Hobb, Robin - Tawny Man 3 - Fool's Fate

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ROBIN HOBB – THE TAWNY MAN III – FOOL’S FATE
Prologue
BATTLING FATE
The White Prophet’s premise seems simple. He wished to set the world in a different path than the one it had
rolled on through so many circuits of time. According to him, time always repeats itself, and in every repetition,
people make most of the same foolish mistakes they’ve always made. They live from day to day, giving in to
appetites and desires, convinced that what they do does not matter in the larger scheme of things.
According to the White Prophet, nothing could be further from the truth. Every small, unselfish action nudges
the world into a better path. An accumulation of small acts can change the world. The fate of the world can
pivot on one man’s death. Or turn a different way because of his survival. And who was I to the White Prophet?
I was his Catalyst. The Changer. I was the stone he would set to bump time’s wheels out of its rut. A small
pebble can turn a wheel out of its path, he told me, but warned me that it was seldom a pleasant experience for
the pebble.
The White Prophet claimed that he had seen, not just the future, but many possible futures, and most of them
were drearily similar. But in a very few cases, there was a difference, and that difference led to a shining realm
of new possibilities.
The first difference was the existence of a Farseer heir, one who survived. That was me. Forcing me to survive,
dragging me away from the deaths that constantly tried to eliminate me so that time’s wheels could jolt back
into their comfortable ruts, became his life’s work. Death and near-death swallowed me, time after time, and
each time he dragged me, battered and bruised, back from the brink to follow him again. He used me
relentlessly, but not without regret.
And he succeeded in diverting fate from its preordained path into one that would be better for the world. So he
said. But there were people who did not share his opinion, people who envisioned a future without a Farseer
heir and without dragons. One of them decided to ensure that future by ridding herself of the fool who stood in
her way.
Chapter 1
LIZARDS
Sometimes it seems unfair that events so old can reach forward through the years, sinking claws into one’s life
and twisting all that follows it. Yet perhaps that is the ultimate justice: we are the sum of all we have done
added to the sum of all that has been done to us. There is no escaping that, not for any of us.
So it was that everything that the Fool had ever said to me and all the things he’d left unsaid combined. And the
sum was that I betrayed him. Yet I believed that I acted in his best interests, and mine. He had foretold that if
we went to Aslevjal Island, he would die and Death might make another snap of his jaws at me. He promised to
do all in his power to see that I survived, for his grand scheme to change the future required it. But with my
latest brush with death still fresh in my memory, I found his promises more threatening than reassuring. He had
also blithely informed me that once we were on the island, I would have to choose between our friendship and
my loyalty to Prince Dutiful.
Perhaps I could have faced one of those things and stood strong before it, but I doubt it. Any one of those things
was enough to unman me, and facing the sum of them was simply beyond my strength.
So I went to Chade. I told him what the Fool had said. And my old mentor arranged that when we sailed for the
Out Islands, the Fool would not go with us.
Spring had come to Buckkeep Castle. The grim black stone edifice still crouched suspiciously on the steep
cliffs above Buckkeep Town, but on the rolling hills behind the keep, new green grass was pushing
optimistically up through the standing brown straw of last year’s growth. The bare-limbed forests were hazed
with tiny green leaves unfurling on every tree branch. The wintry mounds of dead kelp on the black beaches at
the foot of the cliffs had been swept away by the tides. Migratory birds had returned, and their songs rang
challenges in the forested hills and along the beaches where seabirds battled for choice nesting nooks in the
cliffs. Spring had even invaded the dim halls and high-ceilinged chambers of the keep, for blossoming branches
and early-blooming flowers graced every alcove and framed the entries of the gathering rooms.
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The warmer winds seemed to sweep my gloom away. None of my problems and concerns had vanished, but
spring can dismiss a multitude of worries. My physical state had improved; I felt more youthful than I had in
my twenties. Not only was I building flesh and muscle again, but I suddenly possessed the body that a fit man
of my years should have. The harsh healing I had undergone at the inexperienced hands of the coterie had
inadvertently undone old damage as well. Abuse I had suffered at Galen’s hands in the course of his teaching
me the Skill, injuries I had taken as a warrior and the deep scars from my torture in Regal’s dungeons had been
erased. My headaches had nearly ceased, my vision no longer blurred when I was weary, and I did not ache in
the chill of early morning. I lived now in the body of a strong and healthy animal. Few things are so
exhilarating as good health on a clear spring morning.
I stood on the top of a tower and looked out over the wrinkling sea. Behind me, tubs of earth, freshly manured,
held small fruit trees arrayed in blossoms of white and pale pink. Smaller pots held vines with swelling leaf
buds. The long green leaves of bulb flowers thrust up like scouts sent to test the air. In some pots, only bare
brown stalks showed, but the promise was there, each plant awaiting the return of warmer days. Interspersed
with the pots were artfully arranged statuary and beckoning benches. Shielded candles awaited mellow summer
nights to send their glow into the darkness. Queen Kettricken had restored the Queen’s Garden to its former
glory. This high retreat was her private territory. Its present simplicity reflected her Mountain roots, but its
existence was a much older Buckkeep tradition.
I paced a restless turn around its perimeter path, and then forced myself to stand still. The boy was not late. I
was early. That the minutes dragged was not his fault. Anticipation warred with reluctance as I awaited my first
private meeting with Swift, Burrich’s son. My queen had given me responsibility for Swift’s instruction in both
letters and weaponry. I dreaded the task. Not only was the boy Witted, but he was undeniably headstrong.
