Fool's Fate Part 14

"They'll be housed as guests in the mothershouse, along with his minstrel and companions. There is special housing for warriors of visiting clans, outside the stronghouse. Men of other clans may be guests there during the day, but warriors are not permitted to spend the night within the stronghouse. The Prince's Guard will be housed away from him. We don't like it, but Lord Chade has told Captain Longwick to accept it. And a cottage has been arranged for Thick. The Prince orders that you take lodging with him." Riddle looked uncomfortable. In a quieter voice, as if offering apology, he added, "I'll make sure your sea chest is brought there. And his things, as well."

"Thanks."

I didn't have to ask. Thick's difference made him unacceptable as a guest in the mothershouse. Well, at least they had been wise enough not to put us in with the guards. Nonetheless, it was becoming taxing to me to share Thick's outcast status. Little as I liked the intrigues of the Fa.r.s.eer Court, when I was too far removed from Dutiful and Chade, I felt ill at ease. I knew we were in danger here, but the greatest danger is always the one we are ignorant of. I wanted to hear what Chade heard, to know moment by moment how our negotiation was unfolding. Yet Chade could not demand that we be housed closer to the Prince, and someone had to remain with Thick. I was the logical choice. It all made sense, which didn't decrease the frustration I felt.

They did not insult us. The one-room stone cottage was clean, even though it smelled of disuse. Obviously it had not been inhabited for some months, yet there was wood in the hod and pots for cooking. The water cask was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with cold fresh water. There was a table and chairs, and a bed with two blankets on it in the corner. Sunlight lay across the floor in a fall from the single window. I'd stayed in worse places.

Thick said little as we settled him onto the bed. He was wheezing from the walk and his cheeks were red, but it was not the flush of health but the mark of a sick man who had overexerted himself. I pulled the shoes from his feet and then tucked the blankets around him. I suspected that the nights would be chilly here even in summer, and wondered if the two coverings would be enough to keep him comfortable.

"Do you need any help here?" Web asked me. Swift stood impatiently by the door, looking toward the mothershouse, two streets away.

"Not from you, but I'll need Swift for a time." I had expected the look of dismay the boy gave me. It didn't dampen my resolve. I took coin from my purse. "Go to the market. I have no idea what you'll find there. Be very polite, but get us something to eat. Meat and vegetables for a soup. Fresh bread if they have it. Fruit. Cheese, fish. Whatever this will buy."

By his face, he was torn between nervousness and a boy's eagerness to explore a new place. I set the money on his palm and hoped the Outislanders would accept Six Duchies coins.

"Then," I added, and saw him wince. "Go back to the ship. Riddle will see to our chests, but I want you to get extra bedding from the bunks there. Enough to make up pallets for you and me, as well as extra blankets for Thick."

"But I'm to stay in the mothershouse, with the Prince and Web and all . . ." His voice dribbled away in disappointment as I shook my head.

"I'll need you here, Swift."

He glanced at Web as if seeking his support. The Witmaster's face remained calm and neutral. "Are you sure there is no way I can be of a.s.sistance?" he asked me again.

"Actually." And I was suddenly almost frozen by how difficult it was to ask. "If you wouldn't mind coming back later, I'd enjoy a few hours to myself. Unless the Prince needs you elsewhere."

"I will do that. Thank you for asking." His second comment was genuine, not an idle courtesy. I let a moment pa.s.s in silence as I handled his words. He praised me for finally being able to ask a favor of him. When I met his eyes, I realized how long that silence had been but his face was as calm and patient as ever. Again I had that feeling he was stalking me, not as a hunter stalks prey but as a trainer befriends a wary animal.

"Thank you," I managed.

"And perhaps I'll accompany Swift to the market, for I am as curious to see this town as he is. I promise we won't dawdle, however. Do you think a sweet pastry might tempt Thick to eat, if we chanced upon a bakery?"

"Yes." Thick's voice was wavering as he replied, but I took heart from this show of interest. "And cheese," he added hopefully.

