"Fool's Fate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hobb Robin)

SIXTEEN Elfbark

I emerged from the Fool's tent very early, before the rest of the camp was astir. I had slept poorly, besieged by formless nightmares.

Towards dawn, I lay awake and wished that I possessed Nettle's skill for mastering such uneasy dreams. That put me in mind of her. I wished to speak with Chade and Dutiful privately, without even Thick listening in. I walked to the edge of our camp area to relieve myself. Deft was on guard duty, and gave me a passing nod. I went directly to the Prince's tent, walking softly. I had forgotten that I had assigned Swift guard duty there. The boy was watchful as a fox, for as I drew close, the tent flap lifted slightly, baring not only his vigilant eyes but also the point of an arrow set in his bow.

'It's me,' I said hastily, and was relieved when he eased the bow and lowered the quarrel. I cudgelled my brain for an errand to send him on, and then fell back on suggesting he fetch some clean snow to melt for wash water for the Prince, reminding him not to venture beyond the flagged boundaries of the camp.

As soon as he trudged off, bucket in hand, I slipped inside the dim tent. 'Are you awake/' I asked quietly.

Dutiful sighed heavily. 'I am now. I feel as if I've been awake for most of the night. Lord Chade V

A muffled grunt was his only reply. Chade had the blankets pulled up over his head.

'This is important, and I have to talk fast, before Swift comes back.' I warned them.

Chade lifted the covers a small crack. 'Talk, then.' He yawned tremendously. 'I am too old for this camping out in the snow after hiking all day,' he muttered venomously, as if it were all my fault.

'I talked with the Fool last night, after he and Civil fought.1

'Ah, yes. And we spoke with Civil. Or Civil spoke at us. For quite a long time. I had had no idea that your charade at Galekeep had been so convincing. Civil is quite distressed that we allow Swift to spend time with Lord Golden.' Chade replied grumpily.

Dutiful snickered when I scowled. 'The truth is that Civil would rather believe that than the truth. The Fool charted it out for me. He thinks that Sydel's parents, or at least one of them, were the traitors who sold Dutiful to the Piebalds. I suspect that her father is the one that broke the engagement between them, and that perhaps he did so more because Civil had opposed the Piebalds than because Sydel had behaved foolishly.'

I was rewarded by Chade poking his nose out of his blankets. I watched him ponder, turning the pieces to see if they fit. After a moment, he said almost grudgingly, 'Yes. He could be right. Sydel's parents would have been well-positioned for all that was done. Would that I had an extra message-bird, to send these tidings to the Queen! But I have just the one for Buckkeep, and one for the Hetgurd, to bring them back to fetch us. There are no birds to spare.'

I raised an eyebrow at him. 'Thick and Nettle?' I asked bluntly. I wondered if he had kept the Prince in ignorance.

Chade shook his head, tangling his white hair against his blankets. 'No. That link is not ready to bear tidings as heavy as this. Think of the consequences if the message were incorrectly interpreted, or if the girl refused to believe Thick's tidings. No. That arrangement must be trained and tested, with simple messages, both sent and received, before we can rely on it for serious purposes.' He sighed heavily, the sound an unuttered rebuke to me. 'Thick will sleep in our tent tonight. Before he dozes off, Dutiful will ask him to convey greetings to Nettle, and to pass on some simple message to the Queen, one that will provoke a response from her. The creation of that will take some thought. If it goes well, then we will try a more weighty message the next night. But only when we are certain that messages are being relayed accurately will we pass on our suspicions of a traitor.' He nodded to himself, and then rolled bis head to look at the Prince. 'Agreed?'

'Agreed.' Dutiful gave a small sigh of his own. 'Let us hope that Queen I-Highly-Doubt-It will be receptive to communicating with me via the Skill.' And he, too, gave me a pointed look that placed the blame squarely on my doorstep that he and his cousin did not already know one another.

'I did what 1 thought best,' I said stiffly.

And Chade, ever one to seize an advantage, agreed smoothly with, 'Of course you did. You always act from high motives, Fitz. But next time it is up to you to make a significant decision based on what you "think is best", you may remember this, and reflect that perhaps I have a few more years of experience than you do. Perhaps the next time, you will give my opinion of the matter a bit more weight.'

'I will keep your advice in mind,' I agreed, and this time my words were formally cool as well as stiff. Never had I thought to have my loyalty tugged between Chade and the Fool as if it were a rag desired by two puppies. Each had conceded that the decision would be mine, but apparently neither trusted me to make it without prompting. And then Swift returned with a pot packed full of snow so I excused myself and left. The Prince watched me go with thoughtful eyes but I felt no touch of his mind on mine.

By that time, the rest of the camp was well astir. Peottre had arisen early, Riddle told me, and had gone ahead to scout out the first part of our journey. He did not like the balmy breeze, heavy with moisture, that blew over the snowy ground. Even Thick was up and blundering about in the tent, scattering the contents of his pack in an effort to find fresh clothing. When I told him that we were travelling light and would both wear what we had on the day before, he looked quite displeased. I reminded him that when he first came into the Prince's service, he had had but one set of clothing to his name. At that, he knit his brows as if thinking deeply, then shook his head and said he did not recall such a time. I did not think the point worth arguing. I bundled him into his outer clothes and got him out of the tent so our guardsmen could strike it.