Those two things, coupled with his intelligence, could carry him into trouble. The Queen had decreed that the
Witted must be treated with respect, but many still believed that the best cure for Beast Magic was a noose, a
knife, and a fire.
I understood the Queen’s motive in entrusting Swift to me. His father, Burrich, had turned him out of his home
when the boy would not give up the Wit. Yet the same Burrich had devoted years to raising me when I was a
lad and abandoned by my royal father as a bastard that he dared not claim. It was fitting that I now do the same
for Burrich’s son, even if I could never let the boy know that I had once been FitzChivalry and his father’s
ward. So it was that I awaited Swift, a skinny lad of ten summers, as nervously as if I faced the boy’s father. I
took a deep breath of the cool morning air. The scent of the fruit tree blossoms balmed it. I reminded myself
that my task would not last long. Very soon, I would accompany the Prince on his quest to Aslevjal in the Out
Islands. Surely I could endure being the lad’s instructor until then.
The Wit Magic makes one aware of other life, and so I turned even before Swift pushed open the heavy door.
He shut it quietly behind him. Despite his long climb up the steep stone stairs, he was not breathing hard. I
remained partially concealed by screening blossoms and studied him. He was dressed in Buckkeep blue, in
simple garments befitting a page. Chade was right. He would make a fine axeman. The boy was thin, in the way
of active boys of that age, but the knobs of shoulders under his jerkin promised his father’s brawn. I doubted he
would be tall, but he would be wide enough to make up for it. Swift had his father’s black eyes and dark curling
hair, but there was something of Molly in the line of his jaw and the set of his eyes. Molly, my lost love and
Burrich’s wife. I took a long, deep breath. This might be more difficult than I had imagined.
I saw him become aware of me. I stood still, letting his eyes seek me out. For a time we both stood, unspeaking.
Then he threaded his way through the meandering paths until he stood before me. His bow was too carefully
practiced to be graceful.
“My lord, I am Swift Witted. I was told to report to you, and so I present myself.”
I could see he had made an effort to learn his court courtesies. Yet his blatant inclusion of his Beast Magic in
how he named himself seemed almost a rude challenge, as if he tested whether the Queen’s protection of the
Witted would hold here, alone with me. He met my gaze in a forthright way that most nobles would have found
presumptuous. Then again, I reminded myself, I was not a noble. I told him so. “I am not ‘my lord’ to anyone,
lad. I’m Tom Badgerlock, a man-at-arms in the Queen’s Guard. You may call me Master Badgerlock, and I
shall call you Swift. Is that agreed?”
He blinked twice and then nodded. Abruptly, he recalled that that was not correct. “It is, sir. Master
Badgerlock.”
“Very well. Swift, do you know why you were sent to me?”
He bit his upper lip twice, swift successive nibbles, then took a deep breath and spoke, eyes lowered. “I suppose
I’ve displeased someone.” Then he flashed his gaze up to mine again. “But I don’t know what I did, or to
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whom.” Almost defiantly, he added, “I cannot help what I am. If it is because I am Witted, well, then, it isn’t
fair. Our queen has said that my magic should not make any difference in how I am treated.”
My breath caught in my throat. His father looked at me from those dark eyes. The uncompromising honesty and
the determination to speak the truth was all Burrich’s. And yet, in his intemperate haste, I heard Molly’s quick
temper. For a moment, I was at a loss for words.
The boy interpreted my silence as displeasure and lowered his eyes. But the set of his shoulders was still
square; he did not know of any fault he had committed, and he would not show any repentance until he did.
“You did not displease anyone, Swift. And you will find that to some at Buckkeep, your Wit matters not at all.
That is not why we separated you from the other children. Rather, this change is for your benefit. Your
knowledge of letters surpasses the other children of your age. We did not wish to thrust you into a group of
youths much older than you. It was also decided that you could benefit from instruction in the use of a battle-
axe. That, I believe, is why I was chosen to mentor you.”
His head jerked and he looked up at me in confusion and dismay. “A battle-axe?”
I nodded, both to him and to myself. Chade was up to his old tricks again. Plainly the boy had not been asked if
he had any interest in learning to wield such a weapon. I put a smile on my face. “Certainly a battle-axe.
Buckkeep’s men-at-arms recall that your father fought excellently with the axe. As you inherit his build as well
as his looks, it seems natural that his weapon of choice should be yours.”
“I’m nothing like my father. Sir.”
I nearly laughed aloud, not from joy, but because the boy had never looked more like Burrich than he did at that
moment. It felt odd to lookdown at someone giving me his black scowl. But such an attitude was not
appropriate to a boy of his years, so I coldly said, “You’re like enough, in the Queen’s and Councilor Chade’s
opinions. Do you dispute what they have decided for you?”
It all hovered in the balance. I saw the instant when he made his decision, and almost read the workings of his
mind. He could refuse. Then he might be seen as ungrateful and sent back home to his father. Better to bow his
head to a distasteful task and stay. And so he said, voice lowered, “No, sir. I accept what they have decided.”
“That’s good,” I said with false heartiness.
But before I could continue, he informed me, “But I have a skill with a weapon already. The bow, sir. I had not
spoken of it before, because I did not think it would be of interest to anyone. But if I’m to train as a fighter as
well as a page, I already have a weapon of choice.”
Interesting. I regarded him in silence for a moment. I’d seen enough of Burrich in him to suspect he would not
idly boast of a skill he didn’t possess. “Very well, then. You may show me your skills with a bow. But this time
is set aside for other lessons. To that end, we’ve been given permission to use scrolls from the Buckkeep
library. That’s quite an honor for both of us.” I waited for a response.
