Riddle spent several hours daily with Thick, usually when Chade wanted me to keep an unobtrusive eye on Dutiful. Web and Swift often came to the cottage. Swift seemed chastened by Web's rebuke and appeared generally more respectful to both Web and myself. I kept the lad busy with daily lessons and demanded that he practice his bow as well as his swordsmanship. Thick would come to sit outside the cottage and watch our mock battles in the sheep enclosure. He always cheered for Swift, bellowing his pleasure every time the boy landed a blow with the bound swords we used. I confess that bruised my feelings as much as Swift's thwacks bruised my flesh. It was my own skills more than his that I wished to keep sharp, but teaching the boy not only gave me an excuse to practice, it also allowed me to demonstrate my proficiency to the Outislanders. They did not gather to watch, but from time to time I would glimpse a lad or two perched on a nearby wall, eyeing us. I resolved that if I must be spied upon, I would see that the reports of me were that I was not easy prey. I did not think that their scrutiny was casual curiosity.
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I felt constantly watched in that place. Wherever I went, always it seemed there was someone nearby, idly lingering. I could not have pointed to a single boy or old woman who spied on me, and yet there were always eyes on my back. I felt too a sense of danger to Thick. It was in the glances he received whenever we went out, and in the reaction of the folk we encountered. They drew back from him as if he carried contagion, and stared after us as if he were a two-headed calf. Even Thick seemed aware of it. I realized that, without consciously thinking of it, he seemed to use the Skill to be less noticed. It was not like his blast of “You don't see me!” that had once nearly laid me low, but more a constant announcement of his unimportance. I stored the knowledge away as something worth discussing with Chade.
I had little true time with my old mentor, and the Skill-messages I relayed to him were brief. We all felt it was more important that he use his Skill-strength in being available to Dutiful. Chade had also decided that as Peottre Blackwater had already discerned that I was a bodyguard for the Prince, there was no harm in my more openly pursuing that role. “As long as he does not realize you are any more than that,” Chade cautioned me.
I tried to be an unobtrusive observer and guard to the Prince. Although Dutiful never complained I think he was uncomfortable with my constant lurking presence. The rest of the settlement regarded Dutiful and Elliania as a married couple now. There was no effort to chaperone them in any way. Only Peottre's presence, as subtle as a standing stone, reminded us that some in the Narcheska's family would see that their relationship remained chaste until Dutiful had fulfilled his end of the bargain. I think Peottre and I watched one another as much as we watched Dutiful and the Narcheska. In a strange way, we became partners.
I discovered in that time one of the reasons why the Narcheska was held in such regard by all of the clans, not just Narwhal. This was a culture in which women owned the land and what it produced. I had assumed the wealth of the clan was in its sheep. It was only when I trailed Dutiful and Elliania on one of their hikes across the rocky hills of the island that I came to discover its true wealth. They crested a ridge, with Peottre a discreet distance away from them and me a distant fourth. As I too reached the rise and then looked down into the next valley, I gasped.
There were three lakes in the valley, and two of them steamed even in the height of the summer day. Greenery was lush all around them, as were the precisely planted and tended fields that patchworked the valley. As I followed them down into the valley, the constant cooling wind faded. I walked down into cupped warmth and the smell of mineral-rich water. The boulders and stones had been cleared from the fields to neatly divide the crops as stone fences. Not only did the crops grow better in this warmer valley, but there I saw plants and trees that I would have judged too tender to flourish this far north. Here, in the harsh Out Islands, was an island mellowed by bubbling hot springs into an oasis of gentle warmth and plenty. No wonder the winning of the Narcheska was seen as such a prize. An alliance with she who controlled the food produced here was a valuable thing indeed in these harsh lands.
Yet I also had to note that, even in the midst of the summer, many of the fields were left fallow, and workers on the land were not as numerous as I would have expected. Again, the women and girls outnumbered the men and boys, and few of the males were in their prime years. It presented a mystery to me. Here were women, wealthy in land and lacking the workers to farm it. Why were there not more men courting here from other clans, seeking to contribute children to this island of plenty?