"Pastries and cheese should probably be what you look for first," I amended. I turned to Thick with a smile but his eyes wandered away from me. I was still unforgiven. I knew I'd have to do it at least two more times, for our journey back to Zylig and then for the ship that would take us to Aslevjal. I could not make myself face the thought of the eventual journey home. It seemed hopelessly far away now.

Web and Swift left, the boy chattering happily and the man responding as eagerly. In truth, I was relieved to see them go together. A boy in a strange town might easily give unintentional offense or be in danger. Nonetheless, I felt abandoned as I watched them walk away.

I backed away from the gulf of self-pity that beckoned me by putting my mind on the folks I cared about. I tried not to wonder what had befallen Hap or the Fool since I had left Buckkeep Town. Hap was a sensible lad. I had to trust him. And the Fool had managed his own life, or lives, for many years with no help from me. Yet it still made me uncomfortable to know that somewhere back in the Six Duchies, he was probably furious at me. I caught myself tracing the silvery fingerprints his Skill-touch had left on my wrist. I had no sense of him, but nonetheless put both my hands behind my back. I wondered again what he had said to Burrich, or if he had seen him at all.

Useless thoughts, but there was little else to occupy me. Thick watched me as I drifted idly around the small cottage. I offered him a dipper of cold water from the cask, but he refused it. I drank, tasting the difference of this island in its water. It tasted mossy and sweet. Probably pond water, I thought. I decided to build a small fire on the hearth in case Web and Swift brought back uncooked meat.

Time pa.s.sed very slowly. Riddle and another guardsman came with our trunks from the ship. I took brewing herbs from my trunk. I filled the heavy kettle and set it on the hearth to heat, more to be doing something than because I wanted a cup of tea. I mixed the herbs to be sweet and calming, chamomile and fennel and raspberry root. Thick watched me suspiciously when I poured the hot water, but I didn't offer him the first cup. Instead I put a chair by the window where I could look out over the sheep on the gra.s.sy hillside above the town. I drank my tea and tried to find the satisfaction I had once taken in peace and solitude.

When I offered Thick the second cup, he accepted it. Perhaps my drinking the first one had rea.s.sured him that I didn't intend to drug or poison him, I thought wearily. Web and Swift returned, their arms full of bundles and the lad's cheeks pink from the walk and fresh air. Thick slowly levered himself to an upright position to eye what they had brought. "Did you find a strawberry tart and yellow cheese?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, no, but look what we did find," Web invited him as he unloaded his trove onto the table. "Sticks of smoked red fish, both salty and sweet. Little rolls of bread, with seeds sprinkled on top. And here's a gra.s.s basket full of berries for you. I've never seen any like this. The women called them mouseberries, for the mice stuff their tunnels full of them to dry for the winter. They're a bit sour, but we did find some goat cheese to go with them. These funny orange roots they said to roast in the coals and then eat the insides with salt. And lastly, these, which aren't as hot as when we bought them but still smell good to me."

The last items were pasties about the size of a man's fist. Web carried them in a sack of twisted and woven gra.s.s lined with wide fronds of seaweed. As he set them out on the table, I smelled fish. The pasties were stuffed with chunks of white fish in rich and greasy gravy. It heartened me when Thick tottered out of his bed to come to the table for one. He ate one hurriedly, pausing only when his coughing fits forced him to, and a second one more slowly, with another cup of tea to wash it down. He coughed so heavily and for so long after his tea that I feared he was choking, but at last he took a deeper breath and looked round at us with watery eyes. "I'm so tired," he said in a trembling voice, and no sooner did Swift help him back to bed than he nodded off to sleep.

Swift had enlivened our meal with his discussion of the town with Web. I had kept quiet while we ate, listening to the boy's observations. He had a quick eye and an inquisitive mind. It seemed that most of the market folk had been friendly enough after they'd seen his coins. I suspected that Web's genial curiosity had once more worked for him. One woman had even told him that the morning's low tide would be a good time for gathering the sweet little clams from the beaches. Web mentioned this, and then wandered into a tale of clamming with his mother when he was a youngster, and from there to other tales of his childhood. Both Swift and I were fascinated by them.

