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“True,” the Fool admitted reluctantly. “Then I smelled Skill, very near me. There was an immense bucket nearby. It had been set down unevenly, and in the corner of it there was Skill. It was little more than a smear, as if someone had wiped it clean but missed a spot. And I could smell it.”

“I could barely see it,” Spark said, sitting up a bit straighter, now a partner in the telling. “There was little moon, but it was so silver that it seemed to catch every bit of starlight. It was beautiful and yet terrifying. I wanted to move away from it, but he leaned on the edge of the bucket and reached as far down as he could and managed to get his hand into it.”

“Just barely, but I touched it.” He held up his gloved left hand and smiled as if the gods were pouring blessings upon him. “The sweetest agony you can imagine.” He turned his face toward me. “Fitz. It was like that moment. You know of what I speak. One and complete. I felt I was the music of the world, strong and sweeping. My throat closed and tears ran down my face and I could not move for joy.”

“And then the dragon came!” Spark continued. “She was red and even in the darkness of the night she shone red, so that I saw her almost before I heard her. But then she made a sound, like all the horns of Buckkeep blasting, but it was full of fury. She ran toward us. Dragons are not graceful when they run. They are terrifying, but not graceful at all. It was like watching a very angry red cow charge at us! I screamed and seized Lady Amber and dragged him away from the bucket. I could scarcely see where I was running, but run we did. Not that he was happy about it.”

“Lady Amber?” Lant asked, confused.

Spark caught her lip between her teeth. “So he—no, so she told me I must think of her, guised as we are.” She gave Per a look that asked for understanding and said softly, “Just as sometimes I am Ash.”

Lant opened his mouth but before he could speak, the Fool took up the tale. “I could sense the other dragon. The red dragon, I mean. Her roaring was full of threats and name-calling and absolute fury that we had penetrated the city and dared to come to the well of Silver. I could hear other dragons responding to her alarm, and then I heard a man’s voice raised in anger. He was urging the dragon on!”

Spark shook her head. “The dragons were so loud that I didn’t even hear the man, and I didn’t see him until he suddenly jumped out right in front of us. He had a sword, and he was wearing some kind of harness or armor. I dragged Lady Amber into a building. I just had time to slam a door closed behind us and then we ran in the dark, and we crashed into some stone stairs and we climbed those.”

I made a sound of despair. “Upstairs? With an enemy in pursuit, you ran where you could be cornered?”

Spark looked at me with irritation. “I’ve never been chased by a man with a sword, let alone a dragon. So, yes, we ran upstairs. It was awful there: Furniture had gone to rot, and it littered the floor. I kept stumbling and I could hear the man shouting as he searched downstairs, for like you he could not believe we would be so stupid as to run up the stairs. Then I found a window, and it looked out on an alley that I judged was too narrow for the dragon.”

The Fool took up the tale. “So we held hands and jumped out the window with little idea of what was below us. Oh, the terror of that jump for me! It was purest luck that we landed well. I still went to one knee, but Spark already had hold of me and was hauling me along. She flattened us against the wall and we went as silently as we could, staying to the narrow alley for quite a way. Once we came to where the buildings were wakeful, I could get my bearings and then I led the way. We could still hear the dragons trumpeting behind us, but it almost made me feel safer to know they were searching for us back by the well. I judged it was too late to seek an audience with Malta or to reach for Tintaglia, and that the pillar was our best way to escape, though I knew how much Spark dreaded it.

“I thought I could run no farther. I had forgotten how heavy skirts can be, let alone a fur-lined cloak. And these boots!” He thrust one foot out before us. The toe was as pointed as a sword. “Not for running,” he said decisively. “But just as I slowed and told Spark that we could probably walk for a time, I heard running feet behind us. It was strange. The ghost-festivity was all around us, yet somehow I heard the sound of running footsteps. I felt I had no speed left in me and I shouted at Spark to flee but she would not leave me. Then I heard that sound just as I felt the arrow tug through the shoulder of my cloak. And I found that I could not only run but drag Spark along with me.”

“He was red,” Spark said suddenly. Her voice had gone shaky, a contrast with her earlier pleasure in telling the tale. “I looked back. I didn’t want to go into the pillar; I was terrified. I looked back to see if he might have mercy if I stayed. But he was like a creature from a nightmare. Tall and narrow and as scarlet as his dragon. And his eyes! When I saw him halt and set another arrow to his bow, I did not hold back. I may have pushed Amber into the pillar.”