He bobbed a nod, and then recalling his manners, “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then meet me here tomorrow. We’ll have an hour of scrolls and writing, and then we’ll go down to the
weapons court.” Again I awaited his reply.
“Yes, sir. Sir?”
“What is it?”
“I’m a good horseman, sir. I’m a bit rusty now. My father refused to let me be around his horses for the last
year. But I’m a good horseman, as well.”
“That’s good to know, Swift.” I knew what he had hoped. I watched his face, and saw the light in it dim at my
neutral response. I had reacted almost reflexively. A boy of his age shouldn’t be considering bonding with an
animal. Yet as he lowered his head in disappointment, I felt my old loneliness echo down the years. So too had
Burrich done all he could to protect me from bonding with a beast. Knowing the wisdom of it now didn’t still
the memory of my thrumming isolation. I cleared my throat and tried to keep my voice smoothly assured when
I spoke. “Very well, then, Swift. Report to me here tomorrow. Oh, and wear your old clothes tomorrow. We’ll
be getting dirty and sweaty.”
He looked stricken.
“Well? What is it, lad?”
“I . . . sir, I can’t. I, that is, I don’t have my old clothes anymore. Only the two sets the Queen gave me.”
“What happened to them?”
“I . . . I burned them, sir.” He suddenly sounded defiant. He met my eyes, jaw jutting.
I thought of asking him why. I didn’t need to. It was obvious from his stance. He had made a show for himself
of destroying all things that bound him to his past. I wondered if I should make him admit that aloud, then
decided that nothing would be gained by it. Surely such a waste of useful garments was something that should
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shame him. I wondered how bitterly his differences with his father had run. Suddenly the day seemed a little
less brightly blue. I shrugged, dismissing the matter. “Wear what you have, then,” I said abruptly, and hoped I
did not sound too harsh.
He stood there, staring at me, and I realized that I hadn’t dismissed him. “You may go now, Swift. I will see
you tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Master Badgerlock.” He bowed, jerkily correct, and then hesitated again. “Sir? May I ask
you a last question?”
“Certainly.”
He looked all around us, almost suspiciously. “Why do we meet up here?”
“It’s quiet. It’s pleasant. When I was your age, I hated to be kept indoors on a spring day.”
That brought a hesitant smile to his face. “So do I, sir. Nor do I like to be kept so isolated from animals. That is
my magic calling me, I suppose.”
I wished he had let it rest. “Perhaps it is. And perhaps you should think well before you answer it.” This time I
intended that he hear the rebuke in my voice.
He flinched, then looked indignant. “The Queen said that my magic was not to make a difference to anyone.
That no one can treat me poorly because of it.”
“That’s true. But neither will people treat you well because of it. I counsel you to keep your magic a private
matter, Swift. Do not parade it before people until you know them. If you wish to know how to best handle your
Wit, I suggest you spend time with Web the Witted, when he tells his tales before the hearth in the evenings.”
He was scowling before I was finished. I dismissed him curtly and he went. I thought I had read him well
enough. His possession of the Wit had been the battle line drawn between him and his father. He had
successfully defied Burrich and fled to Buckkeep, determined to live openly as a Witted one in Queen
Kettricken’s tolerant court. But if the boy thought that being Witted was all he needed to earn his place, well,
I’d soon clear that cobweb from his mind. I’d not try to deprive him of his magic. But his flaunting of it, as one
might shake a rag at a terrier to see what reaction he would win, distressed me. Sooner or later, he’d encounter a
young noble happy to challenge him over the despised Beast Magic. The tolerance was a mandated thing,
grudgingly given by many who still adhered to the old distaste for our gift. Swift’s attitude made me doubly
determined that he should not discover I was Witted. Bad enough that he cockily flaunted his own magic; I
wouldn’t have him betraying mine.
I gazed out once more over the wide spectacle of sea and sky. It was an exhilarating view, at once breathtaking
and yet reassuringly familiar. And then I forced myself to stare down, over the low wall that stood between me
and a plummet to my sure death below. I forced myself to stare down. Once, battered both physically and
mentally by Galen the Skillmaster, I had tried to make that plunge from this very parapet. It had been Burrich’s
hand that had drawn me back. He had carried me down to his own rooms, treated my injuries, and then avenged
them upon the Skillmaster. I still owed him for that. Perhaps teaching his son and keeping him safe at court
would be the only repayment I could ever offer him. I fixed that thought in my heart to prop up my sagging
enthusiasm for the task and left the tower top. I had another meeting to hasten to, and the sun told me that I was
already nearly late for it.
Chade had let it be known that he was now instructing the young Prince in his heritage Skill Magic. I was both
grateful and chagrined at this turn of events. The announcement meant that Prince Dutiful and Chade no longer
had to meet secretly for that purpose. That the Prince took his half-wit servant with him to those lessons was
regarded as a sort of eccentricity. No one in the court would have guessed that Thick was the Prince’s fellow
student, and far stronger in the Farseer’s ancestral magic than any currently living Farseer. The chagrin came
from the fact that I, the true Skill instructor, was the only one who still had to conceal his comings and goings
from those meetings. Tom Badgerlock was who I was now, and that humble guardsman had no business
knowing anything of the Farseer’s magic.
So it was that I descended the steps from the Queen’s Garden, and then hastened through the keep. From the
servants’ areas there were six possible entry points to the hidden spy labyrinth that meandered through the
entrails of Buckkeep Castle. I took care that every day I used a different entry from the day before. Today I
selected the one near the cook’s larder. I waited until there was no one in the corridor when I entered the
storeroom. I pushed my way through three racks of dangling sausages before dragging the panel open and
stepping through into now familiar darkness.