One early evening, Dutiful and Elliania were jumping two of the scrawny little island ponies that her people used for a multitude of tasks on Mayle. Their course was a stony meadow at the gently sloping base of a hill littered with boulders, and their makeshift jumps were cut saplings laid across paired boulders. The little ponies amazed me with how high they could leap when badgered into jumping. Sheep had cropped the grass short and scrub brush fringed the meadow. The deepening blue of the sky arched over us, and soon the first stars would show. They were riding bareback, and Dutiful had already taken two tumbles from his scrawny and willful steed in his attempts to keep pace with his fearless consort. The girl was wholeheartedly enjoying herself. She rode astraddle; her yellow skirts bunched and blossomed around her legs. From the knee down, her legs were bare, even her feet. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair wild, and she rode with a disregard for everything except showing the Prince she could excel him at this. The first time he fell, Elliania had ridden on, her mocking laughter reaching all of us. The second time, she actually rode back to see if he was injured while Peottre caught the nasty little beast and led it back to them. Most of my attention was focused on Dutiful; I felt proud of him for how genial he had been about both falls.
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These ponies are as skinny and bony as calves. Trying to keep a seat on one is more bruising than taking the fall when it hops sideways.
Elliania seems to manage it well enough, I pointed out teasingly. At the look he shot me, I hastily added, It doesn't look easy. I think she admires your tenacity.
I think she admires my bruises, the little vixen. I caught a note of fondness in the epithet. As if to distract me from that, the Prince added, Glance to your left and tell me if you see someone behind the boulders at the edge of the scrub brush.
I flicked my eyes that way without turning my head. Something was there. I was not sure if it was a person or a large animal crouched there. The Prince remounted, and clung to his seat while the pony did a series of wild crow-hops across the meadow. His mount was obviously weary of the game, but Elliania's merry laughter rewarded Dutiful's efforts to stay on top. He cleared the jump that had previously defeated him, and she saluted him with a flourish. Her enjoyment of the spectacle seemed genuine, and a glance at Peottre showed that a grudging smile lit even his dour face. I joined my laughter to theirs and walked closer to them.
Ride toward that area and take a tumble. And when you do, make sure the pony flees toward the boulders.
He Skilled a disgusted groan at me, but did as I asked. And when the pony bolted, I sprang up and raced after it full speed, deliberately more chasing him than attempting to catch the creature. Together we flushed a woman, clad all in moss green and brown from her hiding place. She fled with no pretense of doing anything else, and I recognized not only how she moved but the very faint scent of her that I caught. Much as I longed to chase after her, I did not. Instead I Skilled what I now knew to both Chade and Dutiful.
That was Henja! The Narcheska's servant from Buckkeep. She's here on the island, spying on us.
Neither replied to me save with a wave of dread.
I was deliberately awkward at catching the pony. Finally Peottre came to help me. “We gave that old woman quite a fright!” I observed to him as I herded the pony toward him.
He seized the recalci
trant little animal by the forelock and looked up at the sky. He never met my gaze. “It grows dark. We are fortunate the Prince did not take a worse fall and severely injure himself. ” Then, to our wards, “We should go back now. The ponies are tired of jumping and night draws on. ”
I wondered if he had tried to warn me of a worse danger to the Prince than falling from a pony's back. I took him around again. “Do you think that poor old woman is all right? Should we look for her? She seemed quite frightened. I wonder what she was doing behind those boulders. ”
Face and voice impassive, he replied, “She was probably just gathering kindling. Or herbs or roots. I do not think we need bother about her. ” He lifted his voice. “Elliania! The time for fun is over. We should return to the mothershouse. ”
I saw Elliania's face when you made Henja run. The Narcheska was startled. And now she is frightened.
