate between small chambers such as Thick had and larger ones, more generously furnished. None of them met the Buckkeep standard for guest housing even for lesser n.o.bles. I reserved judgment on that. I doubted they intended to insult us; I knew the Outislanders had different customs for hospitality than the Six Duchies did. Generally speaking, houseguests were expected to provide their own victuals and comforts. We had come here knowing that. The wine and food in the Prince's room seemed to be a nod to the Six Duchies hospitality the Narcheska's entourage had enjoyed at Buckkeep. There were no signs of any servants on this upper floor, and I doubted that any would be supplied to us.

The next floor down seemed much the same. These rooms smelled as if they had been recently used; odors of smoke, food, and, in one case, wet dog lingered in them. I wondered if they had been vacated for our use. The chambers here were slightly smaller, and the windows were of oiled skin rather than gla.s.s. Heavy wooden shutters, some bearing the old scars of arrows, offered protection from any determined a.s.sault. Evidently the highest chambers were accorded to those of highest ranks; very different from the Six Duchies, where servants were given the upper rooms so that n.o.bility need not climb too many flights of steps. I had just closed a door when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. An ant trail of servants suddenly appeared, bearing belongings, comforts, and victuals for their Six Duchies masters. They halted in confusion, milling in the hallway, and one asked me, "How do we know which chamber is for whom?"

"I've no idea," I replied pleasantly. "I'm not even certain where we are to dump slops."

I slipped away from them, leaving them to sort out the rooms, suspecting that the best ones would go to the n.o.bles with the most aggressive servants. On the ground floor I found a back door that led out to a waste pit behind the privies and dumped my water there. Another door led down a corridor to a large kitchen where several young Outislander men were tending a large roast on a spit, chopping potatoes and onions, and kneading bread. They seemed intent on their tasks and all but ignored me as I peered in at them. A quick tour of the outside of the building showed me that a second, much grander door led to a large open hall that made up much of the ground floor of the building. These doors stood open to admit both light and air. Within, I glimpsed what was undoubtedly the welcome gathering for the Prince. I abandoned my basin in the deep gra.s.s at one end of the building, and hastily straightened my uniform and smoothed back my hair into a tail.

Unnoticed, I slipped into the back of the room. My fellow guardsmen were ranged against the wall. They looked as alert as men do when they are stiflingly bored and ignored. In truth, there seemed little for them to guard against.

The large room was long and low ceilinged. The main part of it was taken up with benches, all of a height and all full of seated men. There was no throne or dais of any kind. Nor were the benches oriented to focus attention on one person. Rather, they ringed the room, leaving the center open. A bowed old kaempra, or war leader, of the Fox Clan was speaking. His short jacket was fringed with the tips of foxtails, white as his unruly hair. He was missing three fingers on his sword hand, but wore a necklace of his enemies' fingerbones to compensate. He tugged at them nervously as he spoke, glancing often at Bloodblade as if reluctant to give offense and yet too angry to keep silent. I only caught his closing words. "No one clan can speak for all of us! No one clan has the right to bring bad luck down on us all."

As I watched, the Fox kaempra nodded gravely to each corner of the room and then retired to his bench. Another man stood and made his way to the center and began speaking. I saw the Prince and Lord Chade seated amongst the n.o.bles who attended him in one section of the benches. His Wit coterie was ranged behind him. The Hetgurd, for so I recognized this a.s.sembly, the gathering of the war leaders of the clans, had accorded my prince no indication of his rank. Here, he was seated as a warrior leader among his warriors, just as the other clan war leaders were. This was a gathering of equals, come together to discuss the Narcheska's betrothal. Did they see him so? I tried not to scowl at the thought.

All this I grasped in the time it took my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the hall after the summer sunshine outside. I found a piece of wall to lean on next to Riddle in the back row of guardsmen. Riddle spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Not like us at all, my friend. No feast or gifts or songs to welcome our prince. Just a how-d'ye-do greeting on the docks and then they brought him straight here and began discussing the betrothal. Right to business for these people. Some don't like the idea of one of their women leaving her motherland to go live in the Six Duchies. They think it's unnatural and probably bad luck. But most don't care much about that, one way or another. They seem to think that would be Clan Narwhal's bad luck, not theirs. The real sticking point is the dragon-slaying bit."

