I met her eyes. “So Hap told me,” I admitted.
She nodded curtly. She rose from the table and stepped clear of it. A minstrel to the bone, she had a story to tell, and demanded a stage for it. “Well. After Slek sang The Piebald Prince,' another minstrel came forward. He was very young, and perhaps that was why he was so foolish. He doffed his cap to Queen Kettricken, and then said he would follow The Piebald Prince' with another song, of more recent vintage. When he said he had heard it first in a hamlet of Witted folk, muttering ran through the crowd. All have heard rumors of such places, but never have I heard someone claim to have been to one. When the mutter died, he launched into a song had never heard before. The tune was derivative, but the words were new to me, as raw as his voice.” She cocked her head at me and regarded me speculatively. “This song was of Chivalry's Bastard. It touched on all he had done before his Witted taint was revealed. He even stole a phrase or two from my song 'Antler Island Tower,' if you can believe the gall of that! Then, this song went on that this 'Farseer's son with Old Blood blessed, of royal blood and wild, the best' had not died in the Pretender's dungeon. According to this song, the Bastard had lived, and been true to his father's family. The minstrel sang that when King Verity went off to seek the Elderlings, the Bastard rose from his grave to rally to his rightful King's aid. The minstrel sang a stirring scene of how the Bastard called Verity back through the gates of death, to show him a garden of stone dragons that could be wakened to the Six Duchies' cause. That, at least, had the ring of truth to it. It made me sit up and wonder, even if his voice was growing hoarse by then.” She paused, waiting for me to speak, but I had no words. She shrugged, then observed caustically, “If you wanted a song made of those days, you might have thought of me first. I was there, you know. In fact, it was why I was there. And I am a far better minstrel than that boy was.” There was a quiver of jealous outrage in her voice.
“I had nothing to do with that song, as I'm sure you must realize. I wish no one had ever heard it.”
“Well, you've little enough to worry about there.” She said the words with deep satisfaction. "I'd never heard it before that day, nor since. It was not well made, the tune did not fit the theme, the words were ragged, the
“Starling.”
“Oh, very well. He gave the song the traditional heroic cav, ending. That if ever the Farseer erown demanded it, the truehearted Witted Bastard would return to aid the king- : dom. At the end of the song, some of the Springfest crowd yelled insults at him and someone said he was likely Witted himself and fit for burning. Queen Kettricken commanded them to silence, but at the end of the evening, she gave him : no purse as she did the other minstrels.”
I kept silent, passing no judgment on that. When I did not rise to her bait, Starling added, “Because he had vanished when it came time for her to reward those who had pleased her. She called his name first, but no one knew where he had gone. His name was unfamiliar to me. Tagsson.”
Son of Tag, grandson of Reaver, I could have told her. And both Reaver and Tag had been very able members of Verity's Buckkeep guard. My mind reached back through the years to find Tag's face as he knelt before Verity in the Stone Garden before the gates of death. Yes, so I supposed it had looked to him, Verity stepping out from the stark black Skillpillar and into the uncertain circle of the firelight. Tag had recognized his King, despite all hardship had done to Verity. He had proclaimed his loyalty to him, and Verity had sent him on his way, bidding him return to Buckkeep and tell all there that the rightful King would return. In thinking back on it, I was almost certain that Verity had arrived at Buckkeep before the soldier did. Dragons awing are a deal faster than a man on foot.
I had not known Tag had recognized me as well. Who could ever have foreseen he would pass on that tale, let alone that he would have a minstrel for a son?
“I see that you know him,” Starling said quietly.
I glanced at her to find her eyes reading my face greedily. I sighed. “I know no Tagsson. I'm afraid my mind wandered back to something you said earlier. The Witted have grown restless. Why?”
She lifted an eyebrow at me. “I thought you would bet- ter know than I.”
“I lead a solitary life, Starling, as well you know. I'm in a poor position to hear tidings of any kind, save what you bring me.” It was my turn to study her. “And this was information you never shared with me.”
She looked away from me and I wondered: had she decided to keep it from me? Had Chade bade her not speak of it to me? Or had it been crowded from her mind by her stories of nobles she had played for, and acclaim she had received? “It isn't a pretty tale. I suppose it began a year and a half ago . . . perhaps two. It seemed to me then that I began to hear more often of Witted ones being found out and punished. Or killed. You know how people are, Fitz. For a time after the Red Ship War, I am sure they had their glut of killing and blood. But when the enemy is finally driven far from your shore, and your houses are restored and your fields begin to yield and your flocks to increase, why, then it becomes time to find fault with your neighbors again. I think Regal wakened a lust for blood sport in the Six Duchies, with his King's Circle and justice by combat. I wonder if we shall ever be truly free of that legacy.”
She had touched an old nightmare. The King's Circle at Tradeford, the caged beasts and the smell of Old Blood, trial by battle . . . the memory washed through me, leaving sickness in its wake.
