Golden Fool (34 page)

As he spoke, I could almost see it. Perhaps my dreams had primed me to it. How often in my sleep had I imagined what it would be to be a dragon as Verity had become, to fly the skies, to hunt and to feed? Something in his words reached those dreams, and they suddenly seemed true memories of my own rather than the imaginings of sleep. He had fallen silent.

“Tell the rest,” I prodded him.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Something killed them. Long ago. I don’t know exactly what. Some great cataclysm of the earth, that buried whole cities in a matter of days. It sank the coast, drowning harbor towns, and changed the courses of rivers. It wiped out the dragons, and I think it killed the Elderlings as well. All of that is a surmise, Fitz. Not just from what I have seen and heard, but from what you have told me and from what I have read in your journals. That empty, riven city you visited, your own vision there of a dragon landing in the river, and of a strangely formed folk who greeted it. Once, those people and dragons lived alongside one another. When the disaster came that ended them both, the folk tried to save some of the cocooned dragons. They dragged them into their buildings. The dragon cocoons and the people were buried alive together. The people perished. But inside the cocoons, untouched by the light and warmth that would signal a time of awakening, the half-formed dragons lingered on.”

Rapt as a child, I listened to his wild tale.

“Eventually, another folk found them. The Rain Wild Traders, an offshoot of the Bingtown Traders, dug into the ancient buried cities, seeking treasure. Much did they find there. Much of what you saw today, offered as gifts to Kettricken, the flame gems, the jidzin, even the fabric, is the trove of those Elderling dwellings. They also found the cocooned dragons. They had no idea that was what they were, of course. They thought . . . who knows what they thought at first? Perhaps they seemed like massive sections of tree trunks. So they refer to it: wizardwood. They cut them up and used the cases as lumber, discarding the half-formed dragons within. That is the material they made their Liveships from, and those strange vessels have the roots of their vitality in the dragons they would have been. Most of the half-formed dragons were dead, I suspect, long before their cocoons were cut up. But one, at least, was not. And a chain of events that I am not fully privy to exposed that dragon cocoon to sunlight. It hatched. Tintaglia emerged.”

“Weak and badly formed.” I was trying to connect this tale with what he had told me previously.

“No. Hale and hearty, and as arrogant a creature as you would ever wish to encounter. She went searching for others of her own kind. Eventually she gave up looking for dragons. Instead, she found serpents. They were old and immense, for—and again, I speculate, Fitz—for whatever cataclysm had destroyed the adult dragons had changed the world enough to prevent the serpents from returning to their cocooning grounds. Decade after decade, perhaps century after century, they had made periodic attempts to return, only to have many of their number perish. But this time, with Tintaglia to guide them, and the folk of Bingtown to dredge the rivers so they could pass, some of the serpents survived their migration. In the midst of winter, they made their cases. They were old and weakened and sickly, and had but one dragon to shepherd them and help them spin their cases. Many perished on their journey up the river; others sank into dormancy in their cases, never to revive. When summer came, those that hatched in the strength of the sunlight emerged as weaklings. Perhaps the serpents were too old, perhaps they did not spend enough time in their cocoons, perhaps they were not in good enough condition when they began their time of change. They are pitiable creatures. They cannot fly, nor hunt for themselves. They drive Tintaglia to distraction, for the dragon way is to despise weakness, to let perish those not strong enough to survive. But if she lets them die, then she will be completely alone, forever, the last of her kind, with no hopes of rekindling her race. So Tintaglia spends all her time and energy in hunting for them and bringing kills back to them. She believes that if she can feed them sufficiently, they might yet mature to full dragons. She wishes, nay, she demands, that the Rain Wild Traders aid her in this. But they have young of their own to feed, and a war that hinders them in their trading. So, they all struggle. So it was when last I was on the Rain Wild River, two years ago. So I suspect it remains.”

I sat for a time not speaking, trying to fit his exotic tale into my mind. I could not doubt him; he had told me far too many other strange things in our years together. And yet, believing him made so many of my own experiences suddenly take on new shapes and significance. I tried to focus on what his tale meant to Bingtown and the Six Duchies now.

“Do Chade and Kettricken know any of what you’ve told me?”

Slowly he shook his head. “At least, not from me. Perhaps Chade has other sources. But I’ve never spoken of this to him.”

“Eda and El, why not? They treat with the Bingtowners blindly, Fool.” A worse thought struck me. “Did you tell any of them about our dragons? Do the Bingtown Traders know the true nature of the Six Duchies dragons?”

Again he shook his head.