I nodded to his swift summary. Chade had a good man in Riddle. I wondered where he had recruited him and then focused my attention on the man who was speaking. I noticed now that he stood in the middle of a ring painted on the floor. It was intricate and stylized, and yet still recognizable as a serpent grasping its own tail. The man did not give his name before he began speaking. Perhaps he a.s.sumed that everyone knew it, or perhaps the only important part of his ident.i.ty was the sea otter tattooed on his forehead. He spoke simply, without anger, as if explaining something obvious to rather stupid children.

"Icefyre is not a cow that belongs to any one of us. He is not cattle to be offered as part of a bride price. Even less does he belong to the foreigner Prince. How then can he offer the head of a creature that does not belong to him as payment to the Blackwater mothershouse of the Narwhal Clan? We can only see his promise in one of two ways. Either he has made his offer in ignorance, or it is an affront to us."

He paused then and made a strange gesture with his hand. In a moment its meaning was made clear as Prince Dutiful slowly stood and then came to join him in the speaker's circle. "No, Kaempra Otter." Dutiful addressed him as war leader for his clan. "It was not ignorance. It was not intended as affront. The Narcheska presented this deed to me as a challenge to prove myself worthy of her." The Prince lifted his hands and let them fall helplessly. "What could I do but accept it? If a woman issued such a challenge to you, saying before your gathered warriors, 'Accept it or admit cowardice,' what would you do? What would any of you do?"

Many heads in the a.s.sembly nodded to this. Dutiful nodded gravely back to them and then added, "So what am I to do now? My word has been given, before your warriors and mine, in the hall of my parents. I have said I will attempt to do this thing. I know of no honorable way to unsay such words. Is there a custom here, among the people of the Narcheska, that allows a man to call back the words that have issued from his mouth?"

The Prince moved his hands, imitating the same gesture that the Otter Kaempra had used to cede him the speaker's circle. He bowed to the four corners of the hall, and then retreated to his bench again. As he took his seat, Otter spoke again.

"If this was the manner of your accepting the challenge, then I will take no affront toward you. I reserve what I think of Clan Blackwater's daughter for issuing such a challenge. Regardless of the circ.u.mstances."

I had previously noticed Peottre Blackwater sitting almost by himself on one of the front benches. He scowled at the Otter's remark but made no indication that he wished to speak. The Narcheska's father, Arkon Bloodblade, sat a small distance away from Peottre, his Boar warriors ranked about him. Arkon's brow remained smooth, as if the rebuke had nothing to do with him, and perhaps by his lights that was correct. The Otter had rebuked Elliania as a daughter of the Blackwater family of the Narwhal Clan. Arkon Bloodblade was a Boar. Here, within his own people, he a.s.sumed the role that they expected of him. He was only the Narcheska's father. Her mother's brother, Peottre Blackwater, was responsible for the quality of her upbringing.

When the silence had stretched enough that it was obvious no one would offer a defense for what the Narcheska had done, the Otter leader cleared his throat. "It is true that as a man you cannot call back your word, Prince of the Fa.r.s.eer Buck Clan. You have said you will try to do this thing, and I will concede that you must do it, or be judged no man at all.

"Yet that does not release us of the Out Islands of our duties. Icefyre is ours. What do our great mothers tell us? He came to us, in the years before years were counted, and asked asylum from his grief. Our wisewomen granted it to him. And in return for our sheltering, he promised that his protection should be ours. We know the power of his spirit and the invulnerability of his flesh, and fear little that you shall slay him. But if, by some strange twist of fate, you manage to do him injury, on whom will his anger fall after he has killed you? On us." He turned slowly in a circle as he spoke, including all the clans as he warned them, "If Icefyre is ours, we also belong to him. Like a kin pledge we should see the debt woven between us. If his blood is shed, must not we shed blood in return? If, as his kin, we fail to come to his aid, cannot he exact from us the blood price ten times over, according to our law? This prince must honor his word as a man. That is so. But after, must not war come to us again, regardless of whether he lives or dies?"

I saw Arkon Bloodblade draw a long slow breath. I noted now what I had not before, that he held his hand in a certain way, open yet with the fingers pointing toward his sternum. Several men, I now saw, were making the same gesture. A request to speak? Yes, for when the Otter warrior made the now familiar gesture, Bloodblade stood and came to take the man's place in the circle.

