Fool's Fate

Although we are of a height, he still somehow managed to look down coolly on me. There was stillness in his face that bespoke a great anger. I thought he was not going to speak to me. Then, “I flew,” he said coldly. He stood, not looking at me, breathing quietly. I felt somewhat encouraged that he had not stalked away but wondered if that was merely because he did not wish to call attention to our speaking. I ignored his mockery of my question.

“How can you be angry at me? You know why I did it. You said that if you came here you would die here. So I arranged that you would not come here.”

For a time, he was silent. We both watched Arkon Bloodblade pushed off in a small boat. Two of his Boar warriors took the oars and leaned into them heartily. Their expressions proclaimed that they were happy to be leaving this island. The Fool gave me a sideways glance. His eyes had darkened to the color of strong tea in a glass. Clean of powder and paint, his face was a smooth golden brown. “You should have respected that I knew what I had to do,” he rebuked me.

“If you knew that I was going to my death, would not you try to stop me?”

It was the wrong question to ask him, and I knew that almost as soon as I had asked it. He stared out at the ship in the harbor where sailors labored with the anchor chain and the sails and spoke in a low voice, his lips scarcely moving. “On the contrary. Many times I have known that faith or your own stubbornness would endanger your life, but I have always respected your decisions to do so.”

Then he turned and walked slowly away from me. Swift sent me an odd glance, then hurried off to follow him. I noticed Civil looking after them with an expression of distaste. I heard the crunch of footsteps on beach gravel, and turned to find Web approaching me. It was hard for me to meet his eyes. I still felt oddly guilty, as if I had insulted him by refusing his offer of lessons. If he felt anything of the kind, he concealed it well. He gestured after the Fool and Swift with his chin. “You know him, don't you?”

“Of course.” The question surprised me. “He's Lord Golden, from Buckkeep. Didn't you recognize him?”

“No, I didn't. Not at first. It wasn't until Lord Chade called him ‘Lord Golden' that I perceived any similarity. But even when I was told his name, I felt that I did not truly know him at all. Yet I think that you do. He is an odd creature. Can you sense him?”

I knew what he meant. The Fool had never left any impression on my Wit-sense. “No. And he has no scent.”

“Ah.” That was all he said, but I suspected that I had given him much to ponder.

I looked down at my feet on the gravelly sand. “Web. I'm sorry. I keep intending to find time to spend with you, but I never seem to manage it. It isn't that I'm not interested, or that I disdain what you have to teach. It just seems that so many things come between me and what I would like to be doing.”

“Like now,” he replied with a grin. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Thick. The little man was hunkered down beside a piece of driftwood that he had overturned. His attention on the sand fleas and small crabs he had exposed was so intense that he was ignoring the waves that were nearly lapping about his feet. If I didn't intervene soon, he would have wet shoes and spend the rest of the day in misery. I exchanged an understanding glance with Web, and hurried down the beach toward my charge.

Even before the ship was out of sight, Longwick was issuing orders to his men. With the casual precision of the veteran soldier, he set them to breaking up our provisions into manageable loads. From the number of packs he was preparing, it was obvious he expected all to share in the task of transporting our goods to our next campsite. Thick had left off poking about on the beach and now sat disconsolately in the door of our tent, a blanket draped around his shoulders. The day was not truly that cold. I wondered anxiously if he was starting to burn with fever again. I went to confer with Longwick.

“How far do we expect to journey today?” I tilted my head toward Thick to explain my concern to him.

Longwick followed my gesture and scowled worriedly at my concern. “I've been told it's a three-day journey to where the dragon is trapped in the ice. But I'm sure you know that such measurements of distance mean nothing. A one-day journey for a seasoned traveler with a light pack can be a three-day trek for a courtier with a full load.” He lifted his eyes to scan the clear skies and then the icy peaks of the island speculatively. “It's not going to be a pleasant journey for any of us,” he opined. “It's always winter when you're crossing a glacier.”

I thanked him and left. The other men had moved to strike their tents, but Thick had not budged from ours. I tried to put on a pleasant expression, but my heart sank at the thought of the task before me. If he had hated me for putting him onto a ship, how was he going to feel about me after I had dragged him on a hike across a glacier? “Time to pack up, Thick,” I informed him cheerfully.