We shared another mug of the tea I'd made, and just as the afternoon began to seem companionable and pleasant, Riddle arrived at the door. "Lord Chade sent me to say you're to go up to the mothershouse for a welcome," he announced from the door.

"You'd best go, then," I told Web and Swift reluctantly.

"You, too," Riddle informed me. "I'm to stay with the prince's half-wit."

I gave him a look. "Thick," I said quietly. "His name is Thick."

It was the first time I'd ever rebuked Riddle for anything. He just looked at me, and I could not tell if he was hurt or offended. "Thick," he amended. "I'm to stay with Thick. You know I didn't mean anything by that, Tom Badgerlock," he added almost petulantly.

"I know. But it hurts Thick's feelings."

"Oh." Riddle glanced suddenly at the sleeping man, as if startled to learn he had feelings. "Oh."

I took pity on him. "There's food on the table, and hot water for tea if you want."

He nodded, and I sensed that we'd made peace. I took a moment to smooth my hair back and put on a fresh shirt. Then I took a comb to Swift, much to his disgust, and was dismayed at the knots in the boy's hair. "You need to do this every morning. I'm sure your father taught you better than to go about looking like a half-shed mountain pony."

He gave me a sharp look. "That's the very words he uses!" he exclaimed, and I excused my own slip, saying, "It's a common saying in Buck, lad. Let's look at you, now. Well, you'll do. Washing a bit more often wouldn't hurt you either, but we've no time for it now. Let's go."

I felt a pang of sympathy for Riddle as we left him sitting alone at the table.

chapter 10.

THE NARCHESKA.

This is their custom regarding marriage: it is binding only so long as the woman wishes to be bound by it. The woman chooses the man, although the man may court a woman he finds desirable, with gifts and deeds of war done in her honor. If an Outislander woman accepts a man's courtship, it does not mean she has bound herself to him, only that she may welcome him into her bed. Their dalliances may last a week, a year, or a lifetime. It is entirely of the woman's choosing. All things that are kept under a roof belong to the woman, as does all that comes from the earth which her mothershouse claims. Her children belong to her clan, and are commonly disciplined and taught by her brothers and uncles rather than by their father. While the man lives on her land or in her mothershouse, his labor is hers to command. All in all, it baffles this traveler why a man would willingly submit to such a minor role, but Outislanders seem likewise baffled by our arrangements, asking me sometimes, "Why do your women willingly leave the wealth of their own families to become servants in a man's home?"- "AN ACCOUNT OF TRAVEL IN A BARBAROUS LAND,"

BY SCRIBE FEDWREN.

The mothershouse of the Narwhal Clan was both fortification and home. It was by far the oldest structure in Wuislington. The stout wall that surrounded its grounds and garden were the first line of defense. If invaders pushed the defenders back, they could retreat to the mothershouse itself. Scorch marks on its stone walls and timbers showed that it had stood even against fire. There were no apertures at all in the lower story, the second boasted arrow slits, and only the third had real windows and these featured stout shutters that would have defied any missiles. Yet it was not a castle in our tradition. There was no place to bring sheep or for an entire village to take shelter, nor a place for great stores of food. I suspected it was intended to defy raiders who would come and go with a tide rather than to withstand a significant siege. It was one more way in which the Outislanders differed from our folk and our way of thinking.

Two young men wearing the Narwhal badge nodded us past the gate in the wall. Inside, the road had crushed sh.e.l.l added to the beach gravel that paved it, giving it a gleaming opalescence that sparkled underfoot. The door of the mothershouse, carved with narwhals, stood open wide enough to admit three men abreast. Within, all was dimness and torchlight. It was almost like entering a cave.

We paused inside the entrance to let our eyes adjust. The air was thick with the aromas of long human habitation. There were food smells, stews and smoked meat and spilled wine, and the odor of cured hides and gathered people. It could have been a stench, but it was not. Rather, it was a homey smell, of safety and family.

