Fool's Quest (81 page)

“What is our plan?” Lant asked at one point, and I realized I hadn't spoken aloud since I'd given them their tasks.

“Gather anything useful. Follow the Fool and Spark as quickly as possible.”

“They said there was a red dragon there. And a bowman.”

“They did. So we will try to emerge from the pillar prepared to be attacked.”

Lant opened his mouth and shut it again.

“Somewhere in this wreckage, there's a bit of leather with a needle thrust through it and some stout thread wrapped round it. As soon as you find it, let me know. Make three piles of whatever we can still use.”

“Do we take Gray's things? And Ash's?”

“We salvage all and then choose. We carry as much as we can, for I want to assume we will be reunited and that there was some sane reason for them packing so many garments.”

“Even the beads and string? All those gloves?”

I followed Per's gesture. The Fool's spilled baggage included a veritable rainbow of gloves, in all fabrics and weights. My heart listed a bit toward sadness. He'd always intended to silver his hand. He hadn't lied to me. The Fool and I seldom lied to each other. Except when we did. “As much as we can carry of anything that might be useful. We don't know what we are going into.”

We worked as fast as we could but it was not an easy task. Some of Per's grain had been caught in a corner of the bag, and he cooked it for us as we shook snow from clothing and pawed through snow to find our scattered gear. Under Burrich's tutelage, I had learned to mend harness as a lad, and the sewing skill had served me well all my life. Perseverance's pack was mendable. Mine was shredded and Lant's was worse. The torn canvas of my tent became two rough sacks, hastily stitched. Despite our need for haste, I spent time to make a smaller bag to hold Bee's book and Molly's candles and stowed them securely. I looked up from securing the flap to find Per watching me intently. Bee's dream journal was in his hands. He offered it to me uncertainly. “I think I recognize her hand. Such pictures as she drew! Is this truly her work?”

“That's mine!” I said, my declaration harsher than I intended. The hurt in his eyes rebuked me as I took it from his hands. It was all I could do not to snatch it from him.

“Sir, if it's not too late … I'd still like to learn my letters. Perhaps someday I could read what she wrote.”

“It's private,” I said. “But yes, I will teach you to read. And to write.”

He looked at me with dumb dog's eyes. My scowl sent him back to work immediately.

We hurried and yet time seemed to slip away from us. The early Mountain shadows of evening had begun to creep across the land when we were finished. The Fool's tent made a surprisingly small bundle. I could not say the same for the warm winter garments the Fool and Spark had packed. Woolen skirts and shawls were far heavier than I would have expected them to be.

“The packs are too heavy and awkward,” Lant observed. He'd kept his voice neutral; it wasn't a complaint. “If we have to be ready for anything as we emerge from the pillar, carrying these is not a good plan.”

He was right. “We won't carry them. We'll grip them as we go through, to be sure they travel with us. We've no idea what we'll find. They may be there and safe, or injured. Or captured.” In a quieter voice I added, “Or not there at all.”

“Like Bee,” Per said in a small voice. He took a breath and squared his shoulders. “Could that happen to us? That we go into the pillar and never come out?”

“It could,” I admitted.

“Where would we be then? What would happen to us?”

How to describe it? “I think we would … become part of it. I've felt it, once or twice. It doesn't hurt, Per. In fact, that's the danger of the Skill to young users. That it feels as if it might be good to let go and tatter away and merge with it.”

“Merge with what?” His brow was furrowed. Lant's face was pale.

“The Skill-current. I don't know what else to call it.”

“Maybe merge with Bee?”

I took a breath. “Highly unlikely, boy. And I don't want to speak of that, please. You can stay here if you wish. I can try to Skill to Dutiful and ask him to send a Skill-user through the pillar to take you back to Buckkeep. But you'd be here for at least two days, I think. In the cold, with little food, and a possible visit from a bear. Still, if you choose that, well, it's your choice. I'm afraid I can't stay here with you until they come for you. I have to go after the Fool and Spark as quickly as I can.” Too much time had already passed. I was now as eager to go was I was fearful.

Per hesitated. Lant spoke. “You could just as easily be lost going back to Buck as you might going forward to Kelsingra. I don't really want to make either journey, but I'll follow you, Fitz.”

