“Huntswoman Laurel. Ready to go, I see,” Lord Golden greeted her.
“Yes, my lord. Waiting only for you to be ready.”
At this, they both glanced at me. Recalling abruptly that I was Lord Golden's servant, I took Malta's reins from Laurel and held her while Lord Golden mounted. I fastened both our saddle packs onto my black, a process she did not much approve of. As I took my reins from Laurel, she smiled at me and proffered a hand. “Laurel of the Downs family near Pitbank. I am Her Majesty's Huntswoman.”
“Tom Badgerlock. Lord Golden's man,” I replied as I bowed over her hand.
Lord Golden had already set his horse in motion with a noble disregard for the doings of servants. We both hastily mounted and set off after him. “And where is your family from, Tom?” Laurel asked.
“Um. Near Forge. On Bramble Creek.” Bramble Creek was what Hap and I called it. If the creek near our cottage had any other name, I had never heard it. But the impromptu pedigree seemed to satisfy Laurel. The black was annoying me by tugging at her bit and trying to move up. Evidently she was not used to following another horse. Her stride was longer than Malta's as well. I held her in place, but it was a near constant battle of wills.
Laurel gave me a sympathetic look. “New mount?”
“I've had her less than the day. Discovering her temperament on a journey may not be the best way to get to know her.”
She grinned at me. “No, but it may be the quickest. Besides, what choice do you have?”
We left the castle by the west gate. In my boyhood at Buckkeep, this gate had been kept secured at most times, and the road that led from it had been little more than a goat path. Now it stood open, with a small manned guardhouse next to it. We were passed out with scarcely a pause, and found ourselves on a welltraveled road that traversed the hills behind Buck Castle before winding down to the riverside. The steepest bits of the old path had been rerouted, and the whole way widened. Tracks told me that carts used this meandering path, and as it carried us on our wandering way down to the river, I caught glimpses of wharves below, and the roofs of warehouses. I was still shocked when I began to catch glimpses of cottages back beneath the trees.
“Folk did not used to live there,” I said. I bit my tongue before I added that Prince Verity had loved to hunt these hills. I doubted they offered much game anymore. Trees had been cleared to allow small gardens to be cultivated. Donkeys and ponies grazed in brushy pastures.
Laurel nodded to my surprise, but added, “Then you have not been here since the Red Ship War ended. All this has sprung up in the last ten years or so. When trade improved, more folk wanted to live near Buckkeep, and yet did not want to be too far from the castle lest the raids resume.” I could think of no sensible reply to her words, but the new stretch of town still surprised me. There was even a tavern as we got closer to the docks, and a hiring hall for rivermen. We rode past a row of warehouses that fronted onto the docks. Donkey carts seemed the favored transportation. Bluntnosed river craft were tied up to the docks, unloading cargo from Farrow and Tilth. We passed another tavern, and then several cheap rooming houses such as sailors seem to favor. The road followed the river upstream. Sometimes it was wide and sandy; in other places timbers had been laid in a sort of boardwalk over boggy stretches. The other horses seemed to take no notice of the change, but at every one we traversed, my black slowed her pace and set back her ears. She did not like the drumming of her hooves on the timber. I set my hand to her withers and , quested toward her, offering reassurance. She turned her j head to roll an eye at me, but remained as distant as ever. She probably would have refused to go on if there had not j been two other horses to follow. She was plainly far mote interested in her own kind than in any companionship I I might offer.
I shook my head at the difference between her and the amiable horses in Burrich's stable, and wondered if his Wit had made the difference. Whenever a mare birthed a foal, Burrich was at her side, and the baby knew the touch of his hand almost as soon as it knew the lick of its mother's tongue. Was it merely the early presence of a human that had made the beasts in his stable so accepting, or was it his own Wit, suppressed but still present, that had made them so receptive to me?
The afternoon sun beat down on us, and the sun bounced off the river's wide and gleaming surface. The thudding hooves of the three horses were a pleasant counterpoint to my thoughts as I pondered. Burrich had seen the Wit as a dark and low magic, a temptation to let the beast in my nature overwhelm me. Common lore agreed with him and went further; the Wit was a tool for evil, a shameful magic that led its practitioners into degradation and wickedness. Death and dismemberment was the only recognized cure for the Wit. My equanimity over Dutiful's absence was suddenly threatened. True, the boy had not been kidnapped. But although the Skill had let me find him, it was undoubtedly the Wit the boy was employing in his night hunts. If he betrayed himself to anyone, he might be put to death. Perhaps not even his status as a prince would be enough to protect him from that fate. After all, the Wit had been enough to tumble me from the favor of the coastal dukes straight into Regal's dungeons.
No wonder Burrich had given up all use of the Wit. No wonder he had so often threatened to beat it out of me. Yet I could not regret having it. Curse or blessing, it had saved my life more often than it had endangered it. And I could not help but believe that my deep sense of kinship with all life enhanced my days. I drew a deep breath and cautiously let my Wit unfold into a general sensing of the day around me. My awareness of both Malta and the Huntswoman's horse sharpened, as did their acknowledgment of me. I sensed Laurel, not as another rider beside me, but as a large and healthy creature. Lord Golden was as unknowable to my Wit as the Fool ever was. From even that sense, he rippled aside, and yet his very mystery was a familiar one to me. Birds in the trees overhead were bright startles of life amongst the leaves. From the largest of the trees we passed, I sensed a deep green flow of being, a welling of existence that was unlike an animal's awareness and yet was life all the same. It was as if my sense of touch expanded beyond my skin to make contact with all other forms of life around me. All the world shimmered with life, and I was a part of that network. Regret this oneness? Deny this expanded tactility?
