Fool's Quest - Страница 95

“That’s the most convoluted logic I have ever heard.” It wasn’t. The Fool could do much better than that to get his own way.

Perseverance said nothing. I thought of ordering him even more sternly to return. And if he still refused, what then? Kick him? Poke him with my sword? The boy was more than stubborn. He was intent on becoming a man. Soon enough, Fleeter and I would outdistance both of them. And then he could be helpful to Lant in returning to Buckkeep. A fine prince I was. I could not get even a stable boy to obey me. I tried to summon the will to insist.

My Wit made me aware of her a heartbeat before her weight hit my shoulder. I flinched at that landing, and Fleeter flicked an ear back in a query.

“Fitz—Chivalry,” the crow announced. She set her feet more firmly in the fabric of my coat and used her beak to push the flap of my collar out of her way.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded of her, not really expecting an answer.

“It spoke!” Perseverance exclaimed.

“It’s a crow!” Lant exclaimed as if perhaps we had not noticed. Breathlessly he asked, “Is she your Wit-beast?”

“No. She’s not my Old Blood companion.” I had never demanded the current usage of anyone and I did not have time to wonder why I did so now, for Per immediately pleaded, “Would she come to me, do you think? She is such a beauty.”

Motley leaned forward and pecked my cheek lightly. “Nice boy!” she squawked.

Eyes wide, Per extended his forearm hopefully to her, as if she were a falcon. She hopped from my shoulder to the offered perch with the barest lift of her wings.

“Aren’t you fine?” Per breathed as he drew his arm in to admire her.

“Fine,” she agreed in mutual admiration, and I suddenly dared to hope she’d found a more permanent home than the Fool or I could offer her.

“Would you like the care of her? She’s got a few white feathers and because of them the other crows mob her. You’ll have to ink them black for her if they start to fade.”

“Truly?” Per looked as if I’d conferred an honor on him. “The poor thing! What’s her name? How did you come to have her?”

“We call her Motley. Her owner died and a mutual friend asked if I could look after her for a time.”

“Motley. Well. Aren’t you fine? Would you ride on my shoulder, do you think?”

The bird’s bright gaze met mine for an instant, almost as if she begged pardon or asked permission. Then as Perseverance slowly lowered his wrist, she climbed up his arm until she sat on his shoulder. Per shot me a grin and then, as he recalled our mission, it faded. “Sir? What are we riding into? Has Bee been found? Is she well?” He tipped his head toward the axe that rode across my back. “It doesn’t need a new handle, does it?”

“No. It doesn’t. And I don’t know what we’re riding into, or what condition Bee is in. Which is why I don’t think either of you should be accompanying me.” The words felt like stones as they fell from my lips.

Lant spoke up suddenly from my other side. “Well, whatever you do know, I’d like to know as well. Did you receive more tidings since we last spoke? I’ve only Lord Chade’s directive that I follow you.”

I spoke more to the boy than to him. “We’ve had reports of her captors riding toward the coast. The ship they hoped to escape on has been seized. We believe we know the path they intend, and the king’s forces are on their way to cut them off. We may discover her captors before they do. Or after. In either case, I know I must be there.” I recounted the details tersely. Then we all rode silently for a time.

When Per spoke, his words came slowly. “So. We’re actually riding ahead of your guard, aren’t we? Are you hoping to get to the soldiers and Bee before the king’s soldiers do? You hope we can fight them and rescue her ourselves?”

“That would be insane!” Lant declared. “There were at least a score of mercenaries, not counting the pale folk.”

Per had a more pragmatic worry. “All I’ve brought with me is my belt-knife.”

Lant snorted. “Lad, we are not going to charge into a band of trained mercenary soldiers with nothing but your belt-knife and FitzChivalry’s axe. I’m sure he has a better intention than that.”

But I didn’t.

Lying was suddenly too much effort and rather pointless. “I don’t have a plan, really. When and if I locate them, I’ll decide what to do. And that is why you should both go back. Now.” I turned to look at Lant. “Ride with my guard tomorrow. You can let Foxglove know that I’ve ridden ahead to scout. That would actually be a very useful thing for you to do, if you’d carry that message to Foxglove for me.”

