The Tawny Man 1 - Fools Errand
Chapter XXV
RANSOM
By these signs may you know one who has the potential for the Skill:
A child who comes of Skilled parents.
A child who wins often at games of physical skill, and his opponents stumble, lose heart, or play poorly against him.
A child who possesses memories not rightfully his.
A child who dreams, and his dreams are detailed and contain knowledge beyond the child's own experience.
ê- ê, DUN NEEDLESON, SKILLMASTER TO KING WIELDER
The barrow crouched on the hillside above us. It was raining, a misty but determined fall of water. The grass was deep and wet. I suddenly didn't have the strength to stand by myself, let alone support the Prince. As one, we sank down until I knelt on the wet earth. I lowered his body to the sward. His eyes were open but they stared blindly. Only the rasping of his breath showed me he was alive. We were back in Buck, but our situation was only marginally better than when we had last left here.
We were both soaking wet. After a moment, I became aware of an odd smell and realized that the pillar behind us was radiating warmth. The smell was the dampness forced out of the stone. I decided I would rather be cold than get too close to it. The figurine still dangled from the chain tangled in the Prince's fingers. I plucked it free, gathered up the chain, and put it inside my pouch. The Prince made no response to any of this. “Dutiful?” I leaned closer and looked directly into his eyes. They didn't focus on me. The rain was falling on his face and his open eyes. I tapped him lightly on the cheek. “Prince Dutiful? Do you hear me?”
He blinked slowly. It was not much of a response, but it was better than nothing.
“You'll feel better in a little while. Just rest here for a time.” I wasn't sure that was true, but I left him on the wet grass and climbed up on top of the barrow. I surveyed the surrounding lands, but saw no other humans. There wasn't much of anything to see, just rolling countryside and a few copses of trees. A flock of starlings wheeled in unison, and settled again, squabbling over feed. Beyond the wild meadow, there was forest. There was nothing that looked like an immediate threat, but nothing that looked like food, drink, and shelter, either. I was fairly certain that Dutiful would benefit from all three, and feared that without them he would sink further into unresponsiveness, but what I needed was even more basic. I wanted to know if my friends lived. I wanted beyond all rationality to reach out for my wolf. I longed to howl for him, to put my whole heart into that questing. I also knew it was the most foolish and reckless thing I could do. It would not only alert any Witted ones nearby that I was here, it would also warn them that I was coming.
I forced order onto my thoughts. I needed a refuge, and quickly. It seemed likely to me that the woman and the cat would be constantly questing for the Prince. Even now, they might be coming for him. The afternoon was already venturing toward evening. Dutiful had told me the Piebalds would kill Nighteyes and the Fool at sunset if I had not returned him. Somehow, I must get the Prince to a safe place before the woman could find us, then slip off on my own to discover where the Piebalds held my friends and then free them. Before sunset. I racked my brain. The closest inn I knew of was the Piebald Prince. I doubted that Dutiful would get a fond welcome there. Yet Buckkeep was a long walk and a riverfording away. I pondered but could think - , of no other refuge for him. In his present condition, I could scarcely leave him here alone, and another trip through a pillar would be the end of Dutiful's mind, even if we emerged physically unscathed. I once more scanned the empty landscape. I reluctantly admitted that though I had choices, none of them were good. I abruptly decided that I would get us moving, and try to think of something better along the way.
I gave one final glance around before descending from the barrow. As I did so, my eye caught something, not a shape, but a movement beyond a cluster of trees. I crouched low and stared at it, trying to resolve what I had seen. In a few moments, the animal emerged. A horse. Black and tall. Myblack. She stared toward me. Slowly I stood again. She was too far off to go chasing after her. She must have fled when the Piebalds captured Nighteyes and the Fool. I wondered what had become of Malta. I watched her for a moment longer, but she only stood and stared back at me. I turned my back on her and descended to the Prince.
He was no more coherent, but at least had reacted to the chill rain by drawing into a ball and shivering. My apprehension for him was mixed with a guilty hope. Perhaps in his present condition, he could not use his Wit to let the Piebalds know where we were. I set my hand to his shoulder and tried to make my voice gentle as I told him, “Let's get you up and walking. It will warm both of us.”
I don't know if my words made sense to him. He stared ahead blankly as I pulled him to his feet. Once up, he hunched over his crossed arms. The shivering did not abate. “Let's walk,” I suggested, but he did not move until I put an arm around him and told him, “Walk with me. Now.” Then he did, but it was a stumbling, staggering gait. At a snail's pace, we traversed the wet hillside.