The entrance gave immediately onto a great room, with supporting pillars as the only dividers. There were three hearths, all with cook fires on them. The stone-flagged floor was strewn with fresh rushes. Benches and shelves ran around the walls. The lower benches were wide, and the rolled sleeping skins proclaimed that these were beds by night and seating and tables by day. The higher, shallower shelves above the benches held foodstuffs and personal possessions. Most of the light in the room came from the hearths, though there were ineffectual candles in sconces on many of the pillars. In the far left corner, a wide staircase wound up into the dimness. It was the only access I could see to the upper regions of the house. It made sense. Even if an attacking force gained control of this level of the mothershouse, the folk above would have only one entrance to defend. Invaders would pay dearly to gain the upper floors of the mothershouse.

All this I saw through the gathered people. Folk of every age were cl.u.s.tered everywhere and there was a sense of antic.i.p.ation in the air. We were obviously late. At the end of the long room, before the largest hearth, Prince Dutiful waited. Ranged on his side of the hearth were Chade and his Wit coterie, and beyond them, his guard drawn up in three rows. The Narwhal Clan folk parted to make way for us to a.s.sume our correct positions. Web and Swift advanced to stand with c.o.c.kle the minstrel and Civil and his Wit-cat. I took a place at the end of the front row of guardsmen.

Elliania was not there. Those gathered on the other side of the hearth were mostly women. Peottre was the only adult man in his prime. There were a few old grandfathers, four lads about the Narcheska's age, and then six or seven boys ranging down to toddlers clinging to their mothers' skirts. Had the Red Ship War so decimated the Narwhal Clan?

The Boar warriors from the ship were present, but they stood in a group off to one side, witnesses to rather than partic.i.p.ants in whatever was about to happen. The people who crowded the rest of the room were almost entirely Narwhal Clan, as evinced by their jewelry, clothing adornments, and tattoos. The exceptions seemed to be almost entirely males standing alongside women, and were probably men who had married into the clan or were partners in a less formal arrangement with a Narwhal woman. I saw bears, otters, and one eagle amongst them.

Without exception, the women were strikingly arrayed. Those who did not wear jewelry of gold or silver or precious stone were still bedecked with ornaments of sh.e.l.l, feather, and seeds. The artful arrangement of hair had not been neglected, and added substantially to the height of several women. Unlike Buckkeep, where the women seemed to shift their finery in mysteriously feminine coordination, I saw a wide variety of styles. The only unifying theme to the beaded or embroidered or woven patterns of their dress seemed to be the brightness of the colors and the narwhal motif.

Those in the first circle, I surmised, were relatives of the Narcheska, while those who stood closest to the hearth would be her most immediate family. They were almost all women. All of the Narwhal women shared an intent, almost fierce air. The tension in that part of the room was palpable. I wondered which one was her mother, and wondered too what we awaited.

Absolute silence fell. Then four Narwhal clansmen carried a wizened little woman down the stairs and into the hall. She rode in a chair fashioned from twisty pieces of gleaming willow wood and cushioned with bearskins. Her thin white hair was braided and pinned in a crown to her head. Her eyes were very black and bright. She wore a red robe and the narwhal motif was repeated in tiny ivory b.u.t.tons sewn all over it. The men set her chair down, not on the floor, but upon a heavy table where she could remain seated and still look out over all those who had gathered in her house. With a small whimper of complaint, the old woman straightened herself in the chair, sitting tall and gazing at the folk who had gathered. Her pink tongue wet her wrinkled lips. Heavy fur slippers dangled on her skinny feet.

"Well! Here we all are!" she proclaimed.

She spoke the words in Outislander, loudly, as old folks who are going deaf are p.r.o.ne to do. She did not seem as mindful of the formality of the situation, nor as tense as the other women.

The Great Mother of the Narwhal Clan leaned forward, her gnarled hands gripping the twisted wood of the chair arms. "So. Send him out, then. Who seeks to court our Elliania, our Narcheska of the Narwhals? Where is the warrior bold enough to seek the mothers' permission to bed with our daughter?"

