The Complete Tawny Man Trilogy: Fool’s Errand, The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate

I opened my mouth to say that was the opposite of what Galen had done to us. On the contrary, when he was teaching us, he had made us so miserable in body that the mind became our only escape. I shut my mouth, the words unsaid. Useless to protest or ponder what Galen had done. The twisted, pleasureless man had tormented us all, and those he had succeeded in training he had warped into a mindlessly loyal coterie for Prince Regal. Perhaps that had had something to do with it; perhaps he had wanted to break down the body’s resistance and the mind’s judgement before he could shape them into the coterie he desired.

I sat down in Chade’s chair. It retained his warmth and the imprint of his body. It felt strange to sit there in his presence. It was as if I were becoming him. He assumed my perch on the stool and looked down on me from that towering height. He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned forwards to smirk down at me.

‘Comfortable?’ he asked me.

‘No,’ I admitted.

‘Serves you right,’ he muttered. Then, with a laugh, he got off the stool. ‘Tell me what I can do to help you with this process.’

‘You want me to just sit here and Skill out, hoping to find the Prince?’

‘Is that so hard?’ It was a genuine question.

‘I tried for several hours last night. Nothing happened except that I got a headache.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment he looked discouraged. Then he announced firmly, ‘We will simply have to try again.’ In a lower voice he muttered, ‘For what else can we do?’

I could think of no answer to that. I leaned back in his chair and tried to relax my body. I stared at his mantelpiece, only to have my attention stick on a fruit knife driven into the wood. I had done that, years ago. Now was not the time to dwell on that incident. Yet I found myself saying, ‘I crept into my old room today. It looks as if it has not been used since last I slept there.’

‘It hasn’t. Castle tradition says it is haunted.’

‘You’re joking!’

‘No. Think about it. The Witted Bastard slept there, and he was taken to his death in the castle dungeons. It’s a fine basis for a ghost tale. Besides. Flickering blue lights have been seen through its shutters at night, and once a stableboy said he saw the Pocked Man staring down from that window on a moonlit night.’

‘You kept it empty.’

‘I am not entirely devoid of sentiment. And for a long time, I hoped you would some day return to that room. But, enough of this. We have a task.’

I drew a breath. ‘The Queen did not mention the note about the Prince being Witted.’

‘No. She did not.’

‘Do you know why?’

He hesitated. ‘Perhaps some things are so frightening that even our good queen cannot bring herself to consider them.’

‘I’d like to see the note.’

‘Then you shall. Later.’ He paused, then asked me heavily, ‘Fitz. Are you going to settle down and do this thing or keep procrastinating?’

I took a deliberate breath, blew it out slowly, and fixed my gaze on the dwindling fire. I looked into its heart as I gradually unfastened my mind from my thoughts. I opened myself to the Skill.

My mind began to unfold. I have, over the years, given much thought to how one could describe Skilling. No metaphor really does it justice. Like a folded piece of silk, the mind opens, and opens, and opens again, becoming larger and yet somehow thinner. That is one image. Another is that the Skill is like a great unseen river that flows at all time. When one consciously pays attention to it, one can be seized in its current and drawn out to flow with it. In its wild waters, minds can touch and merge.

Yet no words or similes do it justice, any more than words can explain the smell of fresh bread or the colour yellow. The Skill is the Skill. It is the hereditary magic of the Farseers, yet it does not belong to kings alone. Many folk in the Six Duchies have a touch of it. In some it burns strong enough that a Skilled one can hear their thoughts. Sometimes, I can even influence what a Skill-touched person thinks. Far more rare are those who can reach out with the Skill. That ability is usually no more than a feeble groping unless the talent is trained. I opened myself to it, and let my consciousness expand but with no expectations of reaching anyone.

Threads of thought tangled against me like waterweed. ‘I hate the way she looks at my beau.’ ‘I wish I could say one last word to you, Papa.’ ‘Please hurry home, I feel so ill.’ ‘You are so beautiful. Please, please, turn around, see me, at least give me that.’ Those who flung the thoughts out with such urgency were, for the most part, ignorant of their own strength. None of them was aware of me sharing their thoughts, nor could I make my own thoughts known to them. Each cried out in their deafness with voices they believed were mute. None was Prince Dutiful. From some distant part of the keep, music reached my ears, temporarily distracting me. I pushed it aside and strove on.