Very gradually, I became aware of the thud of hooves behind us. A glance back showed Myblack following us, but when I stopped, she stopped also. When I let go of the Prince, he sagged toward the earth and the horse immediately became suspicious. dragged the Prince back to his feet. As we plodded on again, I could hear her uneven hoofbeats behind us again.
I ignored Myblack until she had nearly caught up with us. Then I sat down and let Dutiful lean against me until her curiosity overcame her native wariness. I paid no attention to her until her breath was actually warm on the back of my neck. Even then I did not turn to her, but snaked a hand stealthily around to catch hold of the dangling reins.
I think she was almost glad to be caught. I stood slowly and stroked her neck. Her coat was streaked with dried lather, and all her tack was damp. She had been grazing around her bit. Mud was crusted into one side of the saddle where she had tried to roll. I led her in a slow circle and confirmed what I feared. She was lamed. Something, perhaps the Withounds, had tried to run her down, but her fleetness had saved her. I was amazed that she had even stayed in the area, let alone come back to me when she saw me. Yet there would be no wild gallop to safety for any of us. The best we would do was a halting walk.
I spent some little time trying to cajole the Prince into standing and mounting the horse. It was only when I lost my patience and ordered him to get to his feet and get on the damned horse that he obeyed me. Dutiful did not respond to conversation, but he obeyed simple orders from me. Then I appreciated how deep that jolt of Skillcommand had gone, and how firmly linked we remained. “Don't fight me,” I had charged him, and some part of him interpreted that as “don't disobey me.” Even with his cooperation, the mount was an awkward maneuver. As I heaved him up into the saddle, I feared he would topple off the other side. I didn't try to ride behind him. I doubted that Myblack would have tolerated it. Instead I led her. The Prince swayed with Myblack's hitching gait but did not fall. He looked terrible. All the maturity had been stripped from his features, leaving him a sick child, his darkcircled eyes wide, his mouth drooping. He looked as if he could die. The full impact of that possibility seized my heart in a cold grip. The Prince dead. The end of the Farseer line and the shattering of the Six Duchies. A messy and painful death for Nettle. I could not let it happen that way. We entered a strip of open woods, startling a crow who rose, cawing like a prophet of doom. It seemed an ill omen.
I found myself talking to both Prince and horse as we walked. I spoke in Burrich's soothing cadence, using his reassuring words, in a calming ritual remembered from my childhood. “Come along now, we're all going to be fine, there, there, the worst part is over, that's right, that's right.” From that I progressed to humming, and again it was some tune that Burrich had often hummed when he worked on injured horses or laboring mares. I think the familiar song calmed and settled me more than it did the horse or the Prince. After a time, I found myself talking aloud, as much to myself as to them. “Well, it looks as if Chade was right. You're going to Skill whether you're taught to or not. And I'm afraid the same holds true for the Wit. It's in your blood, lad, and unlike some, I don't think it can be beaten out of you. I don't think it should be. But it shouldn't be indulged the way you've indulged it, either. It's not that different from the Skill, really. A man has to set limits on his magic and on himself. Setting limits is part of being a man. So if we come out of this alive and intact, I'll teach you. I guess I'll teach myself as well. It's probably time for me to look into all those old Skill scrolls and find out what's really in them. It scares me, though. In the last two years, the Skill has come back on me like some sort of spreading ulcer. I don't know where it's taking me. And I fear what I don't know. That's the wolf in me, I guess. And Eda's breath, let him be safe right now, and my Fool. Don't let them be in pain or dying simply because they knew me. If anything happens to either of them . . . it's strange, isn't it, how you don't know how big a part of you someone is until they're threatened? And then you think that you can't possibly go on if something happens to them, but the most frightening part is that, actually, you will go on, you'll have to go on, with them or without them. There's just no telling what you'll become. What will I be, if Nighteyes is gone? Look at Small Ferret, all those years ago. He went on and on, even though the only thing left in his little mind was to kill ” “What about my cat?”
His voice was soft. Relief washed through me that he had enough mind left to speak. At the same time, I hastily reviewed my thoughtless rambling and hoped he had not been paying too much attention. “How do you feel, my Prince?” “I can't feel my cat.”