I am sure those were not the words Dutiful had been told to expect. His face was the color of beetroot as he stepped forward. He made a warrior's obeisance before the old woman and spoke in clear Outislander as he proclaimed, "I stand before the mothers of the Narwhal Clan, and seek permission to join my line with yours."

She stared at him for a moment and then scowled, not at him, but at one of the young men who had borne her chair. "What is a Six Duchies slave doing here? Is he a gift? And why is he trying to speak our language and doing such a horrible job of it? Cut his tongue out if he attempts it again!"

There was a sudden silence, broken by a wild whoop of laughter from someone in the back of the room, quickly m.u.f.fled. Somehow Dutiful kept his aplomb, and was wise enough not to attempt to explain himself to the incensed Great Mother. A woman from the Narcheska's contingent stepped to the Mother's side and stood on tiptoe, whispering frantically to her. The Mother waved her off irritably.

"Stop all that hissing and spitting, Almata! You know I can't hear a word when you talk like that! Where is Peottre?" She glanced around as if she'd misplaced a shoe, then lifted her eyes and scowled at Peottre. "There he is! You know that I hear him best. What is he doing way over there? Get here, you insolent rascal, and explain to me what this is about!"

There would have been a sweet humor to watching the old woman order the seasoned warrior about if his face had not betrayed such worry. He strode over to her, went down briefly on one knee, and then stood up. She lifted one rootlike hand and settled it on his shoulder. "What is this about?" she demanded.

"Oerttre," he said quietly. I suspect his deep voice reached her old ears better than the woman's shrill whisper had. "It's about Oerttre. Remember?"

"Oerttre," she said, and her eyes brimmed suddenly with tears. She looked around the room. "And Kossi? Little Kossi, too? Is she here, then? Come home to us at last?"

"No," Peottre said shortly. "They're not here, neither one of them. And that is what this is about. Remember? We talked about it in the garden, this morning. Remember?" He nodded at her slowly, encouraging her.

She watched his face and nodded slowly with him, and then stopped. She shook her head once. "No," she cried out in a low voice. "I don't remember. The alyssum has stopped blooming, and the plums may be sour this year. I remember we spoke of that. But . . . no. Peottre, was it important?"

"It was, Great Mother. It is. Very important."

She looked troubled and then suddenly angry. "Important, important! Important, says a man, but what do men know?" Her old voice, cracked and shrill, rose in anger and derision. Her thin hand slapped her thigh in disgust. "Bedding and blood-shedding, that is all they know, that is all they think is important. What do they know of the sheep to shear and the gardens to be harvested, what do they know of how many barrels of salt fish for the winter and how many casks of sweet lard? Important? Well, if it's important, let Oerttre handle it. She is the Mother now, and I should be allowed to rest." She lifted her hand from Peottre's shoulder and gripped the arms of her chair. "I need my time to rest!" she complained piteously.

"Yes, Great Mother. Yes, you do. And you should take it now and I will see that all is handled as it should be. I promise." And with these words, Elliania emerged from the shadows at the top of the stairs and hurried down to us. Her lightly shod feet seemed to skim each riser. Half of her hair was pinned up with tiny star pins; the rest flew loose to her shoulders. It did not look intentional. Behind her on the stairs, two young women started to follow her, then halted in horror, whispering to one another. I suspected they had been readying her for her appearance, and she had bolted free of them when she heard the raised voices.

I recognized her bearing more than her form as people parted to let her through. Like Dutiful, she had grown taller in the months since I had last seen her, and all her childish plumpness had melted away, replaced by woman's flesh. As she came past the row of her female relatives, I was not the only Six Duchies man who gasped. Her gown covered her shoulders and back but left bare her proudly uptilting b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Had she rouged her nipples, to make them stand so pink? I wondered, and felt my flesh stir in response. An instant later, I had flung up my walls and, Guard your thoughts, Guard your thoughts, I chided Dutiful. He must have heard me, yet he did not flinch. He stared at the Narcheska's bared b.r.e.a.s.t.s as if he had never seen a woman's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and in all likelihood, that was possible. I chided Dutiful. He must have heard me, yet he did not flinch. He stared at the Narcheska's bared b.r.e.a.s.t.s as if he had never seen a woman's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and in all likelihood, that was possible.

