I wondered if Chade and Dutiful reached toward me with the Skill. I wondered if Thick tried to make me stumble into the fire in revenge. But I felt absolutely nothing. No touch of them brushed against my senses. My Wit knew they were still there, and that was a comfort. But the Skill-threads that had run amongst us were all severed. Peottre scowled, looking on the verge of affront. Chade reacted more swiftly than I could have hoped, saying, ‘Ah, yes, I recall what an effect it had on you last time, Thick. It wouldn’t be good for you, now, don’t fuss, there’s a good fellow. I’m sure we can find something just as nice for you.’ He turned to Peottre with a conspiratorial wink. ‘The Prince’s good fellow stayed awake a day and a night, and then fell into such a black mood that nothing could cheer him for several days. Not the sort of thing to invite on such an expedition as ours. Come, Thick, don’t scowl like that. I think Prince Dutiful has some sugar barley sticks that he has been saving for you.’
The Prince was already rummaging in his pack and Chade hastily took the mashed handful of cake from me, deftly returned it to the rest of the cake and wrapped it up again. He tucked it immediately into his pack. ‘I’m sure the Prince and I will enjoy a bit of this later, perhaps after Thick has fallen asleep,’ he confided to Peottre in a lowered voice. ‘I, for one, will appreciate what a herb like elfbark can do for an old man. I wasn’t aware that it was used in the Out Islands.’
‘Elfbark?’ Did Peottre feign his ignorance? ‘We have no plant by such an odd name. There are herbs in the cake but each mothershouse has its own recipe for it, and the ingredients are jealously guarded. But I can tell you that this is from my own home, the same mothershouse the Narcheska shares. This “courage cake” has been a food that has sustained the Narwhal Clan for generations.’
‘Doubtless it is!’ Chade exclaimed delightedly. ‘And I look forward to trying it, later tonight. Or perhaps early tomorrow morning, to have its invigoration with me for the day after a sound night’s sleep. Poor Tom, I know what an effect elfbark has on you! You may enjoy it, but I doubt you’ll get a wink of sleep tonight. I’ve told you before not to indulge in it at evening. But, well, there’s no talking to you on that topic, is there?’
I essayed a grin I didn’t feel. ‘That’s true, Lord Chade, sir. No matter how long you might lecture me, doubtless I’d not hear a word you said.’ A tiny change in his eyes suggested he understood me only too well.
He poured weak tea for himself, sipped it, and then coughed loudly, nearly gagging, and vigorously thumping himself on the chest. In a wheezing voice, he added, ‘You are dismissed, Tom Badgerlock. Get yourself a bit of food, but please report back here before you sleep. I think Thick will wish to sleep here tonight.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ His mimed action had not been lost on me.
I left the tent and by a roundabout route, walked to the far corner of the camp. The rain had stopped, but the wind still blew. At the outskirts of camp, I thrust two fingers down my throat and tried desperately to gag up the bite of cake I’d eaten. It didn’t work. I’d fasted too long and my belly had taken it down too swiftly. What little I brought up left me shuddering with its bitterness.
I ate a handful of wet snow to try to clear the bile from my mouth, kicked loose snow over my vomit and went shaking back toward the tents. More than mere cold chilled me. I think that once a man has experienced the insidious treachery of poison, he never fully recovers from it. To know that you have taken something into your body, to be aware that it is working changes, debilitating changes, with every beat of your heart, is an excursion into horror which is hard to describe. I had tasted the elfbark and I already felt its impact. What if there had been other drugs in there, ones I had not tasted, working damage I did not yet suspect? I tried to rein my mind away from that precipice. It made no sense, I told myself. The cake had been a gift from Peottre, delivered without apparent guile. We were here to accomplish his mission of slaying the dragon; why would he attempt to poison one of us? Yet I could not quite dismiss it as a perverse twist of luck that he had fed me a form of the herb strong enough to obliterate my magic.
I was cold and wet and shaky. I didn’t want to join the guardsmen in our tent until I had finished calming myself. In a sort of instinctive retreat to safety, I found myself outside the Fool’s tent. I fumbled with cold hands at the tent flap. ‘Lord Golden,’ I called softly, belatedly recalling that he might have other guests.
There must have been some note in my voice that alerted him to my distress. He flung the flap open and beckoned me hastily in. Then, ‘Stand still. Don’t drip everywhere.’ He had already changed out of his hiking clothes. He looked warm and dry in a long black robe. I envied him.
‘Peottre fed me a bit of cake. It had elfbark in it, and I’ve lost my Skill-magic.’ The words tumbled from me, broken by my chattering teeth.
‘Take off your wet things.’ He had begun rummaging in his pack almost as soon as I entered. Now he dragged out a long coppery garment. ‘This will probably fit you. It’s warmer than it looks. How could elfbark steal all your magic in one bite? It’s never affected you that way before.’
I shook my head. ‘It just did. And someone is attacking Thick and me with the Skill, trying to make us hate each other. It nearly worked, until I thought Thick was going to attack me with the Skill, so I put up my walls and then I could suddenly think my own thoughts and I knew that I didn’t really resent having to nursemaid him all the time. It’s not really his fault, and even if I don’t like having to do it, I shouldn’t take it out on him, should I? If anything, I should be angry with Chade, not Thick. He’s the one who has put me in this position, and I think that half of it is that he’s trying to keep me so busy that I’m separated from you so I won’t be influenced by you. Because he wants me simply to follow his orders and not to think –’
‘Stop!’ The Fool exclaimed, alarmed. I halted in midword. I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but he held up both hands. ‘Fitz. Listen to yourself. I’ve never heard you rattle on that way. It’s … disturbing.’
‘It’s the elfbark.’ I shivered with the restless energy that coursed through me. The last of my wet clothing slapped onto the pile and I gratefully accepted the garment he held out to me, then flinched at its chill weight in my hands. ‘It’s cold. It’s cold as iron! What is this made from, fish scales?’
‘Just trust me and put it on. It warms quickly.’
I had little choice. I pulled it over my head and it slithered down my body. The long robe reached almost to my feet. I shifted my shoulders in its grip and it suddenly relaxed. ‘That’s strange. It felt tight across my shoulders and chest, and then, when I flexed my shoulders, it just settled on me. Look. It even reaches to my wrists. It’s like unimaginably fine chain metal. Is this more Elderling magic? Is this from the Rain Wilds? I wonder how they made it, and from what? Look at the way the colour shifts when I move.’
‘Fitz. Stop chattering like that. It’s unnerving.’ The Fool had taken possession of my wet clothes. As he lifted them, a fine trickle of water ran out of them. ‘I’m putting these outside to drain. It’s hopeless to expect them to dry by morning. Do you have others?’