Fool's Quest - Страница 113

К оглавлению

113

You are. I shook my head. “Lant, I left you sleeping as if you were a badly injured man who should not have been sent out on such a mission. That was true of Perseverance as well.” I fabricated some balm for him. “I could scarcely have left the boy there alone. How is your wound?”

My diversion of the conversation baffled him for an instant. “It’s healing,” he said gruffly.

“Good. It needs time. Lant, I have a suggestion. It’s a strong suggestion. When we return to Buckkeep Castle, report to Captain Foxglove. Let her direct you in your swordplay, going gently until your muscles are rebuilt. I do not propose that you become a soldier or a member of my guard.” How to phrase the next part. Become a man? No. I fumbled for words.

“So they can mock me for my lack of skills? So I could fail again for you?”

How had he ever become such a bubbling pudding of self-centeredness? Here was another repair task I did not want. “Lant. Muscles in your chest were cut. They need to heal and then grow strong. Let Foxglove help you with that. That’s all I was suggesting.”

He was quiet for a time. Then he said, “My father is going to be very disappointed.”

“In both of us,” I pointed out.

He sat back in his saddle. I think he took peculiar comfort from my words.

The day passed in a way that would have been pleasant at another time. The weather stayed mild for winter. Fleeter recovered enough of her spirits to want to be out in front of the other horses and I was happy to let her be. Motley flew ahead of us, circled back to ride on Per for a time, and then flew ahead again. She seemed just a pet crow today, cawing wordlessly as she flew overhead. Once, when she was perched on Per’s shoulder I asked her, “How many words do you know?”

She cocked her head at me and asked, “How many words do you know?”

Per almost smiled as she said, “She sounded just like you.”

The well-kept roads avoided the hills and wound through several small towns. In each settlement, we paused to ask for tidings of Bee or Shine, and to tell each innkeeper that there was a large reward for two lost girls. No one had news for us.

That night we found lodging at an inn. Riddle, Foxglove, Lant, and I had rooms above the kitchens, and they were warm. My guard and Perseverance had a loft over the stables; the Rousters would sleep in the common room. I enjoyed a well-prepared meal and a mug of ale, and an early bed in a clean room, followed by a late-night fistfight when my Rousters did not go to bed but quarreled among themselves. The ruckus woke me; I pulled on trousers and dashed down the steps two at a time. By the time Riddle arrived, I had a black eye and two men on the floor and a third cornered. We exiled all three to the inn’s stables for the night and promised the innkeeper that damages would be paid for. As we climbed back up the stairs, Riddle observed, “Usually princes don’t do that sort of thing.”

“I’m not prospering in this role, am I? All the times when I wondered what it would be like to be legitimate and recognized as a Farseer at Buckkeep Castle? I’m finding it more of a liability than a privilege.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he promised me doubtfully.

In the morning I had two fewer Rousters following me. Well, that was two fewer of them for Foxglove to deal with. They’d taken their horses and left their guard tunics. I counted it a small loss. Foxglove had slept through the row in the tavern and I said nothing of it to her. I was sure that word would reach her soon enough.

The day was overcast with snow clouds and a light breeze that woke sporadically to lift ice crystals against our faces. Riddle and I rode side by side, in a silence full of foreboding. I think we both dreaded our return to the castle. We had resumed our formation of the day before, with Lant and Perseverance riding side by side behind Riddle and me. I heard several snatches of conversation and deduced that their recent battle experience had given them something in common. The boy still led Priss. Her empty saddle was a fresh heartbreak every time I looked at it.

I felt I was going home with my tail between my legs. And somewhere, somewhere was my Bee and I was no closer to knowing where. The morning passed with little talk between Riddle and me. Sometimes the crow flew overhead and in front of us, then back as if to be sure we were following her. I had grown so accustomed to her that I hardly noticed her. More often she rode on Per’s shoulder, though once I was a bit surprised to see her on Lant’s.