She did not spare a glance for him and his gawking but went straight to the Great Mother. "I will deal with this, Peottre," she said in her new woman's voice. Then she spoke to the men who had carried the Great Mother's chair. "You have heard our Great Mother. She requires her time of rest. Let us all thank her for gracing our gathering this evening, and wish her calm sleep and easy bones."

There was a murmur of response, echoing the Narcheska's good-night to the Great Mother, and then the young men took up the old woman's chair and carried her off. The Narcheska stood straight and silent, turning to watch after her until she disappeared into the shadows at the top of the stair. She took a deep breath. The Prince was now staring at her back, at the k.n.o.b at the top of her spine bared by her upswept hair and her graceful neck above it. The seamstresses had cut it well, I thought to myself. Not even the edge of her tattoos peeped over it. I saw Chade give Dutiful a tiny jab in the ribs. The young man started as if waking from a dream and discovered a sudden interest in Peottre's feet. Peottre was staring at him flatly, as if he were an ill-mannered dog that might steal meat from the table if he were not watched.

I saw the Narcheska square her shoulders. She turned back to face us all. Her eyes roved over the a.s.sembly. The ornament in her hair was made from narwhal's horn. I have no idea how they had wrought that iridescent blue upon it. The tiny star pins sparkled around it, and I no longer had any doubt that the carving that Prince Dutiful had found upon the Treasure Beach had presaged this moment. I was no closer to knowing what that meant, and had no time to think upon it.

Somehow the Narcheska had found a smile. It was a bit wry at the corners as she gave a small laugh and a shrug. "I've forgotten what I'm supposed to say now. Will someone speak the Mother's words for me?" Then, before anyone could reply to her request, she let her gaze come to meet Dutiful's. He had blushed before; now he burned as he met her eyes. She ignored his fl.u.s.ter and spoke calmly. "You see, we combine two of our traditions tonight. By chance, it is my time to show myself as a blooded woman before my clan. And on this very day you are come here, to offer yourself as mate to me."

His lips moved. I think they muttered the words "blooded woman" but no sound came forth.

She laughed, but the lightness had gone out of it. It was brittle as ice shards breaking. "Have you no ceremony among your folk for this? A boy bloodies his sword to become a man, no? In his ability to kill, he announces that he is now complete. But a woman has no need of a sword. Eda herself bloodies us, and announces us as complete. What a man can take with a sword, a woman can give by her flesh alone. Life." She set both her ringless hands on her flat belly. "I have shed my first woman's blood. I can bring forth life from within me. I stand before you all, a woman now."

There was a muttered response of "Welcome, Elliania, Narwhal Clan woman." I sensed that she had stepped back into the ritual and taken up the words, too. Peottre had retreated into the row of her clansmen. Women came to stand around her, and there was a formalized greeting that pa.s.sed between every woman of the Narwhal Clan and Elliania. A group of wide-eyed girls, hair loose upon their shoulders, stood in a cl.u.s.ter, watching her. One, taller than the others and close to being a woman herself, pointed at Dutiful and said something approving to two of her fellows. They giggled and drew closer to her, whispering and nudging one another. I sensed that these girls had been Elliania's playmates and companions, but that Elliania had stepped apart from them now and into the ranks of the women. The effortless way in which she had a.s.sumed command of the situation told me that she had, in many ways, been a woman amongst them for a long time. This ceremony was the formal recognition that her body was starting to catch up with her spirit.

When every woman had greeted her, Elliania stepped back out of the circle of firelight from the hearth. A stillness came over the crowd, replacing the murmur of comment and welcome. For a brief time, I felt their awkwardness. Peottre shifted on his feet, then forced himself to stand still. Dutiful remained where he had been, and I sensed that these minutes were pa.s.sing like hours for him.