I do not know how long I prowled amongst those unwary minds, nor how far I reached in my search. The range of the Skill is determined by strength of ability, not distance. I had no measure of my strength and time does not exist when one is in the grip of the Skill. I trod again that narrow measure, clinging to my awareness of my own body despite the temptation to let the Skill sweep me free of my body forever.

‘Fitz,’ I murmured, in response to something, and then, ‘FitzChivalry,’ I said aloud to myself. A fresh log crashed down onto the embers of the fire, scattering the glowing heart into individual coals. For a time I stared at it, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Then I blinked, and became aware of Chade’s hand resting on my shoulder. I smelled hot food, and slowly turned my head. A platter rested on a low table near the chair. I stared at it, wondering how it had come to be there.

‘Fitz?’ Chade said again, and I tried to recall his question.

‘What?’

‘Did you find Prince Dutiful?’

Each word gradually made sense to me until I perceived his query. ‘No,’ I said as a wave of weariness rolled over me. ‘No, nothing.’ In the wake of the fatigue, my hands began to tremble and my head to pound. I closed my eyes, but found no relief. Even with my eyes closed, snakes of light trembled across the dark. When I opened my eyes, they were superimposed on the room before me. I felt as if too much light were getting inside my head. The waves of pain tumbled me in a surf of disorientation.

‘Here. Drink this.’

Chade put a warm mug into my hands and I lifted it gratefully to my mouth. I took a mouthful, then nearly spat it out. It was not elfbark tea to soothe my headache, but only beef broth. I swallowed it without enthusiasm. ‘Elfbark tea,’ I reminded him. ‘That is what I need right now. Not food.’

‘No, Fitz. Recall what you yourself told me. Elfbark stunts the Skill-ability, and numbs you to your talent. That is something we cannot risk just now. Eat something. It will restore your strength.’

Obediently I looked at the tray. Sliced fruit floated in cream next to freshly baked bread. There was a glass of wine and pink slices of baked river fish. I carefully set the mug of broth down next to the revolting stuff and turned my gaze away. The fire was rekindling itself, dancing licks of flame, too bright. I lowered my face into my hands, seeking darkness, but even there the lights still danced before my eyes. I spoke into my hands. ‘I need some elfbark. It has not been this bad in years, not since Verity was alive, not since Shrewd took strength from me. Please, Chade. I cannot even think.’

He went away. I sat counting my heartbeats until he came back. Each thud of my heart was a flare of pain in my temples. I heard the scuff of his steps and lifted my head.

‘Here,’ he said gruffly, and set a cool wet cloth to my forehead. The shock of it made me catch my breath. I held it to my brow and felt the thudding ease somewhat. It smelled of lavender.

I looked at him through a haze of pain. His hands were empty. ‘The elfbark tea?’ I reminded him.

‘No, Fitz.’

‘Chade. Please. It hurts so badly I can’t see.’ Each word was an effort. My own voice was too loud.

‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘I know, my boy. But you will just have to bear it. The scrolls say that sometimes the use of the Skill brings this pain, but that, with time and repeated effort, you will learn to master it. Again, my understanding of it is imperfect, but it seems to have to do with the split effort you make, both to reach out from yourself and to hold tight to yourself. Given time, you will learn how to reconcile those tensions and then –’

‘Chade!’ I did not mean to bellow but I did. ‘I just need the damned elfbark tea. Please!’ I took sudden control of myself. ‘Please,’ I added softly, contritely. ‘Please, just the tea. Just help me ease this pain, and then I could listen to you.’

‘No, Fitz.’

‘Chade.’ I spoke my hidden fear. ‘Pain such as this could push me into a seizure.’

I saw a brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. But then, ‘I don’t think it will. Besides, I’m here beside you, boy. I’ll take care of you. You have to try to get through this without the drug. For Dutiful’s sake. For the Six Duchies.’

His refusal stunned me into silence. Hurt and defiance tore me. ‘Fine.’ I bit off the word. ‘I have some in my pack in my room.’ I tried to find the will to stand.

A moment of silence. Then, unwillingly he admitted, ‘You had some in your pack in your room. It is gone. As is the carryme that was with it.’

I took the rag from my forehead and glared at him. My anger built on the foundation of my pain. ‘You have no right. How dare you?’