Lant appeared to consider it. I hoped it would offer him a dignified way out of following me into what was, truly, an ill-considered venture. For that brief time, there was only the sound of the horses’ hooves on the packed snow of the road, the creaking of saddle leather, and the wind shushing as it smoothed the coverlet of snow that covered the meadow. I looked at the distant trees and then at the sky. Overcast. No snow tonight, I hoped fervently.

We topped a small rise and looked down the broad moving waters of the Buck River. The edges of the moving water were frozen but a stripe of dark water still showed at the center of the current. Just past that crossing I’d leave the road and cut across country. I could see the trail I’d follow. I watched a farmer’s wagon pulled by a heavy team of grays come down to the ferry on the other side. Good timing. There were three houses and a barn and several large pens on the far side of the river. The ferry was a rickety old one, used mostly by farmers and shepherds wanting to move flocks. We rode down to the splintery timbers of the landing and sat our horses in silence as the ferry bumped and sloshed its way across to us. I glanced at my companions. Lant looked dismayed and Per uncertain. The nose of the ferry dock was coated with ice. Priss bridled as we approached it.

The ferry slowly drew closer and then thumped against the landing. A lad leapt off and made it fast, first one line and then the other. The wagon driver lifted a hand in greeting and nodded to us without curiosity as his team stoically thudded across the wooden timbers of the landing. The wagon followed with a lurch and a thud. The sounds of the creaking wagon and the rushing river masked the hoofbeats of another horse. Only my Wit made me turn to see who came.

Yes. I could have more problems today.

“Fitz!” Riddle exclaimed, half-angrily, as he pulled in a rangy white gelding. “What are you thinking, to bring these two? Lant should be resting and healing! And that lad is no more than a boy!”

“I didn’t ‘bring’ them. They’ve followed me.” I took in the light leather armor he wore under his heavy wool cloak. The sword he bore was nothing like the elegant gentleman’s accessory that graced Lant’s hip. Riddle was dressed for serious fighting. “Nettle sent you?” I guessed.

He dropped his head guiltily. “No. She doesn’t know I’ve gone. I told her I wanted to ride with you tomorrow and she agreed to that. Reluctantly. When I couldn’t find you and the roan was gone from the stables, I knew. And here I am.” His expression changed abruptly. “Thank El! I’m so tired of sitting and waiting and worrying.”

Any fears that he’d been sent to bring me back were dispersed. I returned his grin despite my effort to restrain it. “You are going to confront a very angry woman when you get back to Buckkeep Castle.”

“Don’t I know it. My only hope of mercy is to have her small sister with me.”

The smiles we exchanged were tense. We might jest about it but we both knew that Nettle’s anger was going to be a very real storm we’d have to weather. In some dim corner of my mind, I suspected her anger would be justified. I knew that my charging off to save Bee could be seen as foolhardy; what could one man do against a band of mercenaries? I was not directly disobeying my king, I excused myself. I’d stopped arguing before Dutiful felt he had to absolutely command me to follow his plan. I could not trust a band of guardsmen to rescue my child. I could not stand idly and wait for her to be restored to me.

And so I’d defied my king. But now I had three followers, two of them noblemen, and somehow that seemed very different to me. As it well might to King Dutiful. A lone kinsman disobeying his king is one thing; this appeared closer to a mutiny. I cast a sidelong glance at Riddle. In the set line of his jaw and pinched lips, I read much the same sentiments. He spoke without looking at me. “Not far past that ferry, there’s a cart track that goes up toward summer pasturage. If we leave the road there and follow the track, we can probably overnight in the shepherds’ huts in the hills before we push on toward Salter’s Deep.”

“Or not spend the night. Just push on,” I suggested.

“Leave the road?” Lant asked in dismay.

Riddle has always had a talent for sharing a glance without being obvious. He spoke kindly to Lant. “I think you should turn back now. Take the boy with you. If you must, ride with Foxglove tomorrow. If we’re riding into direct conflict, then four of us are not enough to do battle with a mercenary troop. It’s more likely Fitz and I will be doing something more … covert. And in that situation, two of us are less visible than four of us with five horses.”

Lant said nothing. I wondered where his true inclination lay. He had to be in moderate pain still. Which hurt worse, his injured pride that he had done nothing when Bee and Shine were taken, or the wound to his body? And how much did he dread encountering Shine not as her suitor but as her brother? I think he was on the point of turning back when Perseverance spoke.