“Thank Eda for that. But why haven’t you spoken of these things to Chade? Why have you concealed them from everyone?”

He sat looking at me silently for so long that I thought he would not answer. When he did speak, it was reluctantly. “I am the White Prophet. My purpose in this life is to set the world into a better path. Yet . . . I am not the Catalyst, not the one who makes changes. That is you, Fitz. Telling what I know to Chade would most definitely change the direction of his treating with the Bingtowners. I cannot tell if that change would aid me or hinder me in what I must do. I am, right now, more uncertain of my path than I have ever been.”

He stopped speaking and waited, as if he hoped I would say something helpful. I knew nothing to say. Silence stretched between us. The Fool folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. “I think that I may have made a mistake. In Bingtown. And I fear that in my years in Bingtown and . . . other places, that I did not fulfill my destiny correctly. I fear I went awry, and then hence all I do now will be warped.” He suddenly sighed. “Fitz, I feel my way forward through time. Not a step at a time, but from moment to moment. What feels truest? Up until now, it has not felt right to speak of these things to Chade. So I have not. Today, now, it felt like it was time you knew these things. So I have told them to you. To you, I have passed on the decision. To tell or not to tell, Changer. That is up to you.”

It felt odd to have Nighteyes’ name for me spoken aloud by a human voice. It prodded me uncomfortably. “Is this how you always have made these crucial decisions? By how you ‘feel’?” My tone was sharper than I intended, but he did not flinch.

Instead he regarded me levelly and asked, “And how else would I do it?”

“By your knowing. By omens and signs, portentous dreams, by your own prophecies . . . I don’t know. But something more than simply by how you feel. El’s balls, man, it could be no more than a bad serving of fish that you’re ‘feeling.’ ”

I lowered my face into my hands and pondered. He had passed the decision on to me. What would I do? It suddenly seemed a more difficult decision than when I had been rebuking the Fool for not telling. How would knowing these things affect Chade’s attitude toward Bingtown and a possible alliance? Real dragons. Was a share of a real dragon worth a war? What would it mean not to ally, if the Bingtowners prevailed, and then had a phalanx of dragons at their command? Tell Kettricken? Then there were the same questions, but very different answers were likely. A sigh blasted out of me. “Why did you give this decision to me?”

I felt his hand on my shoulder and looked up to find his odd half-smile. “Because you have handled it well before, when I’ve previously done it to you. Ever since I went hunting for a boy out in the gardens and told him, ‘Fitz fixes a feist’s fits. Fat suffices.’ ”

I goggled at him. “But you’d told me you’d had a dream, and so come to tell me it.”

He smiled enigmatically. “I did have a dream. And I wrote it down. When I was eight years old. And when the time felt right, I told it to you. And you knew what to do with it, to be my Catalyst, even then. As I trust you will now.” He sat back in his chair.

“I had no idea of what I was doing, then. No concept of how far the consequences would reach.”

“And now that you do?”

“I wish I didn’t. It makes it harder to decide.”

He leaned back in his chair with a supercilious smile. “See.” Then he leaned forward suddenly. “How did you decide how to act back then, in the garden? On what you would do?”

I shook my head slowly. “I didn’t decide. There was a course of action and I took it. If anything decided me, it was based on what I thought would be best for the Six Duchies. I never thought beyond that.”

I turned my head an instant before the wine rack moved, revealing the passage behind it. Chade entered. He looked out of breath and harassed. His eyes fell on the brandy. Without a word, he walked to the table, lifted my glass and drained it. Then he took a breath and spoke. “I thought I might find you two hiding out here.”

“Scarcely hiding,” I objected. “We were having a quiet discussion where we were sure things would remain private.” I got up from my chair and he sank into it gratefully. Evidently he had hastened up the secret steps into the tower.

“Would that Kettricken and I had kept our audience with the Bingtown Traders similarly private. Folk are already talking and the kettle already simmering.”

“About whether or not to ally with them and join their war with Chalced. Let me guess. Shoaks is willing to launch the warships tomorrow.”

“Shoaks I could deal with,” Chade replied irritably. “No. It’s more awkward than that. Scarcely had Kettricken returned to her chambers, scarcely had we begun to sort out between us what Bingtown is really asking and offering, than a page knocked at the door. Peottre Blackwater and the Narcheska required an immediate meeting with us. Not requested: required.” He paused to let us ponder that. “The message was conveyed most urgently. So, what could we do but comply? The Queen feared that the Narcheska had taken some new offense at something Dutiful had done or said. But when they were admitted to her private audience chamber, Peottre informed us that he and the Narcheska were most distressed that the Six Duchies was receiving the ambassadors from the Bingtown Traders. They both seemed extremely agitated. But the most interesting part was when Peottre declared firmly that if the Six Duchies entered into any sort of alliance with ‘those dragon-breeders,’ he would terminate the entire betrothal.”