“I'll go with you, too,” Per said. “How do we do it?”

We lined up at the pillar. I'd attached a hasty strap to each of my crude sacks. One was slung over my shoulder. Per wore his overstuffed pack and gripped my left hand. Lant rested a hand on my right shoulder and had the strap of the largest bag over his shoulder. In his right hand, he had his sword at the ready. I took a moment to myself. I'd never been trained to take others through a pillar with me, though I'd done it before, under duress. I loosed my Wit and made myself aware of both of them, their shapes and their smell, and then groped toward them with my Skill. Neither had any talent for that magic that I could detect, but almost all people have some small spark of it. I could not make either of them aware of my reaching, but I did my best to enfold them in it. I gave them no warning, no chance to hesitate. I gripped my sword in my right hand and pressed my bared knuckles against the cold stone of the pillar.

Blackness. Points of moving lights that were not stars. Per before me, swearing his loyalty. Lant staring at me, his lips folded tight. I held tight to my awareness of them. I wrapped them in myself.

Daylight blasted us. Cold seized me and suddenly I knew that I had to stay on my feet, drop Per's hand, and protect us.

“'Ware!” someone shouted as I sprang clear of Per and leveled my blade. My sun-dazzled eyes adjusted to the Fool sprawled at my feet and Spark fighting her way clear of the entanglement of the butterfly cloak. We had gone from a fading evening to the brilliant shine of a sunny winter day. Time lost, but even more unsettling, we seemed to have arrived only moments after the Fool and Spark had. I felt Per jostle into me as he got to his feet. He then staggered sideways, retching. Before I could look back to see how Lant had fared, I heard a roar.

I spun, or tried to, bringing my sword up to the ready. Even before my eyes found the great green dragon charging toward us, my Wit-sense reeled from the size and presence of the creature. He was coming toward us as fast as the wind blowing. I heard the clash of his silver claws on the stone street. His front legs reached, seized ground, and flung him forward. His hide was rippled with silver like water stains on fabric. This was no charging cow, but a powerful, angry creature. His roar struck me again, a sound with an edge of strange Skill and Wit.
“Intruders!”

I was no Burrich, to drop a stone dragon to its knees with the power of my Wit. I did not lift my voice but I set myself firmly before his charge and held my sword firm. That was the challenge I flung at him, my defiance, an animal-to-animal declaration, yet I was shocked to see him suddenly brace his front feet, claws screaming on the black stone as he slid to a halt. His tail lashed, a powerful limb that could probably have toppled trees. He threw his head back, jaws opened wide. There were bright flares of color inside his open mouth, shocking orange edging to flaring red. Poison, such colors warn in a lizard or frog. He drew a great breath and I saw the sacs inside the sides of his mouth swell. I dreaded what I knew might follow, something I'd only heard tales about: a pale mist of venom that dissolved flesh and ate bones and pitted stones. But as he drew in the air, something changed in the dragon's stance. I could not read it. Anger? Puzzlement? He stood, a stiff ruff of silver spines erecting to stand out around his neck like a thorny mane. He breathed out, a hot exhalation of meaty stench, and then drew in more air, slowly wagging his head on his sinuous neck. He was taking our scent.

I had seen dragons before. I'd touched minds with Tintaglia, the first of the queen dragons to return to our world. I'd seen Icefyre's first flight when he emerged after years of being locked in a glacier. I'd watched mating dragons, seen them dive onto penned cattle offered to them as a bribe. I knew only too well how powerful they were, and how quickly they could reduce a bull to a bloody carcass. I had known that my sword was virtually useless against a bear; against a dragon, it was ridiculous. Lant abruptly stepped up beside me. He'd lifted his blade as well, but it wavered wildly. “Sick,” he gasped, but he didn't retreat.

“Get under it!” I heard Per order someone hoarsely. “Lie close. It can conceal both of you.” He staggered to my left side, his belt-knife out. “Are we going to die now?” he asked in a quavering voice that broke to shrillness at the end.

“Where is the one who belongs to a dragon?”

