I felt queasy. I had been a part of that deception. We had guested in Civil Bresinga’s home, in guise of enjoying the hunting there while actually tracking Prince Dutiful and the Piebalds who had taken him. When we needed to depart abruptly on the Prince’s trail, Lord Golden had created a reason for Lady Bresinga to welcome our departure. He had made blatant advances toward Lady Sydel, Civil’s fiancée, turning her young head with his wealth and charm and flattery. When Civil had attempted to intervene, he had drunkenly informed the young man that he, too, would be welcome to share Lord Golden’s bed. We had done it for the Prince’s sake, that we might more swiftly follow him and leave no one wondering why we departed so suddenly. But the trail of destruction we had left behind us sickened me now. I suddenly feared where this must lead. My prince, I fear I must beg your intervention between Civil and the Fool. They quarrel, and I think Civil will take it to blows.
‘I am sorry,’ the Fool said, and he put a depth of feeling into those words that could leave no one doubting his sincerity. He halted, then offered, ‘Truly, Civil, it is never too late. If you love the girl as you seem to, then go to her when you return to the Six Duchies and tell her so. Give her time to become a woman and see if she reciprocates your feelings. If she does, take joy in one another. If she does not, well, then know that it would not have lasted between you, regardless of whether I had come along or not.’
It wasn’t what Civil wanted to hear. His face went from scarlet to white, and he suddenly shrieked out, ‘I demand satisfaction of you!’ And he launched himself at the Fool.
An instant too late, Web reached for his shoulder. A moment too late, I tried to block him. He pounced on the Fool like a cat on a mouse, and together they went rolling into the snow. Civil snarled like a cat as he fought. Something Web did, I think, restrained Civil’s cat from leaping into the fray. I stepped forward to intervene, but felt the Prince inside my mind as he arrived, half-clothed, on the scene.
Let them have it out, Fitz. Better that the two of them settle it than that you become involved and we suddenly have the whole party taking sides. This has festered long with Civil and words will not suffice to settle it.
But the Fool doesn’t fight. Never have I seen him fight!
Nonetheless. This from Chade, with a grim sort of satisfaction. He will now.
I think they expected to see Civil triumph quickly. I knew the Fool better. Slight he might appear, but even when I was in fighting trim, he had always seemed able to pit his strength against mine. Once, when I was injured, he had carried me through the snow back to his home. His tumbler’s tricks had always demanded strength as well as agility. So I knew he had the power to defeat Civil if he chose. What I feared was that he would choose not to do so. And my fears were well grounded. Civil straddled the Fool. I winced to the solid sound of Civil’s fists striking him, chest and shoulder and jaw.
Stop this! I begged the Prince. Command them to stop!
Let them finish it and let it be over, Chade suggested, and I glowered at him, thinking he had other reasons why he would see the Fool defeated before the men who had so swiftly gathered.
Then I’ll stop it! But as I stepped forward, I saw that the tide of the battle had already turned. The Fool had writhed beneath Civil until he had his hip under him. He caught one of Civil’s legs in the crook of his knee. Then by some twisting trick, the Fool suddenly unseated him and reversed their positions. In the next instant, he had flung himself on top of Civil. I was shocked even as I waited to see the Fool take his revenge.
He didn’t. He caught Civil’s flailing arms and restrained them, seemingly without effort. Dark red blood was running from one of the Fool’s nostrils. It dripped down onto Civil as the lad struggled. The Fool’s grip only tightened, and I saw how reluctantly he twisted down on one of Civil’s elbows until the young man grunted with pain. Nearby, his cat snarled savagely. Web’s touch on his back looked effortless, but the cat seemed to strain against iron restraints.
The Fool held the struggling young man down. I could sense Civil’s outrage that the tawny man did so without apparent effort. When one has insulted someone’s manliness, he does not expect to be easily mastered by the man. ‘It’s done.’ The Fool spoke firmly, not just to Civil but to all of us. ‘It’s over. I won’t discuss this with you again.’
Suddenly Civil went limp. The Fool held him down an instant longer, then pushed himself up off his prone body, took a staggering step, and then drew himself up straight. Just as he began to walk away, Civil rolled to his feet and sprang at him. I leapt forward at the same instant that the Fool, without so much as a glance back, moved lithely to one side. Civil and I were suddenly chest-to-chest in the night, the boy gawking up at me as I stared him down. He stumbled back a step, then spun and hissed the insult at the Fool, ‘You say he isn’t your lover, yet he stands ready to fight your battles for you.’
Like a ship under full sail, the Fool seethed through the snowy night to stand aggressively close to the boy. He spoke flatly. ‘He is not my lover. He is far more than that to me, far more precious. I am the White Prophet and he is my Catalyst, and we are come here to change the course of time. I am here to see that Icefyre lives.’
Peottre had ghosted up to the edge of the circle. In the dimness, he shuddered as if he had just taken an arrow. The Hetgurd men, gathered for the pleasure of watching a fight, suddenly muttered amongst themselves. But I had no time to watch them. Civil was like a crouching cat with a lashing tail. All his attention was focused on the Fool as he growled, ‘I don’t care what you call yourself or him. I know what you are!’
He all but spat the final words and again he sprang. But this time the Fool met his onslaught. Civil went in swinging heavy blows but the Fool swayed around them and stepped in to seize Civil by the body. He did not push him away, but pulled him forward, increasing his momentum so that the boy slammed face first into the crystallized snow. The Fool followed him down. He pinioned him again, wrapping one arm around the boy’s throat and winding the other under Civil’s arm and up, so that Civil’s right arm was bent up behind him. Civil was cursing wildly and close to tears when the Fool hoarsely warned him, ‘We can do this as many times as you like. Struggle and you’ll dislocate your shoulder. That is true, I promise you. Let me know when you are calm and ready to give this up.’
I feared the boy would be stupid enough to hurt himself. The Fool, his weight spread flat on the snow, held him down and let him struggle. Twice Civil flung himself back against the Fool’s grip. Each time I heard him grunt with pain. Finally, having proven the Fool’s words to himself, he lay still. But he was far from calm. He panted and cursed and then shouted, ‘It was all your fault! You can’t deny it. You ruined everything, everything. And now my mother is dead and I have nothing. Nothing. Sydel is shamed and I cannot go to her and offer her marriage, for I have nothing, and her father blames my family for his daughter’s fall. He will not let me see her. If you had not come there, none of it would have happened. I’d still have my life.’
‘And the Prince would be dead. Or worse.’ Without realizing it, I had edged closer to the combatants. I wondered if anyone else heard the Fool’s low comment.