A long silence followed. I finally said, “I can't feel my wolf, either. Sometimes he needs to be separate from me.”
He was silent for so long that I feared he wasn't going to reply. Then he said, “It doesn't feel like that. She's holding us apart. It feels as if I am being punished.”
“Punished for what?” I kept my voice even and light, as if we discussed the weather.
“For not killing you. For not even trying to kill you. She can't understand why I don't. I can't explain why I don't. But it makes her angry with me.” There was a simplicity to his heartspoken words, as if I conversed with the person behind all the manners and artifice of society. I sensed that our journey through the Skillpillar had stripped away many layers of protection from him. He was vulnerable right now. He spoke and reasoned as soldiers do when they are in great pain, or when ill men try to speak through a fever. All his guards were dropped. It seemed as if he trusted me, that he spoke of such things. I counseled myself not to hope for that, nor believe it. It was only the hardships he had been through that opened him to me like this. Only that. I chose my words carefully. “Is she with you now? The woman?” He nodded slowly. “She is always with me now. She won't let me think alone.” He swallowed and added hesitantly, “She doesn't want me to talk to you. Or listen. It's hard. She keeps pushing me.”
“Do you want to kill me?”
Again there was that pause before he spoke. It was as if he had to digest the words, not simply hear them. When he spoke, he didn't answer my question.
“You said she was dead. It made her very angry.”
“Because it is true.”
“She said she would explain. Later. She said that should be enough for me.” He was not looking at me, but when I gazed at him, he turned his whole head aside as if to be sure he would not see me. “Then she . . . she was me. And she attacked you with the knife. Because I ... hadn't.” I couldn't tell if he was confused or ashamed.
“Wouldn't kill me?” I suggested the word.
“Wouldn't,” the Prince admitted. I was amazed at how grateful I was for the small piece of knowledge. He had refused to kill me. I had thought only my Skillcommand had stopped him. “I wouldn't obey her. Sometimes I've disappointed her. But now she is truly angry with me.”
“And they're punishing you for that disobedience. By leaving you alone.”
He gave his head one slow, grave shake. “No. The cat does not care if I kill you or not. She would always be with me. But the woman . . . she is disappointed that I am not more loyal. So she . . . separates us. Me from the cat. The woman thinks that I should have been willing to show that I was worthy of her. How can they trust me if I refuse to prove my loyalty?”
“And you prove your loyalty by killing when you're told to kill?”
He was silent for a long time. It gave me time to reflect. I had killed when I was told to kill. It had been part of my loyalty to my King, part of my bargain with my grandfather. He would educate me if I would be loyal to him. discovered did not want Kettricken's son to be thatloyal to anyone.
He sighed. “It was . . . even more than that. She wants to make the decisions. All the decisions. Every time. ust as she told the cat what to hunt, and when, and took her kills away. When she holds us close, it feels like love. But she can also hold back from us, and yet we are still held . . .” He could see that I did not understand. After a time he added quietly, “I didn't like it when she used my body against you. Even if she hadn't been trying to kill you, I wouldn't have liked it. She pushed me to one side, just like . . .” He didn't want to admit it. I admired that he forced himself to it. “Just like I've felt her push the cat aside, when she didn't want to do cat things. When she was tired of grooming, or didn't want to play. The cat doesn't like it, either, but she doesn't know how to push back. I did. I pushed her back and she didn't like it. She didn't like that the cat felt me do it, either. I think that's the biggest reason why I'm being punished. That I pushed her back.” He shook his head, baffled himself, and then said, “She's so real. How can you besure she's dead?”
I found I could not lie to him. “I ... feel it. So does Nighteyes. He says the cat is riddled with her, as if she were parasites worming through her flesh. He felt sorry forthe cat.”
“Oh.” The word was very small. glanced back at him, and thought he looked more gray than pale now. His eyes went distant and his thoughts traveled back. “When I first got her, she loved for me to groom her. I kept her coat like silk. But after we left Buckkeep . . . sometimes the cat would want to be brushed, but the woman always said there was no time for that. Cat lost weight and her fur was rough. I worried, but she always set my worry aside. She said it was just the season, that it would pass. And I believed her. Even though the cat wanted to be brushed.” He looked stricken. “I took no pleasure in telling you that.”
“I suppose it doesn't matter now.”
For a long time, I led the horse in silence as I tried to puzzle out what his last words meant. Didn't matter that I was sorry, or didn't matter that she was dead?
