Fool's Quest - Страница 141

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Years ago, with blood and magic, Nighteyes and I had roused these sleeping shapes and sent them winging to Verity’s aid. Verity. My king. He and the old Skill-user Kettle had poured all their memories and even their lives into a magnificent dragon, shaped from Skill-stone, from the same stuff that made up the pillars. And as a dragon, Verity had risen and carried both Kettricken and Starling back to Buckkeep, so that his queen might bear his son and continue his lineage. The dragon he had made at such a cost led the battle against the Red-Ship Raiders and the Outislanders.

And when all had been vanquished and peace returned to our shores, Verity-as-Dragon had returned here, to slumber with the others in the deep shade beneath the looming trees.

I found him. I brushed the snow from him, clearing it from the magnificent wings now folded close to his side. I swept his head clean of snow, wiping it away from his closed eyes. Then I pulled off my snowy gloves and set my bare hands to his cold and stony brow. I reached, not with the Skill but with the Wit, and I sought for the king I had served and then lost. I felt the dim flicker of some sort of lingering life in the stone. And when I did, I poured into my touch all the Skill and the Wit I could muster. I opened my heart and confided all to the cold stone dragon. It was not pouring memories into stone as Verity had done to wake his creation. This was a simple reaching to my uncle, to my king, an outpouring of all that had befallen me and all I hoped to do. All my anguish I shared with him, the loss of my wife and child, the Fool’s torment, Chade’s fading, all of it.

And when I was emptied far beyond tears or hopes of vengeance, I stood still and empty in the cold beside the frozen dragon. A foolish quest. I was here for the night now, with no tent, no fire. I pushed snow aside to bare years of fallen leaves. I sat down between his outstretched front legs and leaned back against his head, slumped on his paws in slumber. I drew my legs in close to me and pulled my hood well forward. I curled up against my king and hoped the cold would not deepen too much tonight. The Skill-stone he was carved from was cold against my back. Was Verity cold, somewhere? Or did he and Kettle play at Stones in some other world, beyond my reach? I closed my eyes and longed to join them.

Oh, Fitz. You feel so much.

Did I imagine it? I huddled perfectly still. Then I stripped my glove from my hand and set my bare palm to the scaled cheek of my king.

Nothing is really lost. Shapes change. But it’s never completely gone.

Verity?

Thank you. For my son. For my grandsons.

My king. Your thoughts warm me.

Perhaps I can do a bit more than that.

I felt a rising warmth. Snow melted and slid from the dragon’s body, and he scintillated blue and silver. Warmth flowed up through my hand and into the rest of me. I leaned into stone that suddenly felt alive. But with that rising warmth, my Wit-sense of my king began to fade. I reached for him but could no longer touch him. Verity? I wondered, but he did not respond. Except with warmth. I found I could slide under his chin. I wedged myself under his long jaw, between his front legs. My back stopped aching from the cold. I felt cupped in wonder and safety. I closed my eyes.

Dawn came. I woke to birds. My own body-warmth within my cloaks was all I felt now. I slithered out into the winter day, brushed dry leaves and needles from my clothes, and set my hand on my king’s scaled brow.

Chill stone and stillness. Tiny icicles had formed at the corners of his eyes like frozen tear tracks. The bleakness that rose in me was a steep price to pay for that time of connection and comfort. But I did not regret the price. “Farewell,” I told the dragon. “Wish me luck.”

I regloved my hands. The warmth that had infused me stayed with me as I turned my steps back toward the camp. I walked steadily and swiftly, hoping I’d see the yellow glow of our fire before all light went out of the day. Clouds covered the sky and slightly warmed the day. I walked, then ran, then walked, and pondered all the questions that I’d never have answered.

A flicker of one black-edged ear betrayed the hare that crouched under the rose thicket I’d passed the day before. Still as snow, he waited, his winter coat blending with the snow that was speckled with twigs and birds’ droppings. I did not look at him, but continued my pace as I walked almost past him before I spun and fell on him.

I trapped him under my spread cloak. With gloved hands, I gripped one wildly kicking hind leg. When I was sure I had him, I stood, seized his head in my free hand, and gave his body a violent snap. In that instant his neck was broken and his life was over. He hung motionless, warm and limp and dead as I gripped him by his head. “Death feeds life,” I told him sadly, tucking his furry body under my arm. Pulling my cloak tighter, I continued back to camp.