I found food for us, plain porridge and a bit of salt fish. He wasn't pleased with the breakfast and neither was I, but it was all that we had. Then I busied myself lightening his pack into mine. All the while I spoke to him encouragingly about the day's travel, saying that now that we knew how to walk over this glacier, we would do better and keep up with the others. He nodded, but in an unconvinced way that made my heart sink.

With a casualness I didn't feel, I observed, 'I didn't sleep well last night. Bad dreams. But doubtless you had Nettle for company, and soothing dreams to welcome you.'

'Nah.' He pulled off his mitten to scratch his nose, and then spent a few moments putting it back on. 'Bad dreams were everywhere last night,' he observed darkly. 'Nettle couldn't change them. When I called her, she just told me, "Come away from there, don't look at that." But I couldn't, because they were everywhere. I walked and walked and walked through the snow, but the dreams just kept

coming up to me and looking at me.' He took off his mitten and poked thoughtfully at his nose. 'One had maggots in his nose. Like boogies, but wriggly. It made me think I had maggots in my nose.'

'No, Thick, your nose is fine. Don't think about it. Come, let's walk around and see what everyone else is doing.'

We were among those first to be ready to depart. I was anxious to be on the move, for the clear sky had filled with low clouds. The wind was damp, and the prospect of either snow or rain was daunting to me. The others seemed to be taking a very long time to get ready, even though Peottre prowled through the camp casting anxious looks at the sky and beseeching us to get an early start. Thick began to complain of being too tired to hike and too bound up with layers of clothing. To distract him, I took him with me to watch the Fool take down his tent. Swift was already there, helping him. The lad's pack, quiver and bow were neatly stacked to one side as he followed the Fool's instructions for dismantling the wooden poles that had supported the tent's airy fabric. I noted in passing that the peculiar arrow I had seen him holding the day before was now in his quiver.

The tent collapsed swiftly. The poles disassembled into pieces no longer than a good arrow. I had thought his little oil pot for his fire was heavy clay, but when I picked it up out of curiosity, it felt light and almost porous. The airy coverlets crushed down into a bundle the size of a small cushion. When all had been stowed, the Fool's pack was sizeable and probably heavier than mine, even with Thick's belongings in it. Nevertheless, he shouldered into its harness and hefted it onto his back without a grunt. Never before had I seen a camp so neatly and swiftly stowed, and my admiration for Elderling skill at devising such things increased.

'The Elderlings made such marvellous things, and then they vanished. I've always wondered what made an end of them.' 1 was not trying to start a conversation so much as distract Thick. He was rubbing at his nose again.

'When the dragons perished, the Elderlings perished with them. The one could not exist without the other.' The Fool spoke as if he observed that leaves were green and the sky blue, as if that were a fact everyone accepted.

Before I could comment on that astonishing statement, Thick dropped his hand from his nose and asked, 'What's an Elderling?'

'No one really knows,' I told him, and then the look on the Fool's face stopped me. He looked as if he would burst with it if I didn't give him a chance to tell. I wondered when he had acquired the knowledge and why he chose now to share it. Swift, sensing excitement, drew closer.

'The Elderlings were an old people, Thick. Old not just in how long ago they prospered, but old in how many years they numbered to a life. I suspect that for some of them, memory reached back beyond even the long spans of their own lives, back into the lives of their forebears.'

Thick's brow was furrowed as he endeavoured to understand. Swift was already enraptured in the tale. I interrupted. 'Do you know these things, or do you guess/'

He pondered this for a moment. 'I am as sure of these things as I can be, without either an Elderling or a dragon to consult.'

Now it was my turn to look puzzled. 'A dragon? Why would you consult a dragon about the Elderlings?'

'They are . . , intertwined.' The Fool appeared to choose his word carefully. 'In all I have read or heard, we never find one without the other. It seems that they create one another, or are somehow necessary to one another's being. I cannot explain it, 1 can only observe it.'

'So, if you succeed in bringing back the dragons, you restore the Elderlings as well?' I asked recklessly.

'Perhaps.' He smiled uncertainly. 'I don't know. But I do not think it would be an evil thing if that happened.'

And that was as much talk as we had time for. Peottre had returned and he wanted us on the move as swiftly as possible. The Prince called for Thick, and we hurried to him. Chade sent me a brief scowl. What was that long conversation about?

Elderlings, I replied, well aware that both Dutiful and Thick were sharing our thoughts. Lord Golden believes that if he can restore dragons to the world, the Elderlings would return as well. He feels there is some link between them, though he cannot explain what it might be.

And that was all?