“I believed so many things she told me. But I already knew that They're coming now. The crow has fetched them.” A sudden note of remorse came into his voice. His words were halting. “They knew to watch the standing stone. From all the legends of such stones. But she wouldn't let me tell you that. Until now. When it doesn't matter. She finds it humorous, now.” He suddenly sat up straight in the saddle. Life came back into his face. “Oh, cat!” he breathed.
Panic raced over me. I tried to set it aside. A quick scan of all horizons showed me no one, nothing. But he had said they were coming, and I was sure he had not lied. As long as he was with me and linked to the cat, I could not hope to hide from them. I could mount Myblack behind him, and run her to death, and we still would not escape. We were too far from Buckkeep, and I had no other safe place, no other allies. And a crow keeping watch for them. I should have guessed.
I dropped all restraint and reached out for my wolf. At least I would know he was alive.
I touched him. But the wave of pain that immersed me was scalding. I had discovered the only thing worse than not knowing his fate. He was alive and he suffered, and he still excluded me from his thoughts. I threw myself against his walls, but he had locked me out. In the fierceness of his defense, I wondered if he was even aware of me. It reminded me of a soldier clutching his sword beyond his ability to use it or of wolves, jaws locked on each other's throats, dying together.
In the space of that moment, in the tortured drawing of a breath, the Piebalds appeared. They crested the hillside above us, and some emerged from the forest to our left. Behind us, they came across the wild meadows, perhaps six of them. The big man on the warhoise rode with them. TKe crow sailed over us once, and this time his caw was mocking. I looked in vain for a gap in their circle that might permit escape. There were none. By the time I mounted Myblack and charged toward an opening, the others could effortlessly close it. Death rode toward me from every direction. I halted and drew my sword. The foolish thought came to me that I would rather have died with Verity's sword in my hand instead of this guardsman's blade. I waited.
They did not race toward me. Rather, they came at a steady pace like the slow closing of a noose. Perhaps it amused them to think of me standing there, watching them come. It gave me far too much time to think. I sheathed my ' sword and took out my knife instead. “Get down,” I said quietly. Dutiful looked down at me in vague confusion. “Get off the horse,” I ordered him, and he obeyed, though I had to steady him before his second foot hit the ground. I wrapped an arm around his chest and carefully set the knife to his throat. “I'm sorry,” I told him with great sincerity. Conviction was running through my veins like icy water. “But you are better dead than what the woman plans for you.”
He stood quite still in my grip. I didn't know if he didn't want to risk resistance or if he didn't care to resist. “How do you know what she intends for me?” he asked me evenly.
“Because I know what I would do.”
That statement wasn't quite true, I told myself. I'd never take over another person's body and mind simply for the sake of extending my life. I was too noble for that. So noble that I'd kill my Prince before I'd let him be used that way. So noble that I'd kill him, knowing my daughter must then die, as well. I didn't want to look too closely at that reasoning. So I held my knife to the throat of Verity's only heir and watched the Piebalds come. I waited until they were within shouting distance, and then I raised my voice. “Come any closer and I kill him.”
The big man on the warhorse was their leader. He lifted his hands to stop the advance of the others, but then he himself rode slowly forward as if to test my resolve. I watched him come and my grip on the Prince tightened. “It takes one motion of my hand and the Prince is dead,” I warned him.
“Oh, come, you're being ridiculous,” the big man replied. He continued to walk his horse toward me. Myblack snorted a query at his beast. “For what will you do if we obediently halt here? Stand in our midst and starve to death?”
“Let us go, or I'll kill him,” I amended. “Equally silly. Where's the benefit to us in that? If we can't have him, he might as well be dead.” His voice was deep and resonant and it carried well. He had a dark, handsome face and sat his horse like a warrior. In another time and place, I would have looked at him and judged him a man worthy of my friendship. Now his followers laughed aloud at my pathetic efforts to defy him. He and his horse came closer still. The big horse stepped high as he came and his eyes shone with their Wit'bond. “And consider what happens if you do kill him as I advance. Once he's dead, we'll all be very annoyed with you. And you still won't have a chance of escape. I doubt that you can even make us kill you swiftly. So. That's my counteroffer. Give us the boy and I'll kill you quickly. You have my word on that.”
Such a kind offer. His grave manner and careful speech convinced me he would honor it. Quick death sounded very appealing when I considered the alternatives. But I hated dying without having the last word.