"None of us want war again. Not here in the G.o.d's Runes, nor in the Prince's farmers' fields across the water. Yet a man's word must be satisfied. And though we all be men here, there is a woman's will in this, as well. What warrior can stand before a woman's will? What sword can cut her stubbornness? To women Eda has given the islands themselves, and we walk upon them only by her leave. It is not for men to set aside the challenge of a woman, lest our own mothers say, 'You do not respect the flesh you sprang from. Walk no more on the earth that Eda has granted us. Be abandoned by us, with only water under your keel and never sand under your feet.' Is that easier than war? We are caught between a man's word and a woman's will. Neither can be broken without disgrace to all."

I had understood Bloodblade's words but the full import of their meaning escaped me. Obviously there was custom here we were not familiar with, and I questioned what we had blundered into with our matchmaking. Bleakly I wondered if we had not fallen into a trap. Was the Blackwater family of the Narwhal Clan intent on kindling war between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands? Had their offer of the Narcheska been a sham, to draw us into a situation in which, regardless of the outcome, we had invited bloodshed yet again to our sh.o.r.es?

I studied Peottre Blackwater's face. His expression was stolid and still, his eyes turned inward. He seemed impa.s.sive to the dilemma his sister-daughter had set us, and yet I felt he was not. I sensed rather that we balanced on the knife blade that had already cut deep into him. He looked, I suddenly thought, like a man without choices. A man who could no longer hope, because he knows that no action of his own can save him. He was waiting. He did not plan or plot. He had already done the task he had set out to do. Now he could only wait to see how other men would carry it out. I was certain I was right, and yet what I could not understand or even imagine was why why. Why had he done it? Or, as her father had said, was it beyond his control, the will of a woman who might be younger than he was and dependent on him, and yet controlled who might walk on the earth of his mother-holdings?

I looked around me. There were simply too many differences between us, I decided. How could the Six Duchies ever make a peace with the Out Islands when our customs varied so widely? Yet, tradition had it that the Fa.r.s.eer line had its roots in the Out Islands, that Taker, the first Fa.r.s.eer monarch, had begun his life as an Out Island raider who had seen the log fortress that Buckkeep once was and decided to make it his own. Our lines and our ways had diverged far since those days. Peace and prosperity depended on our finding some common ground.

The likelihood of that did not seem great.

I lifted my eyes to find the Prince's gaze fixed on me. I had not wanted to distract him before. Now I sent him a rea.s.suring thought. Thick is resting in his chamber upstairs. He ate and drank before he went to sleep. Thick is resting in his chamber upstairs. He ate and drank before he went to sleep.

I wish I could be doing the same. They did not give me so much as a chance to wash my face before they convened the Hetgurd. And now it shows no sign of ending.

Patience, my prince. They'll end this eventually. Even Outislanders must eat, drink, and sleep sometime.

Do they p.i.s.s, do you think? That's starting to be a very immediate concern to me. I've thought of excusing myself quietly, but don't know how it would be interpreted if I stood and walked out now.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I felt a fumbling Skill-touch. Thick? Thick?

It was Chade. I saw Dutiful start to reach out his hand, to touch Chade and add his strength to the old man's. I stopped him. No. Don't. Let him try it on his own. Chade, can you hear us? No. Don't. Let him try it on his own. Chade, can you hear us?

Barely.

Thick is asleep upstairs. He ate and drank before he fell asleep.

Good. I sensed the effort he put into that brief reply. Nonetheless, I was grinning. He was doing it. I sensed the effort he put into that brief reply. Nonetheless, I was grinning. He was doing it.

Stop. Silly grin, he scolded me. He looked around the room gravely. he scolded me. He looked around the room gravely. Bad situation. Need time to think. Need to stop this before it goes too far without us. Bad situation. Need time to think. Need to stop this before it goes too far without us.

I made my face solemn. The expression was far more in keeping with that of those around me. Arkon Bloodblade was surrendering the speaking circle to a man who wore an Eagle badge. They paused to clasp wrists in a warrior's greeting before the Eagle entered the circle. The Eagle Kaempra was an old man, possibly the oldest man in the a.s.sembly. Gray and white streaked his thinning hair, yet he still moved like a warrior. He stared around at us accusingly, and then spoke abruptly, the ends of his words softened by his missing teeth.

