The Complete Tawny Man Trilogy Omnibus (89 page)

‘This is the gist of it. Laudwine still languishes, recovering from your chopping off his forearm. In the wake of our little adventure, many of his followers have abandoned him, to return to the true Old Blood ways. Old Blood families have put pressure on their sons and daughters to forsake the Piebalds’ extreme politics. There is a feeling amongst many that the Queen genuinely intends to better the lot of the Old Blood folk. As it has become known that her own son is Witted, they
have a kindlier feeling towards her. They are content to wait, for a short time at least, to see how she will treat us now.’

‘And those who remain amongst the Piebalds?’ I asked unwillingly.

Laurel shook her head. ‘Those who remain with Laudwine are the ones most dangerous and least reasonable. He attracts those who desire to shed blood and wreak havoc. They desire revenge more than justice, and power more than peace. Some, like Laudwine, have seen family and friends put to death for the crime of being Witted. Others have hearts that pump more madness than blood. They are not many but as they place no limits on what they will do to attain their goals, they are as dangerous as a vast army.’

‘Their goals?’

‘Simple. Power for themselves. Punishment for those who have oppressed the Witted. They hate the Farseers. But even more, they hate you. Laudwine feeds their hatred. He wallows in hate and offers it to his followers as if it were gold. You have stirred their wrath against all Old Blood who “grovel before the Farseer oppressors”. Laudwine’s Piebalds bring reprisals against the Old Blood who came to your aid against the Piebalds. Some homes have been burned. Flocks have been scattered or stolen. Those sort of attacks are already happening, but worse is threatened. The Piebalds say they will expose any that will not side with them against the Farseers. It thrills them that we should be killed by the folk we will not rise against. The Piebalds say that all Old Blood must either stand with them or be purged from the community.’ Her face had gone both grave and pale. I knew there was a real threat to her family, and it curdled my stomach to think that I was partially responsible for provoking it.

I took a breath. ‘Only some of what you tell me is news to me. Only a few nights ago I was stalked on the road from Buckkeep Town by Piebalds. I am only surprised that they let me live.’

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that did not dismiss my danger, only the possibility of understanding the Piebalds. ‘You are a special target for them. You struck Laudwine’s hand from his arm. You are Old Blood, serving the Farseers and directly opposing the Piebalds.’ She shook her head. ‘Take no comfort that they have left you alive when they could have so easily killed you. It only means that they have some use for you that requires you to be alive. My cousin hinted as much, when he warned me, for he said that perhaps I had mixed myself with worse company than I thought. The Piebald rumour is that Lord Golden and Tom Badgerlock were not what they seemed to be – small surprise to me that was, but Deerkin seemed to think it portentous.’

She paused, as if to give me time to reply. I said nothing but thought much. Had someone firmly connected Tom Badgerlock to the Witted Bastard of song and legend? And if so, what use would they have for me that required me alive? If they had wanted to take me hostage and use me against the Farseers, they could have done so that night. But my thoughts were cut off as Laurel scowled at my silence and then resumed her talk.

‘The raids and attacks against their own stir Old Blood against them, even amongst some who once called themselves Piebalds. Some raids, it seems, are carried out to settle old scores or for personal profit rather than for any “lofty” Piebald motives. No one restrains them. Laudwine is still too weak to resume full leadership. He is feverish and febrile from the loss of his arm. Those closest to him hate you doubly for that; they will be swift as wildfire to set their vengeance against you. Witness that you have been back in Buckkeep only a few days, and they have already located you.’

We stood silent in the dusty room for a time, both of us following thoughts too dark to share. At last, Laurel spoke reluctantly.

‘You understand that Deerkin still has ties to those in the
Piebalds. They try to lure him back. He must … pretend to side with them. To protect our family. He walks a thin and dangerous line. He hears things that are very dangerous for him to repeat, and yet he has sent word.’ Her words trickled away. She stared at the obscured window as if she could truly see what was beyond it. I knew what she was trying to express.

‘You should speak to the Queen. Tell her that Deerkin must appear a traitor to the crown for the sake of keeping your family safe. Will you flee, as he bids you?’