“Very well,” I conceded. “But he costs you more than my life. Release the wolf and the tawny man. Then I'll give you your Prince, and you can kill me.”
The Prince stood motionless in the circle of my arm and knife. I scarcely felt him breathe, and yet I could feel him listening, as if my words soaked into him like water into dry earth. The fine web of Skill between us warned me that there was something else going on. He reached out with his unholy combination of Wit and Skill to someone. I readied my muscles lest the woman wrest control of his body from him.
“Are you lying?” Dutiful asked me so softly that I scarcely heard him. But was the question from Dutiful or the cat's woman?
“I'm telling the truth,” I lied sincerely. “If they release Lord Golden and the wolf, I'll free you.” To your death. And the second throat I'd cut would be mine.
The big man on the big horse gave what might have been a chuckle. “Too late for that, I'm afraid. They're already dead.”
“No. They aren't.”
“Aren't they?” He rode his horse closer.
“I'd know if the wolf died.”
He no longer needed to shout for his voice to reach me. He spoke in a confidential manner. “And that is why it is so unnatural that you should oppose us. I confess, having you answer that one question alone is enough to make me postpone your death.” Warmth for me shone in his eyes and genuine curiosity came into his voice. “Why, in the name of the life and death that Eda and El encircle, do you stand like this against your own kind? Do you like what is done to us? The floggings, the hangings, the quartering and burning? Why do you support it?”
I let my own voice ring out to all of them. “Because what you seek to do to this boy is wrong! What the woman did to her cat is wrong! You take to yourself the name of Piebalds and claim pride in your lineage, yet you go against what Old Blood teaches. How can you condone what she has done to her cat, let alone what she wishes to do to the Prince?”
The light in the big man's eyes went cold. “He is a Farseer. Can anything be done to him that he does not merit, a thousand times over?”
At those words, the Prince stiffened in my grasp. “Laudwine, is that truly what you believe?” The youth and incredulity in Dutiful's voice was heartbreaking. "You spoke me fair when I rode with you. You said that eventually I could become the king who would unite all my folk under equal justice. You said
Laudwine shook his head in disdain for Dutiful's gullibility. “I would have said anything to have you come along quietly. I bought time with fair words, until the bond was knitted strong enough. I've had signs through the cat that the task is done. Peladine can take you anytime now. If there were not a knife at your throat just now, she'd already have you. But Peladine has no wish to die twice. Once was quite enough for her. Hers was a slow death, coughing and gasping as she grew weaker every day. Even my mother's was swifter. They hung her, true, but she was not quite dead when they cut her in quarters to feed their fire. And my father, well, I am sure that the time in which he watched Regal Farseer's soldiers dispose of my mother seemed to last years.” He smiled unpleasantly at Dutiful. “So you see, my family's relationship with the Farseers is a long one. The debt is an old one, Prince Dutiful. I think the only pleasant time that Peladine had in her last year were the hours in which we spent planning this for you. It is only fitting that a Farseer should actually restore a life for the ones that have been taken from me.”
And there it was. The seed of hate from which all this had sprung. Once more, the Farseers did not have to see far to know whence their ill fortune came. The Prince's pitfall was built from his uncle's arrogance and cruelty. Hatred was the legacy Regal had bequeathed to me, as well, but my heart closed against the sympathy that flared in me. The Piebalds were my enemies. Regardless of what they had suffered, they had no right to this boy. “And what was Peladine to you, Laudwine?” I asked evenly. I suspected I knew the answer, but he surprised me.
“She was my wombsister, my twin, as like to me as woman can be to man. Bereft of her, I am the last of my line. Is that reason enough for you?”
“No. But it is for you. You would do anything to have her live again in human flesh. You'd help her steal this boy's body to house her mind. Even though that goes against every Old Blood teaching we hold dear.” I let my voice ring with righteousness. If my words shocked any of his warriors, they hid it well.
Laudwine halted his horse a sword's length away from us. He leaned down to fix me with his stare. “There's more to it than a brother's grief. Break your lackey's bonds to the Farseer family and think for yourself. Think for your own kind. Forget our old customs of limiting ourselves. Old Blood is a gift from Eda, and we should use it! There is great opportunity here, for all of us who bear Old Blood. We have a chance to be heard. Let the Farseers admit to themselves what legend has long said is true; the Wit is in their blood as thick as the Skill. This boy will be king someday. We can make him ours. When he steps into power, he can end the persecution we have endured so long.”