“And here we are,” the Fool finished. He looked round at us, smiling blindly.

“Indeed. Here we are,” I said.

Chapter Thirty-Five
Kelsingra

...

Wide gape the gates of yellowed bone. A tongue of plank is our path between the teeth as we walk toward the gullet. Here I will be devoured. This is a true thing, near unavoidable on any path. I must enter those jaws.

We all slept in the Elderling tent that night, packed as neatly as saltfish in a box. I slept along one wall, the Fool against my back. Even against the fine fabric, I slept much more warmly than I had in our small tent. In the early hours of dawn Per came in from his watch. “The porridge is nearly cooked,” he told me softly as I woke. “I put a bit of honey in it.”

I sat up, trying not to wake the others this early. Both the Fool and Spark, I thought, should take all the sleep they could. Then my Wit sent a sudden shuddering through me. A predator, one bigger than me, moved outside the tent, exploring our camp. In the next moment Motley began a raucous cawing. I heard the clatter of an overturned pot.

I shifted as quietly as I could and reached across the Fool to seize Lant’s shoulder. “Sssh,” I warned him as he woke. “Something’s outside. Follow me, sword drawn.”

The others woke as we extricated ourselves but sensed our caution. Spark’s eyes looked as big as saucers as I stepped over her, sword bared, and ducked to exit the tent. Lant came behind me, as barefoot as I was, naked steel in his hand. As soon as I saw our intruder, I reached back to grab his wrist. “Don’t look directly at him,” I warned. To the others inside, I said in a carrying whisper. “Bear. Come out. Don’t dress, just get clear of the tent. You don’t want to be caught inside it. Do not run, but be ready to scatter if I shout.”

The bear was a big fellow, and the silvery hair on his shoulders and a graying muzzle showed that he was both old and wise. No bear gets that old without the wisdom that survival demands, but neither does a creature in the wild live to that age without infirmities. The breadth of his shoulders showed me what a powerful creature he once had been, but he was gaunt now. He was on all fours, sniffing through Lant’s pack, which had been left by last night’s campfire. His interest was plain: food.

As the others emerged he became aware of us and made a leisurely decision to display his size for us. He lifted himself onto his hind legs and stood looking down at us with his glittering black eyes. He was a big one. Very big. His mouth was ajar, taking in our scent and incidentally displaying sizable teeth. I could smell his hot breath on the cold winter air, and in it the carrion stink of infection.

“Spread out, but walk slowly,” I suggested to the others in a low voice as they came fumbling out of the tent. “Move apart from one another. If he charges, we scatter. Don’t bunch up where he can get all of us.”

I could hear Spark’s panting breath. They emerged last, with the Fool caped in one of his skirts. Spark had the sense to keep hold of the Fool’s sleeve as she began to tug him sideways away from the group. The bear’s glittering gaze followed them.

Food, I reminded him. Smell it. Apples. Maybe bacon or fish? Perhaps a pot of honey. I could only suggest. The Wit-magic allows me to reach toward an animal but it does not assure that the animal will accept my thoughts. It certainly gives me no power to command a wild creature. And sometimes it is a mistake to try to touch minds.

It certainly was this time. I sensed his pain and he did not like that I knew his weakness. The bear gave a low huff, an angry sound. “Stand still,” I warned the others. “Do not run.” I lifted my sword. It had never felt smaller in my hand. The bear looked around at the human statues. I spared one sideways glance for Spark and the Fool. They were the most vulnerable, weaponless and the Fool unsighted. They were both in their stocking feet. Spark still had the Elderling cloak bundled around her. The rest of us could run. Lant and I both had swords, and Per had his staff in his hands.

But the bear decided we were no threat. He dropped back to all fours. He snuffed Lant’s pack. His thick black claws were as big around as sausages, with deadly sharp tips. He demonstrated their power as he casually tore the pack open, scattering the contents over the snow. Lant made a dismayed noise. “Stand steady,” I told him, and he obeyed. I tipped my eyes toward Spark. She looked haggard but her jaw was set with determination. Moving slowly, she had lifted one side of the butterfly cloak and was trying to drape it around the Fool. He was hugging himself against the cold, fear and misery on his face. What did he perceive? The warmth emanating from such a large creature, the sounds it made as it ransacked Lant’s supplies? I studied the bear, estimated his size and strength. “Per. Get up that tree behind you. He’s too big to climb it. Go. Now.”

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