Yes. The brevity of my reply let him know I resented his prying. I wondered if Dutiful's Skill-silence meant he approved or disapproved of Chade's attitude. Then I told myself it didn't matter. If the time came when it was truly up to me whether the dragon lived or died, then I would decide. Until then, I refused to torment myself with it, or to sever my friendship with either of them.

Peottre formed us up for the day's journey. Today, we took our places right behind the Prince's company. He warned us that the mellow wind now sweeping over the glacier ahead of us could make the surface unpredictable. We would follow the old established trail, looking for the poles and banners that marked it, but should remember that conditions changed and the trail was not absolutely trustworthy. Snow could blow across recent fissures, making it look like sound ground. He cautioned us again to be sure of our every step. Then, staves in hand, we moved out in a line. For the first part of the march, Thick and I kept up well enough. He coughed, but not as much as he had and he trudged along gamely. Peottre moved us more slowly today, plunging his stave ahead of us before every step he took. He was correct about the treacherous weather. Although the warmer breeze soon had us loosening our hoods and collars, it sculpted the damp snow into fantastic shapes. The bluish shadows cast by the icy forms imparted a dream-like quality to the frozen land we traversed.

Twice, Peottre turned us aside from his chosen path. The first time, he prodded the snow, only to have the crusty surface suddenly give way beneath the pressure. The top of the snow sagged, then collapsed and fell into a deep hollow before us. The winds had sculpted an airy bridge out of the frozen crystals, too fragile to bear any creature's weight. He turned us and took us around the revealed chasm.

Our second detour came in the afternoon. By then, Thick had grown weary and discouraged. The damp snow clung heavily to our leggings and boots and before long the main party outdistanced us, until we followed in their trodden path. We had just crested a long, low ridge when we met them all coming back toward us. Peottre had found very soft snow, his stave sinking into it to the

depth of a short man, and had turned back, to seek a better route. It had been a weary climb, and Thick muttered curses as we turned and followed them back down into the trough of icy landscape.

The summer daylight bouncing off the blue and white snow dazzled our eyes. We squinted until the tears came and our brows ached with the tension. And still Peottre urged us onward.

We hiked far longer that second day, both in distance and time. The sun began its slow roll along the horizon, and still we pushed on. Thick and I followed at a substantial distance, and I soon began to wonder if Peottre would ever stop for the night. Twice Thick had stopped and refused to go on. He was tired, the damp snow was soaking through his boots and leggings, he was cold, he was hungry, and he was thirsty. He was a litany of my own complaints, and listening to him whine them only seemed to make them more unbearable. It was hard enough to talk myself into going on without prodding him along as well. His music today was a dull thudding of percussion against me, a steady and relentless rain of blows made of the crunch of our feet on the crusty snow and the keen sound of staves driving into crystalline snow.

If I walked in front of him, Thick lagged far behind, so I had to walk behind him, enduring his methodically slow poking of the snow in front of him. As the evening shadows lengthened, it became a tedious repetition of the day before. As I seethed along behind him, one slow step after another, the situation seemed to become more and more intolerable. My anger grew, slowly but steadily, like a fire methodically fed coal one lump at a time. When had I been thrust into this role? Why did 1 endure it? Why had Chade chosen me for this demeaning role? It had to be a punishment, a deliberate humiliation. I had been a warrior for the Farseers once. Now, in retaliation that I had taken my freedom, Chade humiliated me by making me nursemaid to a fat, smelly moron. I tried to recall all the logical reasons, to ask myself who else should be the watchdog for one so powerfully Skilled as Thick, and yet 1 could no longer convince myself of the necessity of my loathsome task. My thoughts spiralled down, down into an ever deeper chasm of frustration and anger and resentment. With an effort, I controlled myself. In a

sugary .voice, I coaxed him along. 'Please move along a bit faster, Thick. Look. They've begun to set up the camp. Don't you want to get to the camp and get dry and warm?'

He turned his head to glare at me. 'You say nice words. But I know what you are thinking at me. Like knives and rocks and big knobby sticks. Well, you made me come here. And if you try to hurt me, I'll hurt you back even worse. Because I'm stronger than you. I'm stronger, and I don't have to obey you.'

Foolishly, he had warned me: I threw up my Skill-walls. In the moment before Thick's Skill-blast hit me, I became aware that all my animosity toward him had died, like a fire suddenly smothered under a wet blanket. His attack hit me, an iron hammer on an anvil of cheese. He had not touched me, and then I felt as if he had crushed my body in his grip. I staggered and then fell into the snow, feeling that the very blood must burst out through my skin, as Thick suddenly demanded, 'Why are we mad? What are we doing?'

It was a child's wail of dismay. He must have thrown up his walls against me, and experienced the same loss of anger that I had. He waddled through the snow toward where I had fallen as the long-threatened rain began to pelt us. I rolled away from his touch, knowing that he meant well, but fearful that if he touched me, my walls would fall before him. 'I'm not hurt, Thick. Really, I'm not. I'm just a bit sick.' And stunned. And rattled. And aching as if I'd been flung from a horse. I got my knees under me and lurched to my feet. 'No, Thick, don't touch me. But listen. Listen. Someone is trying to trick us. Someone is using our own magic to put bad thoughts in our heads. Someone we don't know.' I knew it with sudden certainty. Someone was employing the Skill against us.