I bit my lower lip in a show of thoughtfulness. Laudwine could little imagine what decision I truly weighed. If I did as he wished, the Farseer line would still have its heir, in body at least. Nettle could live a life of her own, free of fate's entangling web. And there might be good in it, for the Old Blood and the Six Duchies. All I had to do was surrender Dutiful to a life of torment. The Fool and my wolf could go free, and Nettle could live, and perhaps the Old Blood could eventually be free of persecution. Even I could live. Give up a boy I scarcely knew to buy all that. One single life, weighed against all those others.
I made my decision.
“If I thought you spoke true ” I began, and then halted. I stared at Laudwine.
“You might come over to us?”
He believed me to be a man caught between death and compromise. I let uncertainty show in my eyes, and then gave the briefest possible nod. I reached up onehanded and tugged at my collar, loosening it. Jinna's beads peeped out at him. You like me, I begged him. Trust my words. Desire me for a friend. Then I spoke my coward's speech. “I could be useful to you, Laudwine. The Queen expects Lord Golden to bring the Prince back to her. If you kill him and the Prince goes back alone, they will wonder what became of Golden, and why. If you let us live, and we take the Prince back to them, well, I can explain away the changes in his demeanor. They'll accept him back unquestioningly.” His eyes wandered over me, deliberating. I watched him convince himself. “And Lord Golden would go along with what you said?”
I made a small sound of derision. “He has not the Wit. He has only his eyes to tell him that we have regained the Prince alive and unharmed. He will think only of his hero's welcome at Buckkeep. He will believe that I negotiated the Prince's freedom, and be glad to claim the credit for it at court. In fact, he will witness me doing it. Take us to where you hold him. Let us make a show for him. Send him on his way with my wolf, assuring him that the Prince and I will follow.” I nodded sagely as if confirming the thought to myself. “Actually, it is best if he is well on his way. He should not witness the woman taking over the boy. He might wonder what was amiss with him. Let Lord Golden be gone first.”
“You seem very concerned for his safety,” Laudwine probed.
I shrugged. “He pays me well to do very little. And he tolerates my wolf. We are both getting on in years. Such a post is not easily found.”
Laudwine grinned, but in his eyes I saw his secret contempt for my servant's ethic. I opened my collar more.
He glanced at Dutiful. The boy's eyes were fixed on his face. “A problem,” Laudwine observed softly. “The boy has no benefit in our bargain. He may well betray it to Lord Golden.”
I felt Dutiful draw breath to speak. I tightened my grip on him, asking for silence while I thought, but he spoke anyway. “My interest is in living,” he said clearly. "However jstê
poor an existence it may become. And in my cat. For she is true to me, even if your sister is false to both of us. I will not abandon the cat to her. And if she takes my body from me, then perhaps that is the price I must pay, for letting a Piebald make a fool of me with promises of fellowship. And love." His voice was steady, and pitched to carry. Beyond Laudwine's shoulder, I saw two of his riders look aside, as if Dutiful's words pained them. But no one spoke up on his behalf.
A thin smile twisted Laudwine's mouth. “Then our pact is made.” He extended his free hand toward me, as if we would seal the bargain with a touch. He smiled disarmingly at me. “Take your knife from the boy's throat.”
I gave him a wolf's smile in return. “I think not, just yet. You have said this Peladine can take him at any time? Perhaps, if she does, you will think you have no need of me. You might kill me, let your sister have the boy, and then present him to Lord Golden, the hostage freed to return to court. No. We will do it my way. Besides, this lad may change his feelings about what we do. The knife helps him remember that my will is what will be.” I wondered if Dutiful would hear my promise enfolded in those words. I kept my eyes fixed on Laudwine and did not vary my tone. “Let me'see Lord Golden remounted and set free, with my wolf at his side. Then, when I see how you keep your word, I will surrender us both to your will.”
Feeble, feeble plan. My true strategy went no further than getting them to take us to the Fool and Nighteyes. I continued to hold my smile and gaze on Laudwine but I was aware of the others edging their horses closer. My grip on the knife was steady. At some point, the Prince had reached up to grasp my wrist. I had scarcely been aware of his touch, for although it looked as if he resisted my blade, he did not. In truth, it was almost as if he held the knife steady against his own throat.