I didn’t waste time waiting for my eyes to adjust. This part of the maze had no illumination of any kind. The
first few times I’d explored it, I carried a candle. Today I judged that I knew it well enough to traverse it in the
dark. I counted my steps, then groped my way into a narrow staircase. At the top of it, I made a sharp right and
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saw thin fingers of spring sunlight filtering into the dusty corridor. Stooped, I hastened along it and soon
reached a more familiar part of the warren. In a short time, I emerged from the side of the hearth in the
Seawatch Tower. I pushed the panel back into place, then froze as I heard someone lifting the door latch. I
barely had time to seek flimsy shelter in the long curtains that draped the tower windows before someone
entered.
I held my breath, but it was only Chade, Dutiful, and Thick arriving for their lessons. I waited until the door
was firmly closed behind them before stepping out into the room. I startled Thick, but Chade only observed,
“You’ve cobwebs down your left cheek. Did you know?”
I wiped away the clinging stuff. “I’m surprised that it’s only on my left cheek. Spring seems to have wakened a
legion of spiders.”
Chade nodded gravely to my observation. “I used to carry a feather duster with me, waving it before me as I
went. It helped. Somewhat. Of course, in those days, it little mattered what I looked like when I arrived at my
destination. I just didn’t care for the sensation of little legs down the back of my neck.”
Prince Dutiful smirked at the idea of the immaculately attired and coiffed Queen’s councilor scuttling through
the corridors. There had been a time when Lord Chade was a hidden resident of Buckkeep Castle, the royal
assassin only, a man who concealed his pocked face and carried out the King’s justice in the shadows. No
longer. Now he strode majestically through the hallways, openly lauded as both diplomat and trusted adviser to
the Queen. His elegant garb in shades of blue and green reflected that status, as did the gems that graced his
throat and earlobes. His snowy hair and piercing green eyes seemed like carefully chosen accoutrements to his
wardrobe. The scars that had so distressed him had faded with his years. I neither envied nor begrudged him his
finery. Let the old man make up now for the deprivations of his youth. It harmed no one, and those who were
dazzled by it often overlooked the rapier mind that was his real weapon.
In contrast, the Prince was garbed nearly as simply as I was. I attributed it to Queen Kettricken’s austere
Mountain Kingdom traditions and her innate thrift. At fifteen, Dutiful was shooting up. What sense was there in
creating fine garments for everyday wear when he either outgrew them or tore out the shoulders while
practicing on the weapons court? I studied the young man who stood grinning before me. His dark eyes and
curling black hair mirrored his father’s, but both his height and his developing jawline reminded me more of
my father Chivalry’s portrait.
The squat man accompanying him was a complete contrast. I estimated Thick to be in his late twenties. He had
the small tight ears and protruding tongue of a simpleton. The Prince had garbed him in a blue tunic and
leggings that matched his own, right down to the buck crest on the breast, but the tunic strained across the little
man’s potbelly and the hose sagged comically at his knees and ankles. He cut an odd figure, both amusing and
slightly repulsive, to those who could not sense, as I did, the Skill Magic that burned in him like a smith’s forge
fire. He was learning to control the Skill-music that served him in place of an ordinary man’s thoughts. It was
less pervasive and hence less annoying than it had once been, yet the strength of his magic meant that he shared
it with all of us, constantly. I could block it, but that meant also blocking my sensitivity to most of the Skill,
including Chade’s and Dutiful’s weaker sendings. I could not block him and still teach them, so for now I
endured Thick’s music.
Today it was made from the snickings of scissors and the clack of a loom, with the high-pitched giggle of a
woman winding through it. “So. Had another fitting this morning, did you?” I asked the Prince.
He was not dazzled. He knew how I had deduced it. He nodded with weary tolerance. “Both Thick and I. It was
a long morning.”
Thick nodded emphatically. “Stand on the stool. Don’t scratch. Don’t move. While they poke Thick with pins.”
He added the last severely, with a rebuking look at the Prince.
Dutiful sighed. “That was an accident, Thick. She told you to stand still.”
“She’s mean,” Thick ventured in an undertone, and I suspected he was close to the truth. Many of his nobles
found it difficult to accept the Prince’s friendship with Thick. For some reason, it affronted some servants even
more. I suspected some of them found small ways to vent that displeasure.
“It’s all done now, Thick,” Dutiful consoled him.
We took our customary places around the immense table. Since Chade had announced that he and the Prince
were beginning Skill-lessons together, this room of the Seawatch Tower had been furnished well. Long curtains
framed the tall windows, now unshuttered to admit a pleasant breeze. The stone walls and floor of the chamber
had been well scrubbed and the table and chairs oiled and polished. There were proper scroll racks to hold
Chade’s small library as well as a stoutly locked cabinet for those he regarded as highly valuable or dangerous.
A large writing desk offered inkpots and freshly cut pens and a generous supply of both paper and vellum.
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There was also a sideboard with bottles of wine, glasses, and other necessities for the Prince’s comfort. It had
become a comfortable, even indulgent room that reflected Chade’s taste more than Prince Dutiful’s.
I enjoyed the change.
I surveyed the faces around me. Dutiful was looking at me alertly. Thick was pursuing something inside his left
nostril. Chade was sitting bolt upright, fairly shivering with energy. Whatever he had taken to bring him back to
alertness had done nothing for the threads of blood in his eyes. The contrast with his green gaze was unsettling.