Dragon-speech. Sound was only a part of it. Some, I knew, could not understand dragons when they spoke. They heard only the roars, grunts, and snarls of a wild creature. I'd understood the words but could make no sense of them. I stood still and silent.

“I smell him. I smell one dragon-touched, chosen by a dragon we have long believed dead. Are you here by his command?”

I guessed what he smelled. The dragon's blood the Fool had used. Per made a retching sound. I heard no sound from the Fool or Spark. I took a breath. “We mean no harm,” I called to the dragon. Then I swiveled my head. My Wit had told me someone else approached, and the figure I saw striding toward me was one from my childhood nightmares. He was tall and scarlet-skinned, with blazing blue eyes, as if light shone through sapphires. His tall frame was cloaked in a flowing tunic of gold and loose black trousers. He was long-limbed in proportions that were appropriate to his height, but not human. He wore battle harness such as I'd never seen, but the sword that he pulled ringing from its sheath was an all-too-familiar tool to me. Elderling, like the creatures that had stared down from the tapestry that had graced the wall of my boyhood bedchamber. He spoke as he strode toward us. “Well done, Arbuc! I knew these invaders could not evade us for long! And now they will answer for …”

His words trickled away as he halted and stared at us. “These are not the thieves I chased! Who are you, how do you come here, and what do you wish? Answer with words or blood, it's all one to me.” He stood and held his weapon in a style I did not recognize.
Formality. Always choose formality first.

I did not sheathe my blade but neither did I move it in a threatening way. I was glad now that I'd layered my pretty cloak over my serviceable one. I made as courtly a bow as I could with a bared weapon. “Well met, good sir. We are emissaries to Queen Malta and King Reyn of the Dragon Traders. We come from the Six Duchies. We would be most grateful if you would escort us to their palace.”

My lack of aggression puzzled him. I saw that Lant had taken my cue and lowered the tip of his blade. Per stood at the ready. Of the Fool and Spark, I heard not a whisper. I hoped no betraying toe peeped out from under the butterfly cloak's camouflage.

The Elderling's gaze traveled from me to Lant to Per. I knew we were not particularly presentable but I retained my dignity and did not lower my eyes. “How did you get here?” he demanded.

I avoided direct refusal in my answer. “Sir, as you no doubt can tell, we have come a long and weary way. In the Mountains we dealt with cold and were even attacked by a bear. We ask only for audience with the most gracious rulers of Kelsingra. No more than that do we seek.”

I saw him turn his eyes toward the cliffs and mountains that backed the city we stood in. I tried to remember all I could of this city. I'd been here once before. Indeed, I had come here by my first inadvertent stumble through a Skill-portal, on my journey to find Verity. Without turning my head, my eyes marked the location of the tower where I had first glimpsed the intricate map the Elderlings had left. As I recalled what little I knew of it, I decided to take a risk. “Or, if you are busy on errands of your own, we shall be happy to venture on to the Tower of the Map and wait there for your king and queen to receive us. We know our arrival is unannounced. We do not presume to hope they will see us immediately.”

I heard the clatter of boots and looked past the scarlet Elderling to see an armed troop advancing toward us. They were men, not Elderlings, and their weaponry and armor were of more familiar sorts than those the red man bore. Six in the front rank, and three more ranks behind them. Outnumbered. A conflict unwinnable with blades.

It required all my self-discipline to take my eyes off the scarlet Elderling. I looked down and carefully sheathed my blade as if it were an unfamiliar act. Then I smiled genially up at him, just a harmless emissary.

Another Elderling had come to join the dragon. He stood beside the powerful creature and despite his height, the dragon dwarfed him. This Elderling was lightly scaled in green and silver and he reached out a hand to touch the dragon's shoulder. The green dragon abruptly advanced two steps. He took in our scent again and said,
“One of them is dragon-claimed. I smell it on him.”
The immense head on the thickly muscled neck twisted.
“A dragon I have not smelled before,”
he said, as if dredging his memory for a name.
“A dragon unseen by us. Does he live yet?”
The head with its spinning silver eyes canted in the other direction, but his gaze remained fixed on me.

The militant red Elderling's gleaming eyes narrowed as he regarded us. “An unknown dragon? Which of you belongs to a dragon?”