“We will do it your way,” Laudwine conceded at last.
It was an awkward business to mount Myblack while -sa, keeping my knife a threat to the Prince, but we managed it. Dutiful was almost too cooperative a victim; I feared Laudwine would see. I would have given much, just then, for the Prince to have been trained in Skilling. Our thread of joining was too fine for me to know his thoughts, nor did he know how to focus his mind toward mine. All I could sense was his anxiety and determination. Determination to do what, I could not divine. Myblack was not pleased with the doubled burden she had to carry, and my heart misgave me. Not only did I risk making her injury worse, or permanent, but if it became necessary to flee, she would already be weary and sore. Every hitch of Myblack's limp was a rebuke to me. But I had no alternatives. We rode, following Laudwine, and his companions closed in around us. They did not look well disposed toward me. I recognized a woman from our brief battle. I did not see either of the men I had fought. The Prince's former companions showed no evidence of sympathy or friendship for him now. He did not seem to see them, but rode looking forward with the point of my knife pressed high against his ribs.
We turned back and cut across the hillsides, past the barrow and toward the forest. The land we crossed hummocked oddly, and I soon decided that many years ago, a town of some sort had stood here. Meadow and woods had taken the land again, but land that has borne the plow ever after lies flatter. Moss had coated the stony walls that had once divided pastureland, and grass grew atop that, amidst the thistle and bramble that seem to love such stony places. “No one lives forever,” the walls seemed to say. “Four stones stacked atop one another will outlive all your dreams and still stand when your descendants have long forgotten that you lived here.”
Dutiful was silent as we rode. I kept my knife at his ribs. I do believe that if I had felt the woman take over his body, I would have pushed the blade home. His mind seemed far away. I used the time to assess our captors. There were an even dozen, including Laudwine.
We came at last to a cave cut into the side of a hill. Long ago, someone had added stone walls to extend the space. The remnants of a wooden gate hung drunkenly to one side. Sheep, I thought. It would be a good place to hold sheep at night, with the cave for shelter if rain or snow came too strong. Myblack lifted her head and gave a whinny of greeting to Malta and the three other horses tethered there. I made it fifteen of them, a respectable force to take on, even if there had been more than one of me.
I dismounted with the others and pulled the Prince down after me. He staggered as he landed on his feet and I caught him. His lips were moving as if he whispered to himself, but I heard nothing. His eyes seemed glassy and distant. I set the knife firmly to his throat. “If she tries to take him before the others are freed, I'll still kill him,” I warned them. Laudwine looked surprised by my threat. Then, “Peladine!” he bellowed. In reply, a hunting cat came bounding out of the cave. She fixed me with a hateful stare. Her slow advance toward me was the angry step of a thwarted woman, not a cat's stalk.
The Prince had dropped his gaze to the cat. He said nothing, but I felt the ragged sigh of his breath as it escaped him. Laudwine advanced to the cat and then went down on one knee to speak quietly to her. “I've struck a bargain,” he told her quietly. “If we let his friends go free, he gives us the Prince unscathed. More, he escorts you back to Buckkeep and helps you become accepted there.”
I don't know if some sign of affirmation passed between them, or if Laudwine simply assumed her consent. When he stood, he spoke more loudly. “Inside. Your companions are there.”
I was horribly reluctant to follow him into that cave. Out in the open, we had some small chance of escape. Inside, we would be cornered. The only thing I could promise myself was that they would not get Dutiful. To cut his throat would be the work of an instant. I was not so certain I could give myself a quick death, let alone Nighteyes or the Fool. sv, Within the cave, a small fire burned, and my stomach complained at the smell of roasting meat. A camp of sorts had been pitched there, but to my eyes it had the look of a brigands' den rather than a military encampment. The thought warned me that I should not be entirely confident that Laudwine had control of his people. Because they fol' lowed him did not mean they were subject to him. That cheery thought was entertaining me as I searched the shad' owy interior of the cave while Laudwine was quietly conferring with the folk he had left on guard there. He had not placed anyone in charge of us. All eyes were on him, and I eased away from the crowd. A few noticed my movement, but no one protested it. Jinna's charm still rode outside my shirt and I smiled disarmingly. Obviously, I was going deeper into the cave, not trying to escape to the outdoors. It was another indication of how informal Laudwine's command was. My fear that the Piebalds were some sort of Witted army dissolved into a sickening suspicion that they were actually a Witted mob.