He took a breath. ‘I dare as much as my need demands. And my need is great.’ His green-eyed gaze met mine challengingly. ‘The throne needs the talent that only you possess. I will allow nothing that diminishes your Skill.’

He did not look away from me, but I could scarcely keep my eyes on him. Light was flaring all round him, stabbing into my brain. The barest edge of control kept me from throwing the compress at him. As if he guessed that, he took it from me, offering me a freshly cooled one in its place. It was a pitiful comfort, but I put it on my brow and leaned back in the chair. I wanted to weep with frustration and anguish. From behind the compress, I told him, ‘Pain. That’s what being a Farseer means to me. Pain and being used.’

He made no reply. That had always been his greatest rebuke, the silence that forced me to hear my own words over and over. When I took the cloth from my forehead, he was ready with another one. As I pressed it to my eyes, he said mildly, ‘Pain and being used. I’ve known my share of that as a Farseer. As did Verity, and Chivalry, and Shrewd before them. But you know there is more than that. If there weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.’

‘Perhaps,’ I conceded grudgingly. The fatigue was winning. I just wanted to curl up around the pain and sleep but I fought it. ‘Perhaps, but it isn’t enough. Not for going through this.’

‘And what more would you ask, Fitz? Why are you here?’

I knew he meant it to be a rhetorical question but the anxiety had been with me for too long. The answer was too close to my lips, and the pain made me speak without thought. I lifted a corner of the cloth to peer at him. ‘I do this because I want a future. Not for myself, but for my boy. For Hap. Chade, I’ve done it all wrong. I haven’t taught him a thing, not how to fight, nor how to make a living. I need to find him an apprenticeship with a good master. Gindast. That’s who he wishes to teach him. He wants to be a joiner, and I should have seen that this would come and saved my money, but I didn’t. And here he is, of an age to learn and I haven’t a thing to give him. The coins I’ve saved aren’t enough to –’

‘I can arrange that.’ Chade spoke quietly. Then, almost angrily, he demanded, ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’ Something in my face betrayed me, for he leaned closer, brows furrowed as he exclaimed, ‘You thought you’d have to do this in order to ask my help, didn’t you?’ The damp cloth was still in his hand. It slapped the stone flags when he flung it in a temper. ‘Fitz, you –’he began, then words failed him. He stood up and walked away from me. I thought he would leave entirely. Instead he went down to the workbench and the unused hearth at the other end of the chamber. He walked around the table slowly, looking at it and at the scroll racks and utensils as if seeking for something he had misplaced. I refolded the second cloth and held it to my forehead, but surreptitiously I watched him from under my hand. Neither of us said anything for a time.

When he came back to me, he looked calmer but somehow older. He took a fresh cloth from a pottery dish, wrung it out, folded it and offered it to me. As we exchanged the compresses, he said softly, ‘I’ll see that Hap gets his apprenticeship. You could simply have asked me to do that when I visited you. Or years ago, you could have brought the lad to Buckkeep and we’d have seen him decently educated.’

‘He can read and write and figure,’ I said defensively. ‘I saw to that.’

‘Good.’ His reply was chill. ‘I’m glad to hear you retained that much common sense.’

There seemed no rejoinder to that. Both pain and weariness were overcoming me. I knew I had hurt him but I didn’t feel it was my fault. How could I have known he’d be so willing to help me? Nevertheless, I apologized. ‘Chade, I’m sorry. I should have known that you would help me.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed mercilessly. ‘You should have. And you’re sorry. I don’t doubt you’re sincere. Yet I seem to recall warning you, years ago, that those words will only work so often, and then they ring hollow. Fitz, it hurts me to see you this way.’

‘It’s starting to ease,’ I lied.

‘Not your head, you stupid ass. It hurts me to see that you are still … as you’ve always been since … damn. Since you were taken from your mother. Wary and isolated and mistrustful. Despite all I’ve … After all these years, have you given your trust to no one?’

I was silent for a time, pondering his words. I had loved Molly, but I had never trusted her with my secrets. My bond with Chade was as essential as my bones, but no, I had not believed that he would do all he could for Hap, simply for the sake of what we shared. Burrich. Verity. Kettricken. Lady Patience. Starling. In every instance, I had held back. ‘I trust the Fool,’ I said, and then wondered if I truly did. I did, I assured myself. There was almost nothing about me that he didn’t know. That was trust, wasn’t it?