The brusque nod she gave to Peottre's words confirmed the Prince's opinion. She slid immediately from her pony's back, and then lifted the hackamore from his head, turning him loose on the hillside. Peottre did the same for the beast the Prince had been riding, and suddenly I found myself walking back to the mothershouse alongside them. Elliania and Dutiful led the way, and the silence between them contrasted sadly with their earlier merriment. My heart was heavy for him. He was learning to love this Outislander girl, but every time they drew closer to one another, the damned politics of throne and power wedged them apart. I felt a sudden rush of anger, and spoke rashly.
“That was Henja, wasn't it? That woman hiding in the bushes. She was the Narcheska's servant in Buckkeep Castle, if I recall correctly. ”
I give the man credit for his composure. Although he could not look at me, his voice was calm. “I doubt it. She left our service before we departed Buckkeep. We both believed she might be happier in the Six Duchies, and thus were glad to release her. ”
“Perhaps she returned to Wuislington on her own. Perhaps she became homesick. ”
“This is not her home; she is not of our mothershouse,” Peottre announced firmly.
“How odd. ” I was determined to be relentless. As a mere guardsman, I would not be expected to possess tact, only curiosity. “I thought that in this country, the mother's family was all-important; anyone attending the Narcheska would be of her mother's line. ”
“Ordinarily, yes. ” Peottre's voice was growing stiffer. “No woman of the family could be spared at the time we sailed. So we hired her. ”
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“I see. ” I shrugged. “I have wondered, why do not Elliania's mother and sisters attend her now? Are they dead?”
He shuddered as if I'd stuck a dart in him. “No. They aren't. ” Bitterness came into his voice. “Her two older brothers are. They died in Kebal Rawbread's war. Her mother and her younger sister live but they are . . . detained elsewhere, on an important matter. If they could be here with her now, they would. ”
“Oh, I'm sure of that,” I replied blandly. I was convinced of the truth of every word he had uttered, and just as certain that I did not have the entire truth.
Late that night, while Thick slept heavily, I Skilled as much to Chade. I tried to keep my thoughts to the old man private and separate from my Skill-link to the Prince. I could sense his restless sleep. The undercurrent of the boy's frustration and impatience set my nerves on edge. I tried to set his emotions aside as I communicated to Chade all that had passed between Peottre and me. Chade was annoyed with my bluntness with Peottre even as he was avidly interested in the man's responses. There are designs within designs here, like one of the Fool's wooden puzzle balls. I am convinced that he and the Narcheska have an agenda of their own, and that not all in her mothershouse know of it. Some do. Almata for example. And the Narcheska's great-grandmother has been told, but I do not think she can hold the significance in her mind. Lestra and her mother interest me. Lestra stands to become narcheska when Elliania goes off to Buckkeep to wed Dutiful. Yet, she seems to vie with Elliania for Dutiful's attention, and I suspect her mother encourages it. Does she grasp that eventually becoming Queen of the Six Duchies might be a loftier ambition than stealing the narcheska title from Elliania? I do not think Lestra and her mother attach any importance to Elliania's demand for the dragon's head. I think that Lestra's ambitions should give both Elliania and Peottre concern, yet they seem to remain aloof, their thoughts elsewhere. Elliania only drives Lestra off when the challenge becomes too blatant to ignore.
Like their fistfight on the night of the wedding?
Betrothal, Fitz. Betrothal. We do not recognize that ceremony as a true wedding. The Prince must be wed at home, in Buckkeep, and the marriage must be consummated. But no, not just that confrontation. Lestra has made several attempts at him since then, usually when the Narcheska is not about.
Does Elliania know?
How could she?
He might tell her, I speculated. I wonder what would happen if she knew?
I have no desire to find out. The situation is quite complicated enough as it is. Perhaps this is just a rivalry between girl cousins. I wish I understood Henja's role in all this. Is she just some dotty old woman? Or more? Are you quite sure it was she?
Quite. It had not been just my eyes that confirmed it, but I would not tell Chade I had scented her, and that enough of the wolf remained in me to be certain of that sense.
Our conversation had wearied Chade and I let him go to his rest. I checked to be sure the cottage door was latched, and then regretfully closed the window shutters, as well. I did not like sleeping in such a tightly closed place. I always slept best when I could feel air moving freely on my face, but after my sighting of Henja that day, I would not give anyone the opportunity to have a clear shot at me.