She shook her head slowly. ‘Flee where? To my family? Then I plunge them into more danger. Here, at least, the Piebalds must reach into danger’s mouth to extract me. I will stay here and serve my queen.’

I wondered if Chade would be able to protect her, let alone her cousin.

Her voice was flat when she spoke again. ‘Deerkin hears hints that the Piebalds are forming an alliance with outsiders. “Powerful folk who would be happy to destroy the Farseers and leave Laudwine’s folk in power”.’ She gave me a worried glance. ‘That sounds like a silly boast, doesn’t it? It couldn’t be real, could it?’

‘Best tell the Queen,’ I said, and hoped she could not hear that I did think it possible. I knew I would take the tale to Chade.

‘And you?’ she asked me. ‘Will you flee? I think you should. For you would make a fine example of the Piebalds’ power. Exposed, you would illustrate that there are Witted even within the walls of Buckkeep. Quartered and burned, you would be a fine example to other traitors to the Old Blood, that those who deny and betray their own kind are in turn betrayed by them.’

She was not herself Witted. Her cousin was. Even though the magic ran in her family blood, she had no love for the Wit or those who used their magic. Like most Six Duchies folk, she regarded my ability to sense animals and bond with a beast as a
despicable magic. Perhaps her use of the word ‘traitor’ should have carried less sting because of that, yet the contempt of the message burned me.

‘I am not a traitor to my Old Blood. I but keep my oath where it was sworn, to the Farseers. If Old Blood had not tried to harm the Prince, it would not have been necessary for me to wrest him back from them.’

Laurel spoke flatly. ‘Those are the words of my cousin’s message to me. Not mine. He sent me those words so that I might warn the Queen, partly because he feels a debt to me. But also because she is the most tolerant of Old Blood of any recent Farseer reign we have known. He would not see her shamed and her influence lessened. I suspect he thinks she would rid herself of you if she knew you could be used against her. I know her better. She will not heed my warning and send you away from Buckkeep before you can be used against her.’

So. That was her real message for me. ‘Then you think that would be best for all? If I simply removed myself, without her having to ask me to leave.’

She gazed past me, spoke past me. ‘You suddenly appeared from nowhere. Perhaps it were best if you returned there.’

For an instant, I actually toyed with the notion. I could go downstairs, saddle Myblack and ride off. Hap was safely apprenticed, and Chade would see that he remained so. I had been reluctant to teach Dutiful the Skill, let alone what I knew of the Wit. Perhaps this was the simplest solution for all of us. I could disappear. But.

‘I did not come to Buckkeep at my own desire. I came at my queen’s behest. And so do I stay. Nor would my departure remove the danger to her. Laudwine and his followers know the Prince is Witted.’

‘I thought you would say as much,’ Laurel conceded. ‘And for all I know, perhaps you are right. Yet I will still pass on my warning to the Queen.’

‘You would be remiss if you did not. Yet I thank you for
taking the time to seek me out and pass on this warning to me, as well. I know I gave Deerkin little reason to think well of me. I am willing to let all that occurred between us fade into the past. If you have the chance, I ask you to pass that message on to him. That I bear no ill will to him, or to any that follow the true Old Blood ways. But I must always put my service to the Farseers first.’

‘As do I,’ she responded grimly.

‘You say nothing of Laudwine’s intentions towards Prince Dutiful.’

‘Because Deerkin’s message said nothing of that. So my only answer is, I don’t know.’

‘I see.’

And there seemed nothing else to say to one another. I let her leave first so we would not be seen together. I lingered in the old rooms longer than I needed to. Beneath the dust on the windowsill, I could just glimpse the track of my boyhood’s idle knife. I looked up at the slanting ceiling over the spot where my pallet had been. I could still see the owl shape in the twisted grain of the wood there. There was little left here of Burrich or of me. Time and other occupants had obliterated us from the room. I left it, dragging the door closed behind me.

I could have saddled Myblack and ridden down to Buckkeep Town, but I chose to walk despite the edged chill of the day. I have always believed it is harder to shadow a man on foot. I passed out of the gates without incident or comment. I strode off briskly, but once I was out of sight of the guards and any other travellers, I stepped aside from the road, to stand in the scrub-brush that banked it and look back to see if anyone were following me. I stood still and silent until the scar on my back began to ache. There was damp in the wind, rain or snow to come tonight. My ears and nose were cold. I decided that no one was shadowing me today. Nonetheless, I performed the same manoeuvre twice more on my walk into town.