“Two years ago . . . yes,” Starling continued. She moved restlessly about the room as she considered it. “That was when the old hatred of Witted folk flared up again. The Queen spoke out against it, for your sake I imagine. She is a beloved queen, and she has wrought many changes during her rule, but in this, tradition runs too deep. The folk in the village think, Well, what can she know of our ways, Mountainbred as she is? So although Queen Kettricken did not countenance it, the hounding of the Witted went on as it always has. Then, in Trenury in Farrow, about a year and a half ago, there was a horrifying incident. As the story came to Buckkeep, a Witted girl had a fox as her beast, and she cared not where it hunted so long as the blood ran every night.”
I interrupted her. “A pet fox?”
“Not exactly common. It was even more suspect that the girl who had this fox was neither of noble blood nor wealthy. What business had a farmer's child with such a beast? The rumors spread. The poultry flocks of the village folk near Trenury suffered the most, but the final blow was when something got into Lord Doplin's aviary and made dinner of his songbirds and imported Rain Wilds fowl. He sent his huntsmen after the girl and fox said to be at the root of it, and they were run down, not gently, and brought before Lord Doplin. She swore it was none of her fox's doing, she swore she was not Witted, but when the hot irons were put to the fox, it is said that she screamed as loudly as the beast did. Then, to close the circle of his proof, Doplin had the nails drawn from the girl's fingers and toes, and the fox likewise shrieked with her.”
“A moment.” Her words dizzied me. I could imagine it too well.
“I shall finish it swiftly. They died, slowly. But the nexl night, more of Doplin's songbirds were slain, and an old huntsman said it was a weasel, not a fox, for a weasel but drinks the blood whereas a fox would have taken the birds to pieces. I think it was the injustice of her death as much as the cruelty of it that roused the Witted against him. The next day, Doplin's own dog snapped at him. Doplin had both his dog and his dogboy put down. He claimed that when he walked through his stables, every one of his horses went wildeyed at his passage, laying back ears and kicking their stall walls. He had two stableboys hanged over water and burned. He claimed flies began to flock to his kitchen so that he found them dead daily in his food, and that . . .” shook my head at her. “That is the wildness of a man's uneasy conscience, not the work of any Witted ones I have ever known.”
She shrugged. “In any case, the folk cried out to the Queen for justice when over a dozen of his lesser servants had been tortured or killed. And she sent Chade.”
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms on my chest. So. The old assassin was still the bearer of the Farseer justice. I wondered who had accompanied him to do the quiet work. “What happened?” asked, as if I did not know. “Chade made a simple solution to it all. By the Queen's order, he forbade Doplin to keep horse, hawk, or hound, or beast or bird of any kind in his manor. He cannot ride, hawk, or hunt in any form. Chade even forbade him and all who live in his keep the eating of any flesh or fish for a year.” “That will make for a dreary holding.” “It is said among the minstrels that no one guests with Doplin anymore unless they must, that his servants are few and surly, and that he has lost his stature with the other nobles since his hospitality has become such a threadbare welcome. And Chade forced him to pay bloodgold, not only to the families of the slain servants, but to the family of the foxgirl.”
“Did they take it?”
“The servants' families did. It was only fair. The foxgirl's family was gone, dead or fled, no one could or would say. Chade demanded that the blood money for her be given to the Queen's countingman, to be held for the family.” She shrugged. “That should have settled it. But from that time to now, the incidents have multiplied. Not just the scourings for Witted ones, but the revenge the Witted wreak in turn on their tormentors.”
I frowned. “I don't see why any of that would provoke further uprisings among the Witted. It seems to me Doplin was justly punished.”
"And some say more severely than he deserved, but Chade was unrelenting. Nor did he stop with that. Shortly after that, all six Dukes received scrolls from Queen Kettricken, saying that to be Witted was no crime, save that a Witted one used it for evil ends. She told the Dukes they must forbid their nobles and lords to execute Witted ones, save that their crimes had been proven against them as surely as any ordinary man's crimes. The edict did not sit av, well, as you can imagine. Where it is not ignored, proof of a man's guilt is always ample after his death. Instead of calm- ing feelings, the Queen's declaration seemed to wake all the old feelings against the Witted ones.
“But among the Witted, it has seemed to rally them to defiance. They do not suffer their blood to be executed without a fight. Sometimes they are content merely to free their own before they can be killed, but often enough they strike back in vengeance. Almost any time there is an exe- cution of a Witted one, some evil swiftly befalls those responsible. Their cattle die or diseased rats bite their children. Always it has to do with animals. In one village, the river fish they depended on simply did not migrate that year. Their nets hung empty and the folk went hungry.”
“Ridiculous. Folk claim happenstance is malice. Thei Witted do not have the kind of powers you are ascribing to them.” I spoke with great surety.
She gave me a disdainful look. “Then why do the Piebalds claim credit for such acts, if the work is not theirs?”
“The Piebalds? Who are the Piebalds?”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "No one knows. They do not announce themselves. They leave messages pegged to inn doors or trees, and send missives to the no- bles. They always sing the same tune with different words: 'Such a one was killed unjustly, for no crime but merely for possessing Old Blood magic. Now our wrath falls on you. I When the Piebald Prince returns, he will have no mercy on! you.' And it is signed with no name, but only an image of aj piebald stallion. It makes folk furious.