“Peottre Blackwater and the Narcheska came to you about this, not Arkon Bloodblade?” I clarified.

At almost the same moment, the Fool asked with intense interest, “Dragon-breeders? Blackwater called them ‘dragon-breeders’?”

Chade glanced from one to the other of us. “Bloodblade wasn’t there,” he replied to me, and to the Fool, “Actually, it was the Narcheska who used that term.”

“What did the Queen say?” I asked.

Chade took in a long breath. “I had hoped she would say that we needed a moment to confer. But evidently Kettricken felt more short-tempered about the previous day’s humiliation of Prince Dutiful than I thought. Sometimes I forget she is a mother as well as a queen. She rather stiffly, and immediately, told the Narcheska and her uncle that the Six Duchies’ arrangements with the Bingtown Traders will be determined by the Six Duchies’ best interests, not by threats. From anyone.”

“And?”

“And they left the audience chamber. The Narcheska seemed in high dudgeon, walking stiff-backed as a soldier. Blackwater hunched like a man heavily burdened.”

“They’re scheduled to return to the Out Islands soon, aren’t they?”

Chade nodded heavily. “A few days from now. All of this happens just in time to leave everything out of balance. If the Queen does not return an answer to the Bingtowners soon, then when the Narcheska departs, the whole betrothal will be left in uncertainty. All of that work to solidify our relations, gone to waste or worse. Yet I feel there must be no haste in returning an answer to the Bingtown Traders. This whole offer must be considered carefully. This talk of dragons . . . is this a threat? A mockery of our dragons? A wild offer to us, of something that doesn’t even exist, because they need our help so desperately? I need to make sense of that. I need to send spies and buy information. We dare not return an answer until we have our own sources of facts.”

The Fool and I exchanged a glance.

“What?” Chade demanded.

I took a deep breath and threw caution to the wind. “I need to speak with you and the Queen. And perhaps Dutiful should be present as well.”

chapter
XII

JEK

I am no coward. I have always accepted the will of the God-born. More than a dozen times has my life been put at the feet of Duke Sidder, for the good of glorious Chalced. None of those risks do I regret. But when my most gracious and divinely just Duke Sidder finds fault with us for failing to hold Bingtown Harbor, he is unfortunately basing his judgment on the reports of men who were not there. Hence, our most gracious and divinely just duke cannot be faulted in any way for coming to flawed conclusions. Herewith, I endeavor to correct those reports.

Scribe Wertin wrote that “a fleet of seasoned battleships were defeated and driven away by slaves and fishermen.” This is not the case. Slaves and fishermen were, indeed, responsible for much treachery against our ships, done in secret and under cover of darkness rather than in true battle. But as our captains had not been given warning that the Bingtown Traders might have such organized forces at their disposal, why would we be expected to be on guard against them? I think the fault here lies not with our captains, but with those Bingtown emissaries, scribes and accountants, not warriors, who neglected to keep us well informed. Hanging is too kind for them. Many brave warriors died unworthy deaths due to their laxity in reporting.

Scribe Wertin also suggests that perhaps treasure was loaded from the warehouses before they were destroyed, and that individual captains kept it for themselves following our defeat. This is most emphatically not true.

The warehouses, stuffed with the spoils our assiduous treasure collecting had gathered for you, were burned to the ground with all their contents by Bingtown fanatics. Why is this so hard for scribes to believe? There were also reports of Bingtown folk who killed their kinfolk and themselves rather than face our raiders. In consideration of our reputations, I think this can be taken as fact.

But Scribe Wertin’s gravest and most unjust error is his denial of the existence of the dragon. May I ask, most courteously and humbly, on what he bases this report? Every captain who returned to our shores reported sightings of a blue and silver dragon. Every captain. Why are their words dismissed as cowardly excuses, while the tales of a soft eunuch are heralded as truth? There was, indeed, a dragon. We took disastrous damage from it. Your scribe fatuously states that there is no proof of this, that the reports of the dragons are “the excuses of cowards for fleeing a certain victory, and perhaps a subterfuge for keeping treasure and tribute from Duke Sidder.” What proof, I ask, could be sought that is more telling than those hundreds of men who never returned home?