“What I’d like to do today . . . Thick. Please stop that.”
He looked at me blankly, his finger still wedged in his nose. “Can’t. It’s poking me in there.”
Chade rubbed his brow, looking aside. “Give him a handkerchief,” he suggested to no one in particular.
Prince Dutiful was closest. “Here, blow your nose. Maybe it will come out.”
He handed Thick a square of embroidered linen. Thick regarded it doubtfully for several seconds, and then took
it. Over the deafening sounds of his attempts to clear his nose, I asked, “Last night, each of us was to try Skill-
walking in our dreams.” I had been nervous about suggesting this, but I had felt both Dutiful and Chade were
ready to attempt it. Thick routinely forgot what he was to do in the evenings, so I’d had small concern for him.
When one Skill-walked, one could leave one’s own body and for a short time experience life through someone
else. I had managed it several times, most often by accident. The Skill scrolls had suggested that it was not only
a good way to gather information but also to locate those who were open enough to be used as King’s Men,
sources of strength to a Skill-user. Those sufficiently open sometimes proved to possess the Skill themselves.
Chade had been enthused yesterday, but a glance at him today showed none of the triumph he would have
displayed if he had managed the feat. Dutiful likewise looked gloomy. “So. No success?”
“I did it!” Thick exulted.
“You Skill-walked?” I was astounded.
“No-o-o. I got it out. See?” He displayed his greenish trophy trapped in the middle of the Prince’s handkerchief.
Chade turned aside with an exclamation of disgust.
Dutiful, being fifteen, laughed aloud. “Impressive, Thick. That’s a big one. Looks like an old green
salamander.”
“Yah,” Thick agreed with satisfaction. His mouth sagged wide with pleasure. “I dreamed a big blue lizard last
night. Bigger than this!” His laughter, like a dog’s huffy panting, joined the Prince’s.
“My prince and future monarch,” I reminded Dutiful sternly, “we have work to do.” In reality, I was struggling
to keep a straight face. It was good to see Dutiful laugh freely, even over something puerile. Since I had first
met the boy, he had always seemed weighted by his station and his perpetual duties. This was the first time I
had seen him acting like a youngster in springtime; I regretted my rebuke when the smile faded so abruptly
from his face. With a gravity that far exceeded my own, he turned to Thick, seized the handkerchief and balled
it up.
“No, Thick. Stop. Listen to me. You dreamed a big blue lizard? How big?”
The intensity of the Prince’s question drew Chade’s glance. But Thick was confused and offended by how
quickly Dutiful’s tone and attitude toward him had changed. His brow furrowed and both bottom lip and tongue
jutted as a sulk settled onto his face. “That wasn’t nice.”
I recognized the phrase. We’d been working on Thick’s table manners. If he was to accompany us on the trip to
Aslevjal, he had to learn at least a modicum of courtesy. Unfortunately, he seemed to recall the rules only when
he could rebuke someone else with them.
“I’m sorry, Thick. You’re right. Grabbing isn’t nice. Now tell me about the big lizard you dreamed.”
The Prince was smiling earnestly at Thick, but the change of topic was too fast for the little man. Thick shook
his heavy head and turned away. He folded his stubby arms on his chest. “Na,” he declined gruffly.
“Please, Thick,” Dutiful began, but Chade interrupted. “Can’t this wait, Dutiful? We’ve not that many days
before we sail, and we still have so much ground to cover if we are to function as a Skill coterie.” I knew the
old man’s anxiety. I shared it. The Skill might be essential to the Prince’s success. Neither of us put much
weight on his truly slaying some buried ice dragon. The true value of the Skill would be that Chade and I could
gather information and convey it to Dutiful to smooth the path for his wedding negotiations. “No. This is
important, Chade. I think. Well, it might be. Because I dreamed a big blue lizard last night, too. Actually, the
creature I dreamed was a dragon.”
A moment of silence held as we considered this. Then Chade hesitantly attempted, “Well, it should not surprise
us if you and Thick share the same dream. You are so often Skill-linked throughout the day, why shouldn’t it
bleed over into the night?”
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“Because I don’t think I was asleep when it happened. I was trying to do the Skill-walking. Fi— Tom says it
was easiest for him to bridge over to it from a light sleep. So I was in my bed, trying to be asleep but not too
asleep, while reaching out with the Skill. And then I felt it.”
“What?” Chade asked.
“I felt it looking for me. With its great big whirly silver eyes.” Thick was the one who answered.
“Yes,” the Prince confirmed slowly.
My heart sank.
“I don’t understand,” Chade said irritably. “Start at the beginning and report it properly.” This was addressed to
Dutiful. I understood the double prong of Chade’s anger. Once again, the three of them had attempted an
exercise, and both Thick and Dutiful had experienced some success while Chade had failed. Underscoring that
was the mention of a dragon. There had been too many mentions of dragons lately: a frozen dragon for Dutiful
to unearth and behead, the dragons the Bingtown contingent had bragged about (supposedly at the beck and call
of the Bingtown Traders), and now a dragon intruding into our Skill-exercise. We knew far too little about any
of them. We dared not dismiss them as legends and lies; too well we recalled the stone dragons that had rallied
to the Six Duchies’ defense sixteen years ago, yet we knew little about any of them.