'Someone we don't know,' he said dully. Dimly, I was aware of Dutiful trying to Skill to me. Doubtless they had felt some shadow impact of Thick's attack on me. I ventured to drop my walls for an instant, to Skill to them, Be wary1. Guard your thoughts'. And then I slammed my defences tight against the insidious fingering of Skill that had attempted to once again infiltrate my mind. I knew that I should try to strike back, or at least follow the Skill-thread back to them. It took every bit of courage I possessed to drop my walls.

I reached out wildly, Skilling in all directions to see who had been poisoning my mind against Thick.

I felt nothing and no one. Chade and Dutiful and Thick were there, walled against me. I thought of groping toward Nettle, and decided against it. My attackers might not know of her; I would not show her to them. I drew a shuddering breath, and then once more threw up my Skill-walls. I felt only marginally safer. We had an unknown enemy. I would not rest until I had uncovered all I could about them.

'It's the same ones that made my bad dreams, too,' Thick announced decisively.

'I don't know. Maybe.'

'I know. Yes. It's them, the bad-dream makers.' Thick nodded emphatically.

The rain was coming down steadily, shushing against the snow around us. I hoped the others had already put the tents up and that there would be some sort of dry shelter awaiting us when we arrived. All day long, the wet had crept up me from the damp snow. Now it drenched down on me, completing my misery. 'Come on, Thick. Let's get to the camp,' I suggested, and we lurched forward through the snow that packed unevenly under our feet. 'Keep your Skill-walls up,' I cautioned him as we slogged along. 'Someone was trying to make us think bad thoughts about each other. They don't know that we are friends. They tried to make us hurt each other.'

Thick looked at me dolefully. 'Sometimes we are friends. Sometimes we fight.'

It was true. Just as it was true that I did resent always being his caretaker. They had found my resentment and irritation with Thick and fed it, just as Verity used to seek for fear or arrogance in our enemies, and feed it until our foes made some deadly mistake. It had been a subtle and well-planned attack by someone who had touched my mind enough to sense the feelings I hid from all others. That was unnerving.

'Sometimes we fight,' I admitted to Thick. 'But not to really hurt each other. We disagree. Friends often disagree. But we don't try to hurt each other. Even when we're angry with each other, we don't try to hurt each other. Because we are friends.'

Thick gave a sudden, deep sigh. 'I did try to hurt you. Back on the boat, I made you bump your head a lot. I'm sorry, now.'

It was the most sincere apology I'd ever received in my life. I had to reciprocate. 'And I'm sorry that I had to make you come here, on a boat.'

'I think I forgive you. But I'll get angry with you again if you put me on a boat to go home.'

'That's fair,' I said after a moment. I tried to keep the dread and discouragement from my voice.

Thick shocked me when he halted and suddenly took my hand. Even through my Skill-walls, I felt the steady warmth of his regard. 'I always got angry at my Mum when she washed my ears,' he told me. 'But she knew I loved her. I love you, too, Tom. You gave me a whistle. And pink sugar cake. I'll try not to be mean to you any more.'

The simple words caught me off-guard. He stood, lips and tongue pushed out, his round little eyes peering at me from under his knit cap. He was a toadish little man, and his nose was running. It had been a long time since I'd been offered love on such a simple and honest basis. Strangely enough, it woke the wolf in me. I could almost see the slow, accepting wag of Nighteyes' tail. We were pack. 'I love you, too, Thick. Come on. Let's get out of the wet.'

The rain turned colder and was sleet by the time we staggered into camp. Chade came to meet us. As soon as he was within earshot of a whisper, I warned him, 'Keep your walls up. Someone tried to fog us with Skill, much as Verity used the Skill to confuse and confound our enemy during the time of the Red Ship War. It ... they sought to turn Thick and me against each other. And very nearly succeeded.'

'Who is behind it?' Chade demanded, as if he thought I would actually know.

The bad-dream people,' Thick told him earnestly. I shrugged at Chade's scowl. It was as good an answer as any that I had.

Camp that night was a miserable place. Everything was either wet or damp. The tiny fires we could have allowed ourselves from our precious fuel wouldn't burn. Peottre once more set boundaries for our camp and then risked himself to reconnoitre tomorrow's

route for us. A dim glow, as from a single candle, came from the Narcheska's tent. The Fool's was a gorgeous, beckoning blossom in the night, and I longed simply to go there, but Chade had demanded my presence and I recognized the need for my full report to him.