After a moment, Chade said heavily, ‘Well, that’s good. That you trust someone.’ He turned away from me and spoke to the fire. ‘You should force yourself to eat something. Your body may rebel, but you know that you need the food. Recall how we had to press food on Verity when he Skilled.’

The neutrality in his voice was almost painful. I realized then that he had hoped I would insist that I did trust him. It would not have been true, and I would not lie to him. I rummaged about in my mind for something else to give him. I spoke the words without thinking. ‘Chade, I do love you. It’s just that –’

He turned to me almost abruptly. ‘Stop, boy. Say no more.’ His voice was almost pleading as he said, ‘That’s enough for me.’ He set his hand to my shoulder and squeezed nearly painfully. ‘I won’t ask of you that which you can’t give. You are what life has made you. And what I made you, Eda be merciful. Now pay attention to me. Eat something. Force yourself if you must.’

It would have been useless to tell him that the sight and smell of the food was enough to make me gag. I took a breath, and quaffed down the beef broth, not breathing until it was gone. The fruit in cream felt slimy in my mouth, the fish reeked and the bread near choked me, but I forced myself to swallow it half-chewed. I took a deep breath, and the wine followed it down. When I set the cup down, my stomach churned and my head reeled. The wine was a more potent vintage than I had thought. I lifted my eyes to Chade’s. His mouth hung ajar in dismay. ‘I didn’t mean like that,’ he muttered.

I lifted a hand at him in a gesture of futility. I feared to open my mouth to reply.

‘You’d best go to bed,’ he suggested humbly.

I nodded in reply and levered myself to my feet. He opened the door for me, gave me a candle and then stood at the top of the passage holding a light until my path carried me out of his view. My room seemed impossibly distant, but eventually I arrived at the entry. Queasy as I was, I extinguished my light before I approached and carefully peered through the peephole before I triggered the access to my dark room. No candle burned there tonight. It didn’t matter. I stumbled into the stuffy darkness and thrust the door shut behind me. A few steps carried me to my bed and I dropped onto it. I was too hot and my clothes bound me uncomfortably, but I was too tired to do anything about it. The black was so absolute I could not tell if my eyes were open or shut. At least the lights under my eyelids had been quenched. I stared up into the darkness and longed for the cool peace of the forest.

The thick walls of the room muffled all sound, and sealed me off from the night. It was like being sealed in a tomb. I closed my eyes to the blackness and listened to my headache thump with the beat of my heart. My stomach gurgled unhappily. I drew a deep breath, and ‘Forest,’ I said quietly to myself. ‘Night. Trees. Meadow.’ I reached for the comforting familiarity of the natural world. I painted in the details for myself. A light wind stirring in the treetops. Stars flickering through rags of moving clouds. Coolness, and the rich scents of the earth. Tension eased away from me, taking my pain with it. I drifted with my imagination. The packed earth of a game trail beneath my feet, and I was moving softly through darkness, following my companion.

She went more quietly than night itself, each step sure and swift. Try as I might, I could not keep up with her. I could not even catch a glimpse of her. I knew of her passage by her scent hanging in the night air, or by the still-rustling bushes just ahead of me. My cat followed her, but I was not swift enough. ‘Wait!’ I called to them.

Wait? She mocked me. Wait for you to ruin the night’s hunting? No. I shall not wait. You shall make haste, and do so silently. Have you learned nothing of me? Lightfoot am I and Nightfriend and Shadowstalker. Be you so, and come, come, come to share the night with me.

I hurried after her, drunk with the night and her presence, drawn as irresistibly as a moth is drawn to a candle. Her eyes were green, I knew, for she had told me, and her long tresses were black. I longed to touch her, but she was elusive and taunting, always ahead of me, never revealing herself to my eyes let alone my touch. I could only run after her through the night, the breath rasping in my chest as she flew before me. I did not complain. I would prove myself worthy of her and win her.

But my heart was thundering and my breath burning in my lungs. I crested the top of a hill and stopped for breath. Before me spread the vista of the river valley. The moon hovered round and yellow. Had we come so far, in one night’s hunting? Far below me, the walls of Galeton were a dark huddle of stone on the riverbank. A few isolated lights still shone yellow in the windows of the keep. I wondered who burned candles while the rest of the household slumbered.