Finally, the same young woman who had whispered to the Great Mother stepped forward. A faint blush suffused her cheeks. Obviously, she felt she was stepping above her station, but no one else had offered to take charge. She cleared her throat, but there was still a tremor in her voice as she said, "I am Almata, a daughter of the Mothers of the Narwhal Clan. I am cousin to the Narcheska Elliania, and six years her senior. Unworthy as I am, I will speak for the Great Mother."

She paused a moment, as if to allow time for someone to challenge her in this role. There were older women present, but none of them spoke. A few gave tiny, encouraging nods. Most looked heartsick. Almata took a deep breath, visibly steadied herself, and spoke again.

"We are gathered in our mothershouse because one not of our clan has come among us, seeking to join his lines to ours. He asks, not just for any woman, but for our Narcheska Elliania, she whose daughters will in turn be Narcheska and Mother and Great Mother to us all. Stand forth, warrior. Who seeks to court our Elliania, our Narcheska of the Narwhals? Where is the warrior bold enough to seek the mothers' permission to bed with our daughter, and give her daughters to raise up as Mothers of the Narwhal Clan?"

Dutiful took a shuddering breath. He should not have; he should have been steadier than that, and yet I could not blame him. All could sense that something was awry here tonight, and it was something more than foreigners intruding on an Outislander ceremony. I had a sense of people stretching to close a gap, of trying to mend a tragedy by retreating to tradition. Yet there was no s.p.a.ce left for us to be cautious. Dutiful's voice was steady as he proclaimed, "I come. I would have the Narcheska Elliania of the Narwhal Clan as the mother of my children."

"And how will you provide for her and the children that you will give her? What will you contribute to the Narwhal Clan, that we should let your bloodlines mingle with ours?"

And suddenly we were on solid ground. Chade had prepared well for this. Riddle nudged me, and I stepped aside almost in rhythm with the other guards. Behind them was a canvas-draped heap. Longwick dragged the cover from it, and each guardsman in turn took up an item and brought it forward as Chade announced what it was. Dutiful stood silent and proud as his gifts were presented to both Almata and the Narcheska, as well he might be. Nothing had been spared.

Some of the trove had come with us, hastily transferred from the Maiden's Chance Maiden's Chance to the to the Tusker Tusker. Casks of brandy from Shoaks, a bale of ermine skins from the Mountain Kingdom, and colored gla.s.s beads from Tilth, wrought into a tapestry that could be hung over a window. Silver earrings, Kettricken's own handiwork. Cotton, linen, and fine woolen cloth from Bearns were among the offerings. Other gifts were merely mentioned as promises, cargo to be brought from Zylig on the next trip. The reading of that list took some time. The labor of three skilled smiths for three years. A bull and twelve cows of our finest bloodlines. Six brace of oxen, and a team of matched horses. Hunting hounds and two merlins, trained to be lady's birds. And some things that Chade offered on Prince Dutiful's behalf were only dreams yet, trade and peace between the Six Duchies and the Out Islands, gifts of wheat when their fishing harvest was poor, good iron, and the freedom to trade in all the Six Duchies ports. It was a long list and I felt the day's weariness catch up with me as Chade catalogued it for them.

But all weariness left me when Chade concluded and Almata spoke again. "This is the offer made to our clan. Mothers, daughters, and sisters, what say you? Do any speak against him?"

Silence followed her words. It evidently expressed approval, for Almata nodded gravely. Then she turned to Elliania. "Cousin, Woman of the Narwhal Clan, Elliania the Narcheska, what is your will? Do you desire this man? Will you take him as yours?"