The Prince's tent was made smaller by the spread of wet clothing. No one even pretended it would dry by morning. Chade and the Prince had already changed into fresh clothing. A fat candle in a metal cup tried sadly to heat a small kettle of snow-water. I took Thick's coat and boots outside to shake the wet clumps of snow from them while he put on a long wool shirt and dry socks. Somehow, stepping outside again made the bite of the wet wind worse. I took Thick's garments back into the tent and found drying space for them on the floor. Tomorrow would be a miserable hike when we had to re-don our damp garments. Well, there was no help for it, I thought bitterly. Still, 'This is not like any quest to slay a monstrous beast for a fair damsel that I've ever heard a minstrel sing,' I observed sourly as 1 re-entered the tent.

'No,' Thick agreed sadly. 'There should be swords and blood. Not stupid wet snow.'

'I don't think you'd like swords and blood any better than the wet snow, Thick,' the Prince observed glumly, but at the moment I tended to agree with Thick. One savage battle already seemed preferable to this endless slogging. With my luck, Pd probably get both before the end.

'We have an enemy,' I announced to them. 'One that knows how to use the Skill against us.'

'So you said,' Chade observed. 'But Dutiful and I have conferred and we've felt nothing of that.' He poured the lukewarm water over tea-herbs, scowling sceptically as he did so.

That confounded me for a moment. I had expected that if anyone chose to attack us, they would make an attempt against the whole coterie. I said as much and then added, 'Why would they target only Thick and me? We appear to be amongst the lowliest of your servants.'

'Anyone aware of the Skill must be aware that Thick is not what he seems to be,  nor you.  Perhaps they realized Thick's

strength and sought to get rid of it by having you two destroy each other.'

'But why not strike immediately against the Prince and his trusted advisor? Why not turn you against each other, and sow discord at the top of the command rather than work from the bottom up?'

'It would be nice to know that,' Chade conceded after a moment's pondering. 'But we don't. Indeed, all we have is that you and Thick felt you were under attack. The Prince and I felt nothing, until you two turned on one another.'

'That was rather impressive,' Dutiful added, rubbing his temples wearily. He suddenly gave a huge yawn. 'I wish this was over and done with,' he said softly. 'I'm tired, I'm cold, and I have no real heart for the task I must do.'

'That could be a Skill-influence, subtly applied to you,' I warned him. 'Your father used the Skill that way, to confound the steersmen of the Red Ships and send them onto the rocks.'

The Prince shook his head. (My walls arc up and tight. No, this comes from within me.' He watched Chade pour some yellowish tea from the pot, scowl, and return it to steep some more.

'It's not a Skill-influence,' Cbade concurred bitterly. 'It's the damn Fool, talking to the Wit-coterie and the Hetgurd folk, stirring up sympathy for the dragon and preying on the Hetgurd superstitions. Hold to your resolve, my prince. Remember, you gave the Narcheska your word that you would lay the dragon's head on her mother's hearth for her.'

'That you did,' Peottre observed heavily as he lifted the tent flap. 'May 1 come in?'

'Yes, you may,' Dutiful replied. 'And yes, I recall what I promised. But I never promised to take joy in the doing of it.1

My Wit had warned me that someone had approached the tent, but I had expected it to be Swift or Riddle. I wondered why the Outislander had come, and hoped he would not hold his tidings until I had departed. But the nod he gave me seemed to concede my right to be there- Nor did he offer any ominous words of danger on the path ahead, but instead gave a hard smile as he said, 'Today was little joy for any of us. And tomorrow will be as wearying. After such a cold and wet day, I thought 1 would share with you our cure for such a miserable journey.' He sighed heavily. 'This weather will not make our task any easier. The rain eats into the snow, weakening places that once were sound. Tomorrow, we must be wary of avalanche as well as crevasses as we cross the saddle of the island.'

As he spoke, he was unwrapping a dark cake from a stained square of fabric. I was hungry and my nose was keen. Whatever it was, it had been soaked in brandy to preserve it. He broke a piece from it, revealing raisins, bits of suet, and what was probably dried apple. The brandy smell grew stronger. Thick sat up eagerly, but warily. I was still shielded from his Skill, but his worry reached me faintly. Fish oil. Would it taste offish oil?

Peottre seemed to notice my avid stare, for he grinned as he offered me the first chunk. 'You look to be the one coldest and wettest still,' he observed. It was true, since the others had already changed into drier clothing. I took it gratefully. As I bit into it, he said, 'These cakes are what our warriors call "courage cake". We make them with dark thick honey, dried fruits and strengthening herbs, and then all is soaked in brandy to make it keep well. A man can right a day or travel two on but a handful of this.'

The sweetness and brandy-echo filled my mouth. As I swallowed, I caught a familiar aftertaste. The bitterness of elfbark had been cloaked by the cloying sweetness of the honey, suet and fruit. I knew I should warn Chade, even as my weary body shouted in anticipation of the surge of energy it would bring.

Then the world went dead around me.

I do not know how else to describe it. The first time I encountered Forged folk was also the first time I was aware that I had the Wit-magic. 1 had never realized that I had an extra sense of the kinship of all creatures until I saw living beings that made no imprint on that sense. Forging removed one from the intertwining net of life, made humans into individual unconnected things that ate and raped and existed with absolutely no empathy or sympathy for other living creatures. Only in meeting them had I discovered how the Wit connected me to all living things.