I took a roundabout path through Buckkeep Town to Jinna’s
house. Part of this was caution, but part of it was dithering. I wanted to take her a gift, both as an apology for not visiting last night as I had said I would and as thanks for helping me with Hap, yet I could not think what it should be. Earrings seemed somehow too personal and too permanent. So did the brightly woven scarf that caught my eye in the weaver’s stall. Fresh smoked redfish teased my appetite, yet seemed inappropriate. I was a man grown, yet I felt caught in a boy’s dilemma. How did I express thanks, apology and interest in her without appearing too grateful, apologetic or interested? I wanted, I decided, a friendly gift, and resolved that I would choose something that I could as easily present to the Fool or Hap without feeling any awkwardness. I settled on a sack of sweet hevnuts, this year’s plump and shining harvest, and a loaf of fresh spice bread. With these in hand, I felt almost confident as I tapped at the door with the palm-reader’s sign on it.

‘A moment!’ came Jinna’s voice, and then she opened the top half of the door, squinting in the sunlight. Behind her the room was dim, shutters closed, candles burning fragrantly on the table. ‘Ah. Tom. I’m in the midst of a reading for a customer. Can you wait?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good.’ And then she shut the door firmly and left me standing outside. It wasn’t what I had expected, and yet I reflected it was no more than I deserved. So I waited humbly, watching the street and the folk passing by, and trying to look at ease in the biting wind. The hedge-witch’s house was on a quiet street in Buckkeep Town, and yet there was a steady trickle of folk along it. Next door to her lived a potter. His door was closed to the wind, his wares stacked beside it, and I heard the thump of his wheel as he worked. Across the street lived a woman who seemed to have an impossible number of small children, several of whom seemed intent on wandering out into the muddy street despite the chill day. A little girl not much older than the toddlers patiently hauled them back onto
the porch. From where I stood, I could just glimpse the doors of a tavern down the street. The hanging sign that welcomed guests showed a pig wedged in a fence. The trade seemed to be mostly the sort who took their beer home in small buckets.

I was just beginning to think of either leaving or tapping on the door again when it opened. A lavishly garbed matron and her two daughters emerged. The younger girl had tears in her eyes, but her sister looked bored. The mother thanked Jinna profusely for a very long time before she tartly ordered her girls to stop tarrying and come along. The glance she gave me as she led them off did not approve of me.

If I had thought Jinna’s leaving me standing outside was a sort of retribution, the warm and weary look she gave me dispelled the notion. She wore a green robe. A wide yellow waist cinched her middle and lifted her breasts. It was very becoming. ‘Come in, come in. Oh, such a morning. It’s strange. Folk want to know what you see in their hands, but so often they don’t want to believe it.’

She shut the door behind me, plunging us back into dimness.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit last night. My master had duties for me. I’ve brought you some fresh spice bread.’

‘Oh. How lovely! I see you bought hevnuts at the market. I wish I had known that you liked them, for my niece’s trees have borne so heavily this year that we can scarcely decide what to do with them all. A neighbour out near her farm may take some for pig fodder, but they have fallen so thick this year one fair wades through them.’

So much for that. But she took the spiced bread from me and set it on the table, exclaiming over how delicious it smelled, and telling me that Hap was, of course, at his master’s. Her niece had borrowed the pony and cart to haul firewood in, did I mind? Hap had said she might, and said, too, that it was better for the pony to do the light work the old beast could handle than to stand idly stabled. I assured
her that was fine. ‘No Fennel?’ I asked, wondering at the cat’s absence.

‘Fennel?’ She seemed surprised I would ask. ‘Oh, he’s probably out and about his own business. You know how cats are.’

I set the sack of hevnuts on the floor by the door and hung my cloak above it. The little room was warm and my cold ears stung as they returned to life. As I turned to the table, she was setting down two steaming cups of tea. The rising warmth beckoned me. A dish of butter and some honey waited beside the bread. ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked me, smiling up at me.