Do you long to sleep, in a stuffy room mounded with blankets? Is that how you would squander a night such as this? Save sleep for when the sunlight can warm you, save sleep for when the game is hidden in den or burrow. Hunt now, my clumsy one. Hunt with me! Prove yourself. Learn to be one with me, think as I do, move as I do, or lose me forever.

I started to go after her. My thoughts snagged on something, delaying me. There was something I must do, right now. Something I must tell someone, right now. Startled, I halted where I stood. The thought divided me. Part of me had to go, had to hunt at her heels before she left me behind. But another part of me stood still. I must tell him now. Right now. I peeled myself free, separating while holding onto the knowledge I had gained. It flickered in my grasp, threatening to become the nonsense of a fading dream. I gripped the thought, letting all else fade. Hold it. Say it out loud. Cling to the word, cling tight to the thought. Don’t let it go, don’t let it melt away with the dream.

‘Galeton!’

I said the word aloud, sitting upright in my bed in the stifling darkness. My shirt stuck to me with sweat and the Skill-headache had returned with clanging bells attached to it. It didn’t matter. I lurched from my bed and began a patting search of the invisible walls. ‘Galeton,’ I said aloud, lest the word slip from my grasp. ‘Prince Dutiful hunts near Galeton.’

FOURTEEN Laurel

There is a certain black stone, often finely veined with white or silver threading, that was extensively used by the Elderlings in their construction. At least one quarry for this stone exists in the wild lands beyond the Mountain Kingdom, but it is almost certain that other sources for it exist, for it is difficult even to imagine how it might otherwise have been used in such large constructions in so many far-flung locations. It was used, not only in the construction of their buildings, but also in the monoliths they raised at certain crossroads. Due to several odd qualities of the roads that the Elderlings constructed, it can be deduced that a ground or gravelled form of the stone was also instrumental in their creation. Wherever the Elderlings built, this stone was a favoured instrument, and even in the places that they seemed to have visited only sporadically, monuments of this stone are found. A close scrutiny of the Witness Stones of Buckkeep will convince the examiner that, although defaced by harsh weather or perhaps intentionally vandalized by men in ages past, the stone is of the same type. Some have suggested that the Witness Stones of Buckkeep and other ‘oath stones’ throughout the Six Duchies were originally raised by the Elderlings for a very different purpose.

I awoke in Chade’s great four-poster bed in the tower chamber. I knew a few moments of disorientation before deciding this was not another dream. I was truly awake. I did not recall going to sleep, only sitting down on the side of the bed for a few moments. I was still dressed in yesterday’s clothing.

I sat up cautiously: the hammers and anvils in my head had subsided to a monotonous drumming. The room appeared empty, but someone had been there recently. Washwater steamed near the hearth, and a small covered dish of porridge kept warm near it. As soon as I discovered these items, I put them to good use. My stomach was still reluctant to accept food, but I ate stoically, knowing it was for the best. I washed, put on a kettle for tea and then wandered down to the worktable. A large map of Buck was unfurled across it. The corners were weighted with a mortar and two pestles and a teacup. An inverted wineglass rested on the map itself. When I lifted it, I found Galeton underneath it. It was on a tributary of the Buck River, northwest of Buck and on the other side of the river from Buckkeep. I had never been there. I tried to recall what I knew of Galeton and swiftly did so. Absolutely nothing.

My Wit alerted me to Chade’s presence, and I turned as the hidden door swung open. He entered briskly. The tops of his cheeks were pink with the morning, and his white hair gleamed silver. Nothing invigorated the old man so much as fresh intrigue. ‘Ah, you’re up. Excellent,’ he greeted me. ‘I managed to arrange an early breakfast with Lord Golden, despite the absence of his serving-man. He assured me that he could be ready to travel in a few hours. He’s already concocted an excuse for the trip.’

‘What?’ I asked him, befuddled.

Chade laughed aloud. ‘Bird feathers, of all things. Lord Golden has a number of interesting hobbies, but his most current fascination is feathers. The larger and brighter the better. Galeton borders on a wooded upland, and has a reputation for pheasants, grouse and whiptails. The latter have rather extravagant plumage, especially their tail feathers. He’s already sent a runner on ahead to Lady Bresinga of Galeton, entreating hospitality from her while on his quest. It won’t be refused. Lord Golden is the most popular novelty that Buckkeep Court has seen in a decade. Having him guest at her manor will be a social coup for her.’