Fool's Quest

I trudged along beside them in the dark. The night was cold enough that my face felt a stiff mask. I tried to think, but then Riddle began singing the old song about the woodcutter’s son, and after the second verse both Lant and I joined in. When Lant came to the table the next night, he announced he had spent the day fishing in an open boat and had caught a flatfish the size of a small child. I was unendingly pleased when I saw Nettle give Riddle a very special smile over Lant’s bent head as he set upon his food with an appetite we had not seen since Winterfest.

So the slow moons of winter ticked past us all. I was more alone than I had ever been in my life and it suited me. It was a solitude that I cultivated. I let nothing touch me too deeply. Alone, I made my plans. With a hunter’s heart, I waited for winter to fade and better traveling weather to come. I wrote several very long letters, one for Hap, one for Kettricken, and another to Nettle and Riddle. I considered writing one to my unborn grandchild and decided I was wallowing in sentiment. The one to Chade was hardest, for I wondered if he would ever read it with a whole mind. Like Verity, I signed and secured my missives and set them by.

I endured each day, waiting, as slowly broken things began to heal. My Skill came back to me, in tickles of chance thought and then in whispers. I used it as little as possible at first, respecting my daughter’s advice and wishes in that regard. Then I exercised it, but rigorously, in tight sendings to Thick, or a general comment to Nettle. I became aware of the various coteries within Buckkeep, and shamelessly listened in when their sendings were careless. I built my Skill-discipline as systematically as I rebuilt the muscles of my body and my fighting skills. By day, I took my bruises in the practice yard, and by night I practiced throwing knives and materializing poison from my cuff. I watched for the weather to grow kinder for travel and I waited for myself to grow deadlier.

Every creature entrusted to my care, I settled into safekeeping. The crow was a jocund addition to the Fool’s chamber, for Perseverance brought her daily to see him. She was company for the Fool in a way no human could be, and at times I almost wondered if they did not share a thread of the Wit. She picked up words from him as a pigeon pecks up corn. Despite his blindness, he endeavored to teach her tricks, and I was never so astonished as I was on the day when he told her to “take Fitz’s spoon” and she promptly hopped across the table and stole it for him. Motley did not seem to respond to my Wit, but her language and responsiveness were those of a Wit-bonded animal. She puzzled me.

As for Fleeter, I had little use for a horse while I lived in the castle. I still visited her sporadically in the stables. Several times, I found Patience leaning on the door of her stall, apparently admiring the horse. So I was not surprised on the day that Fleeter swung her head toward me.

My boon?

Ask it.

I’ve found my partner. See that I stay with her.

Done.

And that was it. After that, Fleeter disdained me completely. Perseverance bridled a bit when I asked the girl to take over Fleeter’s exercise and grooming, but I refused to be moved. I saw the light in the Patience’s eyes when I gave her the duty and knew that she would enjoy the horse with an open heart I could not offer. I visited the stables less and less often, and as I saw Fleeter bond to her, I did not intervene. The beautiful partner I had spurned lavished herself on another. I deserved the regret that stung me. It was too late to change it, and I would not if I could have.

The Fool continued to heal but very slowly. The evening that he came to join me at the hearth in the Great Hall, I felt a lift of relief. Ash had obviously chosen his garments: I saw him admire the effect from a distance. The Fool wore a long robe of black in a style half a century old, spangled with moons and stars cut from other fabric and quilted onto the garment. He wore the slouch hat that had once belonged to Lord Feldspar, now adorned with green buttons and charms of brass and tin. His walking stick carved with serpents and dragons was his own handiwork, and I was glad to see he had taken up his old pastime. Motley rode on his shoulder and contributed to his peculiar appearance. Ash guided him to a seat beside me, and to those who greeted him, he introduced himself as Gray, a traveler from far Satine. He claimed no title of lord, but presented himself as a foreign mage come to Buckkeep to study the legendary magic of the Farseers. His garments and accoutrements were peculiar enough that his gold eyes and scarred face seemed appropriate to them. That first evening he did not stay long but, as winter passed he began to move about Buckkeep Castle. He courted no new friends as Mage Gray but did begin to call on those who had known him. I saw him taking a small pleasure in this new role, and both Ash and Spark seemed to take great enjoyment in assisting him in it. The two youngsters, I thought, would care well for my old friend. So even from the Fool, I caged my feelings and thoughts.