Fool's Fate Part 36

I shook my head childishly. I would never, never, let anyone depend on me again.

"Get up!" he said more sternly. "We've lost enough people today. We're not going to lose you, too."

I lifted my head and looked up at him. I felt Forged. "I was lost a long time ago," I told him. Then I took a deep breath, stood up, and followed him.

chapter 26.

HEALINGS.

The Chalcedean practice of tattooing one's slaves with a special mark of ownership began as a fashion among the n.o.bility. In the early days of it, only the most valuable slaves, slaves one expected to own for a lifetime, were so marked. The custom seems to have escalated when Lord Grart and Lord Porte, both powerful n.o.bles in the Chalcedean court, entered a rivalry to display their wealth. Jewelry, horses, and slaves were the measure of wealth at that time, and Lord Grart chose to have all of his horses prominently branded and all of his slaves tattooed. Ranks of both accompanied him everywhere he went. It is said that Lord Porte, in imitation of his rival, actually bought hundreds of cheap slaves of little or no standing as craftsmen or academics, simply for the purpose of tattooing them as his and displaying them.At that time in Chalced, some slave craftsmen and artisans and courtesans were allowed by their masters to accept outside commissions. Occasionally one of these privileged slaves would earn enough to purchase his freedom. Many masters were understandably reluctant to let such valuable slaves go. As tattoos of ownership could not be removed from the slave's face without substantial scarring, and freedom papers were widely falsified, it was difficult for former slaves to prove they had earned their freedom. Slave owners took advantage of this by creating expensive "freedom rings," earrings of gold or silver, often with jewels, the design unique to each n.o.ble family, that indicated a particular slave had earned his freedom. Often it took a slave years of service, after he had bought his freedom, to purchase the expensive earring that showed he was truly free to move about Chalced as he pleased, on his own recognizance.- FEDWREN FEDWREN'S " "HISTORY OF CHALCED'S SLAVE CUSTOMS"

I am no stranger to the aftermath of battle. I've walked across b.l.o.o.d.y earth and stepped over hacked bodies. Yet never before had I been in a place where the futility of war was so clearly ill.u.s.trated. Warriors bound up the wounds they had dealt to one another, and Outislanders who had fought us now anxiously asked the Hetgurd men for news of relatives and clan lands left years ago. Like men waked from a legendary sleep they were, groping after lost lives, trying to cross a rift of years. It was too clear that they well remembered all that they had done as servants of the Pale Woman. I recognized one of the guards who had dragged me before her. He looked hastily aside from my gaze, and I did not confront him. Peottre had already told me the only thing I needed to know.

I made my way through our camp. With an almost unseemly haste, it was being struck. Two badly injured men, both from the Pale Woman's force, were already loaded on the sleds, and the tents were coming down. A hasty ice cairn was being a.s.sembled over three dead men. All of them had belonged to her. Icefyre had eaten Eagle, the Hetgurd man who had fallen to the dragon. There would be no entombment for him. The other two men we had lost, Fox and Deft, had already been buried in the collapse of the pit. No sense digging them up only to bury them again, I suppose. It seemed a hasty and irreverent way to leave our fallen, but I sensed the emotion that drove it. There was an aura of haste to this departure, as if the sooner we could leave this place, the faster the Pale Woman would become a creature of the past. I hoped that she too was entombed beneath the immense fall of ice.

Web walked beside me and Chade came hurrying to meet me. Someone had bandaged his arm. "This way," he told me, and led me to where Burrich lay in the snow. Swift knelt beside him. They had not tried to move him. There was a wrenching wrongness to how his body lay. The spine is not meant to twist like that. I dropped to my knees beside him, surprised to find his eyes open. His hand spidered feebly against the snow. I slipped mine underneath it. He was breathing shallowly, as if hiding from the pain lurking in the lower half of his body. He managed a single word. "Alone."

I looked at Web and Chade. Without a word, they withdrew. Burrich's eyes met Swift's. The boy looked stubborn. Burrich took a slightly deeper breath. There was a color in his skin around his mouth and eyes, a strange darkening. "Just a moment," he said huskily to his son. Swift bowed his head slightly and walked away from us.

"Burrich," I said, but an almost sharp movement of his hand against mine bade me stop.

I saw him gather the remnants of his strength. He paced himself, taking a breath for each phrase he uttered. "Go home," he said. And then, commanding me, "Take care of them. Molly. The lads." I started to shake my head as he asked the impossible of me, and for a moment his hand tightened on mine, a shadow of his old grip. "Yes. You will. You must. For me." Another breath. He furrowed his brow, as if making an important choice. "Malta and Ruddy. When she comes in season. Not Brusque. Ruddy." He wagged one finger at me, as if I had thought to argue that decision. He took a deeper breath. "Wish I would see that foal." He blinked his eyes slowly, then, "Swift," he said, painfully.