“The Queen has refused to send out her guard to hunt them down. So now the gossip among some of the nobility is that Queen Kettricken herself is at fault for the increased executions of Witted ones, for her punishing of Lord Doplin has made them think they have the right to their perverted magic.” At my scowl, she reminded me, “A minstrel but re- peats what she has heard. I do not create the rumors, nor put words in people's mouths.” She came closer to me and, from behind me, set her hands on my shoulders. She bent down, her cheek by mine. Gently, she added, “After all the years we have been together, surely you know by now that I do not consider you tainted.” She kissed my cheek.
Our current conversation had almost driven my resolve from my mind. Nearly, I took her in my arms. Instead, I stood, awkwardly, for she was right behind my chair. When she tried to embrace me, I chilled my heart. I set her at arm's length from me. “You are not mine,” I told her quietly.
“Nor am I his!” she blazed at me suddenly. Her dark eyes shone with her anger. “I belong to myself, and I shall decide who shares my body. It hurts nothing for me to be with both of you. I will not get pregnant by either of you. If any man could get me with child, it would have happened long ago. So what does it matter whose bed I share?”
She was quickwitted and words served her tongue far better than mine. I had no clever reply. So I echoed her own words. “I too belong to myself, and I decide who will share my body. And I will not share it with another man's wife.”
I think then that she finally believed it. I had set her belongings in a neat pile beside the hearth. She flung herself to her knees beside it. Snatching up her saddle pack, she began to stuff it furiously. “I don't know why I ever bothered with you,” she muttered.
Mishap, true to his name, chose that moment to enter the cabin. The wolf was at his heels. At the sight of Starling's angry face, Hap turned to me. “Should I leave?” he asked baldly.
“No!” Starling spat the word. “You get to stay. I'm the one he's throwing out. Thanks to you. You might ponder a moment or two, Hap, on what would have become of yqu if I had left you digging in that village garbage heap. I deserved gratitude from you, not this betrayal!”
The boy's eyes went wide. Nothing she had ever done, not even how she had deceived me, angered me as much as witnessing her hurt him. He gave me a stricken look, as if he expected I too would turn on him. Then he bolted out of the door. Nighteyes gave me a baleful look, then spun to follow him.
I'll come soon. Let me finish this first.
Better you had never started it.
I let his rebuke hang unanswered, for there was no good reply to it. Starling glared up at me, and as I glowered back, I saw something almost like fear pass over her face. I crossed my arms on my chest. “Best you were gone,” I said tightly, The wary look in her eye .was as great an insult to me as the abuse she had flung at Hap. I left the cabin and went to fetch her horse. A fine horse and a fine saddle, doubtless both gifts from a fine young man. The animal sensed my ag itation and pranced restlessly as I saddled her. I took ; breath, gathered control over myself, and set my hand to the horse. I sent calmness to her. In doing so, I calmed myself. I stroked her sleek neck. She turned to whuffle her nose against my shirt. I sighed. “Take care of her, would you? For she takes no care with herself.”
I had no bond with the creature, and my words were only reassuring sounds to her. I sensed in return her acceptance of my mastery. I led her to the front of the cottage and stood outside, holding her reins. In a moment, Starling appeared on the porch. “Can't wait for me to leave, can you?” she observed bitterly. She threw her pack across the saddle, unsettling the horse once more.
“That's not true and you know it,” I replied. I tried to keep my voice level and calm. The pain I had been denying broke through my humiliation at how gullible I had been, and my anger that she had used me so. Our bond had not been a tender, heartfelt love; rather it had been a companionship that had included the sharing of our bodies and the trust of sleeping in one another's arms. The betrayal of a friend differs from the treachery of a lover only in the degree of pain, not the kind. I suddenly knew I had just lied to her; I desperately wanted her to leave. Her presence was like an arrow standing in a wound; it could not be healed until she was gone.
Nevertheless, I tried to think of some significant words, something that would salvage the good part of what we had shared. But nothing came to me, and in the end I stood dumbly by as she snatched the reins from my hand and mounted. She looked down on me from the animal's back. I am sure she felt some pain, but her face showed only her anger that I had thwarted her will. She shook her head at me.
“You could have been someone. Regardless of how you were born, they gave you every chance of making something of yourself. You could have mattered. But this is what you chose. Remember that. You chose this.”
She tugged the horse's head around, not so badly as to injure her mouth, but rougher than she needed to be. Then she kicked the horse to a trot and rode away from me. I watched her go. She did not look back. Despite my pain, I felt, not the regret of an ending, but the foreboding of a beginning. A shiver ran over me, as if the Fool himself stood at my elbow and whispered words at my ear. “Do not you sense it? A crossroads, a vertex, a vortex. All paths change from here.”
I turned, but there was no one there. I glanced at the sky. Dark clouds were hastening from the south; already the tips of the. trees were stirring with the oncoming squall. Starling would begin her journey with a drenching. I told myself I took no satisfaction in that, and went looking for Hap.
The Tawny Man 2 - Golden Fool
The Tawny Man 2 - Golden Fool