"Doubtless a man must do what he has said he will do. It wastes our day to even discuss that. And men must honor their kinship bonds. If this foreign prince came here and said, 'I have promised a woman that I would kill Orig of the Eagle Clan,' all of you would say, 'Then you must try, if you have promised to do it.' But we would also say, 'But know that some of us have kinship bonds with Orig. And we will kill you before we let you do this thing.' And we would expect the Prince to accept that as obviously correct, also." His slow gaze traveled the a.s.sembly disdainfully. "I smell merchants and traders here, who used to be warriors and honorable men. Shall we sniff after Six Duchies goods like a dog groveling after a b.i.t.c.h? Will you trade your own kin for brandy and summer apples and red wheat? Not this Eagle."

He gave a snort of contempt for all who thought there was any need of more discussion. He left the circle and crabbed back to his seat amongst his warriors. A silence fell as we all pondered his words. Some exchanged glances; I sensed the old man had cut close to the bone. There were many here uneasy at the thought of letting the Prince kill their dragon, but they were also hungry for peace and trade. War with the Six Duchies had cut them off from all trade from points south of us. Now the Chalcedean quarrel with the Bingtown Traders was throttling that route. If they did not gain free trade with the Six Duchies, they would have to forgo all goods and luxuries that warmer countries could provide for them. It was not a thought to relish. Yet no one there could oppose the Eagle's stance without taking the name of greedy trader to himself.

We have to end this somehow. Now, before anyone adds their spoken approval to his words. Chade's thin Skilling sounded desperate. Chade's thin Skilling sounded desperate.

No one else stepped forward into the speaking circle. No one had a solution to offer. The longer the silence stretched, the more charged the room became. I knew Chade was right. We needed time to think of a diplomatic solution to our position. And if there wasn't one, we still needed time to discover how many of the Outislander clans would actively oppose us and how many would simply disapprove. Given the disapproval of the other clans, would the Narcheska persist in her challenge to Dutiful or would she withdraw it? Could she honorably recall it? Here we were, not even a full day on this island's soil and already we seemed on the verge of confrontation.

Adding to my discomfort was that I was becoming aware of Dutiful's need to urinate. I started to shield myself from his Skill, and then had a different idea. I recalled how Thick's uneasiness aboard the ship had spread to infect the sailors. I wondered if Dutiful's current discomfort could be used in a like manner.

I opened myself to his unwitting sending, amplified it, and then sent my Skill-questing out through the room. None of the Outislanders that I touched had any strong apt.i.tude for the Skill, but many were susceptible to its influence in varying degrees. Once Verity had used a similar technique to baffle Red Ship navigators, convincing them that they'd already pa.s.sed key landmarks and thus sending their ships onto the rocks. Now I used it to end this Hetgurd gathering by reminding every man my Skill could touch of his urgent need to empty his bladder.

All around the room, men began to shift in their seats. Doing? Doing? Chade demanded. Chade demanded.

Ending this meeting, I told him grimly. I told him grimly.

Ah! I felt Dutiful's sudden comprehension, and then felt him join his persuasion to mine. I felt Dutiful's sudden comprehension, and then felt him join his persuasion to mine.

Who is in charge? I asked him. I asked him.

No one. They share authority here. Or so they say. Dutiful obviously thought it a poor system. Dutiful obviously thought it a poor system.

Bear opened meeting, Chade told me tersely. I felt him draw my attention to a man who wore a bear's-tooth necklace. I was suddenly aware of how much strength it was taking from Chade for him to do this feeble Skilling. Chade told me tersely. I felt him draw my attention to a man who wore a bear's-tooth necklace. I was suddenly aware of how much strength it was taking from Chade for him to do this feeble Skilling.

Don't tax yourself, I warned him. I warned him.

Know my own strength! His reply was angry but even from where I stood, I could see his shoulders drooping. His reply was angry but even from where I stood, I could see his shoulders drooping.

I singled out the Bear and focused my attention on him. Fortunately for me, he had little wall against the Skill and a full bladder. I pressed urgency on him and he suddenly stood up. He came forward to claim the speaking circle. The others ceded it to him with hand motions of giving.

"We need to ponder on this. All of us," he suggested. "Let us go apart, to talk with our own clans and see what thoughts they have for us. Tomorrow, let us gather again and speak of what we have learned and thought. Do any think this is wise?"

A forest of hands rose in spiraling gestures of a.s.sent.

"Then let our meeting be over for this day," the Bear suggested.