"Swift!" I shouted and saw the loitering boy lift his head and start to run back to us.

Just before he reached us, Burrich spoke again. He almost smiled as he said, "I was the better man for her." A breath. In a whisper, "She still would have chosen you. If you'd come back."

Then Swift flung himself to his knees in the snow beside Burrich and I gave my place over to him. Chade and Web had come back with a heavy blanket. Web spoke. "We're going to try to scoop out the snow under you and sling you in the blanket to put you on the sled. The Prince has already released the bird that will summon the ships to fetch us back to Zylig."

"Doesn't matter," Burrich said. His hand closed on Swift's as he shut his eyes. A few moments later, I saw his hand go lax.

"Move him now," I suggested. "While he's unconscious."

I helped them, digging in the snow under Burrich's body and sliding the blanket beneath him. Despite our efforts to be gentle, he moaned as we moved him, and my Wit-sense of him faded a notch. I said nothing of that but I am sure that Swift was as aware of it as I was. The situation didn't need words. We loaded him onto the sled with the other two injured men. Just before we left that place, I looked up into the clear sky, searching. But there was no sign of either dragon.

"Not even a thank-you," I commented to Web.

He shrugged wordlessly and we set out.

For the rest of that day, I either walked beside Burrich or took turns pulling the sled. Swift walked always where he could see his father, but I do not think Burrich's eyes opened again that day. Thick rode on the tail of the sled, huddled in a blanket and staring. Kossi and Oerttre rode on the other sled, well bundled against the cold. Peottre pulled it, humming a tune as he trudged along, while the Narcheska and Dutiful walked alongside it. They were in front of us. I could not hear what the Narcheska was telling her mother, but I could guess. Her eye, when it fell on Dutiful, was slightly less disapproving, but mostly her gaze lingered on her daughter, with pride. The remaining Hetgurd men led us, probing the snow for cracks as we went. Web and then Chade came to walk alongside me for a time. There was nothing to say and that was what we said.

I counted it up to myself, mostly because I could not stop my mind from doing so. My prince had led here one dozen men plus Swift and Thick. Six Hetgurd men had come to oversee us. Twenty in all. Plus the Fool and Burrich. Twenty-two. The Pale Woman had killed Hest and Riddle and the Fool. Burrich was dying from the injury her dragon had dealt him. Eagle had died in the rain of ice from Chade's explosion. Fox and Deft were likewise lost. Sixteen of us would return to Zylig. a.s.suming that Churry and Drub had survived on the beach alone. I drew a deep breath. We were bringing the Narcheska's mother and sister home. Surely that counted for something. And eight Outislanders would be going back to their homes, men their families had long believed dead. I tried to feel some sort of satisfaction, but could not find it. This last and briefest battle of the Red Ship War had been the most costly to me.

Peottre called a halt in the gray of evening and we made a quiet camp. We used two of the tents to erect a makeshift shelter around the sled that the injured men were on so we would not have to move them. The other two were able to speak and eat, but Burrich was still and quiet. I brought Swift food and drink, and sat with him for a time, but after a while, I sensed that he wished to be alone with his father. I left him there and went out to walk under the stars.

There is no true dark to a night in that land. Only the brightest of the stars showed. The night was cold and the constant wind blew, heaping loose snow against the shelters. I could not think of anywhere I wanted to be or anything I wanted to do. Chade and the Prince were crowded into the Narcheska's tent with Peottre's family. There was triumph and rejoicing there; both were foreign emotions to me. The Hetgurd men and the recovered Outislanders were having a reunion of sorts. I walked past a tiny fire where Owl was matter-of-factly burning a dragon-and-serpent tattoo off a man's forearm. The smell of roasting flesh rode the wind while the man grunted and then roared with the pain. Dutiful's Wit coterie, sans Swift, had also crammed themselves into a small tent. I heard Web's deep voice as I went past and caught the gleam of a cat's eye peering out. Doubtless they shared the Prince's triumph. They had freed the dragon and he'd won the Narcheska's regard.

Longwick sat alone before a small fire in front of a darkened tent. I wondered where he had got the brandy I smelled. I nearly walked past him with a silent nod, but something in his face told me that here was where I belonged tonight. I hunkered down and held my hands over the tiny fire. "Captain," I greeted him.