This was a similar experience, but its antithesis. I had thought of the Skill as a magic that only linked me to other Skill-users.

Now I was suddenly severed from all the myriad tiny connections it made to all folk. The great voice of the human world, the constant murmur of other thoughts and minds around me, was stilled. I blinked and hastily probed an ear with my finger, wondering for a fraction of a second what had happened to me. I saw, I heard, I smelled, I touched, and the taste of the food lingered still in my mouth, but some other sense, unnamed and unknown until that instant, had been completely quenched in me by that single bite. I made a sudden prodigious effort to reach Chade and Dutiful with the Skill but it was like asking a frozen hand to grip. I remembered how once that sense had been triggered, but now it was a numbed place inside me.

Smiling, Peottre had handed Thick a chunk of the cake. The little man had his mouth opened wide and his hand was travelling toward it. I lunged to catch bis wrist and pulled it away from him. He moved his mouth after it, snapping at the treat in a gesture that would have been comical if it were not such a threat to the coterie. 'Elfbark!' My deprivation of the Skill made me shout the word, as if mere voice alone could not convey such a warning.

I immediately moderated my tone, behaving as if my remark were intended for Thick alone. 'No, Thick! You know the herb makes you sick. Let me have that and I promise that I'll rind you something else good to eat- No, Thick, please.'

'What herb? I'm not sick! It's mine, it's mine! You said we were friends and wouldn't hurt each other. Let go! Not fair, it's not polite to grab!'

In his love of sweets, he struggled with me for it. I dared not let him have even a taste. Never had I had such a strong reaction to the herb. I felt the rush of its energy through me, and wondered how deeply would I fall into the inevitable trough of despair which followed elfbark use. Then I had scooped the handful of cake from his grasp. He sat down flat on the floor, gave one angry sob and then went off in a coughing fit. I handed the cake hastily to Chade with the improvised warning, 'I wouldn't eat this in front of him, sir. I know how he is about sweets. If he sees you having some without him, well, I'd predict a disruption that would deafen us all.'

I wondered if Chade and Dutiful reached toward me with the

Skill. I wondered if Thick tried to make me stumble into the fire in revenge. But I felt absolutely nothing. No touch of them brushed against my senses. My Wit knew they were still there, and that was a comfort. But the Skill-threads that had run amongst us were all severed. Peottre scowled, looking on the verge of affront. Chade reacted more swiftly than I could have hoped, saying, 'Ah, yes, I recall what an effect it had on you last time, Thick. It wouldn't be good for you, now, don't fuss, there's a good fellow. I'm sure we can find something just as nice for you.' He turned to Peottre with a conspiratorial wink. 'The Prince's good fellow stayed awake a day and a night, and then fell into such a black mood that nothing could cheer him for several days. Not the sort of thing to invite on such an expedition as ours. Come, Thick, don't scowl like that. 1 think Prince Dutiful has some sugar barley sticks that he has been saving for you.'

The Prince was already rummaging in his pack and Chade hastily took the mashed handful of cake from me, deftly returned it to the rest of the cake and wrapped it up again. He tucked it immediately into his pack. 'I'm sure the Prince and I will enjoy a bit of this later, perhaps after Thick has fallen asleep,' he confided to Peottre in a lowered voice. 'I, for one, will appreciate what a herb like elfbark can do for an old man. I wasn't aware that it was used in the Out Islands.'

'Elfbark?' Did Peottre feign his ignorance? 'We have no plant by such an odd name. There are herbs in the cake but each mothershouse has its own recipe for it, and the ingredients are jealously guarded. But I can tell you that this is from my own home, the same mothershouse the Narcheska shares. This "courage cake" has been a food that has sustained the Narwhal Clan for generations.'

'Doubtless it is!' Chade exclaimed delightedly. 'And I look forward to trying it, later tonight. Or perhaps early tomorrow morning, to have its invigoration with me for the day after a sound night's sleep. Poor Tom, I know what an effect elfbark has on you! You may enjoy it, but I doubt you'll get a wink of sleep tonight. I've told you before not to indulge in it at evening. But, well, there's no talking to you on that topic, is there?'

I essayed a grin I didn't feel. 'That's true, Lord Chade, sir. No matter how long you might lecture me, doubtless I'd not hear a word you said.' A tiny change in his eyes suggested he understood me only too well-He poured weak tea for himself, sipped it, and then coughed loudly, nearly gagging, and vigorously thumping himself on the chest. In a wheezing voice, he added, 'You are dismissed, Tom Badgerlock. Get yourself a bit of food, but please report back here before you sleep. I think Thick will wish to sleep here tonight.' 'Yes, my lord.' His mimed action had not been lost on me. I left the tent and by a roundabout route, walked to the far corner of the camp. The rain had stopped, but the wind still blew. At the outskirts of camp, I thrust two fingers down my throat and tried desperately to gag up the bite of cake I'd eaten. It didn't work. I'd fasted too long and my belly had taken it down too swiftly. What little I brought up left me shuddering with its bitterness.