The day faded around me. The trees seemed to lean in closer over the trail, and the cold gripped me more tightly. I tramped on. The golden light of the campfire guided me toward the end of my hike. I felt oddly successful. I had touched Verity again, if only for a short time, and I knew that somewhere my king continued in some other form. The rose hips in my kerchief and the deadweight of the hare made me simmer with pride. I might be old, my joints might ache in the cold, and I had failed in several dozen important ways in the last few months. But I could still hunt, and still bring back meat to share. And that was something, and a bigger something than it had been in a long time.

So I was weary but not tired as I came back into the circle of firelight. Lant and Perseverance were both crouched by the fire, looking into the flames. I shouted at them, held up my hare, and then tossed it at Per, who caught it in a hug. They both stared at me. I grinned. “What’s wrong? Don’t you know how to dress a hare for the pot?”

“Of course I do!” Per declared, but Lant spoke over him.

“The one you call the Fool? He was here. With a girl named Spark.”

“What?” The world rocked around me. “Where is he? Why? How?”

“Gone,” Lant said, and Per added, “They went back into that stone. The same one we came out of.”

“No.” I said it like a prayer, but I knew it was one no god would answer. Lant started to speak. I pointed a finger at him. “You. Tell me everything, every tiny thing. Per, you do the hare.” I hunkered down on the opposite side of the fire and waited.

“There’s little to tell. We were keeping watch here, bringing wood and feeding the fire. Per took out his sling and got a squirrel with it. We saved some for you, but when you didn’t return by nightfall, we ate it. We cut staves, and I showed the boy a few moves he didn’t know. We talked.” He shook his head.

“There wasn’t much else to do. We gathered more firewood. Then, as full night came on, we heard a sound, like a thud. We both turned and there they were, sprawled in the snow. We didn’t know them at first, for all the heavy clothing they were wearing. Then the smaller one sat up, and Per shouted, ‘Ash!’ and ran toward them. He helped him to stand, and Ash said right away, ‘Help my master. Is he all right?’ So then we helped the other one to stand, and it was a woman. Then I looked again, and it was the Fool. We brought them over by the fire. They were dressed warmly, but in very old-fashioned clothing, and both were dressed as women. Old furs, very lush but smelling a bit musty. Per called the girl Ash but the Fool said her name was Spark. She had an immense pack on her back, and the Fool had a tall walking stick.

“The Fool asked Spark who was here, and she told him Per and me, and then the Fool asked us why you weren’t here. And we said you’d gone hunting. We heated water and gave them some hot tea and some of the squirrel broth to the girl, who looked poorly. The Fool said you were going to be very angry with him, but there was no help for that. Then he said, ‘Well, waiting isn’t going to make it any easier or less dangerous. Spark, are you ready for another leap?’ And the girl said she was, but we could all hear how sick she felt. And the Fool told her that she didn’t have to go, that she could stay here and wait, but Spark told him not to be foolish, that he needed her eyes. Then they finished their tea and thanked us and went back to the pillar. When I guessed what they were going to try, I told them that it was dangerous, that you had said we had to wait at least three days before we used a Skill-portal again. But the Fool shook his head and said all life was danger and dead was the only way to be safe. He pulled off his glove, and the girl took out a tiny bottle and put just a few drops of something on his hand. Then the Fool held on to the girl’s shoulder with one hand, and she took his stick, and then the Fool put his other hand on the Skill-pillar. I called to them, asking where they were going. And the girl said, ‘The dragon city.’ And the Fool said, ‘Kelsingra.’ And they both just walked into it.”

I sat down flat in the snow. I tried to breathe. Dragon blood. That was why he had wanted dragon blood. I could understand why the Fool had come after us. He had always wanted to be a part of this quest. But why dragon’s blood had worked to take him through the pillars, I was not sure. And it made no sense to me that he would go on without me, blind, with only Spark at his side.

“There was one more thing,” Per said. He’d made a tidy job of his skinning. The hare’s head and paws were still inside the hide he’d stripped cleanly from the animal’s body. The guts were in a pile. He sorted the heart and liver and tossed them into the pot. The rest of the hare, dark meaty red and sinewy white, was already cut into pot-sized pieces. Motley descended and began an inquest of the small gut-pile.

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