"Of what?" he retorted. He rolled his head back with a crackling sound, and then sighed. "Hest. Riddle. Deft. Doesn't say much for me that all the men who accompanied me here are dead and I still live."

"I'm still alive," I pointed out to him.

He nodded. Then he gestured with his chin toward the tent and said, "Your half-wit's in there, asleep. He looked a bit lost tonight, so I took him in."

"Thanks." I knew a moment of guilt, and then asked myself if I should have left Burrich to tend Thick. And reflected that perhaps having someone to oversee had been the best thing for Longwick. He shifted, and then offered me a brandy flask. It was a soldier's flask, dented and scratched, his own h.o.a.rd of spirits, and a gift to be respected. I drank from it sparingly before returning it to him.

"Sorry about your friend. That Golden fellow."

"Yes."

"You went back a ways."

"We were boys together."

"Were you? Sorry."

"Yes."

"I hope that b.i.t.c.h died slow. Riddle and Hest were good men."

"Yes." I wondered if she had died at all. If she were still alive, could she be any threat to us? Dragon, Rawbread, and Forged servants had all been taken from her. She was Skilled, but I could think of no way she could use that against all of us. If she was alive, she was as alone as I was. Then I sat for a time, wondering which I hoped: whether she was dead or alive and suffering? Finally, it came to me. I was too tired to care.

Some time later, Longwick asked me, "Are you really him? Chivalry's b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

"Yes."

He nodded slowly to himself, as if that explained something. "More lives than a cat," he said quietly.

"I'm going to bed," I told Longwick.

"Sleep well," he said, and we both laughed bitterly.

I found my pack and bedding and took it into Longwick's tent. Thick stirred slightly as I made my bed alongside him. "I'm cold," he mumbled.

"Me, too. I'll sleep against your back. That will help."

I lay down in my blankets but I didn't sleep. I wondered useless things. What had she done to the Fool? How had she killed him? Had he been completely Forged before she killed him? If she'd sent him into the dragon, did that mean he'd felt some final pain when the stone dragon died? Stupid, stupid questions.

Thick shifted heavily against my back. "I can't find her," he said quietly.

"Who?" I asked sharply. The Pale Woman was large in my thoughts.

"Nettle. I can't find her."

My conscience smote me. My own daughter, the man who had raised her dying, and I hadn't even thought of reaching out to her.

Thick spoke again. "I think she's afraid to go to sleep."

"Well. I can't blame her." Only myself.

"Are we going back home now?"

"Yes."

"We didn't kill the dragon."

"No. We didn't."

There was a long pause and I hoped he had gone back to sleep. Then he asked me quietly, "Are we going home on a boat?"

I sighed. His childish concern was the only thing that could have weighed me heavier. I tried to find sympathy for him. It was difficult. "It's the only way we can go home, Thick. You know that."

"I don't want to."

"I don't blame you."

"Me, neither." He sighed heavily. After a time he said, "So this was our adventure. And the prince and the princess get married and live happily ever after, with many children to warm them in their old age."

He had probably heard that phrase thousands of times in his life. It was a common way for a minstrel to end a hero tale.

"Perhaps," I said cautiously. "Perhaps."

"What happens to the rest of us?"

Longwick came into the tent. Quietly he began to make up his bed. From the way he moved, I suspected he had finished his brandy.

"The rest of us go on with our lives, Thick. You'll go back to Buckkeep and serve the Prince. When he becomes the King, you'll be at his side." I reached to find his happy ending. "And you'll live well, with pink sugar cakes and new clothes whenever you need them."

"And Nettle," he said with satisfaction. "Nettle is at Buckkeep now. She's going to teach me how to make good dreams. At least, that's what she said. Before the dragon and all."

"Did she? That's good."

With that, he seemed to settle for the night. In a short time, his breathing took on the slower rhythm of sleep. I closed my eyes and wondered if Nettle could teach me how to make good dreams. I wondered if I'd ever have the courage to meet her. I didn't want to think about her right now. If I thought about her, then I had to think about telling her about Burrich.

"What will you do, Lord FitzChivalry?" Longwick's question in the dark was like a voice out of the sky.

"That isn't me," I said quietly. "I'll go back to the Six Duchies and be Tom Badgerlock."

"Seems like a lot of people know your secret now."

"I think they are all men who know how to hold their tongues. And will do so, at Prince Dutiful's request."

He shifted in his blankets. "Some might do so merely at Lord FitzChivalry's request."

I laughed in spite of myself, then managed to say, "Lord FitzChivalry would greatly appreciate that."

"Very well. But I think it's a shame. You deserve better. What of glory? What of men knowing what you have done and who you are, and giving you the acclaim you deserve for your success? Don't you want to be remembered for what you've done?"