We crested a gentle rise in the road and saw a rider on a brown horse, trailed by a saddled white horse, on the road ahead of us. I studied them for a moment as they came toward us. The rider was stocky and wore his hood well pulled forward. They were moving at a dogged trot but even at the distance I could tell that the brown horse was being pushed hard and was at the end of his endurance. His head jounced too hard with every step. He tried to slow and his rider kicked him hard. Then Riddle said, “White horse,” at the same time I said, “White coat.”

I called back to Foxglove. “Halt the guard. If I lift my hand, bring them at a gallop. If not, keep your distance.” She nodded, accepting the command but unhappy at not joining us, as both Riddle I urged our horses to a trot. Lant followed and I knew Perseverance would copy him. I wished they hadn’t. I kept my eyes on the rider. At first he showed no sign he was aware of us. The white fur coat convinced me that this was one of the Servants who had escaped the slaughter. As we got closer, he seemed to rouse himself out of a daze. He looked up at us, screamed, and kicked the brown horse he rode frantically, even as he tried to wheel it about. It turned to the rider’s command and broke into a trot, but we were already in motion and before the trot became a canter we were on either side of him. Riddle leaned forward and grabbed the reins, turning the horse sharply as the rider continued to scream and kick it. I knew that scream.

“Shine! Shine, stop! You’re safe! Shine, it’s me, Fitz—Badgerlock! And Riddle. We’re here to find you and take you home. You’re safe! Shine. Where’s Bee? Was she with you?”

The saddled white horse had jigged aside from us. It was evidently only following the brown because it had no idea what else to do. Riddle pulled his horse in, dismounted hastily, and approached Shine. She kicked at him, shrieked again, and then fell off her horse and into his arms. I dismounted, took her reins, and stood stupidly as he patted her back and told her she was all right, she was safe, she was safe now.

Her wailing slowly faded to deep sobs and then to breathless, shaking weeping. “Bee? Shine, where’s Bee? Shine, look at me. Do you know where Bee is?”

To Riddle’s gentle questions, she only shook her head wildly and sobbed louder. A terrible certainty was building in me. The white horse came closer. I ignored it until it stood near enough that with a calm step I could take the end of the dangling reins. Two horses. Two saddles. One rider. No Bee. The saddle on the brown horse was definitely Chalcedean-made. The one on the white horse was like nothing I’d ever seen before. High in the front and low in the back. It looked uncomfortable to me.

Bee, where are you? Did you ride on this horse?

“Tom Badgerlock.”

I turned in surprise. Her voice was thick from weeping. She’d pushed back her hood. Her hair was matted and hung in wads about her face. She’d lost weight, and the boniness of her face made her look more like Chade. Her lips were rough and her cheeks chapped red. She was still breathing hard but she had stepped clear of Riddle. The white fur coat she wore was enormous, hanging in folds around her. Her hands clutched her forearms and she hugged her body tight as if she might fall into pieces. She faced me and looked directly into my eyes. This was a different woman from the one who had demanded that all life must stop until we had purchased green stockings for her.

“Bee,” she said. “They took Bee.”

“I know,” I said. I tried to keep my voice calm and even. “They took you and they took Bee. But you’re safe now.” I drew a breath. “Bee. Do you know where Bee is now?”

“They took her,” she said again. “They took her into a stone with them.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight
Repercussions

...

The depredations of this dragon are just as damaging as if we were facing an invasion by a small army. The creature is “small,” I am told, by dragon standards, and yet her hunger seems insatiable. The shepherds dare not put their flocks out into the higher summer pastures, for even with men and dogs watching over them the dragon swoops in and takes what she pleases. As many cattle and sheep die in their headlong flights as by her claws. The best breeding stock of cattle and horses were, for a time, safe if kept within barns or stables, but even that is no longer the case. There have now been three reports of the dragon using claws and powerful sweeps of her tail to demolish buildings to get at the cattle inside.

Will homes and humans be next? The situation is intolerable. As king, you must offer us some kind of solution, whether a negotiation or a military response. There are rumors that Skill-coteries are able to communicate with dragons. Those of my shepherds and farmers who have been brave enough to stand and either offer this dragon selected stock or threaten her have been ignored. At the least, cannot you send a coterie here to attempt to reason with this creature?

113