I ate a handful of wet snow to try to clear the bile from my mouth, kicked loose snow over my vomit and went shaking back toward the tents. More than mere cold chilled me. I think that once a man has experienced the insidious treachery of poison, he never fully recovers from it. To know that you have taken something into your body, to he aware that it is working changes, debilitating changes, with every beat of your heart, is an excursion into horror which is hard to describe. I had tasted the elfhark and I already felt its impact. What if there had been other drugs in there, ones I had not tasted, working damage I did not yet suspect? I tried to rein my mind away from that precipice. It made no sense, I told myself- The cake had been a gift from Peottre, delivered without apparent guile. We were here to accomplish his mission of slaying the dragon; why would he attempt to poison one of us? Yet I could not quite dismiss it as a perverse twist of luck that he had fed me a form of the herb strong enough to obliterate my magic.

I was cold and wet and shaky. I didn't want to join the guardsmen in our tent until I had finished calming myself. In a sort of instinctive retreat to safety, I found myself outside the Fool's tent. I fumbled with cold hands at the tent flap. 'Lord Golden,' I called softly, belatedly recalling that he might have other guests.

There must have been some note in my voice that alerted him to my distress. He flung the flap open and beckoned me hastily in. Then, 'Stand still. Don't drip everywhere.' He had already changed out of his hiking clothes. He looked warm and dry in a long black robe. I envied him.

'Peottre fed me a bit of cake. It had elfbark in it, and I've lost my Skill-magic' The words tumbled from me, broken by my chattering teeth.

'Take off your wet things.' He had begun rummaging in his pack almost as soon as I entered. Now he dragged out a long coppery garment. 'This will probably fit you. It's warmer than it looks. How could elfbark steal all your magic in one bite? It's never affected you that way before.'

I shook my head. 'It just did. And someone is attacking Thick and me with the Skill, trying to make us hate each other. It nearly worked, until I thought Thick was going to attack me with the Skill, so I put up my walls and then I could suddenly think my own thoughts and I knew that I didn't really resent having to nursemaid him all the time. It's not really his fault, and even if I don't like having to do it, I shouldn't take it out on him, should I? If anything, I should be angry with Chade, not Thick. He's the one who has put me in this position, and I think that half of it is that he's trying to keep me so busy that I'm separated from you so I won't be influenced by you. Because he wants me simply to follow his orders and not to think -'

'Stop!' The Fool exclaimed, alarmed. I halted in midword. I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but he held up both hands. 'Fitz. Listen to yourself. I've never heard you rattle on that way. It's . . . disturbing.'

'It's the elfbark.' I shivered with the restless energy that coursed through me. The last of my wet clothing slapped onto the pile and I gratefully accepted the garment he held out to me, then flinched at its chill weight in my hands. It's cold. It's cold as iron! What is this made from, fish scales/'

'Just trust me and put it on. It warms quickly.'

I had little choice. I pulled it over my head and it slithered down my body. The long robe reached almost to my feet. I shifted my

shoulders in its grip and it suddenly relaxed- 'That's strange. It felt tight across my shoulders and chest, and then, when I flexed my shoulders, it just settled on me. Look. It even reaches to my wrists-It's like unimaginably fine chain metal. Is this more Elderling magic? Is this from the Rain Wilds? I wonder how they made it, and from what? Look at the way the colour shifts when I move.'

'Fitz. Stop chattering like that. It's unnerving.' The Fool had taken possession of my wet clothes. As he lifted them, a fine trickle of water ran out of them. 'I'm putting these outside to drain. It's hopeless to expect them to dry by morning. Do you have others?'

'Yes. In my pack, but I left that in the Prince's tent. I left the keg of Chade's explosion powder there, too. And Thick's things were mostly in my pack, but that's all right as he is there and he'll need them. So it's good that they are already there.' I heard myself babbling and managed to stop talking before he commanded me to.

For a few moments longer, I shivered, and then I felt the robe returning the warmth of my body to me. With a sigh, I sank down onto the Fool's blankets and drew my icy feet up under me. A moment later, I had unfolded myself and restlessly tried a new position. The Fool re-entered the tent and regarded me curiously as I stood and paced a turn around his tiny candle. 'What is it?'

'It's like ants running under my skin.' I pulled my straggling hair back from my face and re-fastened my warrior's tail. 'I can't sit still. I can't stop talking and thinking, and I can't really think in any sort of order, if that makes any sense at all.' My hands suddenly felt too large for me. I systematically popped each of my knuckles, and then shook my hands loose again. I looked up to find the Fool staring at me, his teeth gritted. 'I'm sorry,' I apologized hastily. 'I can't help it.'