I didn't need to think long. What man has not played that game, late at night, staring into the fire's embers? I had been down the road of what might have been so often that I knew every crossroad and pitfall in it. "I'd rather be forgotten for the things people think I've done. And I'd give it all if I could forget the things I failed to do."

And there we left it.

I suppose I must have slept at some point, because I awoke in the predawn gray. I crawled from my blankets to keep from disturbing Thick and went immediately to Burrich's bedside. Swift slept curled beside him, holding his father's hand. My Wit-sense of the Stablemaster told me that he was sinking away from us. He was going to die.

I went to Chade and Dutiful and woke them. "I want something from you," I told them. Dutiful peered at me blearily from his blankets. Chade sat up slowly in his bedding, alerted by my voice that this was a serious matter.

"What?"

"I want the coterie to try to heal Burrich." When no one spoke, I added, "Now. Before he slips any further away."

"The others are going to realize that you and Thick are more than what you seem," Chade pointed out to me. "It is why I have left my own injury alone. Not that it compares to Burrich's."

"All my secrets seem to have spilled out on this island anyway. If I must live with those consequences, then I'd like to have something to show for it. For all I've lost here. I'd like to send Swift home to Molly with his father."

"Her husband," Chade reminded me quietly.

"Don't you think I know that, don't you think I see all the possible consequences?"

"Go wake Thick," the Prince suggested as he threw back his blankets. "I know you want to hurry, but I suggest you get him a good breakfast before we try this. He can't focus on anything when he's hungry. And mornings are not his best time. So let's at least feed him."

"Shouldn't we think this through a bit before-" Chade began, but Dutiful cut him off.

"This is the only thing Fitz has ever asked of me. He's getting it, Lord Chade. And he's getting it now. Well, as close to now as I can manage. As soon as Thick has had some breakfast." He began to dress, and with a groan, Chade threw back his blankets.

"You act as if I hadn't thought of this myself. I have. Chivalry sealed Burrich to the Skill. Doesn't anyone besides me remember that?" Chade asked wearily.

"We can try," Dutiful replied stubbornly.

And we did. It seemed to take an eternity to get a breakfast made for Thick, and while he consumed it in his careful and thorough way, I tried to explain to Swift what I wanted to do. I feared to give him too much hope, and at the same time, I wanted him to understand the risks of what we did. If our attempt at mending Burrich's crumpled body was too much for his physical reserves and he died, I did not want the lad to think we had killed him recklessly.

I had thought it would be a difficult thing to explain. More difficult was getting Swift to pause and consider what I was telling him. I tried to call him aside to speak to him, for the Bear was not far away, tending the Outislander injured. But Swift refused to leave his father's side for even a moment so finally I spoke to him where he sat. At the first mention that Prince Dutiful might be able to use the Fa.r.s.eer magic to mend his father's body, Swift became so avid that I am sure my cautions and warnings of possible failure went right past him. The boy looked like a castaway, his eyes dark-circled and sunken in grief. Whatever sleep he had taken last night had not rested him. When I asked him if he had eaten, he just shook his head as if such an idea exhausted him.

"When will you start?" he demanded of me for the third time, and I surrendered. "As soon as the rest of them get here," I told him, and almost at that moment, Chade lifted the flap of the rough tent we had erected over the sled and entered. Dutiful and Thick crowded in behind him. The number of people in the crude shelter now threatened to collapse it, and with an impatient gesture, Dutiful suggested, "Let's get this down and out of the way. It will be more distraction than shelter while we work."

So, while Swift chewed his lip impatiently, Longwick and I took down the screening canvas and bundled it up for transport. By the time we had finished, rumor of what we were doing had begun to trickle through the camp and all gathered to watch. I did not relish working in front of everyone, let alone revealing to all how intimate my connection to the Prince was. Yet there was no help for it.

We gathered around Burrich's body. It was hard to persuade Swift to step aside and let me put my hands on him, yet Web at last drew him back. He stood behind the lad and held him as if he were a much younger boy. Wit and arms, he wrapped him in a comforting embrace, and I sent him a grateful look. He nodded to me, acknowledging it and bidding me begin.

Chade and Dutiful and Thick joined hands, looking like men about to play some child's game. I shivered with dread of what we were about to attempt and tried to ignore the avid attention of the onlookers. c.o.c.kle the minstrel was wide-eyed and tense with focus. The Outislanders, both Hetgurders and rescued, watched us with suspicion. Peottre stood at a slight distance, his women around him, his face solemn and intent.