The muscles stood out in Peottre's neck as the slender young woman stepped forward. Dutiful held out a hand, palm up. She stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and placed her hand flat upon his. When she turned to look at him, and as their eyes met, my lad blushed again. "I will take him," she replied gravely. A part of me noted that she did not reply as to whether she desired him or not. She took a deeper breath and said, more loudly, "I will take him, and he will bed me, and we will give daughters to the mothershouse. If he performs the task that I have already named to him. If he can bring here, to this hearth, the head of the dragon Icefyre, then he may call me wife."

Peottre's eyes flickered shut and then open again. He forced himself to watch as his sister-daughter sold herself. His shoulders moved once in what might have been a sob denied. Almata held a hand out and someone placed a long strip of leather in it. She stepped forward and continued speaking as she bound Dutiful's and Elliania's wrists together.

"This binds you as your words have bound you. While she accepts you, bed with no other, Dutiful, or that woman's life is forfeit to Elliania's knife. While he pleases you, Elliania, bed with no other, or that man must face the challenge of Dutiful's sword. Now, mingle your blood upon the hearthstones of our mothershouse, in offering to Eda for the children she may send you."

I had no desire to watch, but I did. First the knife was offered to Dutiful. He betrayed no pain as he sliced his forearm until it bled freely. He cupped his bound hand and waited for blood to trickle past the leather strip and into his palm. Elliania did likewise, her face grave and somehow impa.s.sive, as if she had transgressed into an area so far beyond disgrace that nothing could move her now. When each hand cupped a small amount of blood, Almata guided their hands into a clasp. Then they knelt and each left a palm print of the mingled blood on the hearthstone. When they turned to face the gathered folk again, Almata freed their hands of the leather cord, and offered it to Dutiful, who accepted it gravely. Almata moved to stand behind them, a hand on each of their shoulders. She tried to put a note of joy into her voice, but it sounded flat to me as she announced, "They stand before you, joined and bound by their words. Wish them well, my people." The murmur of approval that rose from the gathered folk was more as if they applauded a deed of great courage than if they had just witnessed the happy joining of a loving couple. Elliania bowed her head before it, Sacrifice for them in some way I did not yet comprehend.

I'm married? Wonder, dismay, and outrage mingled in Dutiful's flung Skill-thought. Wonder, dismay, and outrage mingled in Dutiful's flung Skill-thought.

Not until you give her a dragon's head, I warned him. I warned him.

Not until we hold the real ceremony in Buckkeep Castle, Chade comforted him. Chade comforted him.

The Prince looked dazed.

All around us, the hall erupted into activity. Boards were brought out, and then food to grace them. Outislander minstrels struck up a song upon their windy instruments. True to their tradition, the minstrels so twisted the words to fit the tune that I could scarce understand it. I noticed that two of them came to greet c.o.c.kle and invite him to their corner of the hall. Their welcome seemed genuine, and again I was struck by the universal understanding that seems to exist amongst musicians.

Dutiful Skill-shared with me the words Elliania said quietly to him. "Now you must hold my hand and walk with me as I present you to my older cousins. Remember, they are my elders. Although I am the Narcheska, I still owe them the deference due my elders. So do you." She spoke as if instructing a child.

"I'll try not to humiliate you," he replied, rather stiffly. His words did not please me and yet I could not completely blame him for saying them.

"Then smile. And keep quiet, as befits a warrior in a mothershouse that is not his own," she retorted. She took his hand and let it be obvious that she led him. Rather as one might lead a prize bull by the ring in his nose, I thought to myself. The women did not come to meet him. Instead, Elliania took him from group to group. At each, he made the warrior's obeisance accepted in the Out Islands, that is, he offered his sword hand, empty and now bloodied, wrist up, to them while bowing his head. They smiled upon him, and offered comments to the Narcheska upon her choice. I sensed that in another time and place, the words would have been lighthearted and teasing. But at this ceremony and with this man, the compliments offered to her were moderate and well mannered. Instead of relieving the tension of the formal pledging, they prolonged it.

Seeing the other groups of warriors dispersing throughout the feast, Chade dismissed us from our ranks. Ears and eyes open, Ears and eyes open, he cautioned me as I wended my way through the throng. he cautioned me as I wended my way through the throng.