The Tawny Man Series Books 2 and 3: The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate. Robin Hobb
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swung into place behind him, both his voice and his Skill reached me again. ‘You stink like dog poop. Chop you up and burn you.’
His anger was like an ebbing tide that slowly left me stranded. After a time, I lifted my hands and pressed them to my temples. The stress of holding my walls so tight and solid was beginning to tell on me, but I dared not let them down just yet. If he could sense my lowering them, if he chose then to blast me with a Skill-command, I would be prey to it, just as Dutiful had been prey to my impulsive Skill-command not to fight me. I feared that his mind still bore the stamp of that decree.
That was yet another worry that I must tend to. Did that order still restrain him? I made the resolution then that I must discover how to reverse my Skill-command. If I did not, I knew it would soon become a barrier to any true friendship between us. Then I wondered if the Prince were cognizant at all of what I had done to him. It had been an accident, I told myself, and then despised my lie. A burst of my temper had imprinted that command on my prince’s mind. It shamed me that I had done so, and the sooner it was removed, the better for both of us.
Dimly I became aware of music again. I made a tentative connection. As I gradually lowered my walls, it became louder in my mind. Putting my hands over my ears did not affect it at all. Skilling music. I had never even imagined such a thing, yet the half-wit was doing it. When I drew my attention away from it, it faded into the shushing curtain of thoughts that stood always at the edges of my Skill. Most of it was formless whispering, the overheard thoughts of the folk who possessed just enough talent to let their most urgent thoughts float out onto the Skill. If I focused my abilities on them, I could sometimes pluck whole thoughts and images from their minds, but they lacked enough Skill to be aware of me, let alone reply. This half-wit was different. He was a roaring Skill-fire, his music the heat and smoke of his wild talent. He made no effort to hide it; possibly he had no idea how to hide it, or had any reason to do so.
I relaxed, keeping only the wall that ensured my private thoughts would remain hidden from Dutiful’s budding Skill-talent. Then with a groan, I lowered my head into my hands as a Skill-headache thundered through my skull.
‘Fitz?’
I was aware of Chade’s presence an instant before he touched my shoulder. Even so, I startled as I awoke and raised my hands as if to ward off a blow.
‘What ails you, boy?’ he demanded of me, and then leaned closer to peer at me. ‘Your eyes are full of blood! When did you last sleep?’
‘Just now, I think.’ I managed a feeble smile. I ran my hands through my chopped hair. It was sweated flat to my skull. I could recall only tatters of my fleeting nightmare. ‘I met your servant,’ I told him shakily.
‘Thick? Ah. Well, not the brightest man in the keep, but he serves my purpose admirably. Hard for him to betray secrets when he hasn’t the sense to recognize a secret if he fell over it. But enough of him. As soon as Lord Golden’s message reached me, I came up here, hoping to catch you. What is this about Piebalds in Buckkeep Town?’
‘He wrote that down in a message?’ I was incensed.
‘Not in so many words. Only I would have picked out the sense of it. Now tell me.’
‘They followed me last night … this morning. To scare me and to let me know they knew me. That they could find me any time. Chade. Set that aside for a moment. Did you know your servant – what is his name? Thick? Did you know Thick is Skilled?’
‘At what? Breaking teacups?’ The old man snorted as if I had made a bad jest. He heaved a sigh and gestured at the cold fireplace in disgust. ‘He’s supposed to set a small fire in the hearth each day. Half the time he forgets to do that. What are you talking about?’
‘Thick is Skilled. Strongly Skilled. He nearly dropped me in my tracks when I accidentally startled him here. If I had not been keeping up my walls to ward my mind from Dutiful, I think he would have blasted away every thought in my head. “Go away” he told me, and “Don’t see me”. And “Don’t hurt me”. And Chade, you know, I think he’s done that before. To me, even. Once, in the stableyard, I saw some of the boys teasing him. And I heard, almost as if someone said it aloud, “Don’t see me”. And then the stableboys were all going about their business and after that, I don’t recall that I did see him there. Any more, I mean.’
Chade slowly sank down into my chair. He reached out to take one of my hands in his as if that would make my words more comprehensible. Or perhaps he sought to feel if fever had taken me. ‘Thick has the Skill-magic,’ he said carefully. ‘That’s what you’re telling me.’
‘Yes. It’s raw and untrained, but it burns in him like a bonfire. I’ve never encountered anything like it before.’ I shut my eyes, put my palms flat to my temples and tried to push my skull back together. ‘I feel like I’ve taken a beating.’
A moment later, Chade said gruffly, ‘Here. Try this.’
I took the cold wet cloth he offered me and placed it across my eyes. I knew better than to ask him for anything stronger. The stubborn old man had made up his mind that my pain drugs would interfere with my ability to teach Dutiful to Skill. No good to long for the relief that elfbark could bring. If there were any left in Buckkeep Castle, he’d hidden it well.
‘What am I going to do about this?’ he muttered, and I lifted a corner of the cloth to peer at him.
‘About what?’
‘Thick and his Skill.’
‘Do? What can you do? The half-wit has it.’
He resumed his seat. ‘From what I’ve translated of the old Skill-scrolls, that makes him something of a threat to us. He’s a wild talent, untaught and undisciplined. His Skilling can inadvertently disrupt Dutiful just as he is trying to learn. Angered, he can use his Skill against people; apparently, he has already done so. Worse, you say he is strong. Stronger than you?’
I lifted one hand in a futile gesture. ‘I have no way of knowing. My talent has always been erratic, Chade. And I know no way of measuring it. But I have not felt so besieged since all of Galen’s coterie turned their collective strength on me.’
‘Mmh.’ He leaned back in his chair and considered the ceiling. ‘The most prudent course might simply be to put him down. Kindly, of course. It is not his fault he is a threat to us. Less radical would be to begin dosing him with elfbark to dampen or destroy his talent. But as your reckless abuse of that herb over the last decade has not completely scoured the Skill-ability from you, I have less faith in its efficacy than the writers of the Skill-scrolls did. Yet I tend towards a third path. More dangerous, perhaps. I wonder if that is not why it appeals to me, because the possibilities are as great as the hazard.’
‘Teach him?’ At Chade’s tentative smile, I groaned. ‘Chade, no. We don’t know enough between the two of us to be certain that we can teach Dutiful safely, and he is a tractable boy with a bright mind. Thick is already hostile to me. His insults make me fear that somehow he has detected that I am Witted. And what he has learned on his own is potent enough to be dangerous to me if I try to teach him more.’
‘Then you think we should kill him? Or cripple his talent?’
I didn’t want that decision to be mine. I didn’t even want to know that such a decision was being made, yet here I was again, neck deep in Farseer plotting. ‘I don’t think either of those things,’ I muttered. ‘Cannot we just send him very far away?’
‘The weapon we throw away today is the one at our throats tomorrow,’ Chade returned implacably. ‘That is why King Shrewd chose, long ago, to have his bastard grandson close to hand. We must make the same sort of decision with Thick. Use him, or render him useless. There is no middle path.’ He held one hand out towards me, palm up, and added, ‘As we have seen with the Piebalds.’
I do not know if he intended it as a rebuke to me, but his words stung nonetheless. I leaned back in my chair and let the wet cloth fall over my eyes.
‘What would you have had me do? Kill them all, not