CAPTAIN SLYKE
’
S REBUTTAL OF HIS EXECUTION VERDICT,
CHADE FALLSTAR
’
S TRANSLATION FROM THE CHALCEDEAN

It was hours later that I wearily climbed the stairs back to Lord Golden’s room. I had had a long audience with the Queen and Chade. Chade had declined to summon Prince Dutiful to attend it. “He knows that we know one another, you and I, from of old. But I don’t think we would be wise to strengthen that connection in his mind. Not just yet.”

On reflection, I decided that perhaps I agreed with him. Chade was technically my great-uncle, though I had never related to him that way. Always he had been my mentor. Old as he was and scarred as I was, we still shared some family resemblance. Dutiful had already voiced his suspicions that I was related to him in some way. Best that he did not see us together, and gain strength for any of his theories.

My session with Chade and the Queen had been long. Chade had never before had the opportunity to have both of us in the same room while he questioned us about the true nature of the Six Duchies dragons. He sipped one of his foul tisanes and took copious notes until his bony hand wearied. After that, he passed the pen to me, and commanded me to write as we spoke. As ever, his questions were concise and thoughtful. What was new in his demeanor was his obvious enthusiasm and fervor. For him, the wonder of the stone dragons, brought to life with blood, Skill, and Wit, were a manifestation of the extended powers of the Skill. I saw hunger in his eyes, as he speculated that perhaps men seeking to avoid death’s cold jaws had first worked this magic.

Kettricken frowned at that. I surmised that she preferred to believe that the stone dragons had been created by Skill coteries in the hopes of serving the Six Duchies someday. She probably believed that the older dragons had likewise been carved for some loftier goal. When I countered this with the concept that a Skill addiction led one to the creation, they both scowled at me.

I had been scowled at a great deal. My relaying of the information about the Bingtown dragons was treated first with skepticism, and then annoyance that I had not spoken sooner. Why I shielded the Fool from their disapproval, I could not have said. I did not lie directly; Chade had trained me too well for that. Instead, I let them think that he had told me his tales of Bingtown dragons when first he came to visit me. I took upon myself the responsibility that I had not passed the knowledge on to them. I shrugged, and said carelessly that I had not thought such tales could affect us here in Buckkeep. I did not have to add that it seemed a wild story to me then. Both of them were still teetering on whether they accepted it.

“It puts our own dragons into a new light,” Kettricken mused softly.

“And makes the veiled man’s remarks a bit less offensive,” I ventured to add.

“Perhaps. Though I still feel affront that he dared to doubt our dragons were real.”

Chade cleared his throat. “We must let that pass, for now, my dear. Last year I came into possession of some papers that spoke of a dragon defending Bingtown from the Chalcedean fleet. It seemed but a wild battle tale to me, such as men often use to excuse defeat. I surmised that the rumors of our real dragons had led the Chalcedeans to pretend themselves defeated by a Bingtown dragon rather than simple strategy. Perhaps I should have heeded it; I will see what other information I can purchase. But for now, let us consider our own resources.” He cleared his throat and stared at me as if he suspected me of withholding vital information. “The buried cities the Fool told you about... could they be related to the abandoned city that you visited?” Chade pushed the question in as if it were more important than the Queen’s comment about affront.

I shrugged. “I have no way of knowing. The city I visited was not buried. Some great cataclysm had riven it, true. It was like a cake chopped with an axe. And the water of the river had flowed in, to fill the chasm.”

“What cracks the earth in one city could have precipitated a sinking of the ground in another,” Chade speculated aloud.

“Or wakened a mountain to wrath,” Kettricken put in. “We have many such tales in the Mountain Kingdom. The earth quakes, and one of the fire mountains awakes, to pour forth lava and ash, sometimes darkening the sky and filling the air with choking smoke. Sometimes it is but a slurry of water and muck and stones that cascades down, filling valleys to the brim and spreading out across plains. There are also tales, not that old, of a town in a valley near a deep lake. The day before the earthquake, all was well there. It bustled with life. Travelers arriving there two days after the quake found folk dead in the street, yes, and their beasts beside them. None of the bodies bore any marks. It was as if they had simply dropped where they stood.”

A silence had followed her words. Then Chade had made me recite yet again all the Fool had told me of the Bingtown dragons. He had asked me a number of questions about the Six Duchies dragons, most of which I did not know the answers to. Could there be serpent-born dragons among the dragons I woke? If Bingtown’s serpent-born dragons rose against the Six Duchies, did I think our own dragons could be persuaded to rise and protect us again? Or would they side with their scaly kin? And speaking of scales, what of the lizardish boy? Did the Fool know aught of people of that kind?