“You're a quiet one,” Laurel observed. With a start I becam.e aware of her as a person again. My thoughts had run so deep, I had almost forgotten the woman riding beside me. She was smiling at me. Her eyes were pale blue, but with rings of darker blue at the edges. One iris, I noted, had an odd streak of green in it, radiating out from the center. I could think of no reply so I simply shrugged and nodded. Her smile grew wider.
“Have you been Huntswoman for the Queen long?” I asked, simply to be saying something.
Laurel's eyes grew thoughtful as she toted up the years. “Seven years now,” she said quietly.
“Ah. Then you know her well,” I rejoined, wondering how much she truly knew of our present errand.
“Well enough,” Laurel replied, and I could almost see her wondering the same about me.
I cleared my throat. “Lord Golden visits Galeton in search of gamebirds. He has a passion for collecting feathers, you know.” I did not directly ask any question.
She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “Lord Golden has many passions, it is said,” she observed in a, low voice. “And the funds to indulge them all.” She gave me another glance, as if to ask if I would defend my master, but if there was an insult, I did not take its meaning. She looked ahead and spoke on. “As for me, I but travel along to scout the hunting for my Queen. She likes to go after game birds in the autumn. have hopes that in Galeton woods we may find the kind that she likes best.”
“So do we all hope,” agreed. I liked her caution. We would get along well enough, I decided.
“Have you known Lord Golden long?” she asked me. “Not directly,” I hedged. “I had heard he was looking for a man, and I was glad when an acquaintance recommended me.”
“Then you've done this kind of work before?” “Not for some time. For the past ten years or so I've lived quietly, just my boy and me. But he's of an age to apprentice out, and that takes hard coin. This is the fastest way I know to earn it.”
“And his mother?” she asked lightly. “Won't she be lonely with both of you away?”
“She's gone many years,” I said. Then, realizing that Hap might sometime venture up to Buckkeep, I decided to keep as close to the truth as I could. “He's a fosterling I took in. I never knew his mother. But I think of him as my son.” “You're not married, then?” The question surprised me. “No, I'm not.” “Neither am I.” She gave me a small smile as if to say this gave us much in common. “So, how do you like Buckkeep so far?”
“Well enough. I lived close by when I was a boy. It's changed a great deal since then.”
“I'm from Tilth myself. Up on the Branedee Downs is where I grew up, though my mother was from Buck. Her family lived not far from Galeton; I know the area, for I ranged there as a child. But mostly we lived near the Downs, where my father was Huntsman for Lord Sitswell. My father taught both my brothers and me the skills of being a Huntsman. When he died, my older brother took his position. My younger brother returned to live amongst my mother's people. I stayed on, mostly training the coursing horses in Lord Sitswell's stable. But when the Queen and her party came hunting there years ago, I turned out to help, for the party was so large. The Queen took a liking to me, and” she grinned proudly “I've been her Huntswoman ever since.” was trying to think of something more to say when Lord Golden beckoned us both to come closer.
I urged the black forward, and when we were close, he announced, “Those were the last of the houses for a way. I did not want folks saying that we rode in great haste, but neither do wish to miss this evening's only ferry from Lampcross. So now, good people, we ride. And Badgerlock, we'll see if that black is truly as fleet as the horse seller said. Keep up as best you can. I'll hold the ferry for us all.” So saying, he touched his heels to Malta and let out her reins. It was all the permission she required. She sprang forward, showing us her heels.
“My Whitecap can match her any day!” Laurel proclaimed, and gave her horse his head.
Catch them! I suggested to the black, and was almost shocked at her competitive response. From a walk, she all but leapt into a run. The smaller horses had the lead on us. Packed mud flew up from their hooves, and Malta led only by virtue of the narrowing trail. My black's longer stride diminished their lead until we were close behind them, getting the full benefit of the mud they threw. The sound of us at their heels spurred them to greater effort and once more they pulled ahead of us. But I could feel that my black had not yet hit her peak. There was still unrealized reach in her stride, and the tempo of her gait said that she had not reached her hardest gallop. I tried to hold her back where the flying clods would not shower us so heartily, but she paid no heed to the rein. The moment the trail widened, -si, she surged forward into the gap, and in a few strides she passed them both. I heard them both cry out to their horses, and I thought they would overtake us. But like a lengthening wolfhound on the scent, my black reached out to seize even longer strides of the path and fling it behind us. I glanced back at them once, to see both their faces alight with the challenge.
Faster, I suggested to my black. I did not really think she had more speed in her, but as a flame roars up a dry tree, she again surged forward. I laughed aloud at the pure joy of it, and saw her ears flicker in response. She did not reach toward my mind with any thought, but I felt a tentative glimmer of her approval. We would do well enough together.
We were first to reach Lampcross Ferry.
The Tawny Man 2 - Golden Fool
The Tawny Man 2 - Golden Fool