“There’s scarcely enough to report it,” Dutiful replied. He took a breath, and despite his own words, began in
the orderly way in which Chade had schooled both of us. “I had retired to my chambers, exactly as if I were
going to sleep for the night. I was in my bed. There was a low fire in the hearth, and I was watching it,
unfocusing my mind in a way that I hoped would invite sleep and yet leave me aware enough to reach out with
the Skill. Twice I dozed off. Each time, I roused myself and tried to approach the exercise again. The third time,
I tried reversing the process. I reached out with the Skill, held myself in readiness, and then tried to sink down
into sleep.” He cleared his throat and looked around at us. “Then I felt something big. Really big.” He looked at
me. “Like that time on the beach.”
Thick was following the tale with his jaw ajar and his small round eyes bunched with thought. “A big fat blue
lizard,” he hazarded.
“No, Thick.” Dutiful patiently kept his voice soft. “Not at first. At first, there was just this immense . . .
presence. And I longed to go toward it, and yet I feared to go toward it. Not because of any deliberate threat
from it. On the contrary, it seemed . . . infinitely benign. Restful and safe. I was afraid to touch it for fear that . .
. I’d lose any desire to come back. It seemed like the end of something. An edge, or a place where something
different begins. No. Like something that lives in a place where something different begins.” The Prince’s voice
trickled away.
“I don’t understand. Talk sense,” Chade demanded.
“It’s as much sense as you can apply to it,” I interceded quietly. “I know the sort of being, or feeling, or place,
that the Prince is speaking about. I’ve encountered such, a time or two. Once, one helped us. But I had the
feeling that one was an exception. Perhaps another one of them might have absorbed us and not even noticed.
It’s an incredibly attractive force, Chade. Warm and accepting, gentle as a mother’s love.”
The Prince frowned slightly and shook his head. “This one was strong. Protective and wise. Like a father,” said
Dutiful.
I held my tongue. I had long ago decided that those forces presented to us whatever it was that we most
hungered for. My mother had given me up when I was very small. Dutiful had never known his father. Such
things leave large gaps in a man.
“Why haven’t you spoken of this before?” Chade asked testily.
Why, indeed? Because that encounter had seemed too personal to share. But now I excused myself, saying,
“Because you would only have said to me what you just said. Talk sense. It’s a phenomenon I can’t explain.
Perhaps even what I’ve said is just my rationalization of what I experienced. Recounting a dream; that’s what it
is like. Trying to make a story out of a series of events that defy logic.”
Chade subsided, but he did not look content. I resigned myself to being wrung for more facts, thoughts, and
impressions later.
“I want to tell about the big lizard,” Thick observed sullenly to no one at all. He had reached a point at which he
sometimes enjoyed being the center of attention. Obviously he felt that the Prince’s tale had stolen his stage.
“Go ahead, Thick. You tell what you dreamed, and then I’ll tell what I did.” The Prince ceded him all attention.
Chade sat back in his chair with a noisy sigh. I turned my attention to Thick and watched his face brighten. He
gave a wiggle like a stroked puppy, squinted thoughtfully, and then in a painstaking imitation of how he had
frequently heard Dutiful and me report to Chade, began his account. “I went to bed last night. And I had my red
7
blanket. Then, Thick was being almost asleep, going into the music. Then, I knew Dutiful was there.
Sometimes Thick follows him to dreams. He has lots of good dreams, girl dreams . . .”
Thick’s voice trailed off for a moment as he breathed through his open mouth, pondering. The Prince looked
acutely uncomfortable, but both Chade and I managed to retain blandly interested expressions.
Thick abruptly resumed his tale. “Then, I thought, where is he? Maybe it’s a game. He’s hiding from Thick. So
I go, ‘Prince’ and he goes, ‘Be quiet.’ So I am and Thick is small, and the music goes around and around me.
Like hiding in the curtains. Then I peep, just a tiny peep. And it’s a big fat lizard, blue, blue like my shirt, but
shiny when she moves, like the knives in the kitchen. Then she says, ‘Come out, come out. We can play a
game.’ But Prince says, ‘Sh, no, don’t,’ so I don’t, and then she gets mad and gets bigger. Her eyes go shiny
and whirl round and round like that saucer I dropped. And then Thick thinks, ‘But she’s on the dream side. I’ll
go on the other side.’ So I made the music get bigger and I woke up. And there wasn’t a lizard but my red
blanket was on the floor.”
He finished his telling with a great gasp, having run out of breath, and looked from one of us to the other. I
found myself giving Chade the tiniest of Skill-pokes. He glanced at me, but contrived to make it seem a chance
thing. I felt tremendous pride in the old man when he said, “An excellent report, Thick. You’ve given me much
to consider. Let us hear the Prince now and then I’ll see if I have any questions for you.”
Thick sat taller in his chair and his chest swelled with such pride that the fabric of his shirt strained across his
round belly. His tongue still stuck out of his wide froggy grin, but his little eyes danced as he looked from
Dutiful to me to be sure we had noticed his triumph. I wondered when impressing Chade had become so
important to him, and then realized that this too was an imitation of his prince.
Dutiful wisely allowed Thick a moment or two to bask in our attention. “Thick has told you most of the story,
but let me add a bit. I told you of a great presence. I was—well, not watching—I was experiencing her, or it I
suppose, and being slowly drawn closer and closer. It wasn’t frightening. I knew it was dangerous, but it was
hard to care that I might be absorbed and lost forever. It just didn’t seem to matter. Then the presence began to
recede. I wanted to pursue it, but at that moment I became aware of something else watching me. And it did not
feel so benign. My sensation was that while I’d been contemplating that presence, this other being had crept up
on me.