When finally they dismissed me so that they might deliberate together, I felt sure that several meals must have passed me by. I left Kettricken’s private chambers by secret ways, emerged from my own room to find Lord Golden absent from his chambers, and went down to scavenge the kitchens for whatever I could find. The bustle and clatter was intense, and I found myself firmly refused entrance. I retreated, and then made a foray into the guardsmen’s hall, where I secured bread, meat, cheese, and ale, which were all I really needed to content my soul anyway.

As I climbed the stairs, I was wondering if I could steal a moment or two of sleep while Lord Golden and the rest of the Buckkeep nobility were at dinner with the Bingtown contingent. I knew I should dress and descend, to stand at his shoulder and watch how the evening proceeded, but I felt I had already taken in as much information as my mind could hold. I had passed on the information to Kettricken and Chade; let them deal with it. My dilemma with Hap still impaled my heart. I could think of no course of action that would better it.

Sleep, I firmly told myself. Sleep would shield me for a time from all of it, and upon waking perhaps some aspect of it would have come clear.

I tapped at Lord Golden’s chamber door and entered. As I did so, a young woman stood up from one of the hearthside chairs. I glanced about the room, assuming that Lord Golden must have admitted her, but saw no sign of him. Perhaps he was in one of his other chambers, though it seemed unlike him to leave a guest unattended. Nor did I see food or wine set out, as he certainly would have done.

She was a striking woman. It was not just her extravagant garb; it was the sheer scale of her. She was at least my height, with long blond hair and light brown eyes, and a warrior’s muscling in her arms and shoulders. Her clothing was chosen to emphasize that last feature. Her black boots came to her knees, and she wore leggings rather than skirts. Her shirt was of ivory linen, and her fancifully decorated vest of soft doeskin. The sleeves of the shirt were pleated, and there was lace at the cuff, but not enough to get in her way. The cut of the garments was simple, but the extravagance of the fabrics was only exceeded by the embroidery that graced them. She wore several earrings in each ear, some of wood and some of gold. In the spiraling wooden ones, I recognized the Fool’s handiwork. There was gold at her throat and on her wrists as well, but it was simple gold, and I would wager she wore it more for her own pleasure than for show. She bore a plain sword on one hip, and a practical knife on the other.

In the first moment of mutual surprise, her gaze met mine. Then her stare wandered over me in a way that was overly familiar. When her eyes came back to mine, she grinned disarmingly. Her teeth were very white.

“You must be Lord Golden.” She extended a hand to me as she strode toward me. Despite her foreign dress, her accent was Shoaks Duchy. “I’m Jek. Perhaps Amber has spoken of me.”

I took her hand by reflex. “I’m sorry, my lady, but you are mistaken. I am Lord Golden’s serving man, Tom Badgerlock.” Her grip was firm, her hand callused and strong. “I am sorry I was not here to admit you when you first arrived. I had not realized Lord Golden was expecting a visitor. May I bring you anything?”

She gave a shrug and released my hand as she walked back to the chair. “Lord Golden isn’t exactly expecting me. I came looking for him and a servant directed me here. I knocked, no answer, so I came in to wait.” She seated herself, crossed her legs at the knee, and then asked with a knowing grin, “So. How is Amber?”

Something was not right here. I glanced at the other closed doors. “I know no one named Amber. How did you get in?” I stood between her and the door. She looked formidable, but her clothing and hair were unruffled. If she had done any damage to the Fool, she’d likely show some signs of a struggle. Nor was anything in the room awry.

“I opened the door and walked in. It wasn’t locked.”

“That door is always locked.” I tried to make my contradiction pleasant, but I was becoming more and more worried.

“Well, it wasn’t today, Tom, and I have important business with Lord Golden. As I am well known to him, I doubt he would mind me entering his rooms. I’ve conducted a lot of business on his behalf in the last year or so, with Amber as the go-between.” She tilted her head and rolled her eyes at me. “And I don’t believe for a minute that you don’t know Amber.” She cocked her head the other way and stared at me discriminatingly. Then she grinned. “You know, I like you better with brown eyes. Much more becoming than the blue ones Paragon has.” As I stared at her in consternation, her grin grew wider. It was like being stalked by a large, overly friendly cat. I sensed no animosity from her. Rather it was as if she suppressed mirth and deliberately strove to make me uncomfortable, but in a friendly, teasing way. I could make no sense of her. I tried to decide if it would be better to eject her from the room or detain her here until Lord Golden returned. More and more, I longed to open the door to his bedchamber and privy, to be sure that no treachery had befallen him in my absence.