'That's obvious,' he muttered. Then, more clearly he added, 'I wish I had some way to help you, but giving you herbs to calm you might not be the best solution. I fear, too, the plunge in spirits that must follow this wild flight you're on. Never have I seen you so besieged by restlessness. If the pit of bleak despair that follows elfbark is as deep as this craze is lofty, I fear for us all'

I saw by his face that he was serious. 'I dread it, too. That is, I

know I should dread it, but I simply can't focus on it right now. Too many other thoughts overwhelm me. How will I dry my clothes before tomorrow, and I was supposed to report back to Chade later, yet I do not think I should wander through the camp in this robe, however warm it is. Yet I cringe at the thought of putting my wet clothing back on, even for the brief walk back to Dutiful's tent. I left my pack there, with all my dry things in it. Thick's things are in it, too. But that's good, because Thick is there and he'll need them.'

'Hush,' he begged me, interrupting the outpour of my thoughts. 'Hush, please Fits, and let me try to think. Always before, elfbark has done no more than damp your talent, and that was passing. Do we dare hope that this will wear off and your magic return?'

1 shrugged wildly. 'I don't know. I don't think we can judge anything about this by what elfbark has done to me before. Did I tell you how close Thick came to eating it as well?'

'No. You didn't.1 The Fool spoke carefully, as if I were slightly mad, and perhaps I was at that time. 'Would you try to do this for me? Leave your hair and your mouth alone. Fold your hands in your lap and tell me what happened to you today. The whole day, please.'

I had not realized that 1 was tugging at my lower lip until he mentioned it. I folded my hands in my lap and made an effort to report to him as if he were Chade. I watched his face grow graver as I spoke and I knew that my words rattled out like hailstones, and that my tale was disjointed, told in bits and patches as I wove the events back and forth in my mind. Before I had finished, I was up and pacing the small confines of his tent. I could not master my agitation. A sudden inspiration came over me. 'Here!' I cried, advancing on him, my bared wrist thrust out to him. 'Let us test it and see if my Skill is as gone as I think it is. Touch me. Try to reach into me with the Skill as you once did.'

He stared up at me, his face gone slack with astonishment. Then a sickly smile of disbelief spread over his face. 'You're asking me to do this?'

'Of course. Yes. Let's find out how bad it is. if you can still reach me, then perhaps my Skill will come back to me as the herb wears off. Let's try it.' I sat down beside him, and set my forearm, wrist

up, on top of his knee. He looked at his faded fingerprints on my wrist and then gave me a sideways look.

'No.' He drew back from me. 'You are not yourself tonight. Fitz. This is not something you would ordinarily allow, let alone request. No.'

'What, are you scared?' I challenged him. 'Go ahead. What can we lose?'

'Respect for one another. That I would do such a thing when you were as good as drunk. No, Fitz. Stop tempting me.'

'Don't worry. I'll remember, tomorrow, that I suggested this. I need to know. Is my magic dead in me?' In some isolated corner of my soul, I felt alarm. I wanted to stop and think, but the anxiety wouldn't let me. Do it now, do something now, do anything now. The drive to he doing, doing anything was a pressing need that could not be denied.

I reached out and took hold of his slender wrist. His hand was ungloved and unresisting. As if fitting together a wooden puzzle, I set his hand to my wrist. His cool fingertips fell into alignment with the scars he had left on me. I waited. I felt nothing. I looked at him quizzically.

He had closed his eyes. A moment later, he opened them. They were deep gold and devastated as he said in disbelief. 'Nothing. I feel the warmth of your wrist under my fingers. I reach for you, but you are not there. And that is all-'

My heart lurched sideways in my chest. I instantly tried to deny what we had just established. 'Well- Doesn't prove anything, I suppose- We've never tried this before, so what do we know of what to expect? Nothing- Nothing at all. Tomorrow, I may awaken and find the Skill as strong in me as ever.'

'Or not,' the Fool suggested quietly, watching my face. His fingers still rested on my wrist. 'Perhaps we shall never connect in this way again.'

'Or not,' I agreed. 'Perhaps I shall wake just as isolated and deaf as I am at this moment. Perhaps.' I stood up, pulling my wrist from his loose clasp. 'Well. It's no use thinking about it and worrying about it, is it? As well to fret over whether it will be wet or dry tomorrow. What will be will be.' I paused, thinking I should keep

still, but then the question burst out anyway. 'Do you think Peottre did this to me purposely? Do you think he knew that elfbark can destroy the Skill? And how does he know that I have the magic at all? And, if he wants me to help the Prince kill the dragon, why would he disable me? Unless he doesn't really want us to kill Icefyre. Maybe he's lured us here so the Prince will fail. But that makes no sense. Does it?'

He looked battered by my onslaught of questions. 'Can you be quiet, Fitz?' he asked me earnestly, and after a moment's thought, I shook my head.

'I don't think so.' I shifted restively as I spoke. I was suddenly miserable. I could not find a comfortable position in which to be still. I was aware that I was sleepy but could not recall how to let go of wakefulness. I suddenly wanted all of it to go away and leave me in peace. I dropped my head into my hands and covered my eyes. 'All my life, I've done everything wrong.'

'It's going to be a long night,' the Fool observed woefully.