“I looked around and saw that I was at the edge of a milky river, on a very small clay beach. A great forest of
immense trees stood at my back. They were taller than towers and shaded the day to dusk. I didn’t see anything
else at first. Then I noticed a tiny creature, like a lizard, only plumper. It was on the wide leaf of a tree,
watching me. Yet once I saw it, it began to grow. Or perhaps I shrank. I’m not sure. The forest grew bigger as
well, until when the animal stepped down onto the clay, it was a dragon. Blue and silver, immense and
beautiful. And she spoke to me, saying, ‘So. You’ve seen me. Well, I don’t care. But you will. You’re one of
his. Tell me. What do you know of a black dragon?’ Then, and this part was very odd, I couldn’t find myself. It
was as if I had looked at her too hard and forgotten to remember that I existed. And then I decided I would be
behind a tree, and I was.”
“This doesn’t sound like the Skill,” Chade interrupted irritably. “It sounds like a dream.”
“Exactly. And so I dismissed it when I awoke. I knew I had Skilled briefly, but I thought that then sleep had
crept up on me, and all that followed was a dream. So, in this dream, in the odd way that dreams have, Thick
was suddenly with me. I didn’t know if he had seen the dragon, so I reached for him and told him to be quiet
and hide from her. So we were hiding, and she became very angry, I think because she knew we were still there
but hiding. Then suddenly Thick was gone. And it startled me so much that I opened my eyes.” The Prince
shrugged. “I was in my bedroom. I thought it had just been a very vivid dream.”
“So it could have been, one that you and Thick shared,” Chade replied. “I think we can leave this now and settle
to our real business here.”
“I think not,” I said. Something in Chade’s easy dismissal warned me that the old man did not want us to speak
of this but I was willing to sacrifice part of my secret to discover his. “I think the dragon is real. Moreover, I
think we have heard of her before. Tintaglia, the Bingtown dragon. The one that masked boy spoke of.”
“Selden Vestrit.” Dutiful supplied his name quietly. “Can dragons Skill, then? Why would she demand to know
what we knew of a black dragon? Does she mean Icefyre?”
“Almost certainly she does. But that is the only one of your questions that I can answer.” I turned reluctantly to
face Chade’s scowl. “She has touched my dreams before, with the same demand. That I tell her what I knew of
a black dragon and an island. She knows of our quest, most likely from the Bingtown contingent that came to
invite us so cordially to their war with Chalced. But I think that she only knows as much as they did. That there
is a dragon trapped in ice, and that Dutiful goes to slay him.”
8
Chade made a sound almost like a growl. “Then she’ll know the name of the island as well. Aslevjal. It is only
a matter of time before she discovers where that is. The Bingtown Traders are famous for doing just that:
trading. If they want a chart that shows the way to Aslevjal, they’ll obtain one.”
I spread my hands, displaying a calm I didn’t feel. “There is nothing we can do about that, Chade. We’ll have to
deal with whatever develops.”
He pushed back his chair. “Well, I could deal with it better if I knew enough to expect it,” he said. His voice
rose as he did. He stalked to the window and stared out over the sea. Then he turned his head to glare at me
over his shoulder. “What else have you not told me?”
Had we been alone then, I might have told him about how the dragon had threatened Nettle and how she had
dismissed the creature. But I did not wish to speak of my daughter in Dutiful’s presence, so I only shook my
head. He turned back to gaze out over the sea.
“So we may have another enemy to face, besides the cold and ice of Aslevjal. Well. At least tell me how big is
this creature? How strong?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only seen her in dreams, and in my dreams, she shifted her size. I don’t think we can be
sure of anything she has shown us in dreams.”
“Oh, well, that’s useful,” Chade replied, discouraged. He came back to the table and dropped into his chair.
“Did you sense anything of this dragon last night?” he suddenly asked me.
“No. I didn’t.”
“But you did Skill-walk.”
“Briefly.” I’d visited Nettle. I wasn’t going to discuss that here. He didn’t seem to notice my reticence.
“I did neither. Despite my best efforts.” His voice was as anguished as an injured child’s. I met his eyes and
saw, not just frustration there, but pain. He looked at me as if I had excluded him from some precious secret or
wonderful adventure.
“Chade. It will come in time. Sometimes I think you try too hard.” I spoke the words, but I wasn’t sure of them.
Yet I could not bring myself to say what I secretly suspected: that he had come to these lessons too late, and
would never master the magic so long denied him.
“So you keep saying,” he said hollowly.
And there seemed nothing to reply to that. For the remainder of our session, we worked through several
exercises from one of the scrolls, but with limited success. Chade’s discouragement seemed to have damped all
his ability that day. With hands linked, he could receive the images and words I sent him, but when we
separated and moved to different parts of the room, I could not reach him, nor could he touch minds with
Dutiful or Thick. His growing frustration disrupted all of us. When Dutiful and Thick departed to their day’s
tasks, we had not only made no progress, but had failed to equal the previous day’s level of Skill.
“Another day spent, and we are no closer to having a working coterie,” Chade observed bitterly to me when we
were alone in the room. He walked over to the sideboard and poured brandy for himself. When he gestured
questioningly at me, I shook my head.
“No, thank you. I’ve not even broken my fast yet.”
“Nor I.”
“Chade, you look exhausted. I think an hour or two of rest and a solid meal would do you better than brandy.”
“Find me two empty hours in my day, and I’ll be happy to sleep,” he offered without rancor. Chade walked to
the window with his cup and gazed out over the water. “It all closes in on me, Fitz. We must have this alliance
with the Out Islands. With Chalced and Bingtown warring, our trade to the south has dwindled to a trickle. If
Chalced defeats Bingtown, as it well may, it will next turn its swords against us. We must ally with the Out
Islands before Chalced does.
“Yet it isn’t just the preparations for the journey. It’s all the safeguards I must put in place to be sure Buckkeep
runs smoothly while I am gone.” He sipped from his cup then added, “In twelve days we depart for Aslevjal.
Twelve days, when six weeks would scarcely be enough time for all I must arrange so that things will run
smoothly in my absence.”
I knew he was not speaking of things like Buckkeep’s provisions and taxes and the training of the guard. There
were others who routinely administered all such systems and reported directly to the Queen. Chade worried
about his network of spies and informants. No one was certain how long our diplomatic mission to the Out
Islands would take; let alone how much time would be consumed by the Prince’s quest to Aslevjal. I still
harbored a fading hope that his “slaying of the dragon” would be some strange Outislander ritual, but Chade
was convinced there was an actual dragon carcass encased in glacial ice and that Dutiful would have to uncover
it enough to sever the head and publicly present it to the Narcheska.
9
“Surely your apprentice can handle those matters in your absence.” I kept my voice level. I had never
confronted Chade over his choice of apprentice. I was still not ready to trust Lady Rosemary as a member of the
Queen’s court, let alone as an apprentice assassin. As a child, she had been Regal’s tool, and the Pretender had
used her ruthlessly against us. But now would be a poor time to reveal to Chade that I had discovered who his
new apprentice was. His spirits were already low.
He shook his head irritably. “Some of my contacts trust only me. They will report to no one else. And the truth
is that half of my knack is that I know when to ask more questions and which rumors to follow. No, Fitz, I must
resign myself that though my apprentice will attempt to handle my affairs, there will be gaps in my knowledge-
gathering when I return.”
“You left Buckkeep Castle once before, during the Red Ship War. How did you manage then?”
“Ah, that was a very different situation. Then, I followed the threat, pursuing the intrigues to their hearts. This
time, in truth, I will be present for a very critical negotiation. But there is still much happening here at
Buckkeep that needs to be watched.”
“The Piebalds,” I filled in.
“Exactly. Among others. But they are still the ones I fear most, though they have been quiescent of late.”
I knew what he meant. The absence of Piebald activity was not reassuring. I had killed the head of their
organization, but I feared another would rise to take Laudwine’s place. We had gone far to gain the respect and
cooperation of the Witted community. Perhaps that mellowing would leech away the anger and hatred that the
extremist Piebalds throve on. Our strategy had been that by offering amnesty to the Witted, we might steal the
force that drove the Piebalds. If the Witted were welcomed by the Farseer Queen into common society,
welcomed and even encouraged to declare their magic openly, then they would have less interest in
overthrowing the Farseer reign. So we had hoped, and so it seemed to be working. But if it did not, then they
might still move against the Prince, and attempt to discredit him with his own nobles by showing that he was
Witted. A royal proclamation that the Wit Magic was no longer to be considered a taint could not undo
generations of prejudice and mistrust. That, we hoped, would fall before the benign presence of Witted ones in
the Queen’s own court. Not just boys such as Swift, but men such as Web the Witted.
Chade still gazed out over the water, his eyes troubled.
I winced as I said them, but could not keep the words back. “Is there anything I could do to help?”
He swung his gaze to meet mine. “Do you offer that sincerely?”
His tone warned me. “I think I do. Why? What would you ask of me?”
“Let me send for Nettle. You needn’t acknowledge her as your daughter. Just let me approach Burrich again
about bringing her to court, and teaching her the Skill. I think there is still enough of his old oath to the Farseers
left in his heart that if I told him she was needed by her prince, he’d let her come. And surely it would be a
comfort to Swift, to have his sister close by.”
“Oh, Chade.” I shook my head. “Ask me anything else. Only leave my child in peace.”
He shook his head and held his silence. For a time longer I stood by his side, but finally I accepted that silence
as a dismissal. I left him standing there, staring out over the water, looking east and north, to the Out Islands.
Chapter 2
SONS
Taker was the first man to call himself a king at Buckkeep Castle. He came to these shores from the Out
Islands, a raider and looter, as so many others had come before him. He saw in the timbered fort upon the cliffs
that overlooked the river an ideal location to establish a permanent foothold in the land. So some say. Others
tell it that he was a cold, wet, and queasy sailor, anxious to be off the ocean’s heaving belly and onto shore
again. Whatever his initial motivation might have been, he successfully attacked and seized the wooden castle
on its ancient stone foundation and became the first Farseer king at Buckkeep. He burned his way in;
henceforth, he built all his further fortifications of Buckkeep from the black stone so plentiful there. Thus, from
the earliest days, the Six Duchies ruling family has roots that reach back to the Out Islands. They are not, of
course, alone in this. Six Duchies and Outislander folk have mingled blood as often as they have shed one
another’s.
—VENTURN ’S“HISTORIES”
With only five days remaining until our departure date, the journey began to seem real to me. Up to that point, I
had been able to push it out of my mind and consider it an abstract thing. I had prepared for it, but only as an
10
摘要：

ROBINHOBB–THETAWNYMANIII–FOOL’SFATEPrologueBATTLINGFATETheWhiteProphet’spremiseseemssimple.Hewishedtosettheworld\inadifferentpaththantheoneithadrolledonthroughsomanycircuitsoftime.Accordingtohim,timealwaysrepeatsitself,andineveryrepetit\ion,peoplemakemostofthesamefoolishmistakesthey’vealwaysmade.The...

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