Such was my frame of mind as I settled myself for sleep, and the next morning, I tried to use it to account for my nightmares. Yet it was not fair to call my dreams that. There was nothing of terror in them, only uneasiness, and a vividness that was not Skill-walking, but something else. I dreamed of the Fool as he had been once, not as Lord Golden but as a pale, frail lad with colorless eyes. In that guise, he bestrode the stone dragon behind Girl-on-a-Dragon, and together they rose into the blue skies. But then suddenly he became Lord Golden, and as he rode behind the carved and soulless girl that was a part of the dragon sculpture that he had called back to wakefulness and life, a black-and-white cloak fluttered out on the wind behind him. His hair was pulled back sleek and tight from his face and bound back like a warrior's tail. His expression was so set and stern that he looked as soulless as the Girl whose slender waist he clasped. His hands were bare, I saw in surprise, for it had been a very long time since I had seen him do anything ungloved. Higher they rose into the sky, and higher still, and then suddenly he lifted his hand and pointed, and the Girl kneed the dragon to fly in the direction of that slender, pointing finger. Then clouds cloaked them as if mist enfolded them. I stirred from sleep to find my own fingers set to my wrist in the pale prints he had once left there. I shifted in my bedding but could not seem to come back to full wakefulness. Pulling my blanket more tightly around me, I surrendered to sleep again.
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And then I did Skill-walk in my dreams, to a most disturbing scene. Nettle sat and chatted with Tintaglia on a grassy hillside. I knew it was a dream of Nettle's making, for never had flowers blossomed so brightly, nor bloomed so evenly throughout the grass. It reminded me of a carefully worked tapestry. The dragon was the size of a horse, and crouched in a way that was not quite threatening. I stepped into the dream. Nettle's back was very straight and her voice nearly brittle as she demanded of the dragon, “And what has any of that to do with me?”
And in a silent aside to me, Why did you delay? Didn't you feel me summoning you?
“I can hear that, you know,” Tintaglia pointed out calmly. “And he did not hear you summoning him because I did not wish him to. So, you see, you are q
uite alone, if I decide you are. ” The dragon suddenly turned her cold gaze on me. Beauty had fled her reptile eyes, leaving them spinning gems of fury. “A fact that does not escape you, either, I assume. ”
“What do you want?” I demanded of her.
“You know what I want. I want to know what you know of a black dragon. Is he real? Does another dragon, grown and whole, still exist in the world?”
“I don't know,” I answered her truthfully. I could feel her mind plucking at mine, trying to get past the words I gave her to see if I was hiding anything. It was like having cold rat feet run over you in a prison cell at night. Then she seized that memory and tried to turn it against me. I slammed my walls tighter. Unfortunately that meant that Nettle was also outside them. They both became like shadows dimly cast on a wavering curtain.
Tintaglia spoke, and her voice reached me like a whisper of doom. “Accept that your kind will serve mine. It is the natural order of things. Serve me in this and I will see that you and yours prosper. Defy me, and you and yours will be swept aside. ” Suddenly the image of the dragon loomed large and towered over Nettle. “Or devoured,” she offered knowingly.
Dread prickled at me. On some fundamental level, the dragon associated me with Nettle. Was it simply that she had always reached me through my daughter, or did she sense our kinship? Did it matter? My daughter was in danger, and it was my fault. Again. And I had no idea how to protect her.
It did not matter. A moment ago the flower-studded meadow had reminded me of a tapestry. Then Nettle abruptly stood up, bent and seized her dream, then shook it as if she sought to shake dust from a rug. The dragon's presence was flung from it and went spinning off into nothingness, dwindling as it went. In that nothingness, Nettle stood and wadded up her dream and tucked it into her apron pocket. I no longer knew where or what I was in her dream, but she sent the words to me. You'll have to learn to stand up to her and drive her off, not just curl up in a ball and hide. Remember, Shadow Wolf, that you are a wolf. Not a